A THREAD featuring HUANG YILIN ( @yixingxing ).
the imbibed alcohol no longer diluted by the system, he can tell that the inebriation has set in from the manifestations of the influence. the body speaks more than the mouth, but atlas understands the cartography of the latter more than he cares to admit. the contours, sloped as the tongue collided with his own. he reminds himself of the nights they used to accommodate each other’s into the flasked confines. the taste of the substance a touch far too familiar for atlas, moulded against the syllables slurred under the moonlit cloak of the night.
in which it all has become a cycle he cannot escape, the exit wounds have always scar in the lapse of their time; he knows he will be playing the waiting game all over again once this one is over, the interval keeps repeating, repenting itself. the penance has never been enough, the pain lingering with each death, the demise inexcusable in the eye of the mortal… the phoenix. the revival is to be due, again and again and again, and atlas isn’t certain if there’s any ending to this. all he knows is that if this is the last, he wants to make it worthwhile, as always. the heart in him, halfway beating, is syncopated with the incoming ache. still, doesn’t know if this time will be enough for him, for them.
yet, as they stumble out of the bar in vienna, this feels more than just fleeting sentiments. love is an exchange for two, even when it means for him to speak through gritted teeth of memories shared between the two. the rinse, lather, repeat. it is almost like a ritual that only he knows how to perform, the carnage that always carves a hole buries itself too deep in the crux of his chest. and as much as atlas wants to complain, he’d rather be somewhat… grateful for another chance of rebirth for yilin. the calligraphed names still remain the same, atlas wearing the ring engraved with the first date within the century long gone, when the vow was first enunciated. uian. he was still uian when they first came in contact, was it the ming dynasty? atlas chooses to not recall vividly each detail, for to be with yilin is an encounter anew.
and another lifetime it is, as he drives yilin back to the hotel, wondering if this is him stealing something off the universe, the opportunity a pilfered one. after all, wasn’t atlas the one asking for more and more, the inhibition of influence of his entire willingness? he doesn’t know whether it is amoral or not. atypically so, considering how atlas’ compass when it comes to that has always been askew. as the night wilts, he starts questioning everything within how the hours unfolded before them. the drive proffers enough solace to ruminate, but being left with his thoughts at this kind of moment feels the most vulnerable. so, upon arrival in front of their five-starred hotel, he hurries to bring the so-called friend back into yilin’s deluxe room, with yilin half-awake. dragged feet, he lets yilin prop most of his weight onto atlas, an arm around his shoulders. he dismisses any offer of help from the hotel staff, stealing a frame of tacit intimacy with yilin.
when they finally discards their shoes before they reach the bed, they slump into it. not that there’s any smidgen of lethargy in atlas, but he knows that the influence has passed for yilin that sleep is calling. he sighs, not bothering to return to his own suite, because the both of them comprehend the nature of this time’s implication. lying next to each other, still clad in their branded outfits. fate has a way too risible to understand in placing them together again; never the right time, the right place. in this culture of the beloved, he doesn’t know whether it is appropriate to touch yilin, this lifetime enlightened but he wonders if the gravity of love still remains even after all the memories of them wiped. again, fuck tabula rasa.
still, when he brushes his fingers, ghosting lightly on the cheekbone, enough to induce goosebumps down the spine, yilin arches his neck to lean to it. he is emboldened by the gesture, feeling that slumber now has departed from the chamber, and he blinks at yilin. the eyes flick open, still as dark as he remembers them. the vortex of pooling depth that invites him in all the same, and from there, the flicker of memories, even when it’s not quite the same, coruscates there. for that, it tugs at the corners of atlas’ lips, this time in a smile that is gentle. unlike him, but he’s always exhibited this in front of his lover. this lifetime, as yilin. and for that, he hums. “we used to cuddle like this,” he whispers, as if speaking beyond that volume might break the holy contained by this moment. looks into yilin’s eyes softly, downing the pints of this symbiosis with ease. it has always come naturally, after all. “we used to love. you’ve always loved me well.” and in another life, he was not like this… he was not yilin. however, everything has changed, too, and so, he waits for yilin to love him too in manners yilin knows how. he caresses the cheek with a thumb, resting his hand there as he savours the hour. “let’s stay like this until the light comes.”
