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~*~
“And there’s not enough room in this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits I need you the most
I’m in love with your ghost.”
--Indigo Girls
~*~
Esen regarded him with a strange intensity. “Go to Yangzhou if you feel you need to. But stop worrying about Bianliang. You’ll win it back. And after you win it back—after you win me this war against the rebels—the Great Khan will reward us. I’ll ask him to reward you with lands and a son you can adopt to carry your name. That’s our future, don’t you see? Our sons leading the Great Yuan’s armies together. They’ll take Java and Cham and Japan for the glory of the empire, and men will remember their names the way they remember the great khans.” His voice rose. “Isn’t that something you want? So stop blaming yourself and let yourself have it. I’ll give it to you.”
Ouyang, staring at Esen in shock and anguish, saw he actually believed that vision of the future. At length he said hoarsely, “Then come with me to Bianliang, Esen. Ride with me as you used to. Let’s win it together, so we can finish all of this and start towards our future.”
He heard the servants’ scandalized murmur: that he dared address the Prince of Henan so; that he dared ask more than was his right. As if the Prince of Henan could just leave his duties to his estate—and to his wives, who were still vying for that precious son. Ouyang could feel Lady Borte’s resentment radiating through the bedchamber doors. Choose me, he thought, his eyes fixed on Esen’s face, and felt sick.
Esen’s face was caught in an odd expression. It was that of someone who had begun to lose certainty in the response to a question that they had answered confidently long ago. Beneath the confusion there was a soft hope, so small and careful that it hurt Ouyang to see it. He looked away.
Esen’s voice was slow and almost cautious as he said, “If you want me there, I’ll come.”
Such simple words and yet they burned. It hurt Ouyang to know that the one time he asked Esen for something it was to invite him to step into a trap. A trap Ouyang had set long before he fully understood the pain it would cause him when it finally sprang shut.
All the emotions trapped behind Esen’s eyes threated to drown Ouyang. But Ouyang fought the current and turned to leave. He could hear the servants scurry away as he moved towards the bedchamber door. But before he could open it and get out of the cursed room, Ouyang felt a hand close around his wrist.
Ouyang made a noise like water thrown against hot metal. The pressure of Esen’s fingers against his pulse was shockingly gentle and warm. Ouyang tried to will the sensation to evaporate, keeping his face turned away. Esen sighed with what could have been exasperation or might have been pity. His voice was tired as he said, “Why do you fear me, Ouyang?”
Ouyang was so startled that he nearly turned around. The way Esen asked the question was deeply unsettling; as though it had been on his mind for some time. For all Ouyang knew that Esen couldn’t possibly understand, Esen had struck a bit too close for comfort to the truth. Ouyang did not fear Esen. He feared the complicated, thorn-filled tangle of emotions that moored him to Esen. He feared the tiny shard of hope embedded in his heart that wondered if those twisted branches would be beautiful if they bloomed. He said, “I do not fear you.”
Esen’s fingers were still warm against Ouyang’s wrist. He refused to let himself feel anything towards it except apathy.
“Then why are you always leaving?” asked Esen. There was pain in his voice and Ouyang felt a sudden shadow of shame that he had been the one to put it there. “Why do you never stay?”
Because it hurts to be near you, thought Ouyang bitterly. “It is not my place,” he said, his voice flat.
Esen made an exasperated noise and dropped his wrist. Only with the touch gone did Ouyang realize how shallow his breathing had become. Cautiously he turned around. Esen had retreated to the opposite side of the room.
“Why must you always be so cold?” asked Esen, his back to Ouyang. “Every time I take a step towards you, you take three steps away.”
When Esen turned around there was confusion and sorrow etched into his face. Ouyang fought to keep his own expression under control.
“All I want is to keep you close,” said Esen, his voice low. “Why won’t you let me?”
Ouyang was silent. He briefly considered leaving without a word. For all he knew leaving would be torture, he was certain that staying would be worse. And yet, he thought viciously, I deserve the worst. It was physically painful to watch Esen’s expectant eyes completely unaware that Ouyang had no easy answer to the question. Esen made everything so simple and Ouyang loved and hated him for it. Ouyang tried to collect his thoughts even as he was drowning in shame and the smell of perfume and Esen’s emotion-loaded stare. Careful to keep his voice cold and detached, he said, “It is not proper for one such as myself. I am a creature, a tool of war, not a companion. It is not my place.”
The words had been hurled at him often enough that he knew them by heart. They burned even more when his own voice said them. Putting this space between them was as painful as it was necessary. Ouyang knew that the more distance there was between them, the less he would feel the emptiness when Esen was gone.
Esen crossed the room in three strides, his eyes ablaze. His voice was low and dangerous as he said, “We both know that is not true, Ouyang. You are not some creature whose only purpose is war.” Esen towered over him and it was all Ouyang could do not to shy away. “You are my fellow soldier,” continued Esen. “You are my general. And you…” Esen’s voice took on a completely new tone, gentle and sad, as he said, “You are my friend.”
His words were so earnest. As though this simple heart-felt declaration was all that was needed to change Ouyang’s mind. But there were no words in the world that could change Ouyang’s mind. No matter what pretty lies Esen told him, Ouyang could never be anything other than something repulsive. For all he tried to turn the grief to anger, it was undermined by longing so acute and sharp that Ouyang might have mistaken it for need.
“Don’t go.” Esen’s voice was gentle and sure. Ouyang could feel them falling back into an old rhythm, a dance: Esen commanding, Ouyang obeying. It was as repulsive as it was familiar, as caustic as it was sweet. After a moment of silence, Esen added carefully, “Please, my general.”
The last two words sounded far too much like an endearment. Esen had added a new step to this delicate dance and Ouyang had stumbled and fallen. It was no longer a command but a request and Ouyang had no idea what to do with it. A command left him no choice but to obey. A request, however, gave him the option to say no. With a sickening clarity, Ouyang realized that he had been given a choice and he still couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Ouyang could feel the pull of his fate, its claws sinking into his heart. And yet there was another force, a painful force, drawing him towards Esen. Ouyang did not dare give a name to that specific agony, that particular warmth. Doing so would acknowledge a truth that Ouyang was determined to ignore out of existence.
Esen took a step towards him. Ouyang’s first instinct was to back away. Letting Esen get this close could only end in pain. The less space there was between them, the easier it was to eliminate that space altogether and Ouyang was both terrified of that and desperate for it. He couldn’t help but remember the last time they had been this close, the burn of Esen’s hand on his skin and the willingness it had dragged from his heart.
As though he could read Ouyang’s mind, Esen reached up and tenderly placed a hand against Ouyang’s cheek. The humiliation of the touch was agonizing. Ouyang wanted to lean into it just as much as he wanted to pull away. Slowly, reverently, Esen dragged his thumb across Ouyang’s lower lip. Despite all his best efforts, Ouyang’s breath stuck in his throat. The tide was rising and if Ouyang did not get out soon, every way to escape would flood and he would be stranded. But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, If you pull away now you’ll never get this close again. Esen’s thumb brushed under Ouyang’s chin and gently tipped up his face. Time was running out. Ouyang knew he should pull away, apologize, leave, and let the memory of this haunt him forever. But he couldn’t. The tide was rising. Ouyang closed his eyes and chose to drown.
Esen kissed him carefully and the gentle affection of it ruined Ouyang. He didn’t dare kiss back, didn’t dare acknowledge the warmth blooming in his chest. Pleasure and self-hatred were at war in his heart. Ouyang tried to drown it out, tried to savor this moment, even as he hated himself for it. Lord Wang’s words burned somewhere in the back of his mind. You and Esen are two unlike things. For all that Ouyang resented the idea, it was true. Esen had thrown a spark onto Ouyang’s heart. And Ouyang went up in flames.
Esen pulled back slightly and Ouyang almost mourned the loss. It took a moment before he could open his eyes. He wished he hadn’t. Nothing could have prepared him for the tender expectant expression on Esen’s face. Esen’s voice was soft as he asked, “Is this something you want?”
All Ouyang had to do was pull away, and he knew that Esen would let him go. But he did not want Esen to let him go. Ouyang had spent so many years crushing every desire that he had in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. But Esen’s words melted the ice that had frozen Ouyang’s heart and all the denied desire flooded his entire being in an exigent torrent of emotion. Shame rose within him as he cursed himself for being too weak to refuse this.
For the first time in sixteen years, Ouyang leaned closer instead of shying away. He found he could not speak; all the words had withered in his lungs. He nodded like he was confessing a crime.
The smile that Esen gave him was not one of surprise. Esen always knew that Ouyang could refuse him nothing and Ouyang felt sick at the thought. Esen said, fondly, earnestly, “Then let yourself have it. Stay.”
Ouyang nodded again, hating the ease with which Esen could command him. Esen was everything Ouyang had ever wanted, everything he could never have and the impossibility of it all tore his heart to pieces even as the pleasure of obeying coursed through his veins. Esen pulled him close and kissed him again, and the flames in Ouyang’s heart roared to life. Any attempts to get himself under control were crushed by the pleasure and shame and warmth knotted in his chest. Esen kissed him with confidence, commanding even in his gentleness. And Ouyang surrendered. There was a wild relief in letting go, in trying to live in the present even as the past and the future pressed closer on all sides like hungry ghosts. He could practically feel the disapproving eyes of his ancestors watching him dishonor his entire family. Look away, Ouyang pleaded silently. Let me have this. Look away.
And yet even there in the terrifying warmth of Esen’s embrace, all Ouyang could think about was what a painful memory this would be. It would haunt him for the rest of his wretched life, every time he closed his eyes, every time he made a decision that broke Esen just a little bit more. Esen had only just begun kissing him and Ouyang was already imagining the pain and emptiness that he would feel when Esen inevitably stopped. A shadow of grief eclipsed his pleasure as suddenly as a cloud crossing the sun. Ouyang felt suddenly cold as he realized that this was far worse than he could have imagined. He may be able to have this but he could never keep it, cling to it, cherish it, the way he so desperately wanted to. Ouyang cursed himself. Even in this moment that he had always longed for, he couldn’t help but poison the pleasure with grief.
Very gently, Esen broke the kiss as though he was concerned that Ouyang would run away if he moved too fast. Esen’s eyes were dark and alive with something that Ouyang could not name. It was something like the raw hungry look that Esen gave him sometimes, the look that made Ouyang feel hunted in a way that he was not sure whether or not he liked. Want, Ouyang realized all of a sudden. Desire. The thought filled him with sweetness and shame.
“Ouyang.” Esen’s voice was rough. Something about the way Esen said his name made Ouyang recoil. It sounded like a command and an endearment and a prayer all wound into a single word. Softly, earnestly, Esen asked, “Why do you never let yourself have anything?”
Ouyang closed his eyes for a moment as if that could place some barrier between them, as if every wall that kept them apart had not just crumbled to dust. His voice was tight with suppressed emotion as he said, “Because I need nothing.”
“What about want?” The question hung in the fragile space between them. “What do you want, Ouyang?”
You. The thought rose up against his will. Always you. He said, his voice flat, “Nothing.”
Esen regarded him with gentle surprise. When he spoke, his voice was as delicate as a dried flower. “Not even me?”
A sharp pain shot through Ouyang’s chest. It made him sick to hear Esen offer something like that, ignoring all the obvious reasons why anything of that nature would be impossible. Ouyang twisted all the despair into sharp anger, its edges digging into his heart. He took great care not to let any of the sadness leak through as he said, “What would be the point of wanting you? I can never have you, and even if I could, I could never keep you. So where is the point in wanting?”
The truth in the words tasted bitter. Ouyang wished he could taste the sweetness of a lie, but he knew that the sweetness would not last. Esen looked at him with a sort of pained surprise and something about it cut Ouyang to the core.
“Why are you so sure?” asked Esen in a half whisper. “I would give you anything you asked me for. Why do you think I wouldn’t want you?”
The ignorance of the question poured oil on the fire in Ouyang’s heart. “Because you are the Prince of Henan,” he snapped, “and I am a creature. It is not proper.”
Something dark and dangerous leaked into Esen’s voice as he said, “Believe me, my general. If I thought this was improper, I would have stopped long ago. Please, Ouyang. For once in your life, let yourself have something you want.” A pause. Then, “I want it, too.”
Esen meant for the words to soothe, but each syllable slid into Ouyang’s heart like a knife. Every option would end in suffering; how could Esen not see it? Even if Ouyang did indulge this, even if he did pretend this was possible, he knew it would not last. If he stayed, Ouyang would know what could have been, what he was losing when he finally drove a sword through Esen’s chest. And he would rather not know. Ouyang pulled away. It hurt like a physical wound, but he knew that if he stayed any longer, it would be impossible to leave. And if he did not walk away from this, it would be impossible to kill Esen, and Ouyang knew that was not his fate.
Ouyang carefully moved just far enough away that he could not be pulled back like a magnet to its opposite. But Esen did not reach for him. Instead, he stared across the space between them, with an expression of unbelieving sadness. He looked betrayed. Ouyang could feel Esen’s disappointment and pain almost as though it were his own. Ouyang longed to fall to his knees, to beg for forgiveness, to try and fix what he had meticulously broken with his own hands. It’s not that I do not want you, he thought bitterly, it’s that I will never deserve you. I can never keep you. There was a familiar ache in his heart that he knew would never cease to torture him. Ouyang felt a twist of shame as he turned away and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
In the stillness of the hallway, Ouyang felt all the warmth and pleasure freeze into a memory so cold, so lifeless that it hardly resembled reality. And yet Ouyang knew he would return to it over and over until his heart went numb. And perhaps the cold would burn and perhaps he could pretend it was warmth. Agony lanced through his chest as he realized that was the closest he would ever get. A glimpse and a memory.
Ouyang imagined the snow coming down outside, blanketing everything in its cold muffled stillness. If only he could take that blankness and wrap his heart in it, so nothing could ever hurt him again.
~*~