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

( 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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

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