#east analysis : welcome to my ted talk where i break it down for you

[yingren]

dan heng rests his head against ren’s chest, absently listening to the steady thrum of his heart, the even rise and fall of his breathing. it should be comforting but as the inundating pleasure recedes and the pain disperses amongst the rising, sinuous curls of ren’s smoke, he finds the quiet almost disconcerting. “ what are you thinking about ?” His inquiry is softer than he intends it, almost swallowed by the cavernous chasm between them, focusing on the vacuity darkening ren’s gaze. often, their parting is reduced to nothing but a lingering glance and the thud of a door closing in finality, to remain this close in the aftermath of their fervent desire feels inherently dangerous. He lowers his head once more, for once not stiffening when those scarred fingers card roughly through his tousled hair. he’s uncertain he truly wants to know ren’s answer.

death, life, or something in between. ren can't quite pinpoint what he's thinking. he's not so much thinking as he is remembering, or perhaps reminiscing. the warmth beneath his fingers feels like silk, soft to the touch, wrapped in a cloud of cloudhymn that lingers in the air like morning dew. it’s a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that had consumed him before dan heng began to pull him back to reality. he inhales deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, and exhales slowly, watching it dissipate into the heavy air. 

if he closes his eyes, he can almost taste the smoke being replaced by the sharp, metallic taste of blood, bitter and lingering in his mouth. he coughs, the pain throbbing in his chest until it subsides. he remembers the sensation of teeth sinking back into his jaw, the brokenness of his body healing slowly, gradually, then suddenly all at once. he breaks apart, only to come back together again, piece by piece. each atom of his being finds its way back to its other half, and he returns to being whole once more, broken yet functioning, scarred yet unscathed. 

if his hand weren't tangled in long black hair, he would feel the snow in his palm, the biting cold of it melting against the warmth of his skin. he can never hold it for too long, it will always succumb to the heat of his body, ever eager to stitch itself back together. he dies, then lives, then dies again, the cycle never ceasing. 

if he couldn’t feel dan heng’s cheek pressed against his chest, his hot breath brushing against his scarred skin, he might find himself back in a place where the wind is cold and unrelenting, snow swirling around him, a harsh reminder of a time long gone. there, amidst the freezing ice and snow, he would lock eyes with the maker of his undoing. but that was centuries ago. he isn’t dying in a pile of snow, bile, and boiling blood anymore. 

ren shifts slightly, and the light weight on top of him shifts with him. the cigarette is nearing its end, much to ren’s dismay. he lets it rest between his fingers, the smoldering end glowing faintly. his voice, quiet and raspy, is a tired attempt to be present. in the back of his mind, he feels himself beginning to rise from the freezing snow. 

“ you. ” the belated answer is as honest as it can be, silent in a way that screams of momentary vulnerability.

if he could be honest just for once, he would choose to do it now.

“ i was thinking about you. ”