Zhao Yunlan's eyes fly open in the darkness.

The dream still has a grip on his mind, and he grapples with it like a tangible foe. His eyes sweep left and right, seeking something—anything—concrete to orient himself in the physical realm, but only the phantom shapes of remembered light swim in the utter blackness of his vision. His breath strains into hissing shrieks, and he struggles upright—or as near to it as he can tell, with no point of reference. The clammy heat of sweat-damp sheets ensnares his limbs and binds him in place, and a low moan builds in the back of his throat.

There's a sound off to his left somewhere—a rustling, and then the faint creaking of leather, somehow familiar. He swings his head in that direction, but nothing resolves into recognizable form. Something stirs in the ghostly shadow, whispering of stealth, drawing nearer. Zhao Yunlan tenses, ready to strike out at whatever approaches.

Another soft sound dispels his gathering terror. "Zhao Yunlan?"

Zhao Yunlan gulps air, and his query emerges as a plea. "Shen Wei?"

"Here. I'm here." The voice is beside him, now, and Zhao Yunlan's flailing hands meet tangible matter—warm, solid. Arms. Shen Wei—a moment before the mattress dips beside him. He digs his fingers into shirtsleeves, and Shen Wei braces his arms in return. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Zhao Yunlan shakes his head, his panic beginning to feel foolish now that he's found something with which to ground himself. The last vestige of the dream world fades. His jumbled memory settles, and with it comes understanding of the impenetrable darkness.

Right. He's blind.

"You're trembling." Shen Wei's hands travel over his body, probing his shoulders and head with infinite gentleness, seeking a physical cause for Zhao Yunlan's distress. The shifting contact is disorienting, given Zhao Yunlan's limited sensory input. It's a relief when the touch finally comes to rest on his biceps, and doubly so when it steadies him with firm, gentle pressure. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Just a dream," Zhao Yunlan mumbles. He can scarcely recall the details, now, but the memory of his fear lingers. "A nightmare."

Shen Wei hesitates before speaking, and Zhao Yunlan wishes he could see his face, to divine what he's not saying. "Do you often suffer from nightmares?"

"Not… often, no." Zhao Yunlan tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry. "Not lately." Shen Wei must understand the tacit admission in that statement—at least, Zhao Yunlan thinks he must, because Shen Wei can read him like no one else and he's not exactly being subtle, but it's difficult to tell exactly what's going through the man's mind when he is, to Zhao Yunlan, utterly invisible.

Thankfully, Shen Wei doesn't press for details of the recurring dreams that plagued him in younger days. Zhao Yunlan isn't sure he can speak of them just now, even to someone as understanding as Shen Wei. Ever since that first journey to Dixing, things keep reminding him of his mother's death, and the long-suppressed memory has been chafed raw. He's seen her die a thousand times over in his sleep; revisiting the scene in his waking mind would be too much. "Must be all that dark energy exposure, I guess," Zhao Yunlan adds. Deflects. It's easier to blame the latest cause for the whole of his accumulated trauma.

"Perhaps." Shen Wei's reply is clinically noncommittal. Zhao Yunlan can picture the other man studying him, analyzing cause and effect like the scientist he is. At least the laboratory approach makes him blessedly pragmatic at times like this. "Is there anything that helps, after you have such an episode? Can I get you something?"

Zhao Yunlan forces a grin. "Usually when I wake up from a bad dream, I just turn on the light, take a good look around to show my brain that everything is as it should be, and then go right back to sleep." He huffs a humorless laugh. "Doesn't seem to be working this time. Of course, I can't tell if the lights are on or not. There could be actual monsters crawling out from under my bed right now, and I wouldn't know."

He can hear the gentle smile in Shen Wei's voice. "If I check under the bed for monsters and tell you there are none, will you take my word for it?"

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Zhao Yunlan doesn't mean it maliciously, but the fingers encircling his arms flinch all the same. It's such a small movement that he knows he couldn't have observed it with his eyes, but in his blindness, the physical contact is a live electrical connection between them. "But I trust you," he adds quickly. Not to tell the truth—Shen Wei has lied to him from the beginning, and Zhao Yunlan is certain he's hiding even more secrets—but to keep him safe. To guide him in the darkness and shield him from harm. When it comes to his personal welfare, there's no one he trusts more than Shen Wei. "Besides, even if there are monsters, I know you're more than a match for them. I saw what you did to those youchu."

Shen Wei emits a flat hum of acknowledgment. He still hasn't released Zhao Yunlan's arms. Zhao Yunlan wonders if the prolonged contact is meant for his benefit, affirming that Shen Wei is close by, or for Shen Wei's own assurance that Zhao Yunlan is still here, still warm, still breathing despite his recent near-death experience. He already knew that Shen Wei cared, that he wanted to protect him for some reason he's never been able to fathom, but Zhao Yunlan has never seen Shen Wei as panicked as when he first awakened after his Sundial-fueled clash with Ye Zun.

Well. Strictly speaking, he still hasn't seen him that panicked. But much can be divined from a tone of voice and a crushing, desperate grip on one's hand. Even Zhu Hong's anxious fussing over his wounds lagged distantly behind Shen Wei's frantic ministrations in those first moments after Zhao Yunlan regained consciousness.

Shen Wei is still hiding himself in silence, and Zhao Yunlan doesn't like it. It feels isolating, despite the warm hands wrapped around his arms and the faint whisper of Shen Wei's breathing close by. "Hey, maybe I should have you give me lessons," he adds, voice deliberately light. "You could train me to fight better. As long as I'm like this, I can't use a gun, but maybe I can learn to sense dark energy instead of seeing the enemy—you know, like that guy in the comic books!" He's reasonably certain Shen Wei is oblivious to the world of fictional superheroes, but Zhao Yunlan needs to keep thinking in positive terms, at least for tonight. Regarding any affliction with his characteristic flippancy means staving off the crush of reality a little longer. As long as he doesn't treat his blindness seriously, it's merely a new adventure, full of opportunity and novel experiences, rather than the grim prospect of being a burden for the rest of his life, of needing help with the most mundane of tasks, of giving up his motorcycle and his hobbies and his life's work… With a conscious effort, he shoves the intrusive thoughts back into the broom closet of his mind and forces his grin a little wider. "Who knows, maybe if dark energy keeps knocking out my senses one by one, I could even be as powerful as Hei lao ge one day!"

His gambit works, to a degree: Shen Wei breaks his silence, but only to issue a stern, "Don't joke about your health." He's repeated the words so often during their relatively short acquaintance that Zhao Yunlan has lost track of how many times—and for what various reasons—he's been scolded with the phrase.

It's been often enough, apparently, for the admonition to have lost its edge. Or maybe he just really wants Shen Wei to say something more. "Ah, admit it, you just don't want the competition for your job."

"If you lose more of your faculties," Shen Wei retorts with all the warmth of the arctic tundra, "I won't have time for a job, apart from shepherding you to keep you out of the roadways."

The chafing reminder of his near miss earlier in the day nearly distracts him, but Zhao Yunlan doesn't fail to notice the suggestion that Shen Wei would prioritize Zhao Yunlan's welfare over his teaching or his duties as Hei Pao Shi. The thought is endearing, but impossible—Zhao Yunlan doesn't know if any other candidates for Dixing's ambassadorial post exist, but he's certain that neither he nor his team at the SID would willingly work with one who didn't possess Shen Wei's compassion and desire for peace.

That's assuming he can continue working at the SID at all, which is… something he's not ready to consider yet.

"Fine, fine," he grouses, suppressing the unsettling thought. "It's not like I tried to lose my sight in the first place. And as long as I can't see, I can't exactly go looking for more trouble, right?"

There's a soft huff of air, and Shen Wei's voice is distinctly gentler when he replies, "Trouble has a way of finding you."

"I don't mind a little trouble now and then." Zhao Yunlan's answering smile shrinks as the truth worms free. "But the trouble that's coming for me now isn't so little."

He can picture the crease forming between Shen Wei's brows. "Meaning?"

"This Ye Zun character. We've never faced anyone on his level, and we're completely in the dark where he's concerned—and I don't just mean that I can't see him coming," he adds dryly. "We still don't know what he's after, or what he's planning, or even what he looks like behind that mask."

The warmth of Shen Wei's hands vanishes abruptly from Zhao Yunlan's arms. The withdrawal is startling, and a little disorienting—and altogether unaccompanied by any comment from Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan files that observation away for later examination.

The awkward silence returns, but this time Zhao Yunlan lets it, leaving Shen Wei to make the next advance. The niggling feeling that the good professor knows more than he's telling stirs the hairs at the back of his neck. Perhaps if Zhao Yunlan waits him out, Shen Wei will say something revealing for once. He knows it's unlikely; Shen Wei is rarely forthcoming with information he isn't cornered into disclosing. But Zhao Yunlan is tired, and remaining silent also saves him racking his brain for another innocuous conversation starter.

The pause stretches almost into the realm of uncomfortable before Shen Wei finally ends it with a predictable deflection. "You should get some rest." The words barely cover a sigh laden with more emotion than present circumstances seem to account for. "You're still recovering."

It's true, but Zhao Yunlan is acutely aware that the statement applies to more than himself—just as he knows Shen Wei's proclivity for prioritizing others' welfare over his own. Zhao Yunlan cocks an eyebrow and hopes his sightless eyes are aimed at the right place. "And what about you?"

There's another hesitation, almost imperceptible. "Me?"

"You were still here when I woke up." The last thing he remembers clearly is Shen Wei steering him to the bed and ordering him to rest before launching an offensive against the supper dishes, judging by the soft clinking and sloshing sounds that followed. He assumed Shen Wei would return to his own apartment once his obsessive housekeeping tendencies were satisfied; after all, he had lectures the next morning, and even a superhuman Dixingren professor must have some mundane course work to attend to. "You didn't go back to your place?"

"I wanted to be nearby in case you needed anything." Shen Wei nearly manages to keep the disapproval out of his voice as he continues, "You've been in direct contact with both the Awl and the Sundial recently. Your condition is unpredictable, and could deteriorate without warning."

Zhao Yunlan ignores the reprimand. He did what he had to do to protect his people, and he refuses to apologize for it. "And so you're… what, camping out on my sofa?"

"It was expedient."

"Expedient, maybe, but not ergonomic. That thing is too short and too narrow. You can't rest properly if you're crunched up in a ball and worried about rolling off." The sofa isn't as bad as all that—Zhao Yunlan has fallen asleep on it countless times, as Da Qing can attest—but he feels guilty relegating Shen Wei to the couch when he's already giving up his time and attention to look after a troublesome patient. "You still have to teach tomorrow, don't you? Don't worry about me; you should go back and rest."

"My first lecture is not until ten o'clock. And I don't require much sleep."

Zhao Yunlan sighs. "Then at least sleep on the bed, and let me take the sofa. I can fall asleep anywhere."

"Absolutely not." There's an edge of Hei Pao Shi's steel in Shen Wei's tone. "You're injured, and need proper rest."

"It's just my eyes, it's not that—"

"You were rendered unconscious by dark energy." The fact that Shen Wei just interrupts him shows how agitated he is, even apart from the uncharacteristic sharpness of his words. "You're lucky it was only your eyes. Besides, if you attempted to get up from the sofa unaided"—his tone conveys an unshakable belief that Zhao Yunlan would do exactly this—"you could trip over the table, or bump into the shelves, and suffer more grievous injury."

There's no arguing his point; even sighted, Zhao Yunlan has rammed his shin into the corner of the coffee table a nonzero number of times, and once had to have three stitches in his scalp after he bashed his head into the wall shelves overhanging the end of the sofa. Granted, alcohol was involved in most of those incidents, but he can't pretend he'd be any less likely to hurt himself flailing around without his eyesight. "Fine," he concedes. "Let's just share the bed, then."

Shen Wei doesn't respond for a few seconds. When he does, his voice is a bit faint. "Share?"

"There's room enough for two people. You can take the other side." He pats the mattress off to his right.

It could be Zhao Yunlan's imagination, but somehow he can feel Shen Wei's posture grow more rigid, even though he can't see him. "There's no need. And I don't want to disturb your rest. It's vital that you recover quickly, for the SID's sake as well as your own."

Oh, so he's playing the "greater good" card? Well, Zhao Yunlan can play dirty, too. He swallows strategically, lowers his voice, and tries to radiate pathos. "But this way, you'll be closer if I have another nightmare."

There's another pause. Finally he hears a long exhalation of breath, but it's impossible to tell from only the sound whether Shen Wei is submitting out of real sympathy, or if he's aware that he's being played, but isn't willing to fight about it any longer because it's the middle of the night. "Very well."

The bed reverses the dip it made when Shen Wei sat, the whisper of rustling cloth moves across Zhao Yunlan's field of perception, and then the plane of the mattress shifts again as Shen Wei lowers himself carefully to the far side of the bed. From the pressure on the sheet covering his own body, Zhao Yunlan can tell that Shen Wei is lying on top of the blankets, rather than beneath them. "Won't you be cold, like that?"

"I'm fine."

"Really, you can get in. Da Qing just changed the sheets a few days ago, and I don't even sleep on that half of the bed."

"Dixingren have evolved faster metabolisms than humans to process dark energy. I don't need as much external insulation to maintain my body temperature as Haixingren do."

"At least get under the duvet—"

"No," Shen Wei says firmly.

Zhao Yunlan sighs and decides he's won the most important battle; the terms of surrender don't matter all that much. "All right, suit yourself. Good night."

There's a pause before he hears Shen Wei's soft reply: "Rest well, Zhao Yunlan."

Fin

Author's Note:

This vignette fills the "One Bed" square on my Guardian Bingo card (though there were several it could easily have applied to!). The title comes from the poem "We Grow Accustomed to the Dark" by Emily Dickenson.