NOTES (compiled from AO3 version, which - as always - I recommend over this disaster site, for formatting reasons):
- In the novel, ZYL spends weeks without his sight, while in the drama he recovers it within a couple of days. Although this story is primarily drama-based, I've used the novel's longer time frame.
- This follows "For Newness of the Night" in sequence, but can also stand alone; reading the previous story is not necessary.
- In keeping with the theme I accidentally started with the previous entry, this title is a line from the poem "To Know the Dark" by Wendell Berry.
- This fills the "JiaJia" square on my Guardian Bingo card. (She got promoted to plot device for this story!)
It's astonishing—Shen Wei muses one evening, as he tucks the last rice bowl into its place in the cabinet—how plastic the mind is. How quickly novel things become routine. How readily the brain accepts the formerly unthinkable as normal, and compensates for the change almost seamlessly.
It's been just ten days since Zhao Yunlan lost his sight, and already they've fallen into such a predictable pattern that an observer might think they've been practicing it for years. In that relatively short span of time, Shen Wei has become a semi-permanent fixture in Zhao Yunlan's living space (an intrusion that Da Qing opposed only until he realized that it gave him access to Shen Wei's cooking; now the cat treats him like family). He returns to his own apartment across the hall for changes of clothing, occasional glances at reference books, or to retrieve the odd kitchen utensil, and spends the requisite hours lecturing or holding office hours at the university. The remainder of his time is occupied with Zhao Yunlan—shepherding him to and from 4 Bright Avenue, seeing that he eats regularly, and assisting him with tasks he can no longer manage on his own, such as cooking and cleaning (though experience has taught Shen Wei that Zhao Yunlan wouldn't exert much effort in those areas even with his eyesight. The memory of opening the refrigerator to find half a packet of instant noodles soaking in rancid coffee still haunts Shen Wei).
It wasn't so smooth in the early stages, of course. Zhao Yunlan's independent streak drove him to attempt nearly everything unaided, which resulted in more than a few bruises to his shins (to say nothing of his ego). His first compromise was allowing Shen Wei to steer him by the arm while walking. His second was to let Shen Wei take charge of his toiletries—a concession that became necessary the first time he accidentally applied antifungal cream to his toothbrush. (If Zhao Yunlan kept his belongings in any kind of order, Shen Wei had chastised him, he'd have known which tube was on the lowest shelf of the medicine cabinet. Zhao Yunlan had been too busy gagging into the sink to counter his point.)
After those early adjustments, Zhao Yunlan warmed to the idea of being looked after. Now he lets Shen Wei help select his clothing (eliminating mismatched socks), lock and unlock the apartment door (avoiding a maddening struggle to insert the key the right way without being able to see the slot), and heap toppings onto his rice at meals (though this is as much for Shen Wei's sanity as anything else; when groping for invisible food with chopsticks proves too frustrating, Zhao Yunlan has been known to plunge his fingers directly into the dishes). On occasion, he's even asked for Shen Wei's assistance with his personal grooming.
Naturally, this has led to the occasional moment of awkwardness—their friendship, still new, has rarely occasioned such close physical contact—but routine and necessity have obliterated any shyness between them. Though he still prefers to bathe and dress without assistance, Zhao Yunlan no longer startles when Shen Wei's hands indicate a spot he's missed while shaving, or move an errant lock of hair to straighten his part, or brush his ankles to re-thread the laces of his motorcycle boots after he's missed an eyelet. He accepts Shen Wei's touch, and yields to its guidance with—
Blind trust, Shen Wei thinks, and winces. He reaches for a cloth and begins to scrub water spots from the kitchen counter. (Zhao Yunlan won't see them, and wouldn't care even if he did, but he relinquished control of his kitchen to Shen Wei long ago. As long as something is in his charge—even a too-small apartment kitchen—Shen Wei has a duty to keep it in its best condition.)
It's precisely that faith, that sensitivity to his every physical prompt, that makes Shen Wei so scrupulously careful with his hands. Whether he's guiding Zhao Yunlan's steps or spot-checking his appearance, Shen Wei keeps his touch as clinical and impersonal as possible. He's always found it awkward when students or coworkers encroach on his own personal space, so he's made it clear from the beginning that he is here only to aid Zhao Yunlan, not to chip away at his privacy. Except for what contact is necessary to steer him through their established routine, Shen Wei gives Zhao Yunlan a wide berth. Breathing room. A preserved sense of independence, he hopes.
Giving him adequate space must have been the right call, because Zhao Yunlan hasn't complained at all about Shen Wei's hovering about him like a mother hen. But then, Zhao Yunlan also hasn't complained much about his sudden impairment, apart from mild grumbling when he trips over something. More often, he just cracks wise about the things he can't see (the only exception Shen Wei allows to his strict don't joke about your health rule; he's come to realize that Zhao Yunlan uses humor not only to cope with his own troubles, but to reassure others, and the remarks are likely intended to keep Shen Wei from worrying).
Zhao Yunlan is also reasonably honest about which tasks he can do for himself and which he needs assistance with—and he doesn't trouble Shen Wei unless absolutely necessary. For anything involving technology, such as setting alarms on his phone, or for simple jobs like checking to see if the stereo remote has fallen behind the bed again, he asks Da Qing for help first. For all his pretense of needing constant attention, Zhao Yunlan is keenly respectful of Shen Wei's time and university commitments, and tries not to impose on them.
Still, Shen Wei doesn't like to leave him alone any longer than necessary, which is why he's all but moved into Zhao Yunlan's apartment. Even his course work follows him there, and although Zhao Yunlan doesn't have anything resembling a home office, Shen Wei makes do with the bar table or the couch when he can. Zhao Yunlan doesn't seem to mind the company.
All in all—Shen Wei concludes at last, surveying the now-spotless kitchen—things are going about as well as can be expected. Zhao Yunlan is coping with his new circumstances with remarkable pragmatism and behaving like his usual confident self. Though Shen Wei is still anxious to restore Zhao Yunlan's vision, and intends to exert all his power to find a cure, he's beginning to think that even if he can't—even if he tries everything, and still fails—at least Zhao Yunlan will be all right.
It's the smallest thing, an offhand line in a student's essay, that will show him how wrong he is.
The supper dishes have long since been put away when Shen Wei finds himself besieged by an army of assignments he's fallen behind schedule on grading. Though he's surrounded by neatly stacked paper battlements on the sofa and coffee table, his battle is not a particularly strenuous one. The nearby kitchen is sparkling clean, and the tidied apartment is pleasantly still, with only the muffled susurrus of the shower spray and the gentle rustle of paper to lap at the silence. In these calm, orderly surroundings, he can focus completely on his work.
He's just turning over a page when he hears the sharp squeak of the shower faucet, and the background patter of running water cuts off. Shen Wei carefully extracts himself from the paper fortress, marking his place in the current essay with a stroke of the brush-tip art pen Zhao Yunlan sent Da Qing out to buy when he realized Shen Wei was attempting to write class notes with one of the half-dead ballpoints Zhao Yunlan had gotten free somewhere and tossed into the junk drawer. ("It's not as good as your brush set," Zhao Yunlan apologized when he presented the gift, "but it's better than a dried-up old advertising handout." The art marker is nothing at all like his traditional writing brushes, but Shen Wei appreciates the gesture nonetheless. And it is a far sight better than the spotty ballpoint, which he promptly consigned to the garbage.)
By the time Zhao Yunlan has toweled off and donned his sleepwear, Shen Wei is waiting just outside the bathroom to help him to bed. The moment the door opens, Shen Wei murmurs a soft, "This way," and enfolds Zhao Yunlan's arm in his hands.
"Aiyo, Shen Wei, I'm fine," Zhao Yunlan insists. It's a token protest, one he makes nightly despite the fact that he is placidly following Shen Wei's lead and making not the least bit of effort to guide himself. The path from the bathroom to the bed is short and unimpeded by furniture, and Zhao Yunlan could doubtless make it on his own. But this walk, like the rote complaint, is just another part of the ritual they've established. Each night, Shen Wei escorts Zhao Yunlan across the room until he can touch the edge of the mattress, then leaves him to arrange his bedding how he likes and settle himself comfortably in bed—something Zhao Yunlan does prefer to do for himself, no matter how badly Shen Wei's hands itch to tug the duvet a little higher so he won't catch a chill. (He tried, the first couple of nights. By the third evening, Zhao Yunlan flashed his teeth and threatened to bite Shen Wei's hand if he fussed with the blankets one more time—a behavior Shen Wei is positive he learned from a certain cat Yashou, who had watched the exchange from his tire bed with a distinctly smug expression.)
In less than a minute, Zhao Yunlan is installed safely beneath the duvet and has engaged in his nightly routine of fluffing the pillows. Shen Wei steps back to a polite distance. It's a tricky balance, to be close at hand in case Zhao Yunlan needs anything, but not to the point of crowding him. It's safer to err on the side of leaving too much space—he can always come closer if called, and there's less risk of Zhao Yunlan feeling smothered by his attention. The last thing Shen Wei wants is for Zhao Yunlan to resent his presence.
(Even if he aches to stay at his side. Even if it's impossible to tear his gaze away from the familiar face he sought for so long. Even if something in Shen Wei yearns to cling to Zhao Yunlan with all his strength, lest he be dragged away and lost to him for another ten thousand years.)
Normally, according to their routine, Shen Wei would take his turn in the bathroom next. But his grading will keep him busy for at least another hour, and he doesn't want to stop in the middle of an essay. He can wait to bathe until he's finished with his work. Zhao Yunlan should be asleep by then, anyway.
Zhao Yunlan's head comes up when he hears Shen Wei move in the direction opposite the bathroom. "You're not showering?"
"I still have some classwork to look over. You can go ahead and rest. I'll try not to disturb you."
Suddenly Zhao Yunlan is squirming out of the nest he's made of the bedclothes. "I'll sit with you, then."
A reflexive protest that he needs rest in order to recover nearly escapes Shen Wei before he recalls that Zhao Yunlan has already been getting far more sleep than usual. The perpetual darkness has eroded his sleep cycles, but between the absence of blue light from electronic devices and his inability to work late at the office on his own, he's been falling asleep at a more reasonable hour and staying that way until he wakes naturally. Even so, the extra sleep hasn't made a bit of difference to his condition; his eyes are still as useless as they were that first night in the park.
Besides, Da Qing is still at SID headquarters, helping Lin Jing install… cables? Shielding? Something Shen Wei doesn't fully understand, but couldn't be done during the work day because it required switching off the building's electricity—and it seems unkind to order Zhao Yunlan back to bed alone when he's grown accustomed to having either his cat or Shen Wei within arm's reach. The nightmares aren't a nightly occurrence, but they've returned twice since that first night, both times when Shen Wei wasn't near Zhao Yunlan. He knows the sample size is too small to determine causality, but he isn't willing to risk Zhao Yunlan's peace of mind just to prove a theory.
Shen Wei guides Zhao Yunlan to a seat on the sofa, shielding his legs from the sharp corners of the coffee table, then retrieves a blanket to wrap around him. "Your hair is still damp," he asserts when Zhao Yunlan protests the swaddling, "and those clothes aren't nearly warm enough." They're barely even clothes, in Shen Wei's opinion. Zhao Yunlan's idea of pajamas is a ragged T-shirt, so threadbare it's semi-transparent in places, and a pair of thin boxer shorts. He might as well be naked, for all the protection the garments offer.
They've lived together just long enough to have learned to pick their battles. Zhao Yunlan scowls, but obediently pulls the blanket around his shoulders. Satisfied, Shen Wei sits beside him and picks up the paper he'd been reading.
There's amiable silence for a little while. In different circumstances, Zhao Yunlan might be amusing himself with his mobile phone, or perhaps skimming case notes he'd brought home from the office, but without his eyesight he simply nestles into the blanket and sits quietly at Shen Wei's side. Though Shen Wei knows he must be bored with nothing to occupy his active mind, Zhao Yunlan is still scrupulously respectful of Shen Wei's professional obligations and refuses to distract him with conversation.
Normally, Shen Wei would prioritize conversation with Zhao Yunlan over paperwork regardless of his professorial duties… but no, he really does need to finish grading these assignments, which he's already put off for days while looking after Zhao Yunlan. He owes his students a certain amount of his time and attention, even if Zhao Yunlan tends to occupy all available space in Shen Wei's mind.
…As he's doing now, despite doing nothing at all except sitting quietly beside him. Shen Wei steals a sideways glance at Zhao Yunlan, then looks more directly when he remembers he can't be seen. The other man's sightless eyes are half-closed, fixed somewhere in the middle distance, his expression placid. Shen Wei isn't entirely certain why Zhao Yunlan wanted to stay up with him while he worked. Sitting on the beaten-down sofa can't be any more comfortable than resting in bed, and with Shen Wei's attention fixed on his coursework, there's no real benefit to sitting near him.
Shen Wei clears his throat. "Can I get you anything?"
Zhao Yunlan's head twitches toward him at the sound of his voice, then swivels from side to side. "No, I'm fine."
"Are you sure? It's no trouble."
There's that little half-smile that's more honest than the showy grins Zhao Yunlan usually displays, and another head-shake. "Really, I don't need anything."
Shen Wei isn't satisfied, but it's not as though he can force Zhao Yunlan to ask him for something. "All right. Be sure to tell me if you do. I really don't mind."
Zhao Yunlan gives a little amused huff, but he shakes his head again. Shen Wei returns to the essay.
It's a good one, written by JiaJia, who transferred officially into Shen Wei's genetics program shortly after their adventure in the mountains. While her descriptions of morphological mutation can run to the basic, her writing is always infused with something of her playful spirit, which makes her work a novelty among the dry data reports of her peers. Shen Wei lingers over her summary of a class research project:
To further test the effect of the mutagen, the attached-X female specimens (XXY) were crossed to mutagen-treated males. This combination could potentially result in four discrete chromosomal outcomes: Super females (XX-X), attached females (XXY), mutant males (XY), and YY. As an as-yet-unattached female who has been pestered by countless males (many of them apparent mutants) to become attached, I was naturally quite invested in the outcome! It came as no surprise that the mutant males, as well as the YY specimens who lacked exposure to the feminine mystique—by which I mean the X chromosome and, by extension, the tagged allelomorph—were unable to survive. Sadly, my personal heroes, the super females, proved likewise ill-fated. Apparently the world is not ready for such pure feminine power.
Shen Wei knows he shouldn't indulge such informal writing—a paper worded so casually would never make it into a scientific journal—but the humor is refreshing. He rereads the last line, mentally hearing it in JiaJia's voice, and laughs softly.
Zhao Yunlan's head instantly orients toward the sound, eyes sweeping the space between them in useless arcs. It takes Shen Wei a few heartbeats to recognize what he's seeking. "Ah—I'm sorry," Shen Wei says. "One of my students wrote something humorous."
Zhao Yunlan tilts his head. "Why are you apologizing?"
The question catches Shen Wei off guard, and he finds he doesn't have an answer. He hasn't done anything that demands an apology, but he still feels like he should apologize, as though by laughing he's deliberately excluding Zhao Yunlan from something he himself is enjoying—which is irrational, because Zhao Yunlan wouldn't have been reading JiaJia's essay even if he miraculously regained his sight, nor if he'd never gone blind at all, if things were as they're meant to be…
Shen Wei realizes the silence is still hanging heavy between them. He clears his throat. "I thought I… might have disturbed you."
"You didn't." The reply is accompanied by a smile, but this time it's not the small private one that Zhao Yunlan sometimes shares with Shen Wei, nor the bold grin he uses on his subordinates. This smile is a fragile, brittle thing, forced into place to stave off something else, and it heralds an unsettling sheen in Zhao Yunlan's eyes.
Shen Wei lowers the paper he's holding and stares as that warning gloss swells into visible tears. "Zhao Yunlan?"
In answer, one of Zhao Yunlan's hands emerges from his blanket-cocoon and gropes outward. When his seeking fingers brush the sleeve of Shen Wei's shirt, he pinches a bit of the thin fabric between his fingertips. He doesn't tug or attempt to move the arm, just… holds. Maintains that single point of contact between his faintly trembling fingers and Shen Wei's still form. His grip is light enough that Shen Wei could likely dislodge it with a twist of his wrist, but there's something desperate in the gesture—especially unsettling, considering there's no clear reason for it.
Shen Wei's scientific mind whirls through hypotheses and discards them faster than conscious thought, seeking a possible cause for Zhao Yunlan's behavior. He doesn't appear to be in pain or distress. There's nothing he seems in need of, nothing he's lacking physically, nothing he's asked Shen Wei for.
Unless…
It's the first time in days, Shen Wei realizes, that they've touched for any reason other than practical necessity. A flash of shame spreads through him as he recognizes what he's failed to provide, in spite of all his methodical caretaking of Zhao Yunlan. Zhao Yunlan, who would always ruffle Da Qing's hair, or slap Lin Jing on the back, or prop himself on the shoulder of whoever was sitting nearest. Zhao Yunlan, who was ever throwing an arm around Shen Wei's neck, nudging him with an elbow, brushing arms and hands as they walked.
Zhao Yunlan, who thrives on physical touch the way plants thrive on sunlight.
Since his injury, the concerned staff of the SID have treated Zhao Yunlan as though he's made of glass. And though Shen Wei has conscientiously met Zhao Yunlan's every practical need, he's also kept his distance. Handled Zhao Yunlan with clinical detachment. Abstained from any contact that was not strictly necessary for his care.
Shen Wei, Zhao Yunlan's self-proclaimed best friend, hasn't so much as patted his hand in comfort since he suffered perhaps the greatest physical shock of his life.
The essay pages slide to the floor. In one motion, Shen Wei twists and pulls Zhao Yunlan into a hug. There's a twitch of surprise, and then Zhao Yunlan is burrowing deeper into Shen Wei's embrace, lithe arms snaking into the hollows of the cushions to wrap around him. He clings as though Shen Wei is the buoy keeping him afloat—and maybe, adrift in his sea of darkness, it's true.
A tremor ripples through Zhao Yunlan's body, and he presses closer. Shen Wei tries to look at him, but all that's visible is a tousled mop of damp hair. "Zhao Yunlan?"
The answering voice is subdued, even beyond the muffling of Shen Wei's shoulder. "I miss seeing you." It's a rare admission for Zhao Yunlan, who has made light of his injury and denied its impact on his own wellbeing from the beginning—but perhaps under cover of the perpetual darkness of his world, and protected by Shen Wei's fathomless strength, he can whisper secrets he would otherwise never speak aloud.
There's really nothing Shen Wei can say in return that wouldn't be a meaningless platitude, but his arms tighten around Zhao Yunlan's shoulders. He shares that sense of loss: Of all the people he's known, Zhao Yunlan is perhaps the only one capable of penetrating the various masks Shen Wei must wear to carry out his duties. The only person who has ever truly seen him has lost the ability to see.
"Watching you," Zhao Yunlan murmurs, a flood of words escaping now that the dam has broken. "The way you can switch from Professor to Envoy in an instant. Sharing a look with you when we're thinking the same thing. Seeing you smile. Really smile, when you show your teeth and your eyes light up. Or laugh, like you did just now."
Shen Wei's fingers knot in the fabric of Zhao Yunlan's blanket. He's not sure if he's truly smiled even once in the past ten days. It's difficult to be carefree enough to laugh, after one's twin brother attempts to murder one's oldest friend.
"Of all the things I can't see, that's what I miss the most," Zhao Yunlan goes on. "The way we could have a whole conversation with just one look. It's like… like we understood each other on a different level. Like we had our own language that nobody else spoke. But now I can't understand the words."
Shen Wei shifts his hold, moving one hand to cradle Zhao Yunlan's neck so his fingers brush the exposed skin there. Zhao Yunlan may not be able to see his facial expressions, but he can still feel the warmth and tenderness of Shen Wei's hands. If one language has been taken from them, they'll forge another. "We will always understand one another."
Zhao Yunlan leans into the touch. "I've missed this, too," he murmurs. "Nobody comes near me anymore."
A dozen rationalizations for the cautious distance of his friends come to mind—they're worried about your health, they don't want to crowd you, they want you to be able to move around freely without having them in your way—but Shen Wei knows Zhao Yunlan would recognize them for the inadequate excuses they are. "I'm sorry. I was afraid you would find any more of my presence… troublesome."
"Ah, Shen Wei, didn't I tell you back then? That I'd take your kind of trouble by the dozen, to trouble me for the rest of my life." He rests his head against Shen Wei's shoulder. "Honestly, at this point I'm kind of hoping for that, because I don't know what I'd do without you."
A wave of relief sluices away the knot of anxiety Shen Wei wasn't even aware of until it released. The knowledge that Zhao Yunlan wants him here, wants him in his life, kindles a fire at his core. "I don't intend to let you find out. Ever."
The desperate crush of Zhao Yunlan's arms around Shen Wei's ribs eases fractionally. Perhaps he, too, is relieved to know that he isn't an unwelcome burden. Still, he is and always will be Zhao Yunlan: "You're just worried that I'll make coffee noodles again."
Shen Wei can't help grimacing. "Please don't say that like it's the name of a legitimate food preparation."
That draws a chuckle from Zhao Yunlan—not one Shen Wei can hear, but one he feels as a quiver against his side. It's a pleasant sensation, this contact that allows him to observe Zhao Yunlan's breathing and heartbeat and laughter through touch instead of the usual senses. It's reassuring to have him so close, to know beyond doubt that he's safe and well. And it's nice to… to know that Zhao Yunlan can feel all the same things he can. Surprisingly, it doesn't make Shen Wei feel vulnerable or exposed. Just the opposite, in fact.
For a moment, Shen Wei immerses himself fully in this novel experience of just being held. He can't recall the last time someone embraced him like this—or even if anyone ever has. If this warmth, this security, this indescribable sense of belonging is the feeling Zhao Yunlan is chasing every time he reaches out to touch another person… Well, Shen Wei is beginning to see the attraction.
Zhao Yunlan's head shifts, hair tickling Shen Wei's neck. "Are you smiling?"
For the first time in days, Shen Wei realizes, he truly is. "Yes. Why?"
"It seemed like you might be, but I couldn't tell for certain. Not without putting my hand on your face, or something." Zhao Yunlan sighs, and the transient moment of levity evaporates. "I can give up sunlight and television and everything else, but I really wish I could see you."
"You will again." The words are out of Shen Wei's mouth before he realizes what he's saying, but they're weighted with real conviction.
Zhao Yunlan lets out another chuckle, but buried as it is in Shen Wei's collar, it's difficult to say whether this laugh is amused or rueful. "You're awfully certain."
He is certain. Certain that Zhao Yunlan is Kunlun, somehow. That he has yet to become Kunlun, most likely, though Shen Wei doesn't know how—only that the man he loved so dearly in his youth must be the same one he would give his heart's blood for now. And Kunlun wasn't blind, so logically Zhao Yunlan must recover his vision at some point. But he can't risk telling Zhao Yunlan about his own future, even to reassure him. "I'll find a way," Shen Wei promises. He's equally certain that he'll do whatever it takes to make this right again. To unmake his brother's crimes. To protect the most important person in his life. "If dark energy took your eyesight, there must be a way to restore it. I'll find it." He presses his cheek against Zhao Yunlan's damp hair. "I'll find it."
That night, they share the bed as usual. Shen Wei waits for Zhao Yunlan to convert his half of the bedding into a chaotic, well-fluffed nest, then assumes his own usual position on top of the duvet on the other side. It's routine, one they've practiced each night for the past week and a half.
But tonight, after Shen Wei flicks the light switch off with a thread of dark energy, he turns over to lie in the center of the mattress. The shift in weight tips Zhao Yunlan's body toward him, and Shen Wei wraps his arms about the bundle of duvet and human.
Zhao Yunlan doesn't speak, but curls into the embrace, head butting against Shen Wei's chest. He's wrapped like a dumpling in plush cotton dough, but even through the layers, Shen Wei can feel the tension drain from his body. Within moments, Zhao Yunlan's breathing settles into the slow rhythm of repose.
This time, Shen Wei does not wish him good night. "I promise you, Zhao Yunlan," he whispers instead. "What you have lost, I will restore. Whatever you need, I will obtain, even if it costs my life."
Zhao Yunlan's voice rouses from the edge of sleep. "Just stay with me."
And Shen Wei does.