[ two local dumbasses cannot communicate worth a fuck and would have far less problems if they could just say anything about how they feel out loud
it doesn't matter how much he knows he's bad for therion's spirit, really. because jiaoqiu goes and starts the shower, and he puts his hand under the water and waits for it to warm up, and then wanders back out to the living room. to the kitchen. he watches therion wash the dishes for just a moment, and then makes his way over, holding out his hand. he doesn't know that therion came back, he doesn't know how big of a deal it is, and therion doesn't see the severity of what the void has eaten away in jiaoqiu's chest - they both just keep missing each other, convincing themselves it's stupid, that they're problems.
but jiaoqiu is selfish. he wants to have. he wants to give. so he holds out his hand, even after everything, after both of them shut the door. ]
washing the dishes in cold water is bracing. it's some kind of miracle he doesn't just fucking leave while he's getting the shower ready. he thinks about it. just right back out the window and gone forever, problem-fucking-solved, but he doesn't do it. he just looks at his hands turning red, turning white under the cold until they're mostly numb, and then shakes them free and vigorously dries them off.
transaction and equivalence. that's all this is, he reminds himself. the warmth of a shower and a person - something he can just steal.
he looks over his shoulder at jiaoqiu when he speaks to him, looks at his outstretched hand. and after a second, he sets the dishtowel back down, and makes his way towards him - and then past him, not taking his hand, but over to the bathroom door with the steam rolling out, and lolls his head back to look at him one more time, this time with a little smirk back on his face, a confident strut. ]
it's a very good thing that therion walks past him and can't see his face, because the fact that he just brushes past his hand absolutely hurts jiaoqiu's feelings. like, alarmingly so, he isn't expecting it to. it feels like a step backward. it feels like cold coffee dregs and distance being put firmly back between them. a beat, as he handles it. stands facing away from therion, letting his hand drop. closes his eyes, bringing a hand to rub at his chest, to revel in the broken glass feeling.
and then rearrange his face back into something placid, covering up the glass, and turning around to follow therion towards the bathroom. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
it doesn't matter how much he knows he's bad for therion's spirit, really. because jiaoqiu goes and starts the shower, and he puts his hand under the water and waits for it to warm up, and then wanders back out to the living room. to the kitchen. he watches therion wash the dishes for just a moment, and then makes his way over, holding out his hand. he doesn't know that therion came back, he doesn't know how big of a deal it is, and therion doesn't see the severity of what the void has eaten away in jiaoqiu's chest - they both just keep missing each other, convincing themselves it's stupid, that they're problems.
but jiaoqiu is selfish. he wants to have. he wants to give. so he holds out his hand, even after everything, after both of them shut the door. ]
There is room for you as well.
[ in the shower. in his life, too, really. ]
no subject
washing the dishes in cold water is bracing. it's some kind of miracle he doesn't just fucking leave while he's getting the shower ready. he thinks about it. just right back out the window and gone forever, problem-fucking-solved, but he doesn't do it. he just looks at his hands turning red, turning white under the cold until they're mostly numb, and then shakes them free and vigorously dries them off.
transaction and equivalence. that's all this is, he reminds himself. the warmth of a shower and a person - something he can just steal.
he looks over his shoulder at jiaoqiu when he speaks to him, looks at his outstretched hand. and after a second, he sets the dishtowel back down, and makes his way towards him - and then past him, not taking his hand, but over to the bathroom door with the steam rolling out, and lolls his head back to look at him one more time, this time with a little smirk back on his face, a confident strut. ]
Gotta 'clean up my mess', huh? C'mon.
no subject
it's a very good thing that therion walks past him and can't see his face, because the fact that he just brushes past his hand absolutely hurts jiaoqiu's feelings. like, alarmingly so, he isn't expecting it to. it feels like a step backward. it feels like cold coffee dregs and distance being put firmly back between them. a beat, as he handles it. stands facing away from therion, letting his hand drop. closes his eyes, bringing a hand to rub at his chest, to revel in the broken glass feeling.
and then rearrange his face back into something placid, covering up the glass, and turning around to follow therion towards the bathroom. ]
Yes, of course.