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Their bedchambers within paradise manor are silent, dark with the blanket of sleep over Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. Though Hua Cheng’s arms remain wrapped around Xie Lian’s waist, exactly in the same position as when rest had overtaken him, Xie Lian’s always rolled around a little in his slumber. Tonight, though, those unconscious movements are sharp, a far cry from the languid shifting one would expect from a sleeping person.
Xie Lian’s no stranger to bad dreams. He’s over 800 years old, those years at times far from pleasant. Still, most of the time, his dreams were simply unsettling. He’d wake with a slight twist in his stomach, reflect on the unnerving images his mind had conjured, and just kinda sat up and went, “Well, that was messed up. Anyway, on with my day.” It was a rare occasion for a dream to shake him up for more than a couple minutes, and they had only ever been intense after some particularly horrific event.
That’s why it’s so odd.
Ever since Jun Wu’s defeat, ever since Xie Lian’s been living comfortably for the first time in a several lifetimes, ever since he and Hua Cheng got married he’s been having these horrific nightmares.
In the dead of the tranquil darkness of Paradise Manor, Xie Lian’s eyes snap open. He tears himself up into a sitting position with a winded gasp. Sweat sticks to the back of his neck, his pulse thrums furiously behind his eyes, and he curls into himself. His hands cling to his torso. The phantom pains from his nightmare, his memory, still sear along his skin, deep through his muscle. His breaths don’t settle, hitching in an flimsy attempt to provide Xie Lian with air.
It hurts. It still hurts.
Xie Lian’s eyes screw back shut, his jaw clenching against the drumming, stabbing pains. He’s hardly aware of his surroundings, of the fact that he’s safe. His whole world is the full-body agony that his body so well recalls.
Hua Cheng’s hands twitch. Blearily, his eye opens. It’s still dark. Why is he..? Where’s—oh. “Gege?” Croaks his sleep-heavy voice.
Xie Lian doesn’t respond, rigid where he sits. From the one arm still loosely draped in Xie Lian’s lap, Hua Cheng can tell he’s shaking. “Gege?” He questions, much more awake now as he nearly flings himself up to take Xie Lian’s form in, but it’s too damn dark. With an absent-minded wave of his hand, a couple butterflies appear to act as night lights. From what Hua Cheng can see of his face, much of it hidden by his hair or knees, Xie Lian’s pale and his skin looks clammy. His face is scrunched in distress. He’s hugging himself. “Dianxia, what’s wrong?” In brushing a cool hand over Xie Lian’s forehead, an attempt to pull some damp hair away, he brings Xie Lian back a bit with a jolt. His hand recoils, burned. Almost literally, too, Xie Lian’s face is warm. Xie Lian makes an anguished sound and tilts his head ever so slightly toward his husband. Hesitant, Hua Cheng returns his touch to Xie Lian’s overheating skin.
Xie Lian sighs, a hint of relief in his tone. “Hurts,” is his murmured explanation.
“What hurts, Gege?” Hua Cheng asks, voice brought down to something softer, closer to the volume of Xie Lian’s own utterance.
Xie Lian shakes his head, a tiny movement. A little less out of it, he now logically acknowledges that nothing actually hurts. Well, it does, but he’s not injured. “Dream,” he attempts. Through grit teeth, he adds, “Swords.” Understanding comes to Hua Cheng, but does not ease him. His hand moves to soothe over Xie Lian’s hair, lowering to rub circles on his back. Through his haze, Xie Lian knows he must be worrying him. His breath stutters. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” is the immediate response. “There is nothing to apologize for.” Xie Lian doesn’t respond, doesn’t move at all. “Would you like to lie back?” A small head shake. Xie Lian can’t move, immobilized. Thinking of the amount of effort it’d take to do so nearly sends him to tears. “What about water?” Another dismissive shake. He’s pretty sure that if he tries to ingest anything, it’ll come back up.
“Sorry,” he whispers, his long-healed wounds scalding under his grasp. Old dread replaces his blood.
“No need,” Hua Cheng insists. At a loss of what else to do, Hua Cheng sits at his side, carefully soothing over Xie Lian’s tensed muscles. It must do something to help, because Xie Lian, in cautiously slow, twitchy movements, leans his weight against him. “It’s alright,” Hua Cheng tries. “You’re safe here. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, not ever again.” Xie Lian’s too preoccupied with his own thoughts to catch the self-deprecation in that declaration, the regret. He trembles against Hua Cheng’s side as his breathing begins to even out, his heart starts to calm, and the pain begins to fade. He twists further into Hua Cheng, embarrassed and overwhelmed and rigid. He used to think that when people in stories shot up in their beds after a nightmare that it was an exaggeration. No, he recently realized, it’s not. His head rests on Hua Cheng’s shoulder.
In a weird way, he thinks, this is nice.
It’s such an odd thought, but it is. It’s nice to be comforted, to have someone more than willing to comfort him. He’d suffered the burdens of so much on his own for so long. Leaning into his husband is like a salve on his mind, even if he still feels unsettled in his own skin from memories long lived. The steady circling of Hua Cheng’s hands are grounding, and it’d feel nice even if the gesture wasn’t meant to aid him in coming down from an awful nightmare.
Eventually, he mumbles, “I’m sorry, San Lang.” Hua Cheng presses a quick peck to his clammy forehead.
“Gege doesn’t need to apologize,” is Hua Cheng’s repeated reply. Xie Lian’s lips purse. That’s not what he’d wanted in response.
Instead, he mumbles, “Thank you.”
This rewards him with a much more pleasant assurance, “You’re more than welcome, Gege. This one has no issues with comforting his god. He only wishes that it not be needed in the first place. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Xie Lian claims. “I just… They didn’t used to be this bad. Not this often, either.” Hua Cheng hums, as displeased as Xie Lian is.
“I’m sorry.” This earns him a tired huff of laughter.
“Now look who's needlessly apologizing.”
“I’m sorry Gege has to deal with these nightmares,” Hua Cheng clarifies. “I wish I could do more, do something to stop them.” Xie Lian forces his tense form to relax, a conscious effort to ease himself.
“You’re more than enough,” he utters into Hua Cheng’s neck. “We can go back to sleep. Hold me?”
Hua Cheng grins, already doing so but adjusting his grip to be more secure. “Of course, Dianxia.”
Neither may fall back asleep for a long while, but Xie Lian lies content in his husband’s arms.