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“Shixiong…?” Quan Yizhen murmured as he quietly entered Yin Yu’s bedroom. A nest of blankets stirred slightly in response. “Crimson Rain said you’re not feeling well?” he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed.
“Oh,” Yin Yu mumbled, muffled voice thick with sleep, “Yizhen… it’s just a headache.”
Quan Yizhen frowned slightly. He didn’t like it when his shixiong dismissed his own pain like that. “Ghosts can get headaches?” he asked instead, reaching into the blankets to gently brush his fingers against Yin Yu’s soft hair.
“Apparently,” Yin Yu replied, inching out from under the blankets. He wore a small smile but his brow was creased in obvious pain. “Chengzhu checked on me earlier and said it has to do with my revival. It seems that part of me fought you while you were nurturing my soul.”
“Really? I don’t remember that.”
“I don’t either, but I guess the part of me that didn’t want to come back is manifesting this way.”
“The part of you that didn’t—” Quan Yizhen felt his heart squeeze with panic. “Shixiong, did I force you to come back?!”
“No,” Yin Yu sighed, “no, Yizhen, you didn’t force me. I never wanted to go, don’t worry.”
“Do you mean it?” Quan Yizhen asked, insistent and a little scared. “You want to be here? You’re not just saying that?”
“Yes, Yizhen, I want to be here.” He shifted a little, curling tighter so that Quan Yizhen could only see the side of his face. “Don’t you ever hear a little voice in the back of your head that questions whether you really want something?” He closed his eyes. “Whether it’s worth it? Whether you deserve it?”
Quan Yizhen shook his head. “No, Shixiong, never.”
“Ah, just me then?” Yin Yu replied. He looked up at Quan Yizhen again, smiled sadly.
“...Do you hear that voice a lot?” Quan Yizhen asked, heart aching with concern.
“Mn, but I’ve gotten used to ignoring it.”
“Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen said, running a hand gently along Yin Yu’s hip, “can I do anything for you?”
“Just let me rest.”
Quan Yizhen nodded. He knew how difficult it was for Yin Yu to rest. It must be bad if he was doing it willingly. “I can go,” he said, moving to stand.
Yin Yu reached out immediately. “No,” he said, voice urgent as he gripped Quan Yizhen’s wrist, “please stay.” His tone softened. “Just keep your voice down?”
“Okay, Shixiong.” He started removing his boots and his outer garments.
Yin Yu watched him with a smile. “What are you doing?” he asked, amused.
“No outside clothes in bed, right?”
“Yes,” Yin Yu said, smile widening, “that’s the rule.” Once Quan Yizhen had climbed into bed, worked his way into the tangled blankets, and pulled him close, Yin Yu relaxed into the embrace. He let out a shuddering sigh.
“Shixiong,” Quan Yizhen whispered against Yin Yu’s ear, “would some spiritual power help? With your headache?”
Yin Yu turned to look over his shoulder. “It couldn’t hurt,” he replied, smiling playfully.
Quan Yizhen smiled back. “Not like that, Shixiong,” he said, voice mock-stern. “You need to rest.”
With a pout, Yin Yu turned away, and Quan Yizhen was tempted to pull him back. But he resisted, then placed a light kiss on Yin Yu’s temple, infusing it with spiritual power, and then another on his cheek, his throat, his collarbone. It didn’t help the headache but he could tell by the look on Yin Yu’s face that it was a comfort nonetheless.