Chapter Text
✿
Tap
A lone figure strolled into a busy restaurant and settled into a vacant chair.
As they mindlessly tapped a finger on the wooden table in front of them, their eyes scanned the bright room with disinterest.
Every so often, they'd glance behind them to the doorway, and once it hit thirty minutes, they even got up to switch to the opposite seat so that they'd be facing it.
Tap, tap
It didn't take long for those taps to multiply in number, eventually increasing in speed as more time passed. A server had come over at one point and asked for their order, but was easily brushed away by a wave of a hand.
It seemed that this person was waiting for someone.
Tap, tap, tap!
The taps against the wood soon grew louder and more irritating, reflecting the person's growing restlessness. It was as if simply sitting there in that chair was costing them something of immense value.
Like their time. And perhaps sanity.
Tap!
Once a full hour had passed, the Dark Saint let his knuckle hit the table for one last loud tap before abruptly standing up, turning around, and swiftly leaving the restaurant as his patience had finally reached its breaking point. And on the surface of the table he left, a deep indent was visible.
The air in the room instantly lightened; everyone else who'd been in the restaurant with him sighed in relief at his departure, finally unbound from both the suppressing aura he emitted, and that annoying noise. They were all able to enjoy their meals once again, the laughter and conversations that'd been at a halt since earlier free to continue.
Tang Bo walked out, yet had decided to wait for a bit longer – just in case – and leaned back against one of the pillars out in front with crossed arms.
He made sure to stay out of the way, but remained in a position where he could oversee everything happening around him. He closely watched the people who came and went, either entering or exiting the restaurant, in silence.
That earned him a few strange looks and quite a few hushed whispers, but he paid it no mind.
Soon, his eyes instead wandered to the street ahead, scanning the faces of the people in the crowd that walked by. But even after another twenty minutes passed, the person he was looking for never appeared.
And the possibility of their arrival only continued to dwindle as time went on.
Realizing this, Tang Bo finally allowed himself to slump back against the pillar and sigh woefully to himself – giving off the pitiful impression of someone who'd just been stood up on the first date.
'So, he isn't coming.' The truth was horribly laid out for him to see.
It wasn't likely he was truly sad, though. This was Chung Myung they were talking about, after all. But still, he couldn't help but feel disappointed with this turn of events.
He glanced up to the sky, 'Did I get the day wrong?'
A short silence.
No – he was sure he didn't; this day specifically was special. The restaurant he was currently loitering outside of was holding a huge sale on its most extravagant wine, which took place only today.
And he knows that Chung Myung for sure wouldn't have missed this rare opportunity to refill his secret stash – for a cheaper price, too.
Not to mention that Tang Bo had offered to pay this time!
When Tang Bo informed him of all of this, Chung Myung had flashed that wide grin of his that he always wore whenever either free money and alcohol were involved, or when he was about to swindle somebody.
"Swindle..." He mumbled absently to himself.
In a way, he had; it obviously wasn't going to be cheap for Tang Bo's wallet anymore with the amounts he was going to buy. Knowing Chung Myung, he'd probably buy out the entire restaurant's stock.
...
Was going to buy. But that guy was nowhere to be seen. Did he suddenly overcome his endless thirst for alcohol and decide to become a true Taoist? Now that seemed incredibly unlikely.
'Surely, something must've come up, then?' That was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with. Unless he'd overslept. It was still pretty early, after all.
Letting out one more sigh, Tang Bo withdrew from the pillar and turned around to re-enter the restaurant, soon emerging from it with multiple bottles in hand. Thanks to his reputation as the renowned 'Dark Saint', he was able to easily skip the lines and get to the wine first, before it even started to sell.
He smiled apologetically to the ones who were in line first, who were probably waiting in line since the first light. But this restaurant was a thriving business, so they'd have plenty left in stock. For now.
He'd quickly bought a few bottles for him and Chung Myung to share, despite knowing that these types of acts were the very reason that bastard treated his coin pouch as if it were his own. Really, he was just enabling his atrocious behavior at this point.
He couldn't help it, though. It really was a good deal.
❀❀❀
If he wouldn't show up on time, or at all, then Tang Bo would just come over to him. It was as simple as that, assuming that Chung Myung intended to completely disregard him and their plans for the day and comfortably stay home back in Mount Hua.
And Tang Bo sincerely hoped that was the case, as he didn't feel up to spending the rest of his morning running around Shaanxi and, god forbid, any other neighboring provinces, searching for Chung Myung.
But when he climbed up the steps leading to Mount Hua and leisurely walked through the front gate as he'd done many times before, he was met with something entirely unexpected.
"Fallen ill?" Tang Bo asked back, dumbfounded. "Hyung? Sick?"
The hand that'd been mindlessly swinging the gourds of wine around immediately stopped.
The disciple who'd noticed his arrival and informed him of the Sword Saint's current circumstances nodded, affirming the words.
Tang Bo let out a small laugh of disbelief; not even he could have foreseen this. He repeated to himself in a mumble, "Chung Myung...sick."
"Huh."
They were two words, or perhaps concepts, that never should've gone or even been said together.
It defied all reasoning; to anyone even slightly capable of understanding Chung Myung and his inhuman resilience to even the most concerning of injuries, it was considered utter nonsense that he could be put out of action by such a minor issue like the common cold.
Yet it seems that the universe had somehow found a way to put those two contrasting ideas together because soon, a mental image of Chung Myung lying miserably in bed, red-faced and sneezing, formed in Tang Bo's mind.
He shook his head at the sudden image of a sick Chung Myung that'd been born from his own boundless imagination. He really didn't know if this information was reliable.
Though, as the saying goes: seeing is believing. He'd have to witness the scene himself before determining it as the truth.
As it was just that unbelievable.
He quickly said his goodbyes to the disciple who'd graciously filled him in on the situation, and headed up to Chung Myung's home to see whether or not his dear friend was truly feeling under the weather.
❀
Knock, knock
To be considerate, just in case there really was a sick person inside, Tang Bo raised a hand to knock this time instead of merely pushing the door open and barging in as he usually did.
But there was no answer, and the door wasn't locked, so Tang Bo pushed it open with ease and unhurriedly strolled inside.
Upon entering, he immediately noticed the absence of two things: Chung Myung's obnoxious yelling, and Chung Myung himself. He searched throughout the house, but there was absolutely no sign of the supposedly ill Taoist.
His room was obviously a mess, but Tang Bo couldn't be sure just how long it'd been like that, or how long he'd been gone.
'No sign of a struggle, at least.' He thought amusedly.
He set the bottles of alcohol and bag of who knows what down on the small round table near the kitchen, and quickly scoured through the house one more time.
But when he once again came up empty-handed, he begrudgingly decided to test his patience once more by waiting for Chung Myung to return.
He returned to the table and pulled out a chair, preparing to sit.
—When he heard a groan.
He raised himself back up from the awkward half-seated position he was in and straightened up, tilting his head towards where he heard the sound coming from. It was faint, but he'd heard it.
Another groan then ensued. It was less audible this time, but it was able to reach Tang Bo's ears regardless of how muffled it was. He slowly walked around the table, and followed the noise to the back door.
His movements were cautious and steady as if he were about to confront an intruder – despite he being the one who was currently in the middle of trespassing.
He made his way to the back of the house, but didn't even have to walk any further before determining exactly where the noise was coming from.
Or rather – who.
Because only a few steps from the house, a familiar figure came into view—a person crawling on the hard ground, dirtying their nightclothes, all while groaning in absolute agony.
Yet they were still seemingly determined to get somewhere as their arms – albeit shaking – slowly continued to reach out and pull themselves forward with determination. Fatigued and with hardly any strength left in their body, the only thing that seemed to be dragging them onwards was their own sheer will and tenacity.
A tenacity that Tang Bo was well acquainted with, and which had plagued him more times than he could count.
Now, this – Tang Bo thought – was an awfully pitiful sight.
Tang Bo blinked twice, needing to take a few long seconds to mentally process what he was seeing, before slowly approaching the distressed figure that seemed on the verge of even more collapse – if that were possible.
He easily crossed the short distance, and rather than immediately helping them up, he instead walked right past the crawling person until he was standing in front of their view.
By blocking their path and forcing them to slowly crane their head and look up, they finally acknowledged his presence. Tang Bo closely surveyed their situation from above:
This person's face was drenched in a cold sweat, and their eyes remained unfocused as they gasped for breath and gazed upward at the sudden obstacle that'd appeared in their way.
Their pale face instantly scrunched up upon recognizing Tang Bo, their expression turning sour.
And even if it lasted only a moment, a flash of panic undeniably flickered across that sickly face, as though Tang Bo's appearance was the last thing they wanted to see while in such a state.
With a mix of incredulity and a hint of worry on his face, Tang Bo slowly moved to place his hands on his hips, looking down to initiate the conversation.
"...Just what are you doing rolling around in the dirt, Taoist Hyung-nim?"
...
The figure – Chung Myung – didn't answer and continued to glare up at Tang Bo. His agape mouth closed slightly as if to speak, but all that came out was labored breathing. He let out one last rattling cough, before losing the remaining strength in his arms and falling miserably face-down into the dirt.
He didn't get up.
He, The Plum Blossom Sword Saint, had collapsed from utter exhaustion.
"Tsk." Tang Bo clicked his tongue and crouched down, reaching a hand out to poke his shoulder. When he saw that there was no reaction, he let out a deep sigh, muttering, "...Really, this guy."
Resigning himself, his hands then stopped their poking and instead reached out to grab the fallen man's shoulders, and hoist him over his back.
This action reminded Tang Bo of all the times they'd lean on each other to keep from nearly toppling over after getting utterly drunk – except that this time, he was bearing the entire brunt.
He decided that reminiscing in this situation didn't at all lessen the weight load.
He ended up carrying, no—more like dragging him back into the house. He was merely glad that Chung Myung hadn't managed to get very far, as despite nearly matching him in strength, Tang Bo still found dragging him to be a bit difficult.
...This Taoist was awfully heavy.
.
.
.