Zhang Qi Ling was the God of Death who was tasks to collect souls and guide them to the afterlife. He was able to kill a mortal with a simple touch.
However, for some unfathomable reason he wasn't able to collect Wu Xie's soul.
Wu Xie was a mere mo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Light was replaced with darkness and Zhang Qi Ling legs gave out from under him. His fingers dug into the surface beneath him, soft and yielding, but he couldn't see, he couldn't think clearly beyond the feeling of falling.
Falling. Fallen. That's what he was. Cast away. A fallen god. Panic curled inside his chest, the pressure building and building until his head spun wildly. He tried to hold in the chaos—control, control, control—but his mind was suddenly against him, questions and solutions rapid firing inside his head until he thought he might go insane. Where was he? Why? What would he do now? How? Oh, please... Alone, alone, why, he shouldn't be. Where was...
'I won't let you go!'
Finally, he spoke. One word filled with all the pain, loss, and fear that he hadn't ever needed to express before now boiled up inside him.
"Wu Xie."
And then there was light and Wu Xie fell in front of him, their knees touching. With one hand, Wu Xie pulled Zhang Qi Ling's fingers out of the carpet while the other cupped his face, brushing his cheek bone with his thumb.
"Breathe, Xiao ge, please..."
One forced breath, two, three and Wu Xie's beautiful face swam into focus.
"Where?" Zhang Qi Ling breathed and Wu Xie's face was so near his breath moved the soft, dark brown hair that fell Wu Xie's forehead.
"We are back in my apartment," Wu Xie answered and his eyes left Zhang Qi Ling's briefly as if assuring himself that the statement was still true. "We fell, you fell... oh fudge, Xiao ge, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
Wu Xie's arms wrapped around him, forcing them together, and he felt Wu Xie's face press into the skin of his neck. "I never wanted..." he mumbled, his head shaking back and forth. "No, I did, so much! I did want it. I'm sorry."
Zhang Qi Ling stared over Wu Xie's shoulder at the worn blue couch in Wu Xie's living room. Books and papers still littered the coffee table and Zhang Qi Ling couldn't believe how normal it all seemed to him. He'd just been here, pressed against the wall, watching another person declare her love for Wu Xie. His jealousy at their casual touches—one of Wu Xie's arms slipped down, his fingers rubbing over Zhang Qi Ling's back, offering subconscious comfort—his sadness that Wu Xie couldn't have it any more than he could and he deserved it—'I'm here, I'm sorry, it's not enough, but I'm here'—and finally, his elation when Wu Xie called to him, begged for one chance, their only chance.
"All I ever wanted to do was touch you."
Not just a memory. Words, spoken against his mouth, a needless apology that finally made Zhang Qi Ling realize exactly where he was. Where he belonged.
