Embers of the Holy War [BEING REVISED]

Hanging Onto What's Left of You

Jin didn't know what to do. He wasn't good with emotions in the first place and he didn't want to do something wrong and make things worse. It was at times like these that Guang would know the best thing to do, but now, Jin couldn't even receive his guidance, for Guang was the one that needed help. Between his brother and him, his brother was the ridiculously optimistic one - the one who knew how to cheer everyone up, the one who knew how to lighten up the mood, the one who saw hope, no matter how absurd the situation. He was like the sun - the sun that invigorates one with joy.

But now, the sun was shot down from the sky. The current Guang was nothing but a husk of his former cheerful self. He barely moved and talked, as he rested in the hospital room. Physically, he was here, but his soul was not. Jin had thought that nothing could shake his brother's ridiculous optimism, but apparently, there were things that could plunge Guang into despair.

Even so, Jin didn't have all the time to worry about Guang either. With Guang out of commission, the responsibility of the aftermath of what was now called the 'Dragon Manor incident' fell fully onto Jin's shoulders. He had to deal with not just the Long family succession and its paperwork, but the community as well, including appeasing the servants' families, avoiding the paparazzis, addressing the journalists and so on and so forth. He was so busy that he could only afford to visit Guang at most twice a week.

In the beginning, Guang couldn't even be in the same room as Jin without breaking down into tears. Back then, Jin could only sit outside of the hospital room on the cold floor as Guang's sorrowful wails filled the room. People would stare at him pitifully, even though he wished they would just mind their own business. They didn't have to make it any worse for him, knowing that he couldn't do anything for Guang.

The doctors had told him that the best thing he can do is to give Guang some time and space, but such a thing was so passive that Jin had never felt so useless in his life; especially in such a time when his brother, his only family left, was suffering immensely.

Eventually, Jin would have to leave without exchanging a single word with his brother.

This continued for two weeks, but gradually, Guang's condition improved. Jin was wholeheartedly relieved, extremely thankful that Guang was recovering, even though he would never admit as such in front of Guang.

A month later, they were finally able to have a proper conversation. Guang seemed to have collected himself, but Jin knew better than anyone that Guang was putting up a front. His smile was like fragile glass and his laughter would ring empty. His reactions were all but genuine, but Jin didn't point it out. He pretended to not notice.

A part of him was jealous. Jealous that Guang could express his anguish over losing his parents and jealous that Guang could take a break and recover while Jin couldn't. On top of worrying about Guang, he was swarmed by all sorts of responsibilities that left him drained and exhausted. He could barely get enough sleep, much less have time to himself to process his grief.

He was grieving alright, but not in the same way that Guang did. After all, they didn't need two people breaking down into tears in the same room, did they? Guang needed someone to ground him, and that someone could only be Jin. For Guang, he had to be strong and act normal.

But, just like any normal human being, Jin had his limits, too.

One night after visiting Guang, Jin stepped outside of the hospital. Jin closed his eyes, focusing on how the cool night breeze brushed his cheeks and ruffled his hair. Usually, it would have been calming to Jin, but today, it didn't work.

Somehow, that was his final straw.

Something in him snapped, and most unlike himself, he screeched. Into the night, at nothing in particular, he screamed his lungs out, and in that moment, he felt. He felt, perhaps way too much, in one go.