Work Text:
The roofs of Huanyue Sect were all covered in thick layers of soft snow as more came falling down, the sky was in gray looking, as though the snowflakes fell from nowhere.
The peach blossom trees were empty from their vibrant colours left with small lines of snow on their branches.
The outdoors blanketed in snow, softening every edge and quieting every sound. Icicles hung like delicate ornaments from the eaves, glistening faintly in the pale light. The pathways, once bustling, were now nearly invisible, buried beneath layers of undisturbed snow. Occasionally, a gust of wind would send a flurry of powder drifting from the rooftops and branches, adding to the silent, almost magical atmosphere.
Stone lanterns, once bright with candles, stood half-buried, their tops peeking out from beneath the snow. The air was crisp and cool, and the faint scent of pine lingered, mixing with the freshness of winter. A soft, silvery mist hung low, blurring the line between earth and sky, making the entire scene feel dreamlike and endless.
Shen Qiao lay curled up under thick blankets, his normally composed face slightly flushed from fever. His brows were drawn together as he shivered, struggling to find warmth despite being wrapped tightly in layers. His breaths came shallow and slightly ragged, and he occasionally let out a soft, muffled cough into the blankets.
A faint glow from a nearby lantern cast a warm light across the room, its soft flicker barely chasing away the chill in the air. An herbal aroma wafted from a nearby teapot, where a freshly prepared remedy waited for him. A few extra layers of blankets were draped over him, yet he still seemed cold, curling further into himself as he drifted in and out of feverish sleep.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows slightly, but within the room, a hushed calm persisted, broken only by Shen Qiao’s faint breaths.
Shen Qiao’s eyelashes fluttered slightly, though his eyes remained closed, as he listened to the quiet sound of tea being poured. The rich, warm scent filled the air, comforting yet sharp, as if it could clear the haze clouding his mind.
A warm hand pressed gently against his forehead, brushing a few strands of hair away. The touch was soft, almost uncharacteristically so, and he knew without opening his eyes who it belonged to.
“A-Qiao,” Yan Wushi’s voice, calm yet with a hint of concern, drifted over him, coaxing him out of his half-conscious state. “You’ll never get better if you don’t drink your tea. It’ll help you feel better.”
Shen Qiao slowly opened his eyes, his vision slightly blurred but sharpening as he focused on Yan Wushi’s familiar face. “I…dont want to,” he murmured softly, his voice weak but steady.
Yan Wushi let out a quiet chuckle, his gaze softening as he brought the cup closer. “So I noticed,” he said, his tone carrying a rare gentleness. “Here, just a few sips. This venerable one will be right here.”
As Shen Qiao allowed himself to be propped up just enough to drink, he could feel the warmth of Yan Wushi’s hand steadying him, grounding him amidst the fevered haze. The tea was bitter, but he drank it obediently, the warmth spreading slowly through him, a contrast to the chill that had settled deep in his bones. The bitterness of the tea sent a faint shiver down Shen Qiao’s spine, and he reflexively scrunched his face, swallowing with a small grimace. Yan Wushi noticed, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he took the cup away, setting it aside.
He gently eased Shen Qiao back down into the bed, adjusting the pillows he had carefully arranged to keep him propped up. His movements were surprisingly tender, and he took a moment to pull the blankets back up around Shen Qiao’s shoulders, tucking him in securely.
“There,” Yan Wushi murmured softly, brushing his fingers lightly along Shen Qiao’s temple. “Comfortable?”
Shen Qiao blinked sleepily, his body still weak but feeling a touch of warmth now, both from the tea and from the subtle care Yan Wushi was showing. “Thank you…” he managed to murmur, his eyes fluttering as he sank deeper into the bedding.
Yan Wushi’s hand lingered, his touch steady and comforting. “Rest, A-Qiao,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “This venerable one shall stay here until you’re well.”
The words, unexpected and filled with warmth that Shen Qiao always found comforting to hear from Yan Wushi, eased him into a state of calm. Looking up at Yan Wushi with tired eyes, he glanced up at Yan Wushi and shifted slightly, scooting back to make space. Quietly, he extended a hand from within the blanket, his silent invitation clear.
A knowing smile tugged at Yan Wushi’s lips. Without hesitation, he removed his outer robe, his movements calm yet deliberate, and slid into bed beside Shen Qiao.
The heat of Yan Wushi’s person filled the small space as he settled beside Shen Qiao, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound in the quiet room. Shen Qiao shifted slightly, instinctively seeking the comfort that came with Yan Wushi’s nearness. His head found a resting place on Yan Wushi’s shoulder, and his fingers curled loosely against the front of Yan Wushi’s inner robe, a gesture so subtle it seemed unconscious.
Yan Wushi lowered his head slightly, his gaze lingering on Shen Qiao. His hand moved with practiced ease, fingers brushing through the silken strands of Shen Qiao’s hair. The motion was slow, deliberate, almost meditative, as though grounding them both in the stillness of the moment.
“A-Qiao, I never thought you'd be this needy when you’re sick~.” Yan Wushi teased, but it didn't seem Shen Qiao minded like all the other times.
The candlelight flickered softly, casting shifting shadows on the walls as the two of them lay together. Shen Qiao’s breathing, shallow and uneven at first, began to even out, his body gradually unwinding from the tension it had carried throughout the day. Yan Wushi’s touch remained steady, his presence calm but commanding, a silent reassurance that words could never convey.
As Shen Qiao’s eyelids grew heavier, his hand slackened, resting limply against Yan Wushi’s chest. His expression softened in sleep, the faint crease of worry on his brow smoothing away. Yan Wushi’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before he closed his own eyes.
***
Shen Qiao stirred, his lashes fluttering as he slowly awakened, seeing it was still dark and the candle now blew out. The weight of Yan Wushi’s arm draped over him was both steadying and inescapable, holding him somewhat tightly.
Shen Qiao tilted his head slightly, glancing at Yan Wushi’s peaceful face. The other man’s expression, so often sharp and unreadable, now seemed almost tranquil. A faint heat rose in Shen Qiao’s chest, but it was quickly overshadowed by the discomfort lingering in his own body.
Careful not to wake Yan Wushi, Shen Qiao shifted out from beneath the arm that held him. His movements were slow, deliberate, and quiet as he eased himself out of the bed. A chill swept over him the moment he left the shared warmth, and he instinctively grabbed another blanket, draping it over his shoulders as he made his way outside the room.
Walking down a hall and found screen door the opened to the outside.
The air outside the room was crisp, carrying with it the unmistakable bite of winter. Shen Qiao opened the door, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet, and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His breath clouded in the frigid air as he took in the sight before him. He didn’t step outside, Shen Qiao sat down two feet away like a child waiting outside the door waiting for his parents to come home, and watched the snow fall on the veranda and the ground outside.
Snow was falling softly, covering the whole world in white. The moonlight filtered through the clouds, casting a gentle glow over the scene.
The cold wind bit his cheeks, sharp but oddly grounding, and he let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing as the quiet beauty of the moment filled him.
For a long while, he sat there, lost in thought. The stillness of the night mirrored the calm he rarely felt within himself, a fleeting reprieve from the chaos of the world—and of his own heart.
Shen Qiao heard nothing but the sound of snowflakes falling, not even the faint footsteps coming close. He saw nothing but the snow frosting the wood and ground in white, not even Yan Wushi who stood near the dark watching Shen Qiao sit like a child staring at the snow.
Yan Wushi walked out of the dark and stood behind Shen Qiao.
“A-Qiao left this husband to sleep cold and alone, I see?” Yan Wushi’s voice broke the silence, laced with mock grievance, though a faint smile played at the corners of his lips. He gazed down at Shen Qiao, who continued to sit quietly, seemingly ignoring him.
“I didn’t leave you there to be alone,” Shen Qiao said softly, his voice barely audible over the winter wind. He didn’t turn to look at Yan Wushi, his eyes still fixed on the snow. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Ah, is that so?” Yan Wushi crouched slightly, his tone playful, teasing. “If A-Qiao is having trouble sleeping, this one can help him sleep much faster—he only needs to say the words~”
“Sect Leader Yan…” Shen Qiao finally turned his head, his clear gaze meeting Yan Wushi’s. His expression was calm but carried an unspoken weight.
Yan Wushi’s playful smirk faltered, replaced by a fleeting flicker of surprise. His teasing softened, his sharp edges dulled by the way Shen Qiao looked at him. “What is it, A-Qiao?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost tender.
Shen Qiao hesitated for a moment before shaking his head lightly. “Nothing,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to the snow.
Yan Wushi straightened and exhaled, his amusement giving way to a rare patience. Without another word, he stepped closer and sat down beside Shen Qiao.
But instead of just simply sitting, an arm slid across his waist and under Shen Qiao’s own arm, pulling him onto his lap. Now he has a wrapped up Shen Qiao on his lap, like he was cradling a kid.
“A-Qiao looks like a child in my arms.” Shen Qiao cringed at the remark and his brow knit together.
Yan Wushi covered any part of Shen Qiao’s body to keep him warm. The blanket tight and over his chin, his bare feet being wrapped in the blanket.
The steady rise and fall of Yan Wushi’s breathing was comforting, the sound of his heartbeat a soft rhythm that lulled Shen Qiao. Yan Wushi’s chin rested on top of Shen Qiao’s head as he adjusted his hold, his hand idly smoothing over the blanket to ensure no cold could creep in.
Neither of them spoke. The moment stretched out, unhurried and tranquil, as if the world had paused just for them.
Shen Qiao’s body grew heavier as his fatigue caught up with him, and Yan Wushi felt the shift. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Shen Qiao, “So easily tamed, my A-Qiao.”
“Sect Leader Yan…will you please stop taking…”
Shen Qiao murmured, his tone soft but with a hint of exasperation. His hand rested lightly on Yan Wushi’s chest, as if to create a semblance of space between them.
Yan Wushi raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly smile. “What? Is A-Qiao already getting tired of this husband? He wants to send him away so soon?”
Shen Qiao sighed, tilting his head to the side as though trying to muster the patience to deal with him. “That’s not what I meant…” he replied quietly, his voice trailing off as he avoided Yan Wushi’s gaze.
But Yan Wushi wasn’t one to let things go so easily. He shifted slightly, leaning closer so that their faces were mere inches apart. “Then what does A-Qiao mean?” he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Surely, my virtuous and righteous A-Qiao wouldn’t think of abandoning his husband on such a cold night?”
Shen Qiao frowned, his cheeks warming despite the cold. He tried to turn his face away, but Yan Wushi caught his chin with a light touch, tilting it back toward him. “Speak clearly, A-Qiao. Your husband is all ears.”
For a moment, Shen Qiao hesitated, his gaze flickering between Yan Wushi’s sharp eyes and Shen Qiao stirred slightly, his breathing steady but his thoughts restless. Slowly, he leaned back, his hand slipping out from beneath the blanket to graze Yan Wushi’s jaw. His fingers were light, tentative, as though testing the waters of his own resolve. Yan Wushi’s skin was warm under his touch, even when his soft list pressed against his cheek.
When he finally looked up, he found Yan Wushi’s piercing gaze already fixed on him. The intensity in those dark eyes made Shen Qiao’s heart skip—a mixture of surprise, shyness, and a faint unease.
Before he could gather his thoughts, Yan Wushi moved. His hand cupped the back of Shen Qiao’s head with deliberate gentleness, tilting his face upward as he leaned in. The kiss that followed was anything but gentle—firm, consuming, and utterly Yan Wushi. It stole what little breath Shen Qiao had, leaving him momentarily stunned.
Shen Qiao let out a soft noise of protest, his hand weakly pressing against Yan Wushi’s chest. His body was still weighed down by illness, and his head swam under the intensity of the kiss. Sensing this, Yan Wushi paused, though his lips lingered near Shen Qiao’s, as if unwilling to part completely.
“You’re sick,” Yan Wushi murmured, his voice low and rough, the teasing edge in it softening slightly.
Shen Qiao blinked up at him, his cheeks flushed not from embarrassment, but from the fever he’d been ignoring all day. “Then why…are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with tiredness.
Yan Wushi’s lips curled into a smirk, his fingers brushing against Shen Qiao’s flushed cheek. “Because A-Qiao offered himself so sweetly,” he said, his tone light but his gaze lingering, studying every trace of vulnerability on Shen Qiao’s face.
Shen Qiao sighed faintly, his energy too low to spar with words. He shifted slightly in Yan Wushi’s lap, the motion sluggish and weighed down by his illness. Yan Wushi’s arm tightened around his waist, steadying him.
“Yan-Lang. Enough teasing,” Shen Qiao muttered, his voice soft but firm. “I’m tired…”
Yan Wushi let out a quiet hum, his amusement undeterred. “But don’t think you can escape this husband’s attentions so easily when you’re feeling better.”
Shen Qiao huffed them slumped his head against Yan Wushi’s chest.
He was tired, really, especially in this feverish state. Shen Qiao closed his eyes, deciding it was easier to let himself be cared for—however overbearing Yan Wushi’s methods might be—than to fight. As he relaxed he felt Yan Wushi kiss the top of his head, he didn't mind it at all, honestly he quietly enjoyed it.
“This one will stay like until you feel better.”
Shen Qiao murmured something incoherent in response, too drowsy to form proper words. His head rested against Yan Wushi’s chest, his breathing slowing as sleep began to take him. For a moment, he thought about how strange it was—being cradled by a man as sharp and unyielding as Yan Wushi, yet finding comfort in his presence.
Yan Wushi didn’t move, his steady gaze fixed on the snow falling silently beyond them. He didn’t push Shen Qiao further or demand acknowledgment for his words. Instead, he held him close, letting his actions speak in place of the teasing remarks he so often favored.
The night grew colder, but Shen Qiao barely noticed. Wrapped in the warmth of both the blanket and Yan Wushi’s hold, he drifted into a deep, fevered sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of the man’s heartbeat against his ear.
Yan Wushi glanced down at Shen Qiao, his usual smirk softening into something unreadable. “You should get used to this, A-Qiao,” he murmured quietly, as though speaking to himself. “This one won’t let you go so easily.”
The snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in white, but the two of them remained unmoving, locked in a rare moment of peace.