countlessly | at the edge

Entry tags:

at the edge

canon divergent specifics: bombing happens when yin han is 17 as opposed to 15.

( it's been hard to sleep. closing his eyes means reliving the bomb or the hospital room or both. yin han's hands constantly shake, making it hard to hold onto things, and chang yu generously extending his homestay with the offer to move in with her hasn't been as reassuring as someone else might find it. piled against one wall in the homestay: painting after painting, some better than others, a few yin han would rather never look at again. not that any of it matters anymore.

the japanese benefactor had had one of his people reach out to him after and the implications were clear. yin han politely requested time to consider.

in truth, he has no intention of accepting. he has someone else whose high profile he must invite himself into. chang yu is the way in to cheng jingsen's world, and so yin han waits. there is no money for a proper funeral. yin han could not even claim their ashes. standing with a pale hand gripped too tightly around a subway pole, his thin frame jerks as the train lurches. there is not time or energy to spend on regret. he can only move forward, and to do what he wants to do, he must have resolve.

the rumors of chinatown for cheng jingsen make him sound frightening and powerful, which yin han supposes the leader of such a gang would be. even the compliments are studded with glass shards, and yin han expects maybe even these are too kind. from chang yu he only learns that he has this man to blame for his family's unfair departure, and, that, perhaps, the look of yin han would appeal enough to such a man that he could take that opportunity. if he is willing. it takes a certain kind of strength and resilience to be a good dog, is what yin han gleans, and if he's honest, he's not sure.

with his sleep deprived head overwhelmed by all of these thoughts, he's exited the train at delancey and essex and walked a couple blocks before he realizes he's being followed.

he tries not to let them know he's noticed, but he's not sure he succeeds, turning a corner near one of the many street vendors with bigger set-ups — an improbable amount of fruit for winter, but chinatown runs its own rules and seasons and the people who live there are hardy, habitual creatures — and running only after that. he hasn't done much exploring since being in manhattan, the camp he'd been sent to previously in new jersey, and the high school in chinatown so close to his homestay it was laughable, so despite the grid system of the streets, yin han manages to lose track of where he is.

chinatown is one of the oldest parts of new york city, and the handfuls of atypical streets and layouts once made a prime ground for more common and frequent street warfare. twice, he trips but gets up almost in the same motion, apologizing to the vehemently yelling vendor or stranger depending. his intent is to stay where it's more populated, at first, but then he thinks of the bomb and his mother and his sister. if they simply hadn't been there...

yin han veers off towards an area he hasn't been in much, and the streets get narrower, almost too narrow for a car even if there is a "street" portion along with the beaten up sidewalks. he hasn't gotten more than a few steps into a side alley when he's slammed against the brick of the building. light breaks up in his vision, dull ringing in his ears. the kids who would bully him and try to trap him in school never succeeded, for yin han was too fast. but he's running on empty, less than empty. the fight and nerve he has in his stain of a heart doesn't have a physicality to back it up.

even so, blood in his mouth, yin han has the gall and inarguably brashness to stand, to face the attackers he does not recognize. it's not like there was anyone near the car when it blew up, anyone except his family. he knows if he tries to fight, he will lose, and it's almost funny how the desire is there anyway, to expend some of his fury and his loss on someone who's got no better or worse in mind for him. he wants to ask why but knows just enough about hierarchy to understand he'd get nothing useful from these people. three seems like a lot to send after a high school student best known for his paintings, and he can't even feel flattered. he's just a loose end, a thing confirmed by the way the man throws him back against the wall again, his hand tight around his throat in a way that makes yin han gasp.

he expects a knife or even a gun.

what the man pulls out with his other hand is neither.

it's a vial of yin han has no idea what, but he promptly shuts his mouth and does his best to turn his head away. in his peripheral vision he can see as the man nods to one of the others who reaches out to grab yin han's face, fingers digging into his cheeks to force his mouth open. he doesn't understand. there must be easier ways to kill him. his head hurts. ah, it's probably pointless. but he struggles as much as he can, and somehow manages to kick his first assailant hard enough to stun him, thrashing out of the other's hold when he goes down. it's a step, maybe less, towards the mouth of the alley before he's pushed to the ground. again his vision spots. the snow on the ground was clean in this alley before they all came into it. speckles of pale red ruin it.

his longer hair makes it easy for his head to be yanked back, and they try to force his mouth open again. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( the attackers aren't novices but they aren't cheng qi's premium hires. one balks and runs. the other two, holding yin han and trying to force the drug, hesitate. they don't bother contacting their superior who wouldn't value their lives even if his life depended on it. instead, they seem to communicate with each other wordlessly before the one more or less sitting on yin han's back makes a motion that's clearly intended to draw his own gun.

on the ground, face turned so he can breathe less troubled, yin han coughs blood and tries to understand what's going on. someone else is here, a voice he doesn't recognize. american by the accent, and keeping up with his english is difficult for him. his tone doesn't sound nice but it's also not directed at yin han. if he wants to help, yin han can only be grateful to him, but fear also rises in him nauseously. don't, he also thinks. he doesn't want to dream about anyone else dying.

in the same span of time, he notices as he feels the man on top of him move, he has a little more leverage. it's clumsy and stupid but he tries to push himself up enough to throw him off. this doesn't work exactly. yin han is too weak. but if nothing else it unbalances him, a split second of distraction he hopes the newcomer uses for whatever's best for him. )

[ If there's going to be a gunshot either way, it's going to be Ash's. With frightening speed, his own gun is out and shooting. Someone who lacks practice would find it dangerous to shoot so near the poor victim, but Ash isn't someone without practice. The first shot is directly through the man's head; it'll be a heavy body falling away from Yin Han. ]

The next shot is yours. Decide which friend you want to follow.

[ The one who ran, or the one who's now dead. ]

( despite the fear cheng qi instills in people, the immediate threat of a gun already fired to kill proves compelling. the lifting of the weight off of him is followed by panicked footfalls, away. reason says two things: this person helped him and also that yin han does not know the motivation behind such an action. regardless, he pushes himself up to at least kneeling, not quite trusting himself to stand up and not keel over, nausea bubbling under the surface of his dizziness. the near translucency of yin han is grounded by the open scraped palms and face, bruises blooming as if in an effort to make him ugly. blood trickles down the side of his neck from somewhere on his head, likely from impact against the wall or the ground.

now that he can look at the person who saved him, he can further confirm he has no idea who this is. though he is inarguably striking. of everything, yin han thinks it's the resoluteness in his expression that stands out though, even if he can't quite explain why he perceives this. he supposes that might just be his resting visage too, but somehow he doesn't think so.

he doesn't realize that he's trembling, and when he speaks finally it's quiet as yin han also tries to stand after all, wanting to get away from the dead body. )

...thank you... ( he says it slow, not because he doesn't know how to at least say that with ease — he can — but because he's so out of it, the weight of his accent a little more obvious.

one hand is flattened against the wall to support, and he flinches, the open skin there stinging, but it's that or stay on the ground. his gaze drops from the stranger's face to his feet, needing to lower his own head, conserving as much energy as he can, wondering if he even dares go back to chang yu's tea shop just yet. perhaps he's been too naive, foolish, but he also knows chang yu herself is far from clean, and maybe some of his blindness comes from that. if people cannot use him, then they will not help him, after all. but because both yin han and chang yu wish for some kind of self implemented justice against cheng jingsen, he had imagined she also would warn him against the dangers.

blearily staring at this person's shoes, he wonders who he is. if he just would help anyone in a bind, or if they're already connected somehow in a way he needs to get better at understanding. he shivers, and it's only then that he realizes, on top of everything else, it's snowing again. )

[ The red shoes move within Yin Han's vision until they're by his side. An arm scoops under and around him until Ash can act as a temporary crutch. ]

We have to get out of here. The cops might come; they might not. It's a toss-up.

[ It's possible nobody will report the shot. Sometimes, someone will. It's better to be gone on the off-chance someone makes the call.

The guy has an accent. He was one person to three men. Somehow, it's doubtful he started the altercation. Why the hell couldn't assholes let people be? He's this shaken up by the attack, and while it's something worthy of shock, it shows he's not accustomed to these kinds of situations. No one should be so why the need to make one more traumatized person? ]

If we wait too long, they'll be able to identify us by the snow angels we'll leave behind.

[ Hoping the guy doesn't fight Ash's lead and offering a slightly light-hearted line, he begins to walk. It's cold, but his bar isn't too far away. Victim of not, he isn't taking the guy back to his own room so something in the bar will suffice. As his base, there are backrooms available. ]

( yin han understands more of ash's tone than his words, and while he tenses up at first when the unexpected savior slips an arm around and under, he also is able to make the snap judgment to let him based on one thing: he doesn't want to stay here. he wonders if he misheard, or just doesn't know the words, to have heard "snow angels", not knowing the meaning, brow pinching even as he does indeed follow how he guides him. his alternative is to stay like easy prey for anyone else who might follow up or come by, and so he chances that this person who took the trouble to rescue him didn't do it just to kill him a little later.

close by though it is, yin han can't stop shaking all the way to the bar and even once they're inside. some of it is cold, and most of it is shock. beneath all that: some self revulsion. there's no way he could enter cheng jingsen's world the way he himself is now. never mind that he's heard from chang yu that he would be appealing, a type that cheng jingsen would be lured in by. it's not enough if this is the kind of thing he'll have to contend with.

his mind preoccupied and muddled, it takes him a long moment to even notice they've come inside anywhere. maybe it's the shift to warmer temperature, or maybe it's just that yin han has reached his limit. )

Ah...

( he wants to say "thank you" or "i apologize", wants to ask this person his name.

instead, his blurred vision swims and then goes completely dark as his legs give out on him completely. fortunately or unfortunately, yin han won't remain unconscious for longer than ten minutes or so, but for the moment, he's gone to the world, the beginnings of a fever spiking across his pale skin. )

[ Older teens and younger men populate the inside of the bar. Any entrance catches their attention, but the sight of their boss bringing in a boy manages to keep it. Yin Han doesn't have time to hear their questions nor Ash's snap to go back to what they'd been doing. It likely wouldn't have sounded as impatient if he wasn't scooping up the unconscious boy at the same time. His real annoyance is at the situation.

When Yin Han finally arrives back in the world of the living, he's on a bed. Any coat he may have been wearing his removed and replaced instead with a blanket to remove any moisture that would have been on the top level of his clothing. It's a sparse space with only a bed, a small desk, and a dresser to serve as furniture. The walls lack even a single window.

His blonde savior from earlier has likewise removed his hoodie and sits now in a casual brown sweater and jeans. His resting face doesn't look like that of a man torn by the guilt of killing a man. Instead, he's moving to answer the small knock on the door. An unseen man hands over two cups before they're left alone again. As Ash returns to the desk, he senses the movement that comes from waking up. ]

I thought this would work. Modern-day princesses are probably a lot more likely to wake up for coffee than some random guy and a kiss.

[ He isn't serious; the timing is coincidental. Ash also isn't trusting the guy to hold a hot cup of coffee for now. ]

( for a moment, yin han says nothing, just blinking as he slowly pushes himself upright, pale face paling even more with the roiling nausea. he isn't in a position to wonder what causes it, only experience it and grit his teeth to hold back the terrible moment where he feels like he might vomit. breathing softly through his nose, even this makes almost no sound, and though the edges of yin han's eyes are red with strain, the whites are still very white and the black large and sharp, the long lashes fanned out in a way that emphasizes their curve. "phoenix eyes", chang yu told him with her hand under his chin recently, turning his face this way and that with as much jealousy as investment. he's lucky really that this person came by when he did, but even if he hadn't, perhaps also lucky that cheng qi had put out a kill hit on him and nothing else.

once he processes the words, his gaze shifts to the cups briefly before going back to the blond's face. unconsciously he holds the blanket a little closer, shivering. in hindsight going out with such a light coat and only t-shirt and jeans was stupid, but he hasn't been thinking very clearly still. behind his open eyes, the bomb replays sometimes silent, sometimes loud.

he lets his eyes fall again, this time to his own folded hands. )

Thank you...again. I am sorry for the trouble.

( given another month or two, yin han's language will improve with such shocking acceleration it will only be undermined by his writing capacity. for now, he's certainly understandable, but the almost whispering intonation of how he would like to speak sneaks into even his english. to anyone who doesn't know him it feeds into the pure naive frame, a little searching.

his face hurts. he can feel that it's swollen. his head hurts too. none of this is surprising though, and he doesn't think to say anything about it, having taken too much of the stranger's generosity already. out the corner of his eye, he surveys the small room, wondering where they are. )

[ Pale face. A tight jaw from gritting his teeth, but no flinch of pain. ]

We'll hold off on the drink for a few minutes, or we might be cleaning the bed.

[ His observational skills were meant to be used for more manipulative purposes, but Ash is in the habit of repurposing them for other reasons. Not that any such skill could easily be turned off. At least they had a use now.

Opting for the chair near the desk, Ash turns it to face Yin Han. The boy is pretty in a dangerous way. It's dangerous for anybody to be down these streets at night, but it's even more of a risk for those who might grab the wrong kind of attention. Nothing about the attack made it seem like he was very experienced in crime, either. He did fight back; good for him in some ways, dangerous in others. ]

Why were you out?

[ The back of the chair takes his weight. ]

The accent. Are you new to New York?

( yin han —

— hesitates. he's not a bad liar, but a half-way decent one can also usually spot when they are in the presence of someone who would read right through them on a bad day. not with all his wherewithal together, he opts for the truth in pieces, pale hands unconsciously curling a little too tight. )

Mm. Visiting.

( this time, he winces. even speaking hurts his face apparently, but he continues, tone quiet and even. )

I got lost.

( not a lie. by the time he got caught up by cheng qi's henchmen, he really had lost track. not that it would have mattered either way once they were done with him if this stranger hadn't saved him. it's that thought that has yin han raising his head, meeting those eyes — a green he has never seen before in people except with false contacts —, holding that gaze for a second before gently inclining his own head. )

Thank you for your help. I apologize for the trouble.

( for a moment, spots flicker in front of his own eyes, and it might be obvious how they unfocus. he doesn't pass out again, not fully, but it's a moment of disconnect, body slumping forward just a little, though he's coherent enough to press his palm down at his side to catch himself from slipping off the bed. )

[ His gaze is intense, but it's more in its default state. The men in the ally received something more sharp and severe, but Yin Han is watched by a more relaxed gaze. Ash is always on guard, but it's not especially high around this man. While it doesn't mean he hasn't considered the idea of an act, it has the added bonus of seeing the signs of pain.

As if someone needs a sharp eye to see the way he falls forward. Consciousness is hard to hold onto, isn't it? Ash missed some of the fight, but there were drugs present. There's a reason he hasn't offered out pain medication, but now he worries about a possible concussion. There hadn't been any obvious signs while Yin Han sleeps, but... ]

Hey. Watch it. If you push yourself now, you're going to end up on the floor.

[ In only a few steps, Ash is at his bedside. His knees bend to make up for the height difference; he needs to look at Yin Han's eyes for signs of dilated pupils. ]

Did they give you anything?

[ The earlier nausea could be a symptom, too. Shock could cause both, but that would only mean it might be hiding the signs of something more serious. With the former, it's fine if the boy rests, but if it's the latter, he'll have to make his temporary patient stay awake. Even if he calls in his back alley doctor, there's not a lot he could do for a concussion. If it was something as serious as bleeding or swelling of the brain, there'd be more of an outward sign of head injury.

Before Yin Ha can answer, Ash holds up a finger in front of his eyes and begins to slowly move it from side to side. ]

Make your eyes follow my finger.

[ Medical treatment is the most he can offer. With any luck, Yin Han can move on from this and be more careful about walking down dark alleys in unknown cities. As much as Ash wishes innocent people could safely walk wherever they wanted, the world isn't so kind. Instead of trusting bad people to be good, he can only hope for good people to be careful. ]

No... tried. ( violently nauseous, yin han's words are clipped but clear enough even with his accent. following instructions proves a little more difficult, yin han's eyes unable to focus. his complexion reaches an alarming pallor and he's quick to raise his hand to his mouth, swallowing back rather than letting out his sickness. it makes him gag, but somehow it feels better than making more of a mess of this person's generosity.

things yin han has noticed so far: his rescuer is young, maybe the same age or at least not older by much. there is also the air of someone self-possessed that yin han has come to associate mostly with adults or at least people in power, but intuition tells him it's not such a simple set up as that conclusion would suggest. with his pulse rattling around unreliably and his breathing a bit shallow, he still stabilizes himself enough to ask, )

Why...why did you help?

( it's not that yin han reads new york as especially inhospitable, so much as that he's learning through trial, error, and misfortune that nothing should be taken at face value. is there a reason beyond goodwill? is this person connected to someone opposing cheng qi? and even if so, that does not default them to an ally. in some ways, yin han is quick at adapting, and in other ways he has to stumble through like anyone else though he tries to cover it up with vagueness or simply remaining silent typically. but in this case, he won't learn anything that way, so he asks. )

[ As natural as the question is, it's one Ash hates. It's unrealistic to assume you can rely on the generosity of a stranger, but he isn't someone who can walk past someone in trouble and look the other way. However, if he's to say something as kind as 'I didn't want you to be hurt', it'll give the wrong kind of idea. He's no hero. He isn't even a good person by his own assessment. It's no good to play the role of the saint while performing the actions of a devil. ]

I had a free night.

[ Leave it at that. It's obviously a reply given to brush away the topic, but the guy is sick. Ash is growing more confident in his concussion theory.

Leaving his bedside, the blond returns with the hot drink and a couple of pills. ]

Don't worry about it. Take this; it's just pain meds.

[ Ash notably isn't handing over the cup. If Yin Han loses consciousness again, the cup would just end up dumping its hot contents into the guy's lap. ]

( on the one hand, this person has no reason to help yin han only to poison or drug him. on the other hand, yin han can't help his hesitation at the offered pills. it's not very long though, the hesitation making its shift to resignation as he accepts them and swallows them dry, not trusting himself to hold that cup. the longer he's up, the more sick he feels, and it hasn't occurred to him to figure out if he has a concussion or otherwise, if as stubbornly as he kept his mouth shut before maybe some of cheng qi's drug made it into his system after all, or if it's none of these things. rather than thinking of any of it, yin han just tries to cope. )

Ah...Sorry.

( shuddered out. if he can just move past the intense waves of nausea, he's fairly certain he could leave. but it's causing a spike in his temperature too, not helped by his body being overwrought before anyway. nerves. nightmares. a limited capacity to care for himself despite having a very real and relentless goal of his own. sweat mats his hair to his forehead and the back of his neck. it's longer than it's been in a while. a memory arrows in: his sister promising to cut it after...

calm down. he tells himself this even as it's difficult to do, and even the blink of his eyes seems almost out of his control, a frenetic response in the reasonless wake of premature loss. )

[ Yin Han worries about accepting the medicine; Ash doesn't think he's being cautious enough. It's true that it would make a lot more sense for Ash to pounce if he did plan some sort of an attack, but the minds of men can't always be so easily understood. But he isn't going to make his job harder by urging a stranger not to trust him.

It really is shaping up to be more than just shock. That would have been the easy answer, but why do things the easy way? The drugs will at least ease the pain that could have come from the attack, but with a concussion increasingly likely, now it's about keeping the guy awake. They're lucky something more didn't happen after Yin Han fell into unconsciousness. Right now, the guy probably didn't feel too lucky. ]

I'm Ash.

[ They're in the midst of his territory so that isn't going to really be a secret from anyone who asks, but Yin Han is also close enough to Ash's own age that he doesn't receive the same distrust that comes with older men. ]

I'm also the guy who's diagnosing you with a concussion. I'm not a doctor, but you're getting what you pay for.

[ He pulls the chair closer to the bed. With the guy this sick, it seems better to keep an eye on his symptoms himself. His men would try, but first aid and actual medical attention aren't the same things. ]

I know things probably feel like they're happening through a fog right now, but talk to me. What's going on with your body?

( everything happens, as ash says, through a fog. also more slowly. he hears everything at a delay and it feels like he's using his last glimmer of control to not experience a full on panic attack. he tells himself not to think about the accident, about the explosion, about his mom or his sister. stay calm. be calm. in his head, he tries to count and when that doesn't work he just hangs on to the mental cliff that's there while his hands continue to fist in either the bedding or his own clothes. as distressed and sick as he looks, yin han's voice comes out as calm as he wants to be, easier to achieve because his volume is quiet and his audience is close enough that that doesn't have to change. )

Yin Han.

( he gestures to himself with one hand, but it still sounds like an apology, his mind catching up to the question finally enough to also say, )

It feels...I feel...sick.

( a sigh moves through his whole frame. the slight tilt of his head, face angled away from ash as he tries to gather his thoughts, yin han doesn't quite know what to do. that he should leave is a given, that he probably is not capable of it right now is also fairly clear. heat radiates off of him with his climbing temperature, unconsciously his breaths though quiet have become quite shallow. there is no one for him to call or ask for help.

it reminds him how real everything is, and just as through this whole time, he has himself in a mental chokehold, fingers thin and cold and unhappy: stay calm.

if he hopes to achieve anything he can't fall apart irreparably now.

another shuddered inhale, when he peers over at ash again, he may seem a bit more coherent, albeit no less pale with feeling unwell. )

Are we.... are we still in Chinatown?

( it strikes him again how beautiful this person is, objectively so. it seems at odds with the energy and personality he puts forward, but then, it's not like yin han knows much about it. even before all of this, at school he'd kept to himself and passed all interactions politely but detachedly. his art was enough.

another thing he tries not to think about. )

No.

[ Uncomplicated questions don't require complicated answers but even more complex conversations would need to be met with the same simplistic reply. The boy, Yin Han, isn't going to have limited focus. If Ash says too much, he'll have even more difficulty in understanding. ]

You're at my place, and I'm not very Chinese.

[ Says the blonde boy with green eyes. Ash doesn't blend in well in many places, but he certainly stands out there. Shorter is there so it goes without saying that he's been, but his territory is elsewhere. It's terminology he's avoiding for now. Yin Han is already scared enough without realizing he's been taken in by a gang boss. ]

But a concussion means you should stay here for now. If you pass out again, you might not wake up next time. You'll feel better when the medicine kicks in, but I can't actually cure it.

[ It should reduce the pain and fever, but it isn't going to fix a concussion. ]

You have somebody you should call?

[ Sometimes, the landminds are hidden. It's not a question Ash would ask if he'd known, but Yin Han looks healthy and his attitude isn't one of a street kid. ]

( the longer yin han is conscious, the easier it is for him to follow ash's words, though he gets the impression he's keeping things simple for him; he's grateful. even in this short period of time, he's become more trusting, more relaxed. yin han still really knows nothing of this world, though he's run into it blind and at full speed hoping to achieve something helplessly reckless.

a something he is reminded of again when ash asks that question.

for a moment, all of yin han's loss and sense of being lost flickers across his whole person. then he blinks and it's gone, replaced with soft neutrality as he offers ash a meaningless smile. )

I don't.

( his head throbs, vision swimming. the smile falls and he raises one pale hand to his temple. everything feels so heavy.

part of him knows he needs to say something else, but he doesn't know what. incapable of leaving just yet, he wonders if he should ask forgiveness in addition to his gratitude, but he has to swallow down another more vile wave of nausea even as he has that thought. )

[ That's not unusual in Ash's line of work. A lot of his men have nobody to call. Sometimes, it's that nobody cares, sometimes it's that they lost the people who did care. At their age, they've lost the 'cuteness' that made society give a damn, and they're either freshly adults or close enough that they're expected to navigate the world on their own.

Yin Han is the latter. He's too put together and too shocked by this life to have experienced being alone for too long. That's harsh, too. Probably, his loss is fresh enough to still be painful, and Ash doesn't push for harsh details if they're not needed. ]

It's not safe for a guy who can't stand to be walking around this part of New York. It's an extra bed so you don't have to rush out tonight.

[ So, he doesn't push about the 'why'. It isn't his business. Ash can't stop the assumptions and guesses, but his mind has been trained. Nurture tells him to be aware of everything about everybody; nature tells him to mind his own business if knowing isn't helpful. ]

I took some shots, too, so cops will be doing some patrols. That sounds helpful, but they'll be looking for somebody to pin this one on until they move on to the next shooting tomorrow.

[ He smirks. The situation probably feels horrifyingly huge to the guy. ]

Welcome to New York.

( even though ash doesn't, arguably, say too much, it feels like a lot to take in. yin han does his best, trying to maintain his focus while the world around him seems to want to swim, aggravating the sick feeling that has yet to subside. he's grateful at least that ash doesn't push for the why of having no one to call. though he refuses to admit it, it would probably shatter what's left of his resolve right now, the tenuous strings that hold him up and almost normal save for the altercation he just went through.

inwardly he sighs. starting out owing people is not ideal. even through his murky unwellness, he has that thought, but none of it shows on his face. quietly calm and neutral despite everything. suspiciously so, perhaps.

watching ash as he speaks, yin han has this odd sense of him. like he's more than he seems though he can't quite put his finger on it. this kind of thing does not feel like it has phased him greatly or even is unusual. it does make him curious of him, but whether the concussion or everything else or both, he hasn't the wherewithal to dig into that.

instead, he offers a small smile of his own. it's disarming, emphasizes how young yin han looks -- the sort of face that someone would believe him if he said he was 14 or 15 despite being as beautiful as he is, and on the flip side if he told someone he was 25 they might also believe this. as it is, 17 does not feel any particular way to him. the world is alien after all that has happened, and the slow seeding ache for some kind of resolution hasn't even fully taken form.

not yet, anyway. )

I will trouble you for tonight then. I'm --

( from pale to sheet white, yin han slumps forward. vision white then black. why does it feel like he's underwater? he's never had a concussion before, but the truth is this is likely the culmination of exhaustion and loss as much as anything else. if he knocks anything over, he doesn't notice, though one of his hands ends up fisted in the bedding, not that it's much of an anchor. )

Hey.

[ Hands land on his shoulders before gravity can pull him too far from the bed. Ash isn't a stranger to head injuries, but their very nature is unpredictable. Someone may have a headache while the next person is barely able to remain conscious. ]

Dying on me would be a little too much trouble.

[ What if it's more serious? Brain bleeds usually come with a few more symptoms than a 'simple' concussion but really, neither can be confidently diagnosed without proper medical testing. Ash put his money on the best that it wasn't so serious as to need a hospital, but if the kid is going to keep passing out on him, he might have to rethink his confidence. ]

You seemed pretty polite before, but I'll consider you a rotten house guest if that happens so don't be that much of a pain.

[ As to die, anyway. ]

( yin han taps into that which he'll come to rely on in the future: the best example or the worst of mind over matter. he takes a shaking breath and doesn't nod, not meaning to make it worse, grateful for ash catching him but also trying to shift more of his own weight back on the arm he's got braced on the bed. he really does not want to be more trouble than he already has been, and though he recognizes it as a grim joke, he also has no intentions of dying even if that would be easier.

it takes a while for him to reply, bleary gaze caught on the ends of ash's hair. soft, he thinks and is reminded of summer. )

I really am...very sorry. Ah...

( it doesn't hurt, he tells himself. he lies. he breathes. it doesn't hurt. he's fine.

it's not important.

blinking, his vision stabilizes a little and he adds, still sounding a bit too out of breath for the norm, like he can't completely calm himself even though he's insistent on it at the same time. )

... I don't know why they attacked.

( not in specifics. he can guess. take stabs in the dark. but the world is much bigger than yin han could ever imagine, and the same can be said for its underbelly. it would be an understatement at this point to call him out of his element, but he also knows he has few choices.

run away. find a route into cheng jingsen's world. with this newest altercation he has some sense the former is what most people would choose.

but yin han isn't most people. he'd rather die trying to get revenge for his mother and sister than disappear into miserable anonymity, a worse death in his opinion. unconsciously his hands have both wound up in the blanket, white and too tight, but he's stopped swaying at least, and his breaths come out a little less ragged. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

at the edge

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emerges from the dead, feel free to ignore though if too old 100% understandable!