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Wei Ying's brain was all wobbly. The technical term for it was brain injury, but that was several years old and not as much fun to say. Brain injury was all serious. Cracked skull. Permanent cognitive effects. No fun at all. Wobbly brain, on the other hand? So much better.
His brain was wobbly and so was he. Wei Ying sat in the bathroom doorway, one hand on the top of his head, holding his hair away from his neck in an attempt to regulate temperature, and one hand on the sink. He'd wanted to get water. Halfway through, he forgot where—he wasn't going to the bathroom, he knew that for sure, but he needed water and the bathroom had water, and then he'd gotten overheated and wobbly and sat down, waterbottle on the sink and hand still on it, legs shaking and toes cold.
He was still shaking. He thought. His shoulders thought they were shaking. Wobbly, see? There were no harsh lights in the apartment so he didn't need to close his eyes but he did anyway. Habit. Something like that. Maybe. If he kept them close he would float away. What was his body? Where was his body?
On the bathroom floor, one leg bent to his chest, the other out in front of him. Water. He twisted and turned on the tap with one hand. The other shoved the water bottle in front of it. Filled it. Mostly. Dropped it on the way down, refilled it, drank. It helped, or maybe it didn't, so he sighed and kept going.
There was no way out but to keep going, but he forgot where that was. Brain injury. Cracked skull. Scars, where hair didn't grow anymore. Light sensitivity. Soup brain. Brain for soup. Tingly toes and stubborn fingers and he was cold all of a sudden, so he let down his hair and leaned his head back and tucked both legs up to his body away from the cold floor, and was instantly cold and spread his legs again and lost his balance and banged his head on the doorway when he tried leaning it back again.
The movement reverberated through his skull, the metal plates in it, through his jaw and his spine and his ass. Stupid, stupid, wobbly brain, forgetting where it was, forgetting where water was.
If he'd gone as he'd planned to—to where the water was, he couldn't remember, it was just on the tip of his consciousness—he wouldn't be in this position.
Wei Ying took a deep breath. Arms, legs, all there. Mostly there. Lost somewhere in the brain soup, but the soup was still in his skull last he'd checked. He drank. Drank some more. Thought of how he'd go pee if he couldn't remember where that happened, when his brain got all weird and he asked Wen Ning to walk him around the apartment and remind him. He'd have to do that tonight.
What a thing it was to be aware of a brain that wasn't aware of him. Funky. What a silly, funky, goofy thing. Goopy. Like his brain.
He took a breath and drank, realized he'd already done that. Leaned up again on one arm to get more water. Lan Zhan was always telling him to hydrate more, but Lan Zhan wasn't the one with the goopy brain, and Lan Zhan gave him dirty looks when Wei Ying was the one telling him to drink, because he remembered and wasn't weird about it, except he definitely was because he had trouble getting to the bathroom, too, and made the choice to go thirsty if it meant he wouldn't have to move.
So, take that, Lan Zhan. Wei Ying wasn't the only weird one. Poor Wen Ning, wrangling the two of them when he wasn't the one all—wobbly. Shaky. Wen Ning was getting groceries, or flowers, or schoolwork, or a bookshelf, or whatever it was that they needed, and he'd asked his sister for a ride, so—maybe they were just getting lunch. A sibling thing.
Wei Ying did sibling things.
Lan Zhan did sibling things.
Wei Ying needed Lan Zhan things.
He imagined texting Lan Zhan to come help him, or to bring him water from the actual water place, but he'd drunk enough bathroom water that it wouldn't make a difference. He imagined calling Lan Zhan because, at second thought—whatever quality that thought was, all watery and loose and wobbly—he wouldn't be able to send a text. All those buttons and screens and contacts, not today, thank you very much.
And he didn't have his phone with him, which he remembered quickly, and he remembered where he left it, and if he listened really carefully he could hear Lan Zhan somewhere else in the apartment, so he sat and he listened and he drifted for a bit, and when the water bottle was empty he called Lan Zhan's name and waited, listening, and soon enough he heard some doors, and Lan Zhan's deep, concerned voice, and the pattern of his wheelchair over the hardwood floor.
They'd debated carpets. Easier to fall on.
Hardwoods were easier to clean and slide over. The hardwoods won. Wei Ying smiled, imagining carpets and hardwoods arguing over it, stopped smiling when he felt nauseous and felt better by the time Lan Zhan pulled himself up to the bathroom, looking down at him, his face so close—he was in his wheelchair, which Wei Ying should have remembered, but instead of saying so, he heaved up an arm to boop Lan Zhan's nose and grinned when Lan Zhan wrinkled it up in response.
"I was getting water," he said.
Lan Zhan hummed.
"From the water place," Wei Ying continued. Why was talking so hard? "I forgot."
Lan Zhan hummed again.
"I can't get back," Wei Ying finished. He'd twisted himself around, somehow, and the path back to—the bedroom? it had to be the bedroom—the bedroom seemed so long, although he could see its door. "Help?"
Lan Zhan hummed, nodding. "How bad?"
"Standing?" Wei Ying made a dubious face. His legs would listen to him, he was pretty sure, but not without help. He could walk, too, he thought. If he couldn't? It was science or something, trying out new things without knowing what would happen. He reached out a hand. "Help?"
Lan Zhan locked his chair in place and reached out, hands so wonderful on Wei Ying's arm that he stopped and basked in the moment, just for a moment because Lan Zhan couldn't hold this position for too long, and stood, half his weight on Lan Zhan and half on his other arm on the doorway and half on his feet. Three halves. That was one half too many. His vision swam.
"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan asked.
"'m okay," he said. Swallowed. "Okay."
Wobbly, still. He could feel the blood rushing in his legs. When he opened his eyes, his vision was still, and there was Lan Zhan's beautiful concerned face, which, if he could do it without sending both of them onto the floor, Wei Ying would kiss in thanks.
"I'm going to kiss you later," he said. He tested his strength, shifting his weight a bit. "Remind me."
"I will," Lan Zhan said.
He moved Wei Ying's hand to the back of his chair. Were his arms shaking? Wei Ying wasn't sure whose arms were. Someone's. Both of theirs? It was almost funny, deep somewhere in his wobbly brain.
"I'm okay," he said. "I'm okay to go now."
Lan Zhan nodded at him. He turned, slowly, carefully, giving Wei Ying time to adjust his balance, and Wei Ying would thank him for that later, even as Lan Zhan would say that he didn't have to, but thanking was just something people did. Not obligation, not anything—anything overboard. Or something. Nothing like that. But he appreciated Lan Zhan, and he appreciated Wen Ning, who was off doing something, and he loved them both, so why shouldn't he say thank you?
It made sense to him.
In Lan Zhan's defense, things that made sense to Wei Ying didn't often make sense to others. Whatever.
He took a step forward as Lan Zhan moved, balancing between the wall and the back of Lan Zhan's chair, chattering, a bit, he thought, but he wasn't sure, and maybe Lan Zhan answered him, but probably he didn't.
The last few steps in the bedroom were done with just Lan Zhan's support, because the wall disappeared somewhere along the way, which wasn't very fair of it.
"Bed?" Lan Zhan asked.
"Yes," Wei Ying said. He wasn't really sure what else there was.
Oh! "Water?"
He looked around. Lan Zhan supported his arm as he sat, but didn't—couldn't—do much else beyond fluffling the pillow and nudging his legs up, and then he was gone as Wei Ying blinked, and returned with the water bottle, and Wei Ying drank for nothing else to do.
"Blanket?" Lan Zhan asked.
Wei Ying nodded. Blankets would help. And Lan Zhan, if he was in the blankets, too. He made his most pathetic face, which his brother would say was just his normal face, but Lan Zhan was nothing if not perfect, so he understood the plea and made a face of his own.
Victory. Wei Ying wiggled to the side as Lan Zhan parked close and transferred himself to the bed, making himself comfortable, silently as he did most things, and arranged himself into a perfect pillow.
Wei Ying lay against him. Everything was still soupy. Like he was just a step out of place from the things around him. Just give him some time and he'd remember where the water lived. Or maybe he wouldn't. Why did he need to know where the water lived if Lan Zhan was able to bring him back safely?