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Xiao Xingchen doesn’t know what he expected when Song Lan called him late in the evening, but it certainly wasn’t a low, distressed whine.
“What’s wrong?” Xiao Xingchen asks instead of a greeting, adrenaline rushing through him as he mentally goes through all the horrible things that could drag this sound from Song Lan, and the whine repeats itself, louder and more insistent this time.
“I’m dying,” Song Lan finally rasps out, and Xiao Xingchen tenses up, before he shoots to his feet.
“Are you bleeding?” he demands to know and his heart beats a little easier when Song Lan denies that. “Do you need an ambulance?” Xiao Xingchen wants to know next but he is met with the same low “No” as before.
“I’m coming over,” Xiao Xingchen decides, almost reassured that Song Lan isn’t immediately dying, but he still barely remembers to put on his coat before he runs out of his apartment.
Song Lan definitely sounded hurt over the phone and Xiao Xingchen is still worrying about his friend.
He will never forgive himself if Song Lan dies before Xiao Xingchen got the chance to tell him about his feelings.
When he reaches Song Lan’s apartment, he doesn’t bother to ring the doorbell; instead he uses the key on his own keychain. The one Song Lan had given him months ago and which Xiao Xingchen could never bring himself to use, always worrying that he might overstay his welcome or annoy Song Lan with his unannounced visits.
But not today. If Song Lan is in any form of pain, Xiao Xingchen will not make him go to the door.
“Song Lan?” he calls out as soon as he steps into the apartment and he can hear a faint groaning sound from the bedroom.
Xiao Xingchen rushes over, tries his best to not think about the fact that he has never been in Song Lan’s bedroom, despite how much he wishes that was different, and pushes the door open.
It takes him a second to find Song Lan in the dim light, but there’s a lumpy shape under the cover on the bed, and Xiao Xingchen thinks it’s safe to assume that it’s Song Lan.
“Zichen,” he breathes out and quickly walks over, finds a mop of hair and nothing else, until he gingerly sits on the edge of the bed.
Then Song Lan peeks an eye out.
“I’m dying,” he complains again and by now the situation is a lot clearer to Xiao Xingchen and the last worry and adrenaline leaves him.
“You’re a goddamn idiot, that’s the only thing you are,” Xiao Xingchen mutters, but he peels the cover away from Song Lan’s face to get a better look at him.
Song Lan is flushed, clearly feverish and his nose is a bright red. That and the fact that he probably has a sore throat explains his distorted voice.
“You have a cold, you’re not dying,” Xiao Xingchen chides him, much to the dismay of Song Lan apparently, because he groans again.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” he complains and then worms a hand out from under his protective barrier to wrap it around Xiao Xingchen’s wrist. “Please don’t let me die alone.”
Xiao Xingchen wants to roll his eyes at Song Lan’s antics, but he refrains because he does seem miserable, and Xiao Xingchen would never just abandon him.
Xiao Xingchen smoothes a hand over Song Lan’s forehead, gets the sweaty hair out of his face, and then tucks the blanket back up.
“Why don’t you sleep a bit and I make you some soup?” he asks and gets up from the bed.
“You won’t leave?” Song Lan asks, voice small and raspy and Xiao Xingchen smiles softly at him, because how could he ever.
“I won’t,” he promises and then, because the fever must clearly be the most goddamn contagious thing Xiao Xingchen has ever encountered, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Song Lan’s forehead.
Song Lan doesn’t comment on it, he just sighs appreciatively, and Xiao Xingchen is glad the dim light hides his blush.
“I’ll be right back,” he gets out and then flees the room.
He takes several deep breaths in the kitchen, before he gets started on the soup he promised Song Lan.
It doesn’t take him long, just a healthy broth, and almost too soon he’s back in Song Lan’s bedroom.
Xiao Xingchen brought some water and medicine too, which he hands to Song Lan first, who swallows it under much complaint.
“You’re acting like a baby,” Xiao Xingchen gently chides him and Song Lan looks up at him with big, pleading eyes.
“Being sick is the worst,” Song Lan rasps out and Xiao Xingchen sighs.
“I know it is, but it won’t get any better if you don’t listen to me,” he tells him and then hands him the bowl with soup.
“My hands shake too badly,” Song Lan complains and Xiao Xingchen would accuse him of playing it up, if he couldn’t see the shaking for himself.
“Let me help then,” he softly says and takes the bowl back, before he offers a spoon to Song Lan.
Song Lan stares at him for a long moment before he leans forward and takes the offered spoonful of soup and Xiao Xingchen blushes again, he’s sure of it.
He barely manages to get ten spoons into Song Lan before he refuses any more food, and Xiao Xingchen puts the bowl away with a sigh. He’ll try again later.
“You should rest now,” Xiao Xingchen tells him but Song Lan’s hand shoots out again to grab his wrist.
“Will you stay, here?” he asks and looks down at the bed, in a clear invitation.
Xiao Xingchen blames the fever.
“You should rest,” he says again and Song Lan pouts at him.
“I will rest better if you’re here,” he gives back and Xiao Xingchen sighs.
He never could say no to Song Lan.
“Scoot over,” he orders and thanks all the gods for his strong immune system.
Song Lan immediately makes space for him and Xiao Xingchen slides into bed with him.
“I really didn’t think this would work,” Song Lan mumbles as he burrows deeper into his blanket and moves even closer to Xiao Xingchen, who freezes at the words.
“Zichen! Did you get sick on purpose?” he demands to know and he can feel that Song Lan has gone tense against him.
“No?” he tries and Xiao Xingchen pinches his side. “Maybe I just didn’t take the medicine like I should have?” Song Lan tries again and Xiao Xingchen narrows his eyes at him.
“Why the hell would you do that?” he wants to know and Song Lan stares with wide eyes at him, because Xiao Xingchen doesn’t curse, not ever.
Song Lan stares at him for a moment longer, before he sighs and moves away from Xiao Xingchen, turns on his back and looks at the ceiling.
“I tried to confess to you seven times in the last month alone,” he whispers and puts a hand over his eyes, so he clearly doesn’t see Xiao Xingchen’s eyes widening. “And every time I chickened out,” he admits. “I just wanted to do it for once, but now you’re angry with me.”
“I’m angry with you because you’re playing with your health!” Xiao Xingchen says and then wraps his arms around Song Lan to pull him back into the curve of his body. “And I wasn’t brave enough to confess to you either,” he lowly admits, heart beating in his throat when Song Lan snuggles closer.
“So we’re both really good at this,” Song Lan mumbles, face tucked into the crook of Xiao Xingchen’s neck and he can tell that Song Lan is about to drift off.
“That we are,” Xiao Xingchen agrees and cups the back of Song Lan’s head in his hand. “Sleep, Zichen,” he whispers and Song Lan wraps an arm around him.
“Stay, Xingchen?” he sleepily asks.
“As long as you like,” Xiao Xingchen promises, though he’s sure Song Lan is asleep before he finishes saying it.
Well, he just has to say it again in the morning, then.