Chapter Text
Shen Yuan hears Shen Qingqiu storm in, glancing up from his washing to see him covered in some sort of blood. Or sap. It’s hard to tell, being bright purple, but it has the same smell and consistency of blood, so he figures that it didn’t really matter.
“Give me clothes,” Shen Qingqiu demands, glaring- though not at him, he notices. Just the world in general.
Age must really drive people mad, because that shouldn't be endearing.
When Shen Yuan just stands there for too long, Shen Qingqiu huffs. “I have no wish to remain covered in fluids, Shen Yuan, so if you would point me to where you keep your spare robes, I would be quite grateful.”
Shen Yuan blinks. Shen Qingqiu is the best planner he knows, full stop. This is most unlike him. “Don't you-”
“Yes, I keep spare clothes on me. These were the spare robes.”
Shen Yuan doesn’t smile, no matter how tempting it is. Shen Qingqiu is usually much harder to annoy. “I keep some outer robes in the cubby by the entrance. Everything else is in my room, in the cabinet with the blue door- straight down the hall if you're coming from the falls. You can wash up in the room to the left of mine.”
“Thank you,” Shen Qingqiu manages, and then slams Xiu Ya on his kitchen table to go get clean. The blood must have bothered him quite a bit then. Shen Yuan understands. Fluids have a habit of being sticky-
He pulls himself to the present. Dries a dish. Thinks a lot about old men and bears catching salmon and the wastewater systems of his old world.
And then it dawns on Shen Yuan. Shen Qingqiu leaving his bloody, messy sword on Shen Yuan’s table is undoubtedly an asshole move, but not one to be taken lightly.
Xiu Ya. A part of Shen Qingqiu, bound by him, chosen by him and choosing him in turn. Left alone with Shen Yuan, someone he’s known for barely a year. Shen Qingqiu came to him when he needed help, as small as that help was. Hell, he’s bathing just a hall and a room away!
Shen Yuan is trusted, and he takes a moment to bask in the warmth that gives him. It makes him smile, makes his chest ache. He feels like a shitty novel character, just discovering the joy of caring for another and being cared for in return.
Then he sighs, and sets about cleaning up the mess Shen Qingqiu had left, letting his mind drift to what ingredients he has laying around. He’s always cold after washing. Shen Qingqiu might appreciate some soup.