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Wen Ning opened his eyes to the sound of rain pattering off the windows and the howling of wind on the street between the houses. He blinked at the ceiling and experimentally clenched his hands in the blanket. They didn't listen to him immediately, just a second behind his command, just a touch weaker than they were supposed to be. He blinked again. The rain echoed his movement. Wei Ying snored at his side. His hair was touching Wen Ning's, tangled and soft and long. One of his hands was under his pillow. The other was just touching Wen Ning's shoulder.
He shrugged it off as he sat up.
On the yoga mat on the floor, Lan Zhan did the same. Their eyes met. Wen Ning blinked. The rain fell. Lan Zhan hummed. Stood. Sat on the bed as Wen Ning threw off the blanket and stood in turn. Tucked the edge back in around Wei Ying and followed Wen Ning with his eyes as he went into the attached bathroom.
He wasn't there when Wen Ning returned, but a pile of clothes lay next to Wei Ying's still-sleeping form, soft and seamless and wide-necked. In his mind, Wen Ning smiled. Thinking of Lan Zhan, he tried to hum, but his throat refused to make the sound—he let his brain take a moment to process the sound of rain and thought the hum beside the smile.
Then, he got dressed, taking care not to jostle the bed or tug on the blanket. Wei Ying could sleep through anything if he wasn't woken by nightmares or pain, but Wen Ning took care anyway, and when the rain faded into background noise on a too-deep breath, he noticed Wei Ying's soft breathing and the minute twitching of his fingers without anyone to hold onto in sleep.
Sleeping clothes—off. Day clothes—on. Shirt, then pants, then pants, then shirt. No buttons, no ties. Elastic waistbands were a marvelous creation, were downright heavenly when they did not press into skin. The hems of the legs dragged slightly on the floor, just enough to prevent a draft, to warm his heels, not enough to create a ridge or tripping hazard when he took a step.
He shut the door. Less rain in the hallway, darker. The kitchen: daylight peeking through the windows, dull and grey with clouds. Rain again. The fridge. The floor cold against his bare feet. The cup of tea warm against his hands. Not heavy, with a thick handle, easy to hold, filled three quarters of the way. Shaking anyway as he lifted it. Lan Zhan signing from the other side of the small round table: "Good morning."
Wen Ning's response minutes later, after the mug had become too tiresome to hold, his fingers clumsy but his words gone, blinking and frowning: frustrated, thankful. Shaking his head, answering Lan Zhan's question, a single gesture: "No, I can't process sound right now."
Lan Zhan nodding in return. Refilling the tea.
The rain.
Wen Ning closed his eyes when he finished drinking. The cup was not quite empty, not that Lan Zhan would mind. Wen Ning held onto it a while longer, eyes still closed: it was still warm against his hands, and the floor still cold, but his hands had gotten used to the heat and his feet had gotten used to the chill, and the rain still fell. A rush, not a steady patter, an individual cascade of water droplets. A hum like the wind, like his mind.
"All day?" he opened his mouth to ask, his hands stuck in place, but his mouth opened and stuttered a single sound before it gave out.
Minutes later, he repeated the question with clumsy fingers. Lan Zhan nodded.
Great. Wen Ning had no specific feelings about the rain. Maybe that today wasn't the best day for it. Maybe that it was too loud in the background of his own silence. Maybe angry that it would make Lan Zhan's back seize up before the end of the day, not that Lan Zhan acknowledged it.
"No more tea," he signed before reaching for the packet of cookies Lan Zhan had placed onto the kitchen table. Wei Ying's favorite. Wen Ning's favorite, before Wei Ying had even discovered them.
"No more tea," Lan Zhan echoed.
Wen Ning had some more tea after, his mouth dry and still uncooperative. Then Lan Zhan stood, leaning against the table, and inclined his head towards the living room, just a half-wall away. There were cookies there, too, on both the coffee table and the taller table to the side of the sofa, right beside the bottles of painkillers, extra water bottles, books, and the latest origami project one of them was working on. Hair taming supplies, too, soft-bristled brushes and silk ribbons. Butterfly clips from the one time Wei Ying went to buy butter and forgot the list at home.
Lan Zhan sat first. Leaning on one of the bolster pillows. Propped up taller than Wen Ning on the normal cushions. Reaching for a hairbrush. Not twisting his body, pulling up his legs to make a comfortable cradle, keeping his hips aligned, making perfect room for Wen Ning in front of him. Softening into a smile.
"Thank you," Wen Ning signed as he turned away. Giving access to his hair. Maybe impractical keeping it this long, the three of them, but what was the point of adulthood if not frivolity? The Lan Zhan in his head rolled his eyes. The Wei Ying rejoiced. The Lan Zhan behind him began to brush. The ends of his hair first. Then moving up. Not tugging, never tugging, gliding like water, holding gently, softly. Lovingly. Wen Ning flexed one of his hands in his lap. It didn't quite feel like it was attached to him, still, like he couldn't get his grip right. Like his voice when it failed to work instead of stuttered like normal.
Another day, Lan Zhan would have brushed a hand against his neck. Maybe kissed the shell of his ear. Now, he pressed against Wen Ning's shoulder in warning when he moved to brush another section of hair, when he shifted to braiding, when he tied the ribbon in place.
Wen Ning leaned back, a returning touch, a thank you. Leaned forward. Turned. Pressed his bent knee against Lan Zhan's. Felt the weight of his new braid against his shoulder, secure, not tight, sleek in a way he could never convince it to be on his own. Heard the rain fall outside. Maybe it was just his brain. Whatever it was. Closed his eyes, leaned his head to the side. Millimeters from Lan Zhan's shoulder, touching but not touching.
Nodded when Lan Zhan pressed against his shoulder once more, a familiar question.
Increased his own pressure in return: "Yes, please, I would like the blanket."
Grew soft, comfortable, and complacent when Lan Zhan tugged it over them, tight and keeping out the chill, free and unconstricting in its security.