Work Text:
It was a cold, bleak, day, unlike anything he had seen up until now in Yunmeng. He had gotten used to the sun’s rays showering Lotus Pier in hot, golden glory. Now, it was bathed in mist and smelled of mossy river water, like it had just surfaced from the lakes upon which it sat, an enigma blanketed in shadows.
Wei Ying woke up in his shared room with Jiang Cheng to find the other missing. This in itself wasn’t unusual; Jiang Cheng almost always woke much earlier—Wei Ying had no idea exactly when.
Somehow, though, he felt the urgent need to find him today. With his heart thudding in his chest, he threw off his blankets and stepped out into a foggy Lotus Pier, wondering whether it was even daytime. He could see no sun, no lights at all. Not even the night-time lanterns used by patrolling disciples.
The fog was grey and suffocating, pushing him back. Wei Ying shoved through anyway, barely even noticing that he had begun to run. As he cut through it, the fog shrieked like a thousand wailing widows, the sound vibrating deep in his bones.
Just as his heartbeat was coming to a speedy crescendo, Wei Ying spotted Jiang Cheng: he was kneeling, smiling softly at something hidden by the fog. Wei Ying breathed a sigh of relief, until he saw.
Jiang Cheng stretched out his hand, then gasped. From far away, Wei Ying heard the crunching noise, saw his shidi retract his hand—except there was no hand. Just a bloody, mangled stump in its place.
A dog barked.
The realisation hit Wei Ying like a sack of bricks to the gut, stealing his breath and leaving him winded as he rushed toward Jiang Cheng. He sensed the dogs before he saw them, dark and growling, teeth coated in blood and flesh—Jiang Cheng’s flesh, his brother’s flesh. Wei Ying had almost made it, so close that he could meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and distantly he realised they were a lighter shade of grey than his, and so impossibly wide. Jiang Cheng reached out with the hand that was remaining, and Wei Ying reached out too. They both reached out, and the dog unhinged its gaping, snarling jaw—
- And then half of Jiang Cheng was gone.
Wei Ying jerked awake with a cry, hand still reaching out to empty space, with a frantic question squirming in his heart.
Jiang Cheng protected Wei Ying, but who protected him?
Jiang Cheng was a heavy sleeper. The only thing that ever woke him up was Yunmeng’s raging, bellowing storms, and there was not much else in the world that could match their noise and ferocity.
This was a problem, because his roommate Wei Ying often moaned and cried in his sleep while Jiang Cheng snored away in oblivious bliss.
Now, Jiang Cheng had no idea how to comfort a person, much less someone who sounded so broken in their sleep. All he knew, he knew from his sister, and he could never replicate the love in her eyes, or the sweetness of her smile. However, after he and Wei Ying became friends, Yanli had told him that Wei Ying had struggled much, and that he needed love and kindness. She said, “Since A-Cheng is such a kind boy, would you take care of A-Ying with me?”
Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to take care of people, but his A-Jie had asked him to, and he would die before he disappointed her. Therefore, he had to make sure Wei Ying was sleeping.
One night, his brother woke up with a scream loud enough to startle Jiang Cheng awake—and probably also the rest of Lotus Pier’s residents. He was about to blearily ask what happened, when all of a sudden, he found himself with an armful of Wei Ying, hugging him too tightly into his bony chest.
(Wei Ying had a massive appetite, but once he overate and vomited so much that the doctor advised that he should slowly build up his portion sizes. Personally, Jiang Cheng thought Wei Ying could stand to gain some weight, but he didn’t want to see all the puke again.)
If Wei Ying wasn’t holding on to him like his only lifeline, Jiang Cheng would have pushed him away. As it was, he stuttered out what was meant to be a sharp demand but came out sounding too embarrassed. “Wh-What are you doing?!”
Suddenly brought back to the present, Wei Ying fell back in a flail of limbs and rapid apologies which was too loud and frantic to understand.
What Jiang Cheng wanted to say in response was "there's no need to apologise", but what came out was “Ugh, shut up!” Wei Ying did, but it only made Jiang Cheng feel guilty. Instead of apologising, he said, “Why are you awake?”
Wei Ying’s silhouette, barely visible under the moonlight through the window, turned its head away. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Jiang Cheng muttered, crossing his arms. Then he remembered what his A-Jie had told him, and continued in a tone he wished was less brusque, “Did you have a nightmare?”
Jiang Cheng’s heart twinged at Wei Ying’s expression. Suddenly, he wanted to punch whoever made Wei Ying look so tired and hopelessly inconsolable, even if it was technically Wei Ying’s own mind.
He shifted in his bed, moving to its far end and turning toward the wall. After a few seconds, he patted the empty space next to him without looking back.
A few more seconds, and Wei Ying climbed in. Slowly, like a cautious rabbit. Jiang Cheng remembered when he was younger—it was actually just a few months ago, but it felt like years—when Wei Ying wasn’t there, and his mother would come put him to bed sometimes. It was usually during storms, when he refused to sleep for fear that his room would flood, and he would drown in bed.
His mother would pat his hair, slowly, steadily. When he was a lot younger, during a time he could remember nothing else of, his mother would sing. Her voice was unsteady, and the songs weren’t exactly made as children’s songs. Jiang Cheng knew because he had searched meticulously for those songs, rummaging through books and memories alike to find their lyrics and tune. He learnt them, and he sang them to himself sometimes, in place of his mother. She had stopped when he was very, very young.
Wei Ying burrowed as close as he could without touching, still shivering. Jiang Cheng had once told him that he hated cuddling, and despite the wilted, heartbroken look on his face, he’d since respected that and kept his distance. Jiang Cheng resisted both the urge to roll his eyes, and the guilty pang in his heart. A sharper image of his mother came to him this time, bitter and aloof, someone that people were afraid to touch.
Wei Ying sniffled, unable to hide the sound in the silence of the night.
Softly, pretending as though he was singing only for himself, Jiang Cheng started humming a lullaby.