Work Text:
desperate hands grasping at him, tugging him down deeper into the void.
freezing, rotting hands clawing at him. sunken faces and glazed, pale eyes. hateful whispers of the murdered and tortured, growing to a screeching cacophony of voices begging for vengeance.
will he become like them?
tiny, cold hands grasp for him; small, fragile voices and pained whimpers asking for parents, for family.
where was a-cheng? jiejie?
a thick fog of fear, sadness, anger, and resent clouds its way into his lungs, choking him.
a-ying can’t breathe. where is his family?
as the cold begins to creep into his bones, a warm weight wraps around him and a gentle humming begins surrounding him.
warm?
mm, it feels nice , a-ying decides, trying his best to latch onto it, cuddling into it, desperate to escape from the scary hands and voices.
his fear slowly dissipates as the warmth stays and he drifts off in exhaustion.
When Wei Ying wakes up, he first feels the quiet warmth of his husband, and the light warmth of the sun peeking through the drapes of their home. Pleasant chirps and songs from morning birds echo into the home. There is no frigid cold piercing his body bone-deep, nor are there vengeful hands grabbing him. There is warm sunlight and the homely smell of sandalwood wafting through the air. There are birdsongs instead of the blood-curdling screeching and whispers of spine-chilling revenge.
In his next breath, he feels a slight shift in the hold around him and his husband’s eyes blink open, hazy with sleep, then bright with worry.
“Thank you, Lan Zhan” sighs Wei Ying as he presses a gentle kiss to his husband’s forehead.
The hold around him tightens slightly, then relaxes, “Mm.”
Even though the fog from his past will forever follow him, and he still fears sleeping sometimes, Wei Ying knows that he will be alright by his Lan Zhan’s side.