#as he sits beside his comatose brother (who is husband-coded)
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the way deans sitting vigil like a tired wife
#to the untrained eye this scene is normal#to the trained eye of a wincestie tho it’s clear that Dean is being wife-coded#as he sits beside his comatose brother (who is husband-coded)#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#dean winchester#wincest#gencest#samdean#weirdcest
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Rewind and Start Over:: Morning
Bingqiu, rated M, 5,677 words, part 1/6, Incomplete
Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, re-transmigration, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rating May Change
Modern science is so good it kept a dead man alive.
Shen Yuan is dragged forward but his feet are stubbornly digging in the ground. Luo Binghe is running as fast as he can to catch up.
read on AO3
Inhale. A mechanical beep rang muffled in his ears. Exhale. There was an unnatural chill to his skin.
Inhale. The room smelled like chemicals. Exhale. His mouth tasted like ash, stuffed with cotton too deep down his throat to the point it burns.
Inhale. It took all of his willpower to make his finger twitch. Exhale.
---
An error message had blared across his mind’s eye during afternoon tea. The System suddenly awakened after almost a year of hibernation with a dozen pop up screens and flashing warning messages. He tried to shift through them but all he got from the glitching screens was that there was a serious problem. As soon as it started it all stopped, and one screen blinked in front of all the glitching windows, simply saying [Thank you for using the System! We hope to see you again soon!]
Before he could fully comprehend what it meant, a sharp pain overtook him and with a gasp, he felt the all too familiar tug of his soul exiting his body. The last thing he heard as his vision fizzled out to glowing long lines of code was the sound of a teacup shattering and Lou Binghe’s startled “Shizun!”
---
Fourteen months. For the twelve years he spent as Shen Qingqiu, his body had laid comatose in a hospital, an empty shell with no soul to host it and yet thanks to modern technology, his body was still breathing artificial air and his heart was still beating artificial pumps. Science refused to accept death, chasing immortality as a cultivator would.
It took him a while to actually wake up, but during his brief spells of consciousness he would hear the voices of his family coming in and out, voices he hadn’t heard in twelve long years. They’d only been whispers of them left in his dreams and he’d woken up with his heart in his throat and his eyes burning with Luo Binghe tucked under his chin.
When he did finally manage to pull himself out of the pool of sleep, blinking his sticky eyes open, he wanted to shield his eyes to the dim lamp sitting at his bedside and the electronic time of the TV mounted on the wall reading it was a little after three in the morning. He fell back to sleep.
---
The System was silent. No matter how much prodding he did it’s mechanical voice never whirred to life in his head.
---
He was officially discharged after a month. He needed physical therapy to get his limbs back in order and psychological therapy to deal with the “depression”. Maybe he was depressed, he was depressed after being pulled from his home away from his family and friends back to his old family and friends. He didn’t dare speak a word about his time transmigrating into the shitty stallion novel during the therapy sessions if they knew they’d cart him off to a very different hospital. He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but painful longing, a numbing sadness filling his limbs with faux filling.
Shen Yuan was happy to see his family again, to see his two older brothers and younger sister, his mother’s sweet eyes and his dad’s gentle smile. He cried when he saw them once more for the first time in many years. It was a year to them, but a whole lifetime to him.
How could he be okay going back to this wretched modern world where he was nothing but a nobody who mooched off his parents’ fortune, spending his days crassly reading novels and hoarding collections of waifu material and spent the nights tucked into his phone reading raunchy novels and manhua until he couldn’t keep his eyes open only to rinse and repeat bright and early the next day at two in the afternoon? He had been an immortal peak lord! A revered shizun with many disciples in the path of cultivation! He had a husband who loved him dearly and he back.
He had heard his parents whispering sharply to one another about Shen Yuan just going back to wasting their money away on more anime figures, living in an apartment paid for by their money and eating food paid from the allowance they gave him, growing grosser and uglier by the day.
---
Because he had been comatose for so long his stuff had been moved from his apartment and either crammed in a storage unit or back into his old bedroom at his parents’ house. He needed to be under surveillance until he was able to walk down the stairs on his own without pausing to take a break. Right now he could do nothing but rest and recover.
He went back to reading web novels, sank deeper into a Shen Yuan shaped hole in his bed, the LED screen of his phone reflecting off his glasses until his vision blurred and he fell asleep. He had found fanart of Luo Binghe, the face too square and eyes too narrow, the demon mark not quite the correct shape, and the slim shape of his mouth a little too cunning to be his Binghe, but he still set it as his lock screen.
Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky had passed away while Shen Yuan was in the coma. Found dead in his apartment after a neighbor reported the foul odor seeping through the cracks in the walls and the landlord found the decaying body slumped over on the floor. Death by electrocution, the news article said. Proud Immortal Demon Way will never be complete.
Meanwhile, Shen Yuan progressed splendidly in his physical therapy and stumped his psychological therapist. There was nothing to say. He was sad, unmotivated to do anything at all besides sink back into his homebody self, pull his head back into the tortoiseshell cage he grew himself. He couldn’t tell the therapist why he was sad. He was prescribed antidepressants. They might have helped.
—-
He took walks, as instructed by his physical therapist, and ate lots of protein.
He wondered if he died again if he’ll be transported back to Proud Immortal Demon Way, die vehemently cursing it until he’s taken back into the novel. But who’s to know if he’ll be put back where he left off, or if he’ll start over and make a whole new timeline? What about his Luo Binghe?
What if he only died?
—-
He was going stir crazy. Before, a lifestyle of him living in his bedroom with nothing but his PC setup and an incredibly powerful WiFi connection would be the dream. Now he found himself unable to look at his computer for too long, his phone left behind more often than not.
—-
He had bought a fan, a cheap one that was beautiful, but the plastic was made to look like wood. The bottom of the fabric was already fraying a bit, but the beautiful cranes and chrysanthemum had caught his eye. He would keep it in his hoodie pocket, or tucked under a pillow. Sometimes he’d snap it open and shut, open again, then shut, alone in his room with his eyes on the faraway mountain peak. He tapped his own head.
He googled how to kill himself in the least painful manner, but Google gave him suicide prevention hotlines instead. He couldn’t self-destruct like the second time nor does he wish to take a dick so massive with so little prep it kills him like the third, but he wants to die quickly and painlessly.
Then again, will it work? His family will mourn again, but he was the third son and they had two much more reliable sons.
—-
There had been a movement not too long ago in China to bring back the traditional flowing Chinese hanfu to everyday wear. He ordered some robes online, exquisite silky white with trims of green, bamboo embroidered on the hems and sleeves, a matching headpiece tied with a pale green ribbon.
Before his coma, his hair had been relatively short with just a swoosh of bangs where at its longest would sometimes tickle the collar of his shirt to indicate it was time to get a trim. Now it had grown shaggy and long past his shoulders. His mother scheduled an appointment to get him a haircut. He didn’t go. He got a green scrunchie to tie his hair half up in a weak imitation of how Shen Qingqiu wore it, but messy and not at all graceful.
He stopped taking his antidepressants. He tries to drown himself in the bathtub with a cinderblock on his chest. The overwhelming pressure of the cement block was nothing compared to the pain in his heart, his lungs screamed for air and his chest lurched and twitched, attempting to throw his body up out of the clear water and save his life. He fought as much as he could until one particularly powerful jerk rolled him over and pulled him gasping and heaving from the tub, water overflowing and flooding the bathroom.
After hanging off the edge of the tub trying to catch his breath, he stood up and cleaned the bathroom. The physical ache of the cinder block digging deep into his ribs left a dark bruise on his chest that took over a week to fade.
—-
His parents were worried, his mother especially. They sent him away to a relatives estate out in the country, thinking the pollution and noise, the crowds and overbearing presence of everything, was too much for him and a nice trip in the mountains would relax him.
It didn’t. He couldn’t bear to ever go outside his little room, the house old in style with the curves roofs and bamboo furniture hand made by his aunt. There was a bamboo forest outside his window. The blinds were firmly shut the whole time.
His uncle tried taking him out on short walks. He went once and refused to go again. There was no WiFi here so he settled to lay on the porch and watched the summer roses sway while eating his aunt’s pickled vegetables.
He didn’t last a week before he begged his parents to take him home. He couldn’t stand the misty peaks, the bamboo forest, the thin, clear air that reminded him so much of home. He couldn’t live like this, crying himself to sleep every night and crying himself awake every morning and crying to nothing tucked under his blankets during the afternoon heat.
---
He stood in front of his mirror dressed in actual clothes and not sweaty and grimy anime shirts, no weak imitation cultivation robes. A pale green button-down with the short sleeves rolled up, a pair of slim-cut black jeans, beige boots with the laces were done up nice. His hair was neatly tied back.
Later that afternoon he came home with a job down at a local department store.
The next day he stood high atop the office building his brother worked in, the wind whipping past him ferociously. He closed his eyes and remembered his self-destruction to save his ass from being turned into a human stick. He was gone before he fell. If he fell now he would feel the fear coursing through him, making his last moment the longest moment of his life.
His breath caught in his throat when he looked down, his sneakers toeing the edge of the concrete border. A strong gust of wind can make him lose his footing. The fall was almost a hundred stories down.
He stepped down and went back down the stairwell.
---
He quit therapy, and physical therapy was finishing up. He passed with flying colors and was deemed fine to go about his business as usual, but to come back once a month for check-ins for the next six months. He re-enrolled back into his university and was accepted for the upcoming semester.
There were more phone numbers than ever in his contact list thanks to his nice coworkers who genuinely wanted to spend time with him outside of work, send him funny memes related to conversations they held whispering behind racks of clothes when the manager wasn’t looking nor when a customer was tracking them down. His feet ached from all the standing he did, his back hurt, and it took every ounce of his Shen Qingqiu patience not to bodily throw himself over the counter and strangle the next customer who asks after they’ve paid if there are any additional discounts they could add.
---
Sun Mei is a coworker of his with hair she’s styled like the California beach waves and wore a bold red lip. There was a beauty mark on her forehead and she was instantly drawn to Shen Yuan’s side when he first stuttered over to the register during his first week. She took him under her wing and showed him the ropes and was usually first on the scene when a customer was giving him a hard time. He couldn’t help be drawn to her because her favorite lipstick is the exact shade of red as Binghe’s demon mark.
She asked him to get coffee sometime. He agreed. Pre-transmigration Shen Yuan would have been over the moon, now he was just grateful he could have another distraction from nighttime eyes that still illuminate his dreams with the star-like tears.
---
Luo Binghe hadn’t come to his dreams. He’s always haunting his dreams, his lips like the softest rose petals tracing his bare skin and rough, large hands tenderly stroking up and down his arms, tracing his clavicle and counting down his ribs. He was a memory, a whisper of what he truly his. Shen Yuan’s hands always messed up the mirage whenever he tried to touch him back.
There were countless nights where his hands would unconsciously trace down his body and under the band of his pajama pants and grasp himself firmly in his hand, slowly bringing himself to completion with his eyes firmly shut, Luo Binghe playing on a constant loops behind his closed lids and Luo Binghe’s name dripping from his trembling lips, his trembling body arching toward Luo Binghe’s body that was so, so far away. He only cried sometimes when he opened his eyes and found the blank ceiling above him and not Luo Binghe’s bottomless eyes.
It happened less often, him waking up with tears dried on his cheeks and pillow. He didn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing. Sometimes when he was doing the most mundane things he truly dangerous thoughts ran across his mind- was any of that real in the first place? Was that just a really intense coma dream? He had “died” cursing Proud Immortal Demon Way, so what’s the chance of it playing over again so realistically for fourteen months?
He still had the Luo Binghe lock screen.
---
One of his coworkers also liked reading web novels to the same intensity as he (had). During after-hours recovery, they’ll have heated discussions about novels and tried to thrust recommendations upon each other. They had each other’s forums usernames and he was the only person he physically knew who had his Twitter.
During one such closing shift, the lights in the store half on and buried deep in the clearance rack did his coworker recommend Proud Immortal Demon Way.
“It’s really, really long and there’s a lot of pandering, but the protagonist is pretty OP,” his coworker explained. “So many cute sisters to choose from! And it’s such a twist seeing the protagonist going from the common hero to a black-hearted demon, justifiably so.”
“I’ve read it,” Shen Yuan said. He showed off his lock screen. “Luo Binghe is my favorite.”
Even with strings sawing away at his heart, pulling taut enough to cut it to shreds with just a little more pressure, he still participated in the discussion. After work, he sat in his car in the parking garage and cried until he gathered himself together, cranked up Hatsune Miku, and drove home recklessly.
---
It had been nine months since he woke up from his transmigration coma and started his first day of school. There was a nervousness he hadn’t felt in forever, a tingling to his scalp and his heart danced an uncomfortable rhythm in his chest. His hair was tied back at the nape of his neck in a messy bun, his glasses were brand new with an up to date prescription (a whole new frame style too, going away of his old rectangle plastic frames for a more stylish horn-rimmed shape). He was much shorter than Shen Qingqiu, he figured the top of his head would barely brush Luo Binghe’s shoulder. He had on new clothes he and his sister went out shopping for- nice fitting jeans rolled up at the cuffs, a light army jacket, a simple striped shirt, new sneakers that still smelled the new shoe rubbery smell. The cheap fan was tucked away in his backpack.
He felt daring going out with his ankles bare, then he remembered this is the modern world. He can go out with his whole leg bared and no one would bat an eye. He rolled them back down when he got in his car.
The classes were interesting, the professors genuinely enjoyed their subjects and were energetic for the new semester. He found a spot he liked on campus, a hidden bamboo grove he remembered the tour guide had mentioned offhand during his original campus tour. There was a stone bench and that’s where he ate the lunch he bought at an on-campus sandwich shop. He might have cried.
---
Shen Yuan found it uncomfortably easy to fall into a rhythm of school and work. The few people he’d met since he reverse-transmigrated could probably be considered as more than acquaintances but less than friends. On most days he would have someone to share a meal or go get coffee with, sometimes it was just sitting in the school library doing their work together.
Sun Mei went to his school. She was in a whole different department and thus their paths rarely crossed, but at least once a week they would have a break that lined up just right for them to go sit at the campus cafe and do homework together. She asked him once if he wanted to go to a party a friend of hers was hosting, tucking an artificial curl behind her ear. He declined.
There was a mid-autumn festival on campus. Sun Mei asked him out for the event with a couple of other coworkers. He agreed to go. At the event they had food stalls set up, live music, games, and little wares sold to commemorate the day. Lanterns illuminated the night and for a heart-stopping second Luo Binghe traced the edges of his mind. He shoved him way back deep, deep down into a little box he crafted just for him to sit.
A stand sold hand-painted paper fans, much nicer than the one that had lost a screw in his backpack and held together by scotch tape. He let his eyes linger on them, his fingers traced the intricate paintings on the delicate surfaces. One looked oh so similar to his favorite one- a simple white fan with deep, nearly black wood and watercolor bamboo. It was a little expensive, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay for art. This one, he promised, will stay in his room so it wouldn’t get damaged.
The rest of the event was pleasant. He ate plenty of mooncakes and other delicious sweets. Luo Binghe’s mooncakes were much better.
At one point in the evening, he did a double-take while passing a stall, there on the table were little porcelain figures of animals. Particularly, a little, black, Pomeranian with its pink tongue peeking out caught his eye. It was a little ugly, but it’s big, round eyes tempted Shen Yuan to pull out his wallet and purchase the damn thing.
That night, he placed the tiny Bingpup on his windowsill next to his paper fan, the big, beautiful autumn moon throwing his room into a decadent silver.
---
He moved out of his parents’ house and back into an apartment t. Most of his merch was kept in storage or in his childhood bedroom, but the Asuna body pillow moved with him to the new place. A simple one-bedroom with a kitchen and bath, a balcony that overlooked the city and laid a walking distance from campus (an uncomfortably long walk, but a walk nonetheless) and a few blocks from his work. He furnished it with his last apartment’s furniture and even took the time to go out and hunt for more pieces to build an actual home and not the nerd nest he made before. The bookcase was towering with books, he had a nice coffee table and matching mugs. There was a wall scroll of a beautiful watercolor bamboo forest hanging from his wall. The Bingpup rested on his nightstand that was the same wood as his desk, dresser, and bed frame. He commissioned an artist online to draw his version of Luo Binghe, the eyes softer and glittering with a thousand stars, his cheeks were tastefully angular, the shade of red for his demon mark exactly right. It was yet it wasn’t Luo Binghe because he’s starting to doubt that his version ever actually existed or if he was still dreaming of a canon-divergent storyline. The picture was framed on his desk.
Su Mei came over with a few other coworkers for a house warming. They brought beer and snacks and someone had brought out a Bluetooth speaker to play ambient music. He was not supposed to have a lot of alcohol due to his delicate body, his frame a flimsy bamboo shoot compared to the lofty, full-grown stock of Shen Qingqiu, but he still had a few beers too fast and found himself throwing up, Su Mei holding his hair back as he sobbed into the toilet. He thought he heard Luo Binghe’s name slip from his lips, but the rest of his words never made it past his garbled tongue. The next morning he woke up stiff, his mouth tasting sour, and only a slight headache. He stayed in bed all day rereading the beginning of Proud Immortal Demon Way and cried himself to sleep after eating his one meal that day- cup noodles and leftover guacamole. No chips, just the guac he spoon-fed into his mouth.
He felt he might have kissed Su Mei. There had been lipstick smeared at the corner of his mouth.
—-
Midterms came. He’s never been so stressed out in so long in this specific way. Yes, he had run from his life, been locked in the Huan Hua Palace water prison, found himself chased by blind corpses while dragging an unconscious Luo Binghe behind, had the worst anal sex ever to save the world. Sitting in front of his monitor, eyes tearing up behind his glasses and hands twitching, numb from overwork as he tried to write his analysis paper on old American poetry and its significance at almost four in the morning because it’s due in six hours and he still needed a little bit of sleep made him doubt if everything in Proud Immortal Demon Way could ever hurt like this. Why couldn’t he have the perfect immortal body of Shen Qingqiu where he could not eat and sleep for so long? That would be perfect right now, no need to spend his already meager paycheck on large cups of coffee. His doctor had warned him against large doses of caffeine, but his aching body told him no.
—-
After a majority of his midterms were done, he fell ill with the flu. Curse his weakened body.
—-
He applied to study abroad in America for a year. He wouldn’t hear back until February. He’s smart, he knows he’ll get in. In the meantime, he brushed up on his English by investing time in American TV, movies, novels, and music. It was a neon-bright culture with a gritty feeling in his teeth, the exact opposite of his Xianxia novels and his old Xianxia lifestyle.
If Luo Binghe, all of Qing Jing Peak, Cang Qiong Mountain and its disciples, were truly just a feverish dream he was crazy. If that was really real than he had abandoned his husband (unintentionally!).
It was getting harder to tell as time blended together in a seamless chalked out blur. He nestled himself back into his life as Shen Yuan- or rather, his new life as Shen Yuan. Maybe his twelve years as Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu really changed him
His brother made a point to mention one day over lunch.
“You’re more responsible,” he said, stirring his coffee. “Before you were locked up in your apartment all day reading novels and manhuas and watching donghuas and spending your allowance on useless things.”
He didn’t say anything, his eyes tracing the leaves of his salad. “It’s a little scary how your disposition changed so drastically, but perhaps its for the better. You’re going to America for a year you say?”
Shen Yuan nodded. “I’m setting aside money from my paycheck to pay for expenses while I’m there.”
“No girlfriend yet?”
He nearly choked on a crouton. Of course, I don’t! I have a husband! Is what he wanted to say. “No, I’m still focusing on recovery and getting used to balancing school and work.” And I’m married!
… right?
---
It’s been exactly a year since he woke up from his coma and there was no sign of Luo Binghe sweeping in through his bedroom window and taking him back.
---
Su Mei asked him out a third time. They went to a popular movie and got a nice dinner after. She slid her hand across the table and tapped his with her pink painted nails.
“I want to put a label on us,” she said, her cheeks red.
What label? They’re friends, right?
The look of confusion gave away his thoughts. “I want,” she continued. “To be your girlfriend.”
Taking in her unnaturally curly dark hair, the red lips in an achingly familiar shade of red, dark eyes framed with mascara laden lashes, the black scoop neck shirt with a thin, silver necklace she always wore. It hurts.
He’s married.
He gave her the same spiel he gave his brother, paid his part of the bill, and walked out. She didn’t text him goodnight as she always did.
---
Midterms blended into a calm before the storm and then he suddenly had four exams, three monster papers, and three presentations due in a span of a week. Work was piling on the hours and his days were growing so mundane he’d stopped crying himself to sleep at night as he was too tired to spend it wasting what little energy he had left. The Luo Binghe lock screen was turned into a pretty picture of a sunset he took from the library window.
There was a desperate hope at first that Luo Binghe would find him again, he always did. The days simply continued to wear on as he fell back into being Shen Yuan, or a newer Shen Yuan his parents were much more approving of. They were no longer worried about him being depressed, as he’s managed to bury the sadness away into a chest deep in his heart.
He put on the cultivation robes (fake, itchy) and sat at his low coffee table with a cheap tea set he bought and served himself tea, the little Bingpup stared up at him from the other side of the table with big, glittering eyes. He flickered open the bamboo fan and hid his face behind it.
---
He got accepted to study abroad in Los Angeles for a year. His parents easily paid the tuition and boarding fees. His sister bought him a nice set of luggage.
---
The crane and chrysanthemum fan he kept with him at all times broke completely. Instead of throwing it away he tossed it in a desk drawer.
---
His hair had reached past his shoulders. It was easily tied back into a knot at the nape of his neck, or in a neat ponytail when he needed to clean up. He collected clips to pin back the loose strands when he found himself hunched over his monitor for long hours or with a nose buried in a book. It will never, ever be as long as Shen Qingqiu’s long mane of hair, tracing his knees as he walked and whispering around his arms.
On a day off he went to a barbershop and got it all chopped off. It was long enough to donate. He did so and walked out with a weight off his shoulders and a needle-like pain in his chest.
---
His brother came over and helped him clean up his apartment a little bit. He tossed out the broken fan. Shen Yuan didn’t realize until he opened up his desk drawer a week later looking for a stapler and found it meticulously organized, the scrapped fan long gone.
---
He got himself a betta fish, black and sleek like an ink splot in his tank. He named the fish Bingmei.
---
Bingmei died.
---
During a break from school, he took a weekend off from work and went back to his relative’s house in the mountains. This time, he forced himself to appreciate the whispering bamboo forest, the misty mountain peaks, the tranquil silence that was muted by the pitched hum of the city. He took up piano playing again, tapping the keys awkwardly as if he was six years old again and his mother made him go to be more proactive with his life besides staying home after school every day and watching cartoons and reading comic books. His older cousin could play and she helped him get back on track, his fingers stiff on the keys and his wrists cramping from disuse. He taught himself a song he knew Luo Binghe loved him to play for him on the guqin. It tasted different.
He went home after the break and let his lungs fill with smog once again. He went to a music store and bought a cheap electric keyboard and continued to practice in his spare time. He would always start with that song Luo Binghe liked so much.
---
The fingers he used to caress the monochrome piano keys were used to finger himself wide open, face pressed into his pillow and ass arching up into his hand. Nothing will ever be as big as Luo Binghe unless he wanted to spend a small fortune on one of those embarrassingly large dildos and honestly, he didn’t have a face thick enough to order something like that. Even if he had one in his cart with a credit card held out in his hand ready to type in the numbers, his hand still led him to exit the page and tuck his card back in his wallet. He never touched himself often, maybe once or twice a month the pressure will get too much, a weight shaped like Luo Binghe was only relieved for maybe three seconds at the peak of his orgasm when his name traced his lips like a lullaby.
---
As much as he was letting go of Luo Binghe and everything to do with Proud Immortal Demon Way, Luo Binghe always found a way to nestle back into his chest cavity, make a home amongst his ribs and laid back against his lungs, his curls tickled his throat and his sticky, sticky arms wrapped around his whole heart.
---
The rhythm broke with a crack, a little over a year and a half after he returned to his world.
A literal crack.
He came home from class, one of his last classes before finals kicked in and was going to head to his bedroom and take a quick nap before he had to close at work when he heard a deafening crack echo from his bedroom. He quietly sat down his backpack, a scraping and muted thump followed. He grabbed the umbrella he had by the door as quietly as he could, stepped with care into his apartment. He had his phone out with 1-1-0 already dialed, thumb hovering to hit call at a moment’s notice. A muffled voice sent a lurch from his feet to his throat. He isn’t the powerful immortal cultivator Shen Qingqiu, he can die! Well, Shen Qingqiu did die a few times (oops), but he’s still hard to kill! Not Shen Yuan in his soft, mortal body with fragile bones, paper-thin skin, and a heart so delicate only Luo Binghe’s metaphorical glass heart could be compared. He didn’t have a spare body laying around to launch his soul into nor does he have the System to swoop in and save his ass again with a magic reboot. Once he’s dead, he’s dead.
Shen Yuan stuck close to the hallway wall and tried to peak through the crack in his door. From this angle, he couldn’t see anything. There wasn’t a sound at all and Shen Qingqiu started to lower his umbrella thinking it might have just been a loud neighbor when a definite rustle of clothes could be heard from his room. He tried to back up quickly, smart enough to know that this is something the cops should deal with not him!
He stumbled and fell flat on his ass, the air pulled from his lungs with a sharp gasp. His phone clattered loudly to the ground, screen dark, and the umbrella nailing the hallway wall. Oh no, oh no, oh no the intruder would have definitely heard him!
The door was thrown open and for a half a second all Shen Yuan saw was a dark blur before he pushed his glasses back up his nose, bringing the intruder into full 20/20 focus. Whatever breath he had left in his body left with a sharp gasp.
“Binghe?!”
#scum villain self saving system#scum villain#svsss#bingqiu#luo binghe#shen qingqiu#shen yuan#mxtx#fic#shen yeet#haha idk where im goig with this my plot is vague i just wanna flex my style a bit
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