but my world is you.

by rexflame

Summary:

can i be close to you?

(there is an odd warmth in no feeling at all.)

Notes:

if you listen to bloom by the paper kites and think about any mdzs ship you WILL have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped upon

this is just a short thing i worked on while working on my bigger and more important fanfic, Jin Ling's Minecraft Channel AU

it is odd, perhaps, that wen ning does not mind the emptiness of death.  

 

he's never quite sure if he's truly dead, not quite here and not quite there, an odd possession of himself in a body that's barely his own. he has never been one to prefer the idea of ferocity and brutality, but now, there is something in the song of blood that brings him just a bit closer to life.  it is a purpose. wei wuxian’s purpose.

 

that's the blessing of it all.  he doesn't feel sad anymore, not really.  he doesn't feel anger, doesn't feel crushed, the way his ribcage had shattered inwards when he tried to breathe. he is an echo of ghost general, yiling patriarch, and that is enough for him.  it will always have to be enough.

 

(the truth is, he does still feel, through the cold of it all.  he feels for his young master, he feels something unfamiliar, balling itself up in his chest until he feels he'd forget how to breathe if he still held air in his lungs.)

 

when wei wuxian, young master, drapes himself over wen ning’s shoulders, when his eyes glitter with sincerity and care, the care that wen ning is himself, underneath it all, he feels something akin to burning.  it cannot be - there is no fire he could feel anymore, warmth a far-off memory - but later, he will run clawed fingertips over the lines wei wuxian’s thumb traced, reverently.  the word “devotion” is an echo in his head, a promise.

 

the smiles of his young master come soft and easy; they come softer and easier for hanguang-jun. wen ning notices this as he notices all of wei wuxian’s happiness - it is something he wants to cradle in his hands, a soft and fragile bloom, something he wants to plant and water and watch climb to the sky.

 

if he could hurt, he might feel the sting, to not create those smiles, to not receive them.  but it is a blessing to see them at all, the only beam of sunlight he can feel anymore.

 

so it’s fine, then, the eternal chill settling in his hollowed-out ribcage, like the first frost of winter.

 

(if wei wuxian can thaw it, even for a moment, it is worthwhile.)