Zhao Yunlan’s first thought was that he was thirsty. His second was that he felt sick. His third was, Did I get hit by a fucking bus? because as more of his brain was coming online, his body was notifying him that absolutely everything hurt.
What happened? He was waking up from unconsciousness, not sleep, that much he could tell. Was he still in the street? Hadn’t he been in a hospital? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital? His memories were all—wobbly, like tapioca balls in bubble tea dodging his attempts to pin them down. Also the thought of bubble tea made the nausea worse, and—wait.
Zhao Yunlan tried to move. He was already sitting up in the pitch blackness—back against a hard surface, rust and concrete smells around him, and voices somewhere that he should probably pay attention to—but he only had so much of that to spare. Right now most of his attention was still on the fact that he couldn’t move his arms. His legs were sticking out in front of him, and he could shift them just fine. But his hands were down by either side, slightly away from his body. Lukewarm metal pressed against the insides of his wrists, hard plastic wrapped tightly around them. Zip ties.
So not a hospital, then. Why did he keep thinking about being in a hospital? He wasn’t in any street, either, and rather than waste time struggling he should pay attention to the two people arguing nearby. But the throbbing in his skull was making the voices ring funny, and the pain flaring up from breathing was—fuck. Zhao Yunlan bit down on a groan. He didn’t want his captors paying attention to him yet. Or at all. But definitely not while he was completely disoriented, and this close to throwing up.
Concussion. It came to him as he gulped down harsh breaths, trying to force the sick feeling back into his stomach rather than rising up his throat. A concussion would explain the blinding headache and nausea. And his body—maybe they had hit him with a vehicle. Maybe he wasn’t even kidnapped by someone after the chief of the SID—maybe they were completely ordinary scum who didn’t want an insurance case against them and were looking to rid themselves of the evidence. He couldn’t even tell if that would be better or worse—his team would never think to go to the normal police for help, and Shen Wei would—
Shen Wei. Shen Wei had been there, in the hospital, hadn’t he? Right before—what? Why was there a hospital and why—why, if it was completely dark, were the voices now coming closer, sure-footed even though Zhao Yunlan couldn’t see anything at all.
Oh. Fuck. Ye Zun, and the Dial, and—the blindness thing. That had definitely happened. That was why he’d thought he should be in the hospital.
The footsteps had stopped, and now there were two people standing in front of Zhao Yunlan, presumably staring down at him. He could hear the slight whisper of fabric moving as one of them gestured. “Look! I told you he wasn’t dead or nothing!” A man’s voice—belligerent, but youthful.
Zhao Yunlan winced at the loudness of it. While he’d thought he had the cover of darkness, these two had noticed he was awake. So much for subterfuge. Instead, he moaned, not entirely theatrically, and slumped forward as far as the ties around his wrists would allow.
“You hit him too hard, Xiao Yao,” a second man said. His voice was lighter, but he spoke sternly. “You always do.”
“But San-ge! We got him, and it’s fine!”
“You need to practice control. You can’t just let your gift run wild every time.”
Dixingren, then. And they’d been after him—but wanted him alive. Zhao Yunlan decided this was better than hit-and-murder drivers, but not by much.
“Yes, San-ge,” Xiao Yao muttered reluctantly. Zhao Yunlan was glad he’d stopped shouting protests, because shouting made his concussed head hurt, and any additional pain made him feel more like throwing up, and he really didn’t want to do so while tied up.
“Good boy,” San-ge said. “Now go see if you can get the boss on the line. I thought he’d be here by now, but—”
“Okay.” One set of footsteps disappearing—there was an echo in this space that made it likely to be a large, mostly empty room with bare walls. Zhao Yunlan cocked his head, trying to hear more, and San-ge shifted closer.
“Chief Zhao,” he said. Zhao Yunlan waited a moment, to see if there’d be any villainous cackling or monologuing. All he got was an attentive silence.
“What’s your Xiao Yao’s power?” Zhao Yunlan croaked, and swallowed against the dryness in his throat, the bitter taste in his mouth. “He transforms into a steamroller?”
A low chuckle. “Amusing, but no. And you don’t need to know. All you should concern yourself with is keeping calm enough that you don’t exacerbate any damage.”
Zhao Yunlan wasn’t feeling all that calm, tied up by two hostile Dixingren waiting for their boss to show up. He still didn’t know how they’d gotten him, or what had happened to Shen Wei—except nothing could possibly have happened to Shen Wei. For all the hassle he’d put them through, Zhu Jiu hadn’t stood a chance against Shen Wei, and neither would these two minions. In fact, the moment Shen Wei showed up it would all be over for them. And then he’d put that cool hand of his against Zhao Yunlan’s forehead, and the throbbing would fade and everything would be fine and—yeah. That was a good plan. Fantasy. Whatever—thinking about the way Shen Wei’s palm felt against his skin made his head hurt a little less.
“Chief Zhao?” That was—the older one. The kidnappy guy. Called—oh, right. Zhao Yunlan didn’t know his name, just that he was someone’s bro #3. And—they’d been talking, before Zhao Yunlan got distracted thinking about how nice it would be if Shen Wei could be here. And now he was thinking that he should have been getting distracted by thinking about how nice it would be if, instead of Shen Wei being here, he could be wherever Shen Wei was. At home, maybe. That sounded nice and painless.
Motion. Soles against a gritty floor. A hand—cool, but not at all nice in any way—tapping his cheek. Zhao Yunlan tried to jerk away, and hissed in pain as something bit into his wrists and his poor swollen brain went bouncing around his skull. “Chief Zhao?”
Since he wasn’t feeling up to witty repartee—or fully tracking what went on around him, even—Zhao Yunlan decided his best bet now was to see what these two would do if he went all limp and unresponsive. At least he hoped it was a decision—hoped that he could still respond if he wanted to.
“Oh dear. Chief Zhao?”
Another moment’s silence, and San-ge moved away. “Xiao Yao! What’s the boss saying?”
Xiao Yao’s heavy footsteps were coming back, more quickly than he had left on his task. “Um. He’s not answering?”
“Still? Happy to leave us waiting, is he?”
“But—do we really need to wait for the boss? We could just… deliver him ourselves?” Xiao Yao asked.
Zhao Yunlan didn’t particularly like being talked about like a parcel, but he felt quite invested in the answer.
“And how are we going to get to Dixing, hm?”
“Oh yeah,” came the dejected answer. “I forgot.”
“That damn Zhu Jiu,” San-ge said, and then something else about the Dixing portal that Zhao Yunlan missed as his jaw dropped, and his heart started beating a bit faster. The last twenty-four hours were a bit vague—but not vague enough that he didn’t remember what had happened to that poor purple-haired bastard.
“Zhu Jiu?” he said with a grin, the words rasping at his throat. “He’s not picking up any time soon.”
“What?” That could have been either of them—Zhao Yunlan was annoyed he couldn’t tell who had spoken.
“Yeah. Unless you have time to wait for his next life…” Zhao Yunlan heard footsteps, and trailed off.
Someone—the lighter of the two, so San-ge—crouched next to him. “What do you mean?”
“He’s dead,” Zhao Yunlan said, looking at where he thought San-ge’s face would be.
“Lying won’t help you, Chief Zhao,” the man answered patiently.
Zhao Yunlan snorted. He wanted to point it out would be really dumb to lie about that if Zhu Jiu could come waltzing in at any second, but instead he cut to the chase. “He died yesterday, after escaping SID custody.” At least Zhao Yunlan thought it was yesterday.
A loaded silence. “How?” San-ge’s voice had an edge to it, now. It was hard to tell how he would react to what Zhao Yunlan had to tell him. Would they look to avenge him? Or be glad that they had been promoted from minions to independent actors?
“He turned himself into a tasty little snack for Ye Zun,” Zhao Yunlan said, and then wished he hadn’t put it quite so vividly. Zhe Jiu’s death had made him sick enough before. Now he had to spend a moment thinking about cold, calm things—the air on a frosty night, the surface of his desk when he rested his forehead against it—and breathe through the surge of nausea.
“Liar!” A quick movement, followed by an impact—but nothing hit Zhao Yunlan. Nothing but sharp words exchanged between San-ge and Xiao Yao, who wasn’t taking the news well.
“But Lord Ye Zun wouldn’t—”
San-ge—clearly not as taken with Ye Zun—talked his companion down, while Zhao Yunlan did some breathing and tried to get a sense for what time it was—how long he’d been missing, how long until Shen Wei and the others would come get him. He was either too far away from any windows for sunlight to brush against his skin, or it was night. Or cloudy. Trying to isolate any sound that might help him decide, he picked up the faint patter of rain against big windows, and a low rumble that he’d taken for traffic but might be thunder. Great. So he knew what weather Dragon City was having—but he didn’t need to make small talk about the weather. He needed to get out of here.
“You know,” Zhao Yunlan said, hoping he was speaking loudly enough for them to hear him. “Your best bet now is to just let me go.”
“Excuse me?” San-ge did not sound amused. “There will be significant interest in our acquisition, Chief Zhao. We won’t need to change our plans simply because Zhu Jiu took himself out of the equation.”
“You can’t get to Dixing,” Zhao Yunlan said. “Which means you’re stuck in Dragon City. Which means Hei Pao Shi will find you.” And he wasn’t going to be well pleased—Zhao Yunlan had lovely, fuzzy memories of Shen Wei fretting over him in a park and at home both. Adding a concussion and whatever bruises he was currently sporting would in no way help Shen Wei calm down.
Silence. San-ge talked smart, but Zhao Yunlan wondered if it was possible his captors hadn’t really thought this whole kidnapping thing through. Not beyond passing him on to Zhu Jiu for whatever reward they had been promised, at least. “Yeah,” Zhao Yunlan said, and bared his teeth in a grin. “The SID, too. I can tell you that they’re looking for me right now—” And Zhao Yunlan realized where he was. His grin broadened, which made the muscles of his scalp hurt weirdly. This concussion sucked. “And they won’t be long. Trust me.”
These two small-time fools had taken Zhao Yunlan to Zhu Jiu’s hideout. That rusty concrete smell, a hint of spilled oil and old dust—it was the abandoned building Zhao Yunlan had been taken to when he’d pretended to be mind-controlled. The building the SID knew all about. It wouldn’t be long until his team realized that some of Zhu Jiu’s people could still be causing trouble, even with their leader gobbled up by Ye Zun.
“Nonsense!” That was San-ge again. Xiao Yao muttered something nervously, to which San-ge said, “Sure, take it,” and then there were footsteps leaving. Good sign or bad?
“Listen. You’re a clever guy.” San-ge was most definitely not, but a bit of a complete lie never hurt in the relationship between captive and captor. And it worked—Zhao Yunlan could tell he had the guy’s attention. “Your plan was great—you figured out the SID chief was blind before anyone else, right?”
San-ge immediately proved Zhao Yunlan’s statement about his intelligence a lie, because there was a silence that must have been a nod. Which Zhao Yunlan couldn’t see, but he decided to ignore that and move on. “So you snatched me up and were going to deliver me to Zhu Jiu to take to his boss. I’d be in Dixing—” an unpleasant thought, that— ”and you’d be free to leave with your reward, without anyone the wiser because they’d all go looking for Zhu Jiu.”
“He promised power,” San-ge said, angrily, and Zhao Yunlan actually squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t accidentally roll them. Who fell for that sort of bullshit? Why did these Dixingren have such terribly low standards for being enticed into villainy?
“Yeah, well—he doesn’t have any. Because he’s dead, and you can’t get me to anyone else who will pay before Hei Pao Shi comes busting down the door. Which he can, quite easily. Have you ever seen him in action?” Zhao Yunlan struggled with an impulse to talk about how strong and graceful and strong Shen Wei was in action, dark energy flaring around him, eyes hard as onyx and jaw particularly chiseled under the mask—only talking was exhausting, and so he waited for San-ge’s reply instead.
San-ge swallowed, loud enough that Zhao Yunlan could hear it. “He hasn’t found you yet. We could still...”
“What? Find someone stronger than Hei Pao Shi to protect you until you find a way to Dixing?” His voice was cracking now, from thirst and pain, but Zhao Yunlan had San-ge scared, and pressed on as steadily as he could. “Like I said. You’re smart. So do the smart thing—walk away. Leave me here, and the SID will find me safe and forget about you. And Hei Pao Shi will have bigger fish to fry.” Probably. Unless Shen Wei took this personally. Which he very likely would, but Zhao Yunlan really didn’t need to mention that.
“Or we could kill you,” San-ge said. He sounded angry—angry at things not going his way. Possibly angry enough to be really stupid. Zhao Yunlan’s pulse sped up, but he laughed drily.
“Sure. But then I wouldn’t be around to stop any of them—Hei Pao Shi, Chu Shuzhi the Puppet Master, Zhu Hong of the Snake Tribe.” And the others, too, but Zhao Yunlan doubted that the name Guo Changcheng would strike fear into the heart of any Dixingren.
San-ge shifted, and Zhao Yunlan tensed up. The zip ties—it wasn’t impossible to get out of them. He tried to feel for the familiar weight of his holster, but it wasn’t there—he couldn’t remember if it was supposed to be or not, but that left him with a plan that amounted to maybe attempting to get free and then running while blind. He much prefered to talk his way out of this.
“Or maybe we don’t kill you. Maybe we give you to someone who will.”
Great. So now the guy was actually using his brain. That strategy could work—get someone else to do the deed, and leave them to face the combined wrath of Hei Pao Shi and the SID. Zhao Yunlan quirked his lips in an insouciant smile. “In the next fifteen minutes?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Standard protocol,” Zhao Yunlan bluffed. “Given how long I’ve been gone”—he still had no idea how long it had been—”they should be hitting this area in about fifteen minutes.” He wasn’t sure that made any sense, but San-ge drew in a worried breath, and then there were footsteps moving away in the same direction Xiao Yao had gone off to. Thank fuck. Maybe they would do the reasonable thing and scamper off now. Certainly they couldn’t be stupid enough to kill him on the spot?
All Zhao Yunlan wanted to do was take a moment to lean back against whatever he was tied to—maybe that defunct forklift he remembered? But instead he breathed deep and shifted his sore shoulders, giving the zip ties around either wrist a tug. They bit into his skin, but it felt like the one around his right hand had slightly more give. He stilled when he heard San-ge’s footsteps approaching again. He was talking to Xiao Yao, who Zhao Yunlan couldn’t quite hear over the rain and distant rumble of thunder and the dizzy pain in his skull.
“Yeah,” San-ge was saying. “We can take him to Maomao’s—there’s some people there that might—”
Lightning struck. Zhao Yunlan couldn’t see it, but the loud crack of thunder split his skull, and he nearly threw up from the spike of pain. Under him, the floor shook.
Then he breathed a short huff of laughter—lightning didn’t strike this precisely, not after being nothing but distant rumble. And the way the temperature in the room was dropping—the way the hair on Zhao Yunlan’s arms was standing on end…
“Aiya, I guess I was a bit off,” Zhao Yunlan said, lightly. “Should’ve said five minutes, not fifteen.” And then he smirked at the cries of panic, and leaned back against a blessedly cool metal surface. He’d stay here and wait for Shen Wei to come and hopefully not yell too much at him for getting kidnapped. Surely almost talking himself free should count for something.
There were hurried footsteps, back and forth, like cockroaches caught out under a sudden bright light, and a door being blown down—Zhao Yunlan felt the rain-laden draft a moment after hearing it fall. He wished he could see the impressive figure Shen Wei must be striking right about now, striding through that ruined door. It was nice to imagine it, at least—and the terrified figures of Xiao Yao and San-ge huddling in—
A sharp crack echoed through the building, ripping through the pain in Zhao Yunlan’s head and shattering his calm. He’d know that sound anywhere. The sound of death—of the dark energy revolver he carried—
And then a scream, and a thud, and Zhao Yunlan couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, as he saw in his mind’s eye—more vividly than anything real—a black cloak fluttering as Shen Wei fell lifeless to the ground, eyes blank in a maskless face, and—
No.
“Oh fuck.”
“What did you do? What did you do?!”
No.
They couldn’t have—Shen Wei wouldn’t have—
“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know—but look, Hei Pao Shi is down! We could—!”
“Xiao Yao, you idiot. Lord Ye Zun was really fucking clear on not killing him! Nobody was supposed to touch him!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry!”
Zhao Yunlan shook his head numbly, feeling nothing as he struggled against the restraints, knowing only he had to get to Shen Wei—had to know those Dixingren were lying, that they couldn’t have hurt Shen Wei, couldn’t have done that, couldn’t have—
“Shut up. Not a word from you. We can fix this. Nobody knows it was us—”
“He does.”
A silence, and Zhao Yunlan tried to hear Shen Wei, waited desperately for Shen Wei to rise as he had after they had fooled Zhu Jiu into thinking Zhao Yunlan had shot him—waited for a word, a breath, an explosion of power.
Nothing came, other than footsteps. “Let me go,” Zhao Yunlan forced the words out of a throat too tight for air, and heard it as a raspy whisper. “Let me go, you bastards, let me go, I have to—”
Something cold brushed lightly against his forehead. Another sharp crack of his revolver sounded, deafeningly near. The shock of it made Zhao Yunlan jerk back against the solid metal. His head went fuzzy for a moment—it was like a spark plug had blown in his brain, leaving his body slumping bonelessly. He couldn’t catch himself—couldn’t even breathe, or blink, or do anything but feel panic consuming him at how this was keeping him from going to Shen Wei. He was being held back, again, like when strong arms had wrapped around him and kept him from running to his mother calling his name and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t let this happen again, he wouldn’t, not again, not Shen Wei—
“Shen Wei!” A gasp, and sensation came flooding back in. Pain, bright where everything else was dark. Burning around his wrists, pounding in his skull, ringing in his ears, throbbing dully everywhere else. His throat was raw with it, though he couldn’t remember screaming. He gulped for air and called Shen Wei’s name, voice breaking. He couldn’t hear properly—even the rain and thunder had faded to an odd, echoing static, loud enough to drown out any breathing in the building other than his own.
Zhao Yunlan could feel the terrified helplessness threatening to unravel him, and forced himself to breathe, inhaling lungfuls of air that tasted like rain and dust and ozone as he clenched his hands to fists.
Right one looser than the left.
As he remembered. There was a bit of give around his right wrist, enough that he could move it vertically. And the metal against his skin wasn’t wide—he’d felt edges, before. Could brush them with his fingertips. Metal edges against the plastic of the zip tie. That would do it, if he just—he scrambled to get his knees under him for leverage, his own breathing loud and sharp in his ears as he worked his wrist up and down behind his back, angling it just so. Friction weakened the integrity of the restraint, and he sawed as quickly as he could, pausing to pull at it with his full weight. A whine of frustration rose in his chest as the tie held, again and again, until it felt like his hand would rip off—and then finally, the plastic restraint snapped.
Zhao Yunlan didn’t even pause for an exclamation of relief or triumph, only rifled through his pockets until he found his keys. The small letterbox key would do perfectly. Even blind, it was a matter of seconds to work the tip of it against the locking mechanism of the other zip tie and loosen the tie enough that he could scrape his left hand through the gap, and wrap it around his bleeding right wrist.
He was free. He could stand up. Their enemies were gone, and Shen Wei—Zhao Yunlan unclenched his jaw to draw a shuddering breath. “Shen Wei?”
No answer. None that he could hear. Not over the tinny whine in his ears, and the white noise of the rain. It was coming down harder now. The sound of it was different where it smattered against the windows and where it was coming through the door Shen Wei had blown out. Where Shen Wei had been—where they had left Shen Wei. How long, now? How long had he been laying there? How long without getting up, without answering, without—
Zhao Yunlan took one step toward the door, and stumbled. His legs were shaking. He couldn’t see the obstacles in his path, but he needed to get to Shen Wei, needed to—to help Shen Wei. He wanted to run, to get there faster, but his legs refused. He walked, instead, banging into things with hard edges and things that made him trip, and the noise they made as they clattered across the cement floor was strangely muted, just like the sound of Zhao Yunlan’s own voice. “Shen Wei. Shen Wei, please, don’t—please don’t. Shen Wei…”
When he felt a damp gust of wind, Zhao Yunlan knew he was close. He went down on his knees with bruising force, brushing his hands over the cold, gritty floor. At first that dirt clung to his sticky palms, but as he searched, it all rubbed off. He kept touching nothing but air and then floor, trembling with tension as he hoped—hoped with such desperation it was crushing his heart in his ribcage with every too-fast beat—that he wouldn’t find what he feared.
His fingers brushed against something that wasn’t hard or gritty, but gave slightly when pushed. Fabric. It was covered in fabric—Zhao Yunlan froze. “Shen Wei?” He ran his hands frantically over what he had found—an arm. There was a chest, and—there, a hand that he could grip. Shen Wei’s. Even limp and cold, Zhao Yunlan recognized it from how it fit against his own. He clutched at it, brought it to his lips, and his voice hitched as he said, “Shen Wei, come on.”
There was no reaction. Maybe Zhao Yunlan hadn’t really expected one. He placed Shen Wei’s hand gently back on the floor and felt his way up to Shen Wei’s chest, where his palms skated over a suit jacket and button-up shirt, not Hei Pao Shi’s robes at all. Which meant Shen Wei wasn’t awake—but Zhao Yunlan had known that, had known when Shen Wei didn’t answer that he couldn’t, that he was—that he wasn’t—
Zhao Yunlan stroked up Shen Wei’s jaw, feeling the jut of cheekbone and brow and the tickling sensation of hair brushing his skin. Tapped Shen Wei’s cheek lightly. “Shen Wei?” Then he bent even closer to Shen Wei, hovering his ear over cold, unresponsive lips.
So cold. Why was he so cold, why wasn’t he—Zhao Yunlan was trembling so hard now he wasn’t sure what he was sensing. If there was a faint puff of air against his skin or if that was just the wind. He couldn’t see—he hated that he couldn’t see Shen Wei’s face, that he couldn’t check Shen Wei for injuries, that he had to feel his way across Shen Wei’s body like this. He pressed two fingers against the soft skin of Shen Wei’s throat, feeling for a pulse—that was the right spot, he should be feeling something, he had to feel something because Shen Wei couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. Zhao Yunlan couldn’t lose him, couldn’t—wouldn’t, wouldn’t accept this and wouldn’t—
A noise, as distorted by the ringing in his ears as everything else, drew Zhao Yunlan’s attention. Rapid footsteps, and he pulled Shen Wei into his arms so that he could curl protectively around his still body. If those bastards were coming back, if they thought Zhao Yunlan would let them have Shen Wei—”Stay away!” he snarled, feeling a new presence drawing near.
Distantly he heard a voice exclaiming, “Lao Zhao!”
“Don’t—” It took Zhao Yunlan a moment to process that the sound wasn’t a threat. That it was his name. He stopped growling and blinked, though it changed nothing about the darkness in front of him, and cocked his head toward the sound.
“Lao Zhao. It’s me. Zhu Hong.” Her voice sounded high and strange. Thunder rolled outside, louder now. Then she spoke again, but not to him. Zhao Yunlan could even make out the mosquito-buzz of a voice on the other end of a phone. “Yes, in Zhu Jiu’s hideout. And hurry up!”
“Zhu Hong,” Zhao Yunlan repeated, trying to grasp what it meant. Zhu Hong was here—she wasn’t a threat, and she had found them. “Zhu Hong! Shen Wei, he’s—”
Footsteps drew near, and Zhu Hong knelt next to him with a scraping thud. She gasped, and the sound pulled helpless words out of Zhao Yunlan in a jumble, “Is he—I can’t see, I don’t know how he’s—Zhu Hong, please.” In his arms, Shen Wei felt very heavy, and very still, back propped up against his knees.
A pause. Too long, she was quiet for too long—like she didn’t want to tell him, like she had seen what Zhao Yunlan hadn’t been able to and didn’t want to be the one to tell him that—
“His pulse is weak, but he’s breathing,” Zhu Hong said, the words coming out in a rush, clear even to Zhao Yunlan’s distorted hearing. “But Lao Zhao—”
Zhao Yunlan went limp with relief. Slumped down over Shen Wei—pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and just held him for a moment. Alive. Shen Wei was in his arms, and alive, and they would keep him that way. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to uncurl, looking in Zhu Hong’s direction as he gently adjusted Shen Wei’s head against his shoulder. “They shot him with my gun,” he explained, and Zhu Hong hissed in distress.
“They?” Zhao Yunlan could feel Zhu Hong tense, ready to stand.
“They’re gone—they ran, I think?” Zhao Yunlan couldn’t remember. He tried, and the loud crack of a gunshot in his memory made him shudder. There had been something else, after, but—
“And what did they do to you?” Zhu Hong interrupted his thoughts. A cold hand—not Shen Wei’s, much smaller—brushed against his forearm, near the wrist circling Shen Wei, and he winced.
“Nothing.” Zhao Yunlan didn’t need to see to process Zhu Hong’s reaction. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Shen Wei was alive. The concussion and lacerations could wait—as could the mention that Shen Wei hadn’t been the only one shot with Zhao Yunlan’s revolver. But it was made to take out Dixingren, so Zhao Yunlan shouldn't suffer more than this ringing in his ears from it.
Next to him, Zhu Hong stirred, her attention drawn away from Zhao Yunlan’s injured wrist to Shen Wei. “Oh. Oh no.”
“Zhu Hong?”
“Nothing—nothing urgent, Lao Zhao. Professor Shen is still breathing.” Zhu Hong did not sound like a woman who was dealing with nothing, and Zhao Yunlan could feel her reaching over and touching Shen Wei somewhere.
“Tell me,” Zhao Yunlan snapped, because he couldn’t afford to take risks with Shen Wei’s life just because his subordinate wanted to protect him from the truth.
“I don’t know!” There was that high, anxious voice again, and not just because of the din in his ears. “I’m not fully trained, I’m not even—”
“Zhu Hong,” Zhao Yunlan interrupted her. “You’re all I have. Please.”
“Professor Shen isn’t bleeding,” Zhu Hong said. “Not blood. But I think he’s getting weaker? I think it’s his dark energy—even Hei Pao Shi doesn’t have an unlimited supply.”
Zhao Yunlan had asked for it, but the truth still hit like a blow to the stomach. To the heart. “What can we do?” he asked thickly, his arms tightening around Shen Wei.
Zhu Hong drew a sharp breath. “If—if we gave him an injection of energy, so he could start healing whatever has caused this…”
“Yes,” Zhao Yunlan said. He didn’t know what Zhu Hong was suggesting, but he’d seen Shen Wei use his powers to speed his own recovery. “Where do we get that? Can we take him to your tribe? Is there—is there time?”
“No need,” Zhu Hong said, and she sounded so brittle Zhao Yunlan thought for a moment that she was about to say that it was because Shen Wei was too far gone. “I have this.”
A pause, and then she blurted, “I’m sorry, Lao Zhao. I forgot you can’t see.” Zhao Yunlan shrugged, and she caught the hand he’d been resting against Shen Wei’s chest and pressed something into his hand. It was small, and smoothly cool to the touch—glass, he thought. A tiny bottle, maybe, like those he remembered from his mother’s dresser. He shook it, and felt a tiny shift in weight—a little bit of liquid sloshing back and forth.
“That is one of the most powerful potions a Snake can make,“ Zhu Hong explained. “Like concentrated healing energy. Most of us don’t have the skill, even if we could find the ingredients, but—my mother, she made this. She left this for me, and—and I brought it. For you.”
At first Zhao Yunlan couldn’t figure out why Zhu Hong was telling him this instead of going to fixing Shen Wei. And then he realized what she meant, ‘for you’. For his eyes. For his sight. Which had mattered, and now didn’t, at all. All that mattered was Shen Wei—and here he had the last drops of what sounded like a miracle elixir.
He grinned at Zhu Hong, who had brought him her mother’s precious gift, relief and gratitude making him a little loopy under the pain as he held the bottle out to her. “If it’s the best Snake medicine, it can save him.” He had to believe that.
There was a silence—a gesture of agreement? Hesitation? As well as Zhao Yunlan knew Zhu Hong, he couldn’t quite picture the expression on her face now. “It—it has to be applied with utmost care,” Zhu Hong said, as she plucked the bottle from his hand.
Zhao Yunlan fumbled blindly until he could touch Zhu Hong’s arm, then her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. “You can do it.”
Zhu Hong didn’t wait as long before answering this time. “Yes.”
“Can I—can I help?” Zhao Yunlan nearly lost the sentence halfway. He had to hold on to Shen Wei. That thought kept stealing his focus. It was all he could do to follow what Zhu Hong was saying, and ignore the pain tearing at his consciousness.
“Oh, Lao Zhao…” Whatever was in Zhu Hong’s face, her voice wavered. Then she gave him a quick pat on the arm. “I’ll have to move him, but you can support his head, okay?”
Zhao Yunlan nodded, because Zhu Hong could still see body language, and very reluctantly let her take Shen Wei. With a slide and a thump—Zhu Hong apologized before Zhao Yunlan could bark a reprimand—she maneuvered Shen Wei’s body so that most of him was on the floor. Not his head, though—Zhao Yunlan pillowed that in his lap, and gripped Shen Wei’s shoulders.
“You got him?” Zhu Hong asked, though it sounded as if she knew that Zhao Yunlan already did. No matter what, he would have Shen Wei.
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll begin.”
Zhu Hong worked, and Zhao Yunlan carefully stroked a stray lock of hair from Shen Wei’s forehead. It was all he could do. His left hand curled more tightly around Shen Wei’s shoulder as the sound of rain and faraway thunder hummed and wavered in his perception. He had never seen Zhu Hong do anything with Snake medicine, so he couldn’t picture it—couldn’t picture anything but Shen Wei’s face as it felt to his gentle touch: completely slack, oddly naked without mask or glasses. Eyes closed, long lashes just brushing his cheek. Eyes closed, not open and glassy—Shen Wei was alive. Zhu Hong had said so. Shen Wei was alive, he wasn’t—
“Lao Zhao?”
Zhao Yunlan startled, almost jerking back before stopping himself from disturbing Shen Wei. Zhu Hong was leaning in, a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed her move closer. “Lao Zhao!”
“Yeah?” he croaked, and the hand disappeared.
“His pulse is stronger!” Zhu Hong sounded almost breathless with excitement. “I thought maybe it would take a while for the medicine to work, but his heart is already recovering, and his breathing is almost normal, for him. And his color looks so much better?”
Zhao Yunlan pictured it—a blush of healthy pink in Shen Wei’s corpse-pale face. He pictured Shen Wei’s lashes fluttering like they did right before his eyes would open wide. Zhao Yunlan’s heart swelled, and he had to blink away tears he couldn’t see. “Thank you,” he whispered, feeling the cold fear beginning to drain from him.
There was a shiver of fabric as Zhu Hong made a sharp motion. “It was just a—a small reserve. What he’s doing now, that’s all Hei Pao Shi’s own powers. Any other Dixingren—”
Any other Dixingren would be dead. Zhao Yunlan knew it, and stroked Shen Wei’s soft hair. “Shen Wei.” The familiar texture of it was good to have close, when everything around him was growing so distant. Zhao Yunlan wanted to say more—to do more, but everything was coming very slowly to him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. If he hadn’t let them take him—if they hadn’t gotten his gun—if Shen Wei hadn’t come for him…
“Yunlan?”
Shen Wei’s hand caught his, and Zhao Yunlan exhaled a shaky laugh, linking their fingers together. “Shen Wei,” he answered, choking on his own emotions. “I’m here.”
For a few long moments, Shen Wei didn’t move, only lay there holding Zhao Yunlan’s hand. Then something changed—Zhao Yunlan didn’t know what, only that Shen Wei inhaled sharply and sat up—away from Zhao Yunlan, which made his smile fade. He wanted to tell Shen Wei to come back, but before he could, Shen Wei’s hands were on him, touching him. A cool palm pressed against Zhao Yunlan’s forehead, and it was just as wonderful as he had imagined. He made a contented sigh, and leaned his weight against it, just a little.
Or a lot, even—he was toppling forward now, but that was okay. Shen Wei caught him, and held him up. Shen Wei didn’t let go as he asked questions—what happened, what hurt—and demanded Zhao Yunlan answer. But he couldn’t. Now that he had Shen Wei back, there was no reason to struggle against that terrible pain anymore. He could relax, and Shen Wei would hold on to him.
No matter what.
Zhao Yunlan first came awake to the sound of hissing and smells he couldn’t place—something bitter like oversteeped tea, and a pepper-sharpness. He blinked, then realized he knew where he was even if he couldn’t see. He was in bed. His own bed. He knew it by touch and scent, and when he raised his head from his familiar pillow to listen, he knew the hissing, too—a cat and a snake, trying and failing to be quiet and inconspicuous. In the background, a few drops of rain tapped against the window.
In the jumble of impressions, it was what was missing, not what was there, that stood out to Zhao Yunlan. Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan couldn’t hear his voice. Could catch a hint of Shen Wei’s fragrance in the warm sheets, but couldn’t feel his touch anywhere.
Every ounce of pleasant relaxation he’d felt at things like bed and less pain evaporated. He tried sitting up and must have groaned, because Da Qing’s voice rang out, “He’s awake! Lao Zhao’s awake!”
It was odd, hearing Zhu Hong’s footsteps here in their apartment. She approached the bed, but stopped a couple of steps away. “Professor Shen is right here, Lao Zhao,” she said, even though Zhao Yunlan hadn’t managed to work up the courage to ask yet. His head went light and floaty for a moment and he sank back into the pillows as adrenaline and pain and relief all did a number on him.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh good.”
Da Qing came bouncing over—in human form he made quite a dent in the mattress when he sat down. “About Shen Wei,” the cat started, accusingly, and was interrupted by Zhu Hong’s scolding, “Da Qing.”
“But Zhu Hong! He’s been sleeping with Hei Pao Shi! That’s not—you can’t just—even our boss shouldn’t be so shameless as to—”
“Da Qing.” Zhu Hong’s voice was quite firm, and Da Qing’s weight shifted away very suddenly.
Zhao Yunlan was still trying to catch up, but he did snicker at that. Served the cat right for being so outraged at who Zhao Yunlan had the best sex of his life with. “So Shen Wei’s okay?” Zhao Yunlan asked out of sheer principle—he knew for a fact that neither of the others would be acting like this if Shen Wei wasn’t okay.
“Yes. Yes, of course—he’s here, on your sofa. Asleep.”
Of course. Otherwise Shen Wei would be here, talking to Zhao Yunlan himself. But also—only asleep? Or worse? Though he still couldn’t recall what had happened between talking to Dr. Cheng and waking up tied to a forklift, the sound of that shot fired from his own revolver rang loud and sharp in his memory—as did Shen Wei’s cold hand, and Shen Wei’s head in his lap. “What? Is he still hurt? Shouldn’t we be in a hospital? How is he—help me get up, I have to—”
Da Qing’s hand shoved him back against the pillow, not entirely gently. And Zhu Hong didn’t stop him. “He’s fine, Lao Zhao. He was up and about and talking and everything.”
“But he’s—” Over there. Away from Zhao Yunlan.
“He was just tired,” Da Qing assured him.
Before Zhao Yunlan could protest, Zhu Hong said, “Professor Shen used up a lot of energy healing you. He said sleep would help restore it. And he said you should get more rest, too, once you’ve had your medicine.”
Zhao Yunlan didn’t like any of that sentence. Well. He liked the idea of getting rest, and Shen Wei getting rest, but. “Why is he on the sofa?”
A silence met that question. Or possibly his tone—but Zhao Yunlan didn’t want Shen Wei to be all the way over there. Not if Da Qing was going to keep shoving him back when he tried to get up.
“Professor Shen… He didn’t want to disturb you,” Zhu Hong said, after a while.
Well, that definitely sounded like Shen Wei. Especially if they still had two of the SID in their apartment, he would probably have thought it terribly improper to go to their shared bed. Which was ridiculous—what was terribly improper was denying his boyfriend a good cuddle. “Bring him here,” Zhao Yunlan said, not caring if he sounded like a spoiled princess in a historical drama.
He had never heard Zhu Hong and Da Qing more in synch than when they exclaimed “Lao Zhao!” in the exact same scandalized tone.
“Or wake him up,” Zhao Yunlan said uncharitably. If Shen Wei chose to sleep away from Zhao Yunlan, he deserved what he got.
“Are you crazy?” Da Qing asked.
“We can’t do that,” Zhu Hong said. “He needs rest!”
Zhao Yunlan needed rest, too, and he wasn’t going to get it until he had Shen Wei next to him in bed, where he could feel that Shen Wei was okay. Not that he thought his friends were lying to him, exactly, but—he’d felt everything wrong with Shen Wei, before. And he needed that feeling to go away more than he needed anything else right now. “He’ll rest better here,” Zhao Yunlan said, patting the empty space beside him. “Come on. He’s not that heavy.”
That was a lie. Shen Wei was solid. But not so much that two Yashou couldn’t handle him. “Or let me move to the sofa,” Zhao Yunlan suggested.
Da Qing hissed. “Hei Pao Shi told us you should stay in bed,” he said, and Zhao Yunlan raised his eyebrows in a Well there you have it.
“Did he tell you not to carry him over?”
A silence.
Zhao Yunlan grinned. “You’ll have to, then. I’m still your chief,” he said. Game, set and match. Da Qing hissed, but left, so Zhao Yunlan heaved himself out of bed and went to the bathroom.
They did try to call him back, but they couldn’t exactly argue he shouldn’t go. Zhao Yunlan was both stiff and wobbly, but he could definitely make it—it was easier navigating blind than it was navigating blind drunk. Which was almost what it felt like—his head was a bit fuzzy and numb, but no longer about to split like a rotten melon. His body—okay, Xiao Yao’s powers must be have been something like a long-distance body tackle or transforming into an elephant, because he felt bruised all over. Once he’d taken care of the most urgent business, he poked himself here and there, and—yep, those were definitely bruises.
His wrists were bandaged, he noticed when he changed into the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d left on the floor and Shen Wei hadn’t gotten around to tidying up yet. But he rubbed at the spot in the middle of his forehead where he’d felt the barrel of his own gun brush against his skin, and—nothing. Not a bruise, not a scab. No trace that it had even happened. And no trace of any head trauma, either.
No wonder Shen Wei was exhausted, if he’d healed all of that damage already.
Feeling ready to have a ten-year nap, Zhao Yunlan shambled out of the bathroom and almost straight into Da Qing. The cat was trying to grab him by the arm and help him, but Zhao Yunlan hadn’t been expecting anyone, and it startled him so badly he almost tripped and fell backwards. With an impatient snort, Da Qing grabbed him by the hand and tugged him upright, then guided him back to his bed. “He’s here,” Da Qing said. “He didn’t wake up. We put Hei Pao Shi in your bed and he didn’t wake up, and—” The outraged cat ran out of words.
Meanwhile Zhu Hong was so silent Zhao Yunlan was wondering if she’d left until she cleared her throat. “I will—I will bring you something you have to drink before sleeping.” He heard her make her way to the kitchen, and slosh about with whatever smelled like bitter tea and spicy food. He leaned in the direction of the bed, but Da Qing held him upright.
“No,” he growled. “You can do whatever you want when we’re gone, but—not all of us want to go blind from PDA.”
“Pretty sure this isn’t from PDA,” Zhao Yunlan gestured to his eyes, and Da Qing snorted.
“It would be for us.” Then he asked, “Do you need to sit down?”
Zhao Yunlan needed to lie down next to Shen Wei. Really, really needed that, more than any Snake Tribe medicinal drink or anything. But he knew what Zhu Hong had given up for him—knew more than he liked to admit, or think about. So he stood and waited, and when she came to him with a tea mug half full of something the consistency of pond scum that tasted no more pleasant than it had smelled, he drank it all without protest and thanked her.
“There’s more by—by the bed,” she said, stumbling a bit breathlessly on the last word. “For Professor Shen, when he wakes up—it wouldn’t help to take him to a hospital, but…”
But Shen Wei had been badly hurt, and then exerted himself into exhaustion for Zhao Yunlan’s sake. “I’ll make sure he takes it,” he told Zhu Hong. “Thanks.”
“It’s nothing much,” she protested, but Zhao Yunlan thought she sounded pleased.
“Oh,” Zhao Yunlan said, before he forgot in his haste to get back to Shen Wei. “And I have a job for you. A couple of guys I want you to arrest.” Zhao Yunlan gave them everything he had on San-ge and Xiao Yao, including where they’d been planning on running off to. “Maomao’s—it’s a bar, if I remember right? Others there should know about them. And if they act cagey…” Zhao Yunlan smiled sharply. “Bring Lao Chu. And say you’re after them on murder charges.” They might not have set out to kill anyone, but murderers was what those assholes had very nearly ended up becoming. Zhao Yunlan was not about to let them forget that.
From what he could pick up of their grim satisfaction, Zhu Hong and Da Qing weren’t about to, either. “We’ll get them, Chief Zhao,” Zhu Hong said, and Zhao Yunlan shot a grateful look in her direction.
“I know,” he said. She’d had a terrible time of it, too, and he’d have to make it up to her somehow. Later. Right then he wavered where he stood, and Da Qing caught him by the arm.
“I’ll lock up,” he said, as Zhao Yunlan heard Zhu Hong move to the front door.
Zhao Yunlan nodded. “Okay.”
“It’s early evening now. I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
Da Qing let go of his arm, and gave him a gentle shove. “Bed’s right there.”
Zhao Yunlan gave Da Qing and Zhu Hong a relaxed wave as they departed, the door clicking shut behind them. Then he exhaled slowly, and felt his way to the edge of the bed—they’d left some room for him there. Good thinking. It would be awkward to have to climb over Shen Wei. Instead he could just lift the covers and curl up on his side against Shen Wei’s supine form, so wonderfully real and alive.
Zhao Yunlan nuzzled Shen Wei’s temple, hair tickling his nose as he inhaled deeply. Shen Wei smelled a little bit like bitter herbs and cement dust, but under that was the smokey sweetness of incense that always seemed to linger in Hei Pao Shi’s robes, and the scent of Zhao Yunlan’s own shampoo. It smelled good, that combination.
And probably Shen Wei looked as good as he always did, too—though maybe he’d be a little paler? Zhao Yunlan frowned, and propped himself up on an elbow, resting his free hand against Shen Wei’s cheek. Smooth and cool—but not cold. He stroked it, feeling the warmth of his palm linger in Shen Wei’s skin, and felt a sting at the unfairness of not being able see Shen Wei’s expression.
He could feel the slow rise and fall of Shen Wei’s chest against his own ribs—restful and calming, and maybe he really should just lie back down and have some sleep. But he’d been up, and he’d had Zhu Hong’s medicine, and he couldn’t see how Shen Wei was doing, and some combination of all that made sleep less tempting than it had been earlier.
Instead, Zhao Yunlan continued mapping Shen Wei’s features the only way he could—by touch. He trailed his fingertips up the angle of Shen Wei’s cheekbone to the wing of an eyebrow. He petted the entire length of it—amusing, if only because Shen Wei would probably have protested if he’d been awake—and then moved on, searching Shen Wei’s forehead for frowns. Because even asleep—there it was. A little dip, right over the bridge of his nose. Shen Wei had something stressing him out to the point where he couldn’t fully relax, not even with his body sunk deep into sleep. Zhao Yunlan rubbed at it, as if he could erase that lingering tension by touch, but that stubborn furrow remained.
Zhao Yunlan sighed, and stroked Shen Wei’s hair instead. “You really should rest,” he said, though there was a pang in his chest at how badly he wanted Shen Wei to feel better and wake up. “It’s safe now.” A few breaths passed, quiet between them, but when he trailed them back down, Zhao Yunlan’s fingers found that the frown still lingered.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You scared me too, Hei Laoge.” More than Zhao Yunlan could say. Professor Shen—when they’d first met, there were a couple of times Zhao Yunlan had been terrified for him. But Hei Pao Shi was—the strongest. Zhao Yunlan had known that since long before they met. His dad hadn’t liked talking about work, but sometimes there wasn’t anywhere else for the chief’s son to go than to his office. So when he was young, Zhao Yunlan had heard things. Dixing’s Hei Pao Shi making an appearance was something the others in the old SID couldn’t help but talk about—always in awed terms, even the ones who would use language Zhao Yunlan’s mother wouldn’t have approved of about other Dixingren. When Hei Pao Shi showed up, that was it. No miscreant could escape—no other force was powerful enough to harm him.
And that was all Shen Wei had let Zhao Yunlan see. Dixing’s invulnerable enforcer—he’d warned Zhao Yunlan that there were limits to his powers, but what those could be had been impossible to imagine.
Not anymore. Zhao Yunlan had had plenty of practice imagining it now, in those moments after he heard his own gun fired. He shuddered. He’d have to go back to the firing range. Work on his urge to flinch or worse every time he heard that sound, now. Every time he remembered this helplessness—Shen Wei hurt, because of him. And now all Zhao Yunlan could do was to keep petting Shen Wei’s hair, and talk quietly about whatever crossed his mind, feeling Shen Wei’s steady breathing as proof that he was going to wake up.
Maybe Zhao Yunlan dozed a bit, an arm and a leg slung over Shen Wei, his forehead resting against Shen Wei’s temple. Or maybe he didn’t—his thoughts drifted, but his heart was firmly anchored in the feeling of having Shen Wei sleeping next to him. Of wanting to keep Shen Wei safe and close and never letting anything hurt him again—of wanting that so much he ached with it.
Zhao Yunlan noticed the change in Shen Wei’s breathing at once—it either woke him, or focused his attention back from wherever it had flown off to. He tightened his arm around Shen Wei’s chest, and pressed a kiss to Shen Wei’s cheek. “Hey,” he murmured, not sure if Shen Wei was waking or dreaming.
“Zhao Yunlan?” The answer came almost immediately, though Shen Wei sounded adorably groggy.
“Here,” he answered, and propped himself up his elbow. “I’m here, you’re home.” Being able to say those words to Shen Wei—to have Shen Wei be home in Zhao Yunlan’s bed—it was like his entire body was experiencing what drinking champagne felt like. Ridiculous and fizzy and kind of heady if you had enough of it.
“You’re awake,” Shen Wei rasped, and Zhao Yunlan thought he heard an answering smile.
“I am. But how are you? How are you feeling? The damn cat and Zhu Hong said you fell asleep—do you need more sleep, can I—”
Shen Wei stirred, and instead of an answer Zhao Yunlan found himself pulled down against Shen Wei’s chest. He grinned, and burrowed closer, his face against Shen Wei’s.
“Yunlan,” Shen Wei breathed, and the strong arms around Zhao Yunlan tightened as Shen Wei’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head.
“I’m here. I’m here.” Zhao Yunlan laughed softly, so glad to feel Shen Wei like this—awake, and strong, and needing Zhao Yunlan in his arms as badly as Zhao Yunlan had needed him. The pressure against his bruises hurt, but that was fine. Everything was fine, now. Bodies flush like this, there was even a spark of heat in the pit of his stomach—there wasn’t enough oxygen in Zhao Yunlan for it to bloom into its usual conflagration, but he loved what Shen Wei did to him. Half-asleep and bruised and blind, with Shen Wei he still wanted. Zhao Yunlan didn’t move, other than to wind his fingers into Shen Wei’s hair, letting Shen Wei hold him.
And then Shen Wei shifted, plucking Zhao Yunlan from his chest and placing him on his back in the bed as easily as Zhao Yunlan would have moved Da Qing.
“Hm?” Zhao Yunlan asked. It felt like Shen Wei was staring at him. Shen Wei’s hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head slightly. He leaned into touch until he got what Shen Wei was doing. “I’m fine,” he protested. Shen Wei didn’t need to look at his eyes, or his skull, or whatever. “Come on, you can see I’m fine!” but when he tried to pull away Shen Wei held him still.
“Baby,” Zhao Yunlan complained. “Stop staring at my handsome face and tell me how you’re doing! I can’t see you, so if you’re about to throw up or something you really have to say something.”
Shen Wei’s thumb rubbed at the base of Zhao Yunlan’s skull—it felt good. Soothing. Not like he was being pinned in place. “Zhu Hong told me about the potion,” Shen Wei said. Probably he’d scared the information out of her with his Hei Pao Shi powers—it was totally unfair how Zhao Yunlan’s own subordinates listened more to Dixing’s Envoy than their own chief.
“Yeah?” Zhao Yunlan thought Shen Wei didn’t sound entirely pleased. “It got you back online real quick, but—how are you feeling?”
“It could have restored your sight,” Shen Wei said. His voice was still gravelly with sleep—or with emotions Zhao Yunlan couldn’t make out.
“Maybe? But what it did for you—”
“I’m sorry.” Shen Wei’s hand was still now, Zhao Yunlan noticed.
Zhao Yunlan blinked. Blinked again, to really convey the message of complete bafflement. “What?”
“If I hadn’t—” Shen Wei didn’t get any further, because Zhao Yunlan reached up and placed his own hand on Shen Wei’s face. He wasn’t really picky about where it landed, and ended up kind of squishing Shen Wei’s nose at first, but that was fine.
“You,” he said slowly. “You haven’t even told me how you’re feeling, after getting shot with my gun after coming to rescue me.” And Zhao Yunlan hadn’t even been able to go to his side at first—hadn’t done anything to help until Zhu Hong showed up with her miracle. It stole a bit of his breath away, thinking about how close he’d come to losing Shen Wei. “And now you’re going to apologize? For what—failing to be invulnerable?”
Shen Wei wrapped his fingers very gently around Zhao Yunlan’s forearm, careful not to touch the bandage, and moved the hand away from his face. “It was careless of me.”
Zhao Yunlan’s heart plummeted at the way Shen Wei said it—berating himself, as if any of this was his fault. “Well, it was careless of me to get kidnapped,” he said, because it was. Not that he could remember how it had happened, but if he’d just stopped that from happening, then… “And I accidentally let two really stupid criminals have my revolver, so we’re even there. Okay?”
Shen Wei’s cheek didn’t move under Zhao Yunlan’s hand—no smile, no solemn agreement to leave all this guilt behind. Zhao Yunlan swallowed. “Shen Wei. Please just tell me how you’re feeling?”
Shen Wei was silent for a few more breaths; then he touched Zhao Yunlan’s cheek again. Softly, this time. His fingertips were—wet?
Oh.
Quickly, Zhao Yunlan scrubbed a hand over his face, dislodging Shen Wei’s hand.
“Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei said.
“Please,” Zhao Yunlan repeated, and heard the strain in his own voice.
Shen Wei sighed. “I am… recovering,” he said.
“So you’re still hurt?”
“Not as you were. It’s not an injury. Merely a—a critical lack of energy.”
Zhao Yunlan was glad Shen Wei was actually telling him, but he really didn’t like what he was hearing. “Critical as in it could kill you?”
“No. Not anymore.”
Zhao Yunlan exhaled in relief, and flailed about until he found Shen Wei’s neck and flung his arms around it, tugging Shen Wei closer. Shen Wei could have refused to move, of course, but he obliged—lowered himself down next to Zhao Yunlan, who proceeded to wrap himself around as much of Shen Wei as he could. Face to face like this he could feel Shen Wei’s breath tickling his skin, Shen Wei’s hair brush his own forehead. “Okay,” he said. “I’m glad. I’m so glad she came, Zhu Hong—oh, and you’ll have to drink her medicine—but if she hadn’t been there, Shen Wei, I—”
Shen Wei’s arms tightened around Zhao Yunlan again, and his lips pressed against Zhao Yunlan’s forehead. Zhao Yunlan struggled for a bit of leverage—got a hand on Shen Wei’s shoulder and lifted his head so their lips could meet.
Or that was the idea, at least. Without being able to judge exactly what he was doing, he ended up scraping his beard against Shen Wei’s jaw and planted a kiss at the corner of Shen Wei’s mouth instead. Then Shen Wei cupped the back of his head and everything in Zhao Yunlan stilled at the intent behind that gesture.
Moments later, Shen Wei’s mouth was on his, perfectly aligned. There was banked heat in the kiss, and such tenderness that it soothed away the scraps of frantic terror from earlier that still clung to Zhao Yunlan. He sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes.
Shen Wei’s lips left his, and then brushed against his eyelids. “Yunlan,” he said. Just that, but after the kiss, it was all the reassurance Zhao Yunlan needed. Shen Wei was safe. They were both safe, and together, and home. Zhao Yunlan reached for Shen Wei’s face, and pulled him down for another kiss.