#wanshangs

"Dìdi, go—let go! Get out!" he'd pleaded with broken urgency, begged until his voice cracked to no avail, until so much smoke had infiltrated his lungs he could do nothing but cough, and cough, and spill out blood from his lungs, the words like trying to claw out of his sore throat, his sight abandoning him as his voice eroded, dissipating in a cacophony of screams that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He begged him to just go, and lied shamelessly he'd be right behind him—but the last thing he felt was Lian's arm around him, dragging his half-collapsing, crawling body from under the white oak as the tree and the memories within were consumed in a blazing inferno. His heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to push him and found that all of his accursed strength had left him the one time he wished it didn't, and then... it was dark.

A sing-songy whine swells in the room like a birdsong, calling for him as his body already melts in the shape of his brother's back, silk dripping down his back, his long, unbound hair cascading down the arch of his shoulders, spilling smoothly, cool like spilled milk, and as he pours himself down onto him in his weariness, offering his pitiful body some much needed reprieve from the night, his wishbone arms reach towards him, slithering languidly atop his brothers strong shoulders to ensnare.

The night had been long and already taken something of a toll on his body, and so if he must indulge in this foolishness, he refuses to do standing. Lord Baeksa waited for his companion lying under a tree, pale moonlight filtering through the red leaves, basking them in a ghastly, unearthly glow; the rough surface of the trunk catches on the soft layers of his clothes as he leans against it, playing with a lock of his hair, sprawled lazily atop the grass.