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Zhou Zishu wakes up to stabbing pain.
He lets out a strangled gasp, seeking air through the unbearable weight on his chest. It feels like something is pressing down on his ribs, from the inside and outside. Stabbing, stabbing, burning, is all Zhou Zishu can feel, and he can’t breathe, he can’t –
He’s going to die, this pain is going to take him under, those three nails in his chest have just condemned him, he can’t move, can’t think, can’t feel anything –
He exists in an ever-increasing pressure of agony, where nothing and no one can reach him, can save him. It’s never going to end, this is going to be his forever, his hell, he’s going to drown in a sea of lava, and he’s going to burn for all eternity –
“A-Xu!”
A hand grasps his own. Zhou Zishu clings to it like he’s drowning, gripping it so hard it hurts, but that doesn’t matter, because he can’t be alone right now, he can’t face this alone.
Something touches his cheek. It’s warm, caressing him, soothing him. Zhou Zishu leans into it, it’s his anchor, his way to muffle the sobs clawing their way out of his throat.
“Ssh, A-Xu, I’m here. I’m right here.”
The torture lasts for several more moments, some short as the blink of an eye, others long as a cold winter night. He clutches the hand in his own, hangs onto this hope, this only way for him to stay afloat. He pours all his strength in his grip, in making sure he’s not going to be left alone. He can’t be alone.
The pain eases. Pressure lifts from his chest, and he can finally breathe, finally see a path out from this haze of agony.
Finally, it’s over.
His chest heaves from exertion, his cheeks are damp. His senses slowly come back, he can taste blood, smell tears, hear his breaths, feel the cold breeze of night air on his sweat-soaked skin, and…
The warmth of his head pillowed in someone’s lap.
Zhou Zishu opens his eyes, squinting against the soft moonlight. And then, he sees him.
Wen Kexing sits there, leaning over him with wide, worried eyes, silky hair spilling over his shoulders. The white sleeping robe he wears reflects the light, causing his skin to gain an almost translucent glow. He looks beautiful, ethereal, he is Zhou Zishu’s light and his saviour.
The guilt almost crushes him.
“Are you with me, A-Xu?” Wen Kexing asks softly.
Zhou Zishu can’t find his voice. He nods stiffly, even that small movement causing him to wince. He feels something warm and calloused squeeze his hand.
Wen Kexing is still holding it. He shouldn’t be. Zhou Zishu must have hurt him with that death grip he has on anything he can grab a hold of during an episode. It will surely at least bruise. But if he’s caused him any pain, Wen Kexing won’t tell him. He never does.
He slips his hand out of Wen Kexing’s grasp.
“Do you need something? Water? Or would you like to go back to sleep?”
Wen Kexing starts running his fingers through Zhou Zishu’s hair. It’s oddly comforting, yet eery and unfamiliar. He’s the one who soothes Wen Kexing’s pain. It’s not supposed to be the other way around.
“Lao Wen…” he croaks. His voice breaks half-way through, and he wonders if this time he’s finally cracked and screamed. He hopes not. He doesn’t have the courage to ask.
“What do you need?”
Wen Kexing looks exhausted. It’s not the first time Zhou Zishu has seen it, and every time it has shame curl in his gut. This is his fault. His alone.
And today, it feels even worse than usual. It’s worse, because Wen Kexing is still slightly trembling at every move, because his brows are still pinched in pain, and because he’s hiding, pushing his own pain away in order to help Zhou Zishu. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.
Zhou Zishu can’t help the lump that gathers in his throat as he remembers this morning, finding Wen Kexing sitting at the edge of their secretly shared bed, slumped over, holding his head. He’d given Zhou Zishu a tight smile, said ‘I’m fine’ and promptly proven himself wrong by swaying as he attempted to stand.
Every time, Wen Kexing will insist it’s ‘just a headache’, will insist he’s fine. Every time, he ends up bedridden – for hours or even days. There was even one time where he’d puked blood and collapsed, drifting in and out of consciousness for four days afterwards. The horror and dread are a deep scar etched into Zhou Zishu’s soul, a wound that rips open every time Wen Kexing’s brows furrow from the pain.
This morning had been a bad one, accompanied by fever, and soft cries for people long gone. Zhou Zishu had sat by Wen Kexing’s bedside the whole morning, well into the afternoon, wiping the sweat off his face and holding his hand.
Wen Kexing is in no condition to take care of Zhou Zishu tonight. He shouldn’t ever have been in that position in the first place.
Zhou Zishu shifts. His body protests at the movement, but he pushes through, steadying himself with his elbows. Wen Kexing anticipates his intentions, and with their combined effort, Zhou Zishu manages to sit up. The energy it takes to do the simplest tasks after an episode leaves Zhou Zishu frustrated every time, despite having been through this dance many times already. He lets Wen Kexing pull him against his chest, in a safe and warm hold. Zhou Zishu sighs contentedly as the warmth makes the last aches bleed from him.
“A-Xu?”
“I just need to sit here for a bit,” Zhou Zishu says hoarsely. He is half-way draped over Wen Kexing’s lap, and he looks up at him, trying to smile reassuringly. His body is screaming at him to rest, but the hot guilt in his stomach makes his thoughts race. He won’t get any peace tonight.
They sit there for a while, as Zhou Zishu gathers his bearings, feeling protected in Wen Kexing’s arms. It’s the only place he feels safe, especially when he’s in pain. And yet…
The guilt gnaws at him. He hates how much he wants Wen Kexing to keep holding him, to keep soothing him. He hates that he wants to stay here all night, to have Wen Kexing talk to him, distract him with nonsense. He hates it because it’s too much to ask of Wen Kexing tonight. And if Zhou Zishu did ask, Wen Kexing would give it anyway.
Zhou Zishu can’t make him do that.
He braces himself and pulls away, only managing to put a little distance between them.
“You should go back to sleep.”
“What if you need me?”
“Then I’ll wake you,” Zhou Zishu promises, hoping that it will be enough, knowing that were it any other day, Wen Kexing would continue to argue, would protest until Zhou Zishu grew tired, would stay all night holding his hand.
But it isn’t any other day.
Wen Kexing’s face is set in a worried frown. “Are you sure? Maybe you should try to sleep some more as well?”
“Not yet.”
I can’t, lies on Zhou Zishu’s tongue. He knows not to voice it aloud, not wanting to see Wen Kexing’s face crumble, not wanting to cause Wen Kexing any more anguish.
He’s already hurt Wen Kexing enough.
He remembers the night he put in the first nail. It’s engraved in his memory in vivid, horrific detail, painted against his eyelids, a nightmare he finds himself in every time he closes his eyes.
He knows he didn’t have a choice. He knows Prince Jin would hunt them down, hurt them, break them, that this is their only escape. Their only way to gain at least a few years of shared freedom. And yet, the images haunt him, plague him, hurt him almost as much as the physical agony does.
He remembers Wen Kexing pleading with him not to do it. He remembers drugging his zhiji, catching his limp body and cradling him, begging for forgiveness long after Wen Kexing had lost consciousness. He remembers sitting in front of the mirror at the crack of dawn, pain overwhelming him, new tears overflowing the old tracks, and gripping the table so hard splinters had caught in his skin and blood had tainted the wood.
He remembers Wen Kexing arriving hours later. They’d sat there, holding each other, for what felt like forever. Zhou Zishu doesn’t know why Wen Kexing didn’t yell at him, curse at him. He doesn’t know why Wen Kexing stayed, despite all the pain Zhou Zishu caused him – is still causing him.
He’d expected anger, resentment, betrayal. He’d expected the dangerous side of Wen Kexing, the one he keeps under lock and key. But instead, he’d been comforted, held, and saved. He doesn’t deserve Wen Kexing.
He doesn’t deserve him at all.
“At least lie down with me?” Wen Kexing asks, and Zhou Zishu makes the mistake of looking in his eyes. There is something soft and pleading in them, a look Wen Kexing has perfected, honed, until the point that Zhou Zishu can never reject him any favour.
He nods.
Wen Kexing’s face brightens, as if Zhou Zishu has just given him everything he’s ever wanted and more. It shouldn’t be this endearing, this beautiful. It shouldn’t make Zhou Zishu feel so warm and safe and loved. But it does. And Zhou Zishu hopes that never changes.
They lie down, and Zhou Zishu puts his head on Wen Kexing’s chest, listening and feeling the steady heartbeat underneath. It’s not enough, so Zhou Zishu reaches out, finding Wen Kexing’s hand. He rests their entwined fingers on Wen Kexing’s stomach.
Wen Kexing buries his face in Zhou Zishu’s hair, nuzzling like a cat. Zhou Zishu can’t suppress a fond smile.
It only takes a few moments for Wen Kexing’s breaths to even out. Guilt overflows Zhou Zishu once more. He hasn’t noticed how bad it was. He’s losing sight of Wen Kexing’s pain, being drowned in his own. He can’t protect Wen Kexing like this. He can’t care for him like he needs to – wants to. It’s not fair.
And yet, despite this, despite his own growing weakness, his own growing pain, he doesn’t want to let go of Wen Kexing. He never wants to let go.
Zhou Zishu is a selfish, very selfish and bad man, and he loves Wen Kexing. He loves him enough to endure this agony just to stay by his side, loves him enough to follow him anywhere, loves him so much he can’t imagine being apart from him at all.
He squeezes Wen Kexing’s hand, listens to the even breaths, and wonders what he must have done in a past life to deserve this. If he deserves it at all.
“I love you,” he murmurs into the darkness, even if those words are not nearly enough to describe the depths of his feelings for Wen Kexing. There are no words to describe how grateful he is, how his heart feels too big for his chest, how his world brightens whenever Wen Kexing smiles, how he could spend hours listening to Wen Kexing ramble, how he never gets tired of simply being with Wen Kexing.
But for now, those words have to be enough. They have to be, because Zhou Zishu has nothing else left to give.
“I love you, too.”