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thesilversun · 4 months ago

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Dihua exchange fic: Fragments of our Past

Writen for @flashbulb-memory as part of the the Dihua exchange.

Bulb, I hope this was the kind of thing that you wanted.

Title: Fragments of our Past

Pairing: Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua

Rating: Mature (brief nsfw in Di Feisheng's memory fragments)

Warnings: No AO3 archive warning apply

Word count: 5984

Additional tags on AO3: Temporary Amnesia, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, regaining lost memories, previous relationship together, working on getting back together.

Summary:

After returning to the Lotus Tower following the events at Mountains Red, Di Feisheng finds himself feeling more and more unsettled by what happened there. The women held there, how they were people who wouldn’t be missed. The cruel master with guards controlled and beholden to him even if they did not wish to do his bidding. Even Murong Yao, how he’d come to take vengeance, how he’d wanted it to be over, rather than to take power and continue the cycle of oppression. They all play into memories that he no longer has access to, yet still manage set his nerves on edge.

Unable to rest, a late night practice with his sword brings with it a brief flash of the past - a shared, intimate past with Li Lianhua.

Read here or on AO3

They leave Mountains Red, the women freed and able to return to their homes if that is their wish, while they return to the Lotus Tower.

For all it is over and done with, Di Feisheng finds himself feeling more and more unsettled by what happened there. The women’s captivity, how they were people who wouldn’t be missed. The cruel master, with guards controlled and beholden to him even if they did not wish to do his bidding. Even Murong Yao, how he’d come to take vengeance, how he’d wanted it to be over, rather than to take power and continue the cycle of oppression.

His head aches it with it all, a low level background discomfort that refuses to fully fade no matter what he does to try to ease it. Memories that he no longer has access to, somehow still setting his nerves on edge. While old scars itch and ache with phantom pain, his body recalling old hurts, even when his mind does not.

Despite this there have been no new memories forthcoming, but he can feel their presence bubbling just beneath the surface. Either they will rise and become known, or they will sink back into the depths. He has no way of knowing or forcing either eventuality.

So, for all he is weary, aching with the need for rest, Di Feisheng knows he won’t manage it. Not yet, maybe not at all tonight. All he will do is grow more and more frustrated at his inability to remember or to sleep. Eventually, his restlessness will wake Fang Duobing, who will be tired and tetchy from being woken up in the middle of the night. As much fun as squabbling with him usually is, he doubts that either of them are in the mood for it. As for Li Lianhua, he definitely wouldn’t be happy if he was woken up by raised voices and breaking furniture.

If he can’t sleep then maybe he can burn off some of the restless energy boiling in his veins.

Taking his sword, Di Feisheng leaps easily down from the upper part of the Lotus Tower. There’s no sense using the stairs and potentially waking Li Lianhua. He can let them sleep, even he cannot.

Perhaps if he tires himself out then maybe he’ll be able to get an hour or two before he’s woken by the sunrise and the sound of the forest coming alive around them.

The moon is bright as he steps out into the wooded clearing, the dry autumn leaves murmur softly above him in the breeze. It’s peaceful, yet sitting in such nocturnal calm isn’t what he has in mind.

Removing his sword from its covering, Di Feisheng traces his fingertips over the embossed metal of the scabbard and hilt. It’s well looked after, although there are small nicks and scratches on it, showing how it’s been used.

It’s not just decorative piece, carried only for show. It’s a weapon first and foremost. It’s a weapon, it has been used to kill and it’s his. He knows this much with absolute certainty.

He might not remember who he is, not beyond the few fragments he’s recalled for himself, the violently unsettling dreams that disturb his rest and the half truths that Li Lianhua has provided, but his body knows this.

It is as natural to him breathing. Each move flowing effortlessly one into the next, there is no need for thought: His muscles remembering what his mind does not. It isn’t an elegant style, at least not compared to others, but it’s powerful, exacting and demanding in its own way.

He feels alive like this. Power surging through him, the sword an extension of him and his will. It’s freedom and the strength to stay that way. It's the ability to make his own way in the world, unhindered by others.

Turning fast, Di Feisheng brings his sword round in an arc, energy rippling out from it, fierce as a winter storm. Branches bend and sways above him, autumn leaves showering down, as the silver moonlight catches his blade.

Dazzlingly bright, its reflection catches his eyes. Images of another autumn night, the moon full and golden over city rooftops, flood his mind and vision.

A young man in red and white, dances in the moonlight. Sword and ribbon and body all moving in complete harmony. The youth doesn’t look like Li Lianhua, even allowing for the passage of years, but he knows with absolute certainty that he is. Younger by at least ten years, he’s moves with a grace and power that makes something seize in his chest even now.

Another night and another roof top, they fight hard and reckless, blades sliding against each other, sparks dropping like the stars in the sky. A kiss across the crossed blades, as hard, as forceful, as the fight itself. Lips and teeth and heat.

They whirl away from each other, the vision of the past fleeing with them.

Images swirl, faster and faster, the pain and pressure in his head increasing. Dropping his sword, Di Feisheng staggers, clutching at his head. There is no relief to be found. The bright, stabbing bursts of pain are accompanied by flickering arcs of light.

Another time, a bright summer day in the bamboo forest, all heat and humidity beneath the greenery. Leaves showering down, light, whirling steps as Li Lianhua runs across the thin, swaying stems, free and unstrained like the breeze himself.

The image shifts again. Clothes hanging open, trousers pushed down to his knees, Li Lianhua clings to the towering bamboo, white knuckled, shaking, mouth open as he cries out in pleasure. Kneeling on the ground in front of him, Di Feisheng can remember the weight and heat of his cock in his mouth, the bitter salt rush over his tongue.

Caught in the rising tide of memories, barely aware of anything around him, Di Feisheng staggers then falls to his knees.

The memories aren’t yet done with him.

Another day, an inn, the golden afternoon light streaming in through the window, food left untouched on the table beside books and documents, while the are on the bed.

Naked apart from a red ribbon tied over his eyes, Li Lianhua gasps and moans, love bites littering his neck and chest, nipples dark and hard from where they’ve been mercilessly pinched and teased. Legs over A-Fei's shoulders, he arches into the punishingly hard thrushes, with no concerns for how sore he’ll be afterwards.

There is no sound to this vision of the past, but he can tell that the shape of the words that falls begging from Li Lianhua’ lips isn’t his name as it is now. Anymore than the name on his own tongue isn’t Lianhua.

Xiangyi.

In the memory Li Lianhua comes, his cries becoming more and more ragged and desperate as Di Feisheng chases his own pleasure.

That memory however, is denied him, as the pain in his head flares sharply. All encompassing, there is nothing he is aware of apart from its presence, everything else spiralling away.

Laying on the ground, his head aching fiercely, Di Feisheng slowly opens his eyes. The moonlit woodland blurs around him, dizziness and nausea building until he is forced to close them once more.

Trying to relieve it by feeding energy into it won’t help. Rather it will intensify the pain in his head, while the hidden things still beat at the edge of his consciousness, refusing to reveal themselves.

If he could regain his memories in this way, no matter the pain in doing so, Di Feisheng knows that he would. But it doesn’t work like that. He knows this because he has already tried. Because he has had to deal with how it had left him feeling feverish and sick, with a splitting headache for hours afterwards.

There’s movement close to him and Di Feisheng forces himself to open his eyes, although he doesn’t feel able to do more, even to defend himself. Which is a terrifying thought. But passing out or throwing up on them aren’t viable methods of attack.

A muted blur of colour approaches, the vicious pain in his head blurring his vision, and preventing him from seeing who is it. Finally, when they are almost close enough to touch they are clear enough for him to tell that it is Li Lianhua.

“Really, A-Fei, sleeping on the ground?” Li Lianhua sounds somewhere between amused and concerned. “Xiaobao doesn’t snore that badly, does he?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I-” Di Feisheng stops with a groan. Light still shimmers inside his head, a brilliant arc as if the sun had caught his corner of his eye. It brightens and the pain flares with it, an all consuming fire inside his skull. His vision distorts further, the ground beneath him feeling like it's falling away. Which is both impressive and utterly disconcerting as he is already lying down.

“A-Fei?”

Di Feisheng can’t reply as he feels cold, careful fingers pressed to his wrist. Trying to think enough to put even a few words together sends sharp bursts of pain searing behind his eyes.

“You’re not hurt,” Li Lianhua says, although it feels more like he’s talking to himself than offering reassurance. “Are you starting to remember?”

Still unable to voice an answer, Di Feisheng risks nodding. The smallest movement he can manage without it driving either the pain, dizziness or nausea to even higher levels. All the same he can feel a cold sweat beading on his forehead and down his spine.

“Now you know why I didn’t want to hit you with too much information all at once.” Li Lianhua pats his hand, before pulling away. “It shouldn’t last more than a few hours.”

Hours of feeling like this, of being all but defenceless, isn’t what Di Feisheng wants to hear. Yet what can he do but endure it? He tries to stay as still as possible, hoping that it will bring him some relief.

Unfortunately, laying there until it passes doesn’t seem to be something that’s going to be permitted, as Li Lianhua says, “Lets get you back to bed. You can’t sleep out here.”

Then, before he can say anything to dissuade him, Li Lianhua puts an arm around him and pulls him to his feet.

Bright bursts of light and pain fill Di Feisheng’s mind like fireworks have been let off inside his skull. With a groan, he sways, clinging to Li Lianhua’s arm for balance. Even with that assistance he’s far from certain that he’s going to remain on his feet or if he is even going to cling on to consciousness at all.

“A-Fei?” There is concern rather than teasing in his voice now. “I’ve got you.”

He has and it should be terrifying to be so weak and defenceless in front of anyone. Why he thinks it should be, Di Feisheng doesn’t know. Feelings and fears born of events and memories he no longer has access to still plague him.

It should be frighting to be so helpless, but he’s safe. With Li Lianhua, despite his lies, he knows he is safe.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“No.” It hurts to talk, but he forces the word out all the same. Although any kind of movement feels somewhere between wildly inadvisable and outright impossible, he knows he has to try. Maybe he’ll regret it in moment if he ends up face first in the leaves, but the idea of giving up this last little bit of control is too much.

Li Lianhua gives his hand another small pat. “We’ll take it slow.”

Holding onto him for support, eyes still closed as it is the only relief he can find, Di Feisheng allows himself to be walked slowly and carefully back to the Lotus Tower.

Li Lianhua doesn’t ask any further questions about what he has remembered or even how he’s feeling. Nor does he try to make him negotiate the steps up to the bedroom upstairs that he’s suppose to share with Fang Duobing. Instead he guides him to his own bed. It’s probably only due to practicality, but it feels right all the same.

“Lay down.” Li Lianhua keeps a hand cradled against he back of Di Feisheng’s head as he guides him down onto the pillow. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Not that there is anything that he can do if he’s not.

He is wondering if passing out now that he’s safely indoors is an option, when a cool, damp cloth is laid on his forehead. Then deft fingers remove metal hair piece and pin that holds it in place, so nothing presses on his aching head.

It offers a small amount of relief for which he feels pathetically grateful. He wishes that Li Lianhua would stay there beside him, would keep his cool, careful fingers against his aching head. Even if it doesn‘t provide relief it is comforting all the same.

He won’t ask for it. He won’t beg. He’ll never do that again. Not for anyone.

A flicker of something too vague to be called a memory comes to him. Begging didn’t work anyway. It only meant more pain.

He can’t chase this thought, won’t hunt down this echo of something left behind by a past that he both needs to know, yet is hesitant to fully recall. Something holds him back, tells him to let it pass, at least for now.

The world narrows to nothing but the throbbing in his head, and the surging waves of nausea and vertigo that accompany it. How long he drifts like this, Di Feisheng doesn’t know, but finally he feels the thin mattress dip and the wood frame creak as Li Lianhua sits of the edge of the bed beside him.

A moment later a bowl is held to his lips, as Li Lianhua says, “Drink. It’ll help.”

The smell of whatever questionable medicine he has made is enough to turn Di Feisheng’s stomach. The taste, if possible, is even worse. It’s a struggle to drink it, but he does. He can endure the acrid, bitterness of it, if it will make the unrelenting pain in his head go away.

All the same, as he feels a second bowl pressed to his lips, he refuses, unable to stomach anymore. “No more.”

“It’s not medicine. It’s to take the taste away.”

It could be a lie, but he trusts that he won’t hurt him. It’s warm and faintly sweet, just water with a little honey melted into it. He drinks it gratefully, glad to be rid of the lingering bitterness of the medicine.

Li Lianhua leaves for a moment, then replaces the cool cloth on his forehead, fingers lingering a little too long to be purely practical as he brushes back his hair.

The night drifts on, and the pain and dizziness begin to fade, a gradual ebbing, likely a retreating tide. Finally, Di Feisheng risks opening his eyes. His head still aches, but the pulsing light is gone, and the pain has dropped to a dull throbbing rather than something agonisingly sharp.

He remains still at first, just breathing and looking around now that the light no longer hurts his eyes.

A single lantern, dim and shuttered, hangs above the table, creating only a small pool of light over Li Lianhua. Sitting at the table, a pot of tea to his side, he looks almost asleep. Eyes are closed, his head resting against this hand, where it is propping him up.

Li Lianhua has been far kinder and more patient than Di Feisheng had expected he would be, than he’d expected anyone to be with him. He has no expectation of kindness or care. Yet why wouldn’t he be? Li Lianhua understood pain and weakness better than most. With the poison slowly taking his life, how could he not?

He watches him, the dim gold of the lamplight seem to make him glow. He had been in love with him once. Maybe he still is. That brief glimpse of the power that Li Lianhua once had, one to rival his own. They had been perfect for each other in every way. What had gone wrong? Why has Li Lianhua not been honest about it?

Di Feisheng frowns, something tickling at the edge of his consciousness, yet refusing to let itself become known. He doesn’t want to force it. Not when his head has only just stopped feeling like it’s being split open.

Perhaps now he knows a little of his past he can get Li Lianhua reveal more of what they had been to each other. It’s late, possibly not the best time to talk, but there feels like there is an urgency to it, that if he leaves it until morning all he will get is excuses.

It has to be now, he decides, in case those few precious memories he’s regained start to fade.

Wary, less the pain and dizziness return, Di Feisheng sits up slowly and carefully. They don’t, but the movement makes Li Lianhua turn to look at him.

Half asleep, Li Lianhua blinks, barely stifling a yawn, as he says, “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

It’s a reasonable question, but it catches him by surprise all the same. Di Feisheng doesn’t think he’s someone who was used to being cared for or even kept safe. Did he only ever have this with Li Lianhua? Is this why they’d had such an intimate relationship? Perhaps soon he will have answers to this. “Better.”

“You’ve regained your memories,” Li Lianhua says, as if he is stating a fact rather than asking a question.

“Some. Yes.” He could be honest with him, tell him that it is only a very few fragments, but Li Lianhua has told enough lies and half truths that Di Feisheng feels entitled to do the same. He could do. He could make him guess what he knows, getting him to reveal more by pretending to already be aware of it. It’s appealing. It makes him wonder if he was once the kind of person that lied easily to others. He doesn’t think so. Not without reason at least. All the same he wants to try it. He watches Li Lianhua for a moment, making sure he has his full attention before saying, “Were you ever going to tell me we were lovers?”

“What? We weren’t-”

Not giving him a chance to deny it, Di Feisheng interrupts. “We were. On the roof top. In the bamboo grove. At the inn. Shall I continue?”

There is a look close to panic in Li Lianhua’s eyes as he rapidly tries to think of a way of refuting it.

“Nothing to say?” Di Feisheng asks, feeling a little smug at being able to play Li Lianhua for once. “Surely you remember. A red ribbon around your eyes. You were so loud.”

“A few times ten years ago. It was never serious.” Li Lianhua turns away, pretending to busy himself with rearranging items on a shelf, buying himself some time to think. “Why would you even remember it? What useless memories to get back. I’d almost forgotten all about it.”

Di Feisheng doesn’t need to have all his memories to know that he is being evasive, nor a better light source to have seen the way his cheeks had turned pink. So it must have meant something to him. Was this denial an attempt to make the fact he’d not managed to heal him, to save him, easier to deal with? It was a stupid plan if it was. As if any way of losing him wouldn’t feel like his heart has been ripped in two.

Or had it ended badly between them?

Or maybe to Li Lianhua it really hadn’t meant much.

No, the last of these feels more like a lie than anything else. He’s seen the look Li Lianhua gets in his eyes when he thinks he can’t see him watching him. The gentle, caring touches when he knew that he was in pain. He’s seen the blush just now. The feelings are definitely there, but for whatever reason he wants to keep them hidden.

He might want that, but there had been two of them in the relationship, and Di Feisheng wants the truth. Even if they cannot regain what they once had, he wants to know what those days had meant to them.

“You say that. Yet even when I can remember nothing else, I remember you.” Getting up from the bed, Di Feisheng follows him to where Li Lianhua has retreated to fuss over potted plants instead of facing him. “Even when I know nothing about you, even when all you’ve done is lie to me, I know I want you to live.” He stops just short of touching him. “That I want you.”

“A-Fei, we-“ Li Lianhua stops, catching himself before he says more. “This is why I didn’t tell you. You’re so clingy already. Why would I want to make that worse?”

The dismissiveness of it hurts. He’s been expecting it, but it doesn’t lessen its sting. “You mean I was in love with you, but you didn’t feel the same?”

“What?” There is genuine surprising in his voice now. “No, you weren’t.”

The memories of Li Lianhua gasping and clinging to him, caught in the throws of pleasure, crying out his name, burn. For all Li Lianhua might think that there was nothing there, Di Feisheng cannot believe it. He might not have his memories but the feelings, possessive, protective, besotted, don’t feel like lies to him. “You think that? That I can’t love anyone? Was I so cruel to you?”

“So many questions, A-Fei. It’s much too late for such things.” Li Lianhua turns away, avoiding looking at him again. “Go to sleep.”

“So you’ll talk about in the morning?” There is nothing Di Feisheng can do stop the hurt bleeding into the anger in voice. “Am I suppose to believe that?”

“You can believe what you want.”

It’s a risk, maybe it doesn’t mean anything or maybe it will anger him. Regardless, Di Feisheng can’t think of a better idea. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I didn’t love Li Lianhua, but there was no Li Lianhua back then, was there?” He pauses a moment, seeing Li Lianhua’s shoulders tense, then he drops the rest. “The was only Li Xiangyi, who cried out my name as I took him.”

There is a thud as the water dipper that Li Lianhua had picked up falls to the floor.

So that was true as well. As horrible as the headache had been, Di Feisheng finds that he can now place it in the category of worth it. “Aren’t you going to say something? Deny it or tell another lie?”

“What would be the point?” Li Lianhua sounding weary rather than angry that this part of their past known to them both once more. “You’ve already made up your mind.”

“I know what I felt.” What I still feel.

“It didn’t…” There is no conviction in Li Lianhua’s voice at all.

“Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything. Even if I was nothing to you. I know what I felt.”

“It wasn’t that. We…” Li Lianhua stops and sighs, the weight of those memories pressing down on him. He steadies himself, hands flat against the table top, eyes down cast. “Let it stay in the past, A-Fei. Neither of us are who we were.”

“Does that matter?”

He still doesn’t look up. “How could it not?”

Although Li Lianhua has refused to admit to any feelings for him, his actions speak far louder than any of his half hearted denials. There is one way this makes sense, albeit of an awful kind, that hurts more than it helps. “You’re lying to protect me.”

Weary, seemingly resigned to his fate, Li Lianhua’s shoulders droop, what little fight he had left in his vanishing. “What good would the truth be to you now?”

He has a point. What good would there have been in telling him that yes, once they’d been in love, but then something had happened, and now Li Lianhua was going to die. He was going to die because he hadn’t been strong enough or fast enough to save him.

Despite this, he still thinks that it isn’t a good point, because as horrible as that truth might be, Di Feisheng is certain he would rather know. Even if it only to make the most of every moment left to them.

“I’m going to remember it all in the end,” Di Feisheng says, walking up behind him, until they touch. “Were you hoping you’d be gone by then? That you wouldn’t have to face it? or me?”

When Li Lianhua doesn’t answer or move away, he puts his arms around him, holding him close, not willing to let him run out on answering. “You’re not a coward or a fool, regardless of what you pretend to be. Is self sacrifice so appealing to you? Do want to be thought of as a hero?”

There is an unsteady edge to his voice as Li Lianhua finally replies, “You’ve told me that before.”

“That you’re a fool?”

“That I want to be hero,” he says quietly, caught in memories of his own. “That it’s my greatest weakness.”

“Was I wrong?” Di Feisheng pauses, then adds, “Am I wrong now?”

Li Lianhua doesn’t answer. Instead he seems to sag, exhaustion finally getting the better of him.

Holding him close, Di Feisheng turns him in his arms until he is facing him. “I don’t know when I said that to you or why, but I don’t think I was wrong either.”

He strokes his hand along Li Lianhua’s jaw, as he��d done in his memories. Relief and even hope blossoms as he leans into it, rather than pulls away.

“Heroes get hurt. They pointlessly throw themself into danger for others who don’t appreciate it or deserve it. I don’t think I wanted that for you back then. For you to be hurt or used. I know I don’t want it for you now.”

Li Lianhua leans into his touch, eyes closing.

Di Feisheng can feel how cold he is, how exhaustion is truly taking hold. Heading out into the night to find him, helping him back inside, brewing medicine for him and then waiting up to see if it worked rather than resting, has cost him.

He holds him tighter. It feels good, right. He needs to keep him like this, needs him in arms. “Come to bed.”

“It’s my bed.” There is a soft huff of annoyance, as Li Lianhua adds, “I don’t need an invitation.”

“So I do?” Part of Di Feisheng wants to take this chance to kiss him, to see if he can shake loose something more than lies and half truths from him. Yet they aren’t quite at that point yet. He can wait for that.

Being able to rest can’t wait though. Now the pain in his head is almost gone exhaustion if fast taking its place. It’s unsurprising really. He’s slept poorly every night that he can remember since first waking up here, and pain is wearying by itself.

“Do you want me to go up and disturb Fang Duobing?” Di Feisheng says, although he has little intention of doing it. “Should I let him know that you were called-”

“Don’t you dare.”

There is something close to real fear or worry in his voice. Which is… interesting. “So he doesn’t know your other name. Why?”

“He doesn’t need to.”

It is possible that what he has said it truth. Di Feisheng has no idea about why Li Lianhua is called that now rather than Li Xiangyi. It's also equally possible that it's very important and he lying through his teeth about it. “He’ll find out eventually.”

“Eventually isn’t right now,” he snaps back. “So, don’t tell him.”

There’s nothing to be gained by arguing about it, so Di Feisheng replies, “I won’t, but I won’t do anything to stop him finding out either.”

He expects that to earn him another rebuke, but instead there is a soft laugh from Li Lianhua, as he shakes his head. “Still the same A-Fei, no matter what.” The laugh and smile fade, weariness that’s more than just physical creeping back in. “Don’t tell him.”

“I told you I won’t.” He strokes Li Lianhua’s cheek, a brush of fingertip, moving away a stray hair. “So I get to sleep here tonight?”

“Just sleep.”

“What else would we be doing?” Di Feisheng says with an innocence that they both know is fake. All the same, doing anything more strenuous than resting doesn’t seem wise. Yet if it was something Li Lianhua wanted, Di Feisheng knows that he wouldn’t say no.

They get ready for bed quickly, the night already cold and late. Lying down beside each other, their shoulders touch, the bed too small for them not to.

“All the times we were in bed together, we never just slept.” Li Lianhua says softly into the dark. “There was always some other matter to attend to. Something more urgent to deal with.”

“We were young.” Laying a hand on Li Lianhua, Di Feisheng starts to draw him closer. “We thought we had forever.”

There is no reply or resistance from Li Lianhua, only a shaky little sigh. An admission at last that this is a lot for him.

It’s probably too cruel to say such a thing to a dying man, and Di Feisheng finds that he regrets saying it. All the same he doesn’t apologise for it, there’s nothing to be gained by it.

“No more thinking and no more talking,” Li Lianhua says, prodding him, a finger against his ribs. “It’s late and I need my sleep. So either stop talking or go wake up Xiaobao and bother him.”

“I thought you told me not to.”

“I told you not to tell him about that, not that you can never speak to him.” Li Lianhua pushes half-heartedly at the arm Di Feisheng has around him. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” Di Feisheng replies, not loosening the arm around him. There is something rather endearing about how sleepy and grumpy he is at the same time. “You’re cold. I’m not. It’s practical.”

Li Lianhua makes an indignant noise, but doesn’t try to move away. Then, after a moment or two, he settles more comfortably into his arms, sinking into the offered warmth.

It doesn’t take long for Di Feisheng to feel Li Lianhua drift off to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer. He watches him sleep, a faint outline in the fading lamplight. The barely remembered past overlayed onto the uncertain present.

He knows it won’t be easy to get Li Lianhua to admit whether he was in love with him back then, any more than it will be make him admit what is between them now. Perhaps Li Lianhua had even believed that there had been no feelings involved. Di Feisheng knows his own heart, and he won’t leave him in any doubt this time.

There are two things that Di Feisheng knows with absolute certainty are the truth, and they both concern Li Lianhua. The first is that he wants him to live. The second is that he is in love with him.

He will find out who he was and who Li Xiangyi was, he will find out what was done to him and why. He will find a way to save him, to bring him back to being an equal in all things. He will help the barely hidden embers of fondness still in him burst in flames of passion once more. He wants to make him shake with pleasure again, to hear him, to feel him.

What had happened between them that they had broken apart? Why had they been separated for so many years? Had they been? He only has Li Lianhua’s dubiously honest words that they had been apart for years.

Despite the warm covers and Di Feisheng laying by his side, his arm draped across him, Li Lianhua starts to shiver in his sleep, the poison in him leaving him cold and aching in even when he tries to rest.

Rolling onto his side, Di Feisheng pulls him closer, spooning against his back, so they are pressed together from shoulder to thigh. There is a practical element to sharing body heat like this, and he does hope the warmth of being held close will help ease the painful cold in him. There is a sense of satisfaction too, that he can do this, that he is allowed to do this, that whatever happened between them in the past Li Lianhua still trusts him. More than anything though, it feels right to hold him, like he is meant to fit into his arms.

Perhaps it’s too sentimental and it’s certainly not something that he’d ever say out loud, but Li Lianhua is the only part of his past that Di Feisheng can remember with fondness or joy. The memories he has of him, as fleeting as they are, are ones he wants keep forever. They are proof that at least some of his past had been happy. That it hadn’t all been the vicious, terrible things that have come to him in nightmares, ones where he is a child, his hands red with blood of the boys he’s killed, their screams ringing in his ears.

A shudder runs through him, and Di Feisheng presses his face in to Li Lianhua’s hair, letting their closeness soothe his tired, ragged nerves.

Whether the man in his arms is called Li Lianhua or Li Xiangyi, or even another name that’s not yet know, it doesn’t matter to him. How can it when it doesn’t truly know his own?

Why would names matter at all? he tells himself. As no matter whatever they call themselves or however long they’ve been parted they have found their way back to each other. He can’t say if he has ever truly believed in fate, he’s not sure he does even now, but it feels like they are meant to be together.

Let me have this. A silent plea to whatever kind deity might listen to the words in his heart, even though he cannot yet speak them aloud, even if he never can. If I can have nothing else, even if I can never remember another thing about who I was for the rest of my life, let him live and let us have this.

Outside, autumn rain clouds have hidden the moon, the soft patter of it falling on the roof and trees fills the night air. While warm and dry, they lay together, held close in bed.

Di Feisheng lets his breathing match Li Lianhua’s, slow and steady in sleep. For once he feels truly at peace. He’s lived this long and so has Li Lianhua. He’ll find a way to keep him safe and to save him.

Finally, on the edge of sleep, he presses his lips to Li Lianhua cheek. A far chaster kiss than those in his memories, it’s a reassurance that all is well, and a promise too, of a future he wants them to share.

Li Lianhua murmurs something in his sleep, contented rather than annoyed. Beneath the covers, his hand seeks out Di Feisheng’s, holding it tight, like he’s never going to let go.

In the dark and quiet of the room, only their breathing and the gentle fall out rain disturb the silence, Di Feisheng finally sleeps. Tomorrow can take care of itself, for tonight at least he has everything that he wants right here in his arms.

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