Work Text:
Shan Yue’s eyes trembled, and the blurry scene gripped him like a vice, despite being fully awake the haunting vision made him believe he was in a nightmare. He had been sitting by the fire when it came to him—unbidden, unwanted. The heat of the flames felt cold now, compared to the ice that had settled deep in his chest.
He saw it so clearly.
It was a blur of dust and blood, the familiar scent of bloodthirst that Shan Yue had been all too familiar with permeated through the air. It was chaos, the kind that Shan Yue had known far too well. But it wasn’t just anyone who was coughing out blood, it wasn’t just anyone who even after dying stared at him with a painful smile. No. It was Liu Zhichuan.
Shan Yue didn’t believe it at first, he didn’t dare. His mind scrambled to force the vision out of his mind, to believe it was some horrible nightmare. Liu Zhichuan Zhichuan wasn’t one to go down that easily, even if it cost him everything. The one to laugh even in the face of his death, to make light of every life-threatening situation as though he wouldn’t die.
But not this time.
It wasn’t that Liu Zhichuan was just seriously injured. Shan Yue watched Liu Zhichuan’s body crumple to the ground, gone was the snarky smirk and instead was a soft smile Shan Yue had never imagined he would be capable of. Eyes devoid of playfulness, instead they were dull as the light seemed to fade. Something pooled out from beneath him, staining the ground a dark, sickening red.
And Shan Yue had seen it all, his head pushed into the ground as he watched Liu Zhichuan die.
Shan Yue blinked, once, twice, forcing the vision to fade. But, the memory of it was still engraved into him, his heart hammered in his chest, his throat felt too tight as though someone had broken his windpipe.
Why? Why did he have to see this? Why now ?
Liu Zhichuan had always been reckless–stupidly, frustratingly reckless. He always jumped into danger with a smile, never once did he think about the consequences. Shan Yue was often kept awake wondering if Liu Zhichuan even cared whether he was alive or dead. Maybe he didn’t .
But Shan Yue cared. He cared more than he could admit, even to himself.
The cool air gently caressed his face, it did little to clear his mind. His hands quivered, clenching his fists trying to ground himself. He needed to breathe, focus. But the vision kept replaying in his mind. The vivid image of Liu Zhichuan lying lifeless in the dirt was seared into him.
Shan Yue cursed under his breath. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to be this affected. Liu Zhichuan had always been a thorn in his side—constantly teasing, acting like nothing ever fazed him. Yet somehow, over time, that thorn had rooted itself deeper, winding its way into Shan Yue’s heart without him even realising it.
And now the thought of losing Liu Zhichuan—of watching him die in some reckless, foolish stunt—was too much to bear.
Shan Yue had faced death before, too many times to count on just his fingers. It was something he had learned to accept. But this wasn’t the same. Something about seeing Liu Zhichuan, of all people, lying motionless on the ground made Shan Yue want to cry. He hadn’t cried since Ah Chuan.
He couldn’t let it happen.
There had to be a way to stop Liu Zhichuan–to prevent Liu Zhichuan. Shan Yue didn’t know what his visions were, didn’t know if they were warnings, possibilities, or reality. But he wasn’t about to take any chances.
His breath hitched, and for a moment, he felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of frustration tearing through his body. He wanted to scream, to punch something— anything —to release the tension that had built up inside him like a storm cloud, ready to burst.
But he couldn’t . He had to stay in control, to keep himself composed. Shan Yue had always prided himself on keeping a level head , on being the one who could think clearly when everyone else was falling apart.
Yet now, all he could think about was Liu Zhichuan .
Shan Yue’s eyes burned, but he blinked back the threat of tears. He couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not when Liu Zhichuan was still out there, somewhere, probably laughing, probably making some stupid joke about how nothing could ever take him down. Shan Yue felt the anger flare up inside him again—anger at Liu Zhichuan for being so careless, so arrogant about his own life.
Didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand that people cared about him? That he cared about him?
Shan Yue inhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. It didn’t matter if Liu Zhichuan understood or not. Shan Yue would make him understand . He would drill it into his head, slap him if he had too , maybe beat him up if he could see what the hell he was doing, it was about everyone who cared about him, everyone who couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.
And Shan Yue wasn’t ready to lose him. Not ever .
The vision, still lingering in the back of his mind, was a reminder of just how fragile life could be, how quickly everything could be taken away. He didn’t dare sit idly by and let Liu Zhichuan’s careless attitude lead early to the grave. Whether Liu Zhichuan liked it or not, Shan Yue was going to protect him.
He stood up abruptly, the decision made. His heart pounded in his chest, but now there was a sense of resolve mixed in with the fear. He couldn’t stop the vision from coming to him, but he could do something about it.
With a grim expression, Shan Yue stood up to find Liu Zhichuan. He had no idea what he would say, no idea how Liu Zhichuan would react. But none of that mattered, not when Liu Zhichuan was in danger.
It didn’t take long for Shan Yue to track Liu Zhichuan down. He always had a sense for where Liu Zhichuan would be, almost as if their paths were naturally drawn toward each other, no matter how much Shan Yue tried to pretend otherwise.
As he approached, he could already hear the sound of Liu Zhichuan’s laughter echoing through the trees—a sound that once might have been comforting, but now only deepened the knot in Shan Yue’s chest. It grated on his nerves, the carelessness of it, the sheer disregard for what he had just seen in his vision.
He found Liu Zhichuan standing by the riverbank, kicking stones across the water as if he didn’t have a single worry in the world . His relaxed posture, the casual lift of his long legs with each stone, contrasted sharply with the whirlwind of emotions raging inside Shan Yue.
“Liu Zhichuan.”
His voice came out sharper than he intended, betraying the storm within him. Liu Zhichuan didn’t even flinch. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder with that same infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.
“Shan Yue,” Liu Zhichuan drawled, tossing another stone lazily into the river. “Are you here to yell at me again? You know, you really should learn to loosen up. Life’s too short to be so serious all the time.”
Shan Yue’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Too short . The words echoed in his mind, cruelly mocking the very vision that had brought him here.
“This isn’t a joke, Liu Zhichuan.” Shan Yue’s voice was low, strained. “I saw it. I saw you— dying .”
For a moment, the smirk on Liu Zhichuan’s face faltered, his eyes flickering with something almost unreadable. But then, just as quickly, his expression shifted back into that playful grin.
Shan Yue hated this Liu Zhichuan.
“You saw me dying?” He chuckled lightly, as if Shan Yue had just told him some absurd story. “Come on, Shan Yue. You know I’m not the type to go down that easily. I’ve been through worse.”
“That’s not the point!” Shan Yue’s voice cracked, his frustration spilling over. “You keep throwing your life away, Liu Zhichuan! You keep acting like–like you can’t die! Like nothing can touch you, but that’s not true! One day—” He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “If one day you die then...”
Liu Zhichuan turned fully to face him now, leaning back slightly with his arms crossed over his chest. There was an amused glint in his eyes, like he was still trying to decide whether to take Shan Yue seriously or not .
“So what? You’re worried about me?” Liu Zhichuan teased, raising an eyebrow. “Since when did you care so much about what happens to me? I always thought you couldn’t stand being around me.”
Shan Yue opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. It was true—he had always kept his distance from Liu Zhichuan, always acting like the other man’s reckless behavior didn’t affect him. But now, standing here, the weight of the vision pressing down on him, he couldn’t keep pretending.
“I—” Shan Yue’s voice wavered. “I don’t want to lose you , Liu Zhichuan.”
For a split second, Liu Zhichuan’s teasing expression faltered again, and this time, it didn’t return as quickly. There was a pause, a brief moment of silence between them, where the air felt heavier, charged with emotions neither of them were willing to confront.
But then Liu Zhichuan laughed again, though the sound was softer now, almost uncertain.
“You’re overreacting, Shan Yue,” Liu Zhichuan said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Shan Yue’s shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? You worry too much.”
Shan Yue’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration boiling over. How could Liu Zhichuan brush this off so easily? How could he act like his life—meant nothing ?
“You don’t get it,” Shan Yue muttered, shaking his head. You never do, Shan Yue wants to say, “You don’t understand what I saw.”
Liu Zhichuan’s grip on his shoulder tightened, but there was still that playful light in his eyes, like he was trying to lift the atmosphere, but all it did was make Shan Yue know Liu Zhichuan was also uncertain. “Then explain it to me,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Come on, Shan Yue, I’m all ears.”
Shan Yue’s heart pounded in his chest , his frustration mounting with every word. He could feel his control slipping, his emotions bubbling to the surface. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t something he could just brush off or laugh away like Liu Zhichuan always did.
“You think this is funny?” Shan Yue snapped, stepping back and shrugging off Liu Zhichuan’s hand. “You think your life is just some kind of game? That you can keep playing with death and it won’t catch up to you?”
Liu Zhichuan blinked, surprised by Shan Yue’s outburst. He opened his mouth to respond, but Shan Yue didn’t give him the chance.
“You don’t care, do you? You don’t care about yourself, or the people who—” Shan Yue’s voice caught in his throat, and he turned away, fists clenched at his sides. “The people who would be devastated if something happened to you.”
Liu Zhichuan tilted his head, watching Shan Yue with a curious expression. “Is that what this is about? You’re worried about losing me?”
Shan Yue didn’t answer, his chest tight with a mix of something dark he couldn’t quite name. He didn’t want to admit it, and didn't want to give Liu Zhichuan the satisfaction of knowing how much he cared.
But.
But the truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of watching Liu Zhichuan die, standing by helplessly as the reckless man threw his life away.
“I care,” Shan Yue finally whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the river. “More than you realise.”
For a moment, Liu Zhichuan was silent. The teasing smile had finally faded from his lips, replaced by something more stern. He stared at Shan Yue, as if trying to read the emotions that Shan Yue was so desperately trying to keep hidden.
But then, as if to break the tension, Liu Zhichuan chuckled again, though it lacked the usual playfulness.
“Well, I guess that’s my fault, isn’t it ?” Liu Zhichuan said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve never been great at thinking ahead. Shan Yue, I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Shan Yue clenched his fists, trying to hold back the frustration and fear that had been building inside him. Liu Zhichuan just didn’t get it. He didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, the risk he was taking every time he laughed in the face of danger.
“I saw you die, Liu Zhichuan,” Shan Yue repeated, his voice trembling, eyes quivering as he avoided Liu Zhichuan’s gaze. “And if you keep acting like this—if you keep throwing yourself into danger without thinking—then, then that will become of you? What if that vision was real… What about me?” Shan Yue whispers the last part, his voice cracking as he goes quiet.
Liu Zhichuan watched him for a long moment, his teasing demeanor slipping away entirely . He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to joke or laugh. Instead, he stepped closer, his expression softening.
“Shan Yue,” he said quietly, reaching out to touch Shan Yue’s arm. “I promise, I’m not going to die that easily. You don’t have to worry–”
“Why do you do it?” Shan Yue asked quietly, breaking the silence that had settled between them again. His voice was soft, but there was a tremble to it. “Why do you keep pushing yourself for me?”
Liu Zhichuan’s teasing expression faltered for the second time, his eyes flickered with something unreadable. But then, as if brushing off the weight of the question , he shrugged.
“Because I can handle it,” Liu Zhichuan said simply , his voice casual, but Shan Yue wasn’t fooled. Not this time.
But it did nothing to reassure Shan Yue. His eyes blurred, frustration and fear crashing onto him like a tidal wave. Liu Zhichuan’s words weren’t enough, they never were. They weren’t enough to erase Liu Zhichuan’s death, Liu Zhichuan’s lifeless body, couldn't take away the ache in his heart as the image continuously flashed through his eyes.
“That’s not a real answer,” Shan Yue said, his voice firm despite the lingering hurt in his chest. “You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean you should. Just because you can take the hits doesn’t mean you have to. Doesn’t mean you should throw your life away like it doesn’t matter.”
Liu Zhichuan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Since when did you become my therapist?” he joked, but there was no malice behind the words, only a faint trace of discomfort.
And Shan Yue realize d—h e wasn’t just angry at Liu Zhichuan for being reckless. He was hurt . Hurt that Liu Zhichuan didn’t seem to value his own life as much as Shan Yue did. Hurt that
Liu Zhichuan could joke and laugh and tease, even when Shan Yue was pouring his heart out, trying to protect him.
“Why don’t you care?” Shan Yue whispered, his voice breaking. “Why don’t you care about yourself?”
Liu Zhichuan looked at him, his eyes widening just the slightest. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Shan Yue turned away, his fists clenched at his sides as the tears finally began to fall.
Shan Yue didn’t realise when he started crying, but when Liu Zhichuan gazed at him with something akin to worry it was too late to stop it . His shoulders trembled as he stood there, facing away from Liu Zhichuan Zhichuan, his tears spilling out faster than he could contain them.
Why didn’t Liu Zhichuan get it? Why couldn’t he see how much it hurt to watch him be so reckless, so indifferent to the danger that loomed over him? Didn’t he understand that his life mattered—not just to himself, but to Shan Yue as well ?
“I don’t get it,” Shan Yue muttered, his voice muffled by the tears that choked him. “I don’t get how you can act like this—like none of it matters.”
Behind him, Liu Zhichuan was silent. The teasing had stopped, the laughter gone, but Shan Yue didn’t turn around to see his expression. He didn’t want to. Not when the tears kept falling, not when he felt so vulnerable and exposed in front of the one person he had tried so hard to keep at arm’s length.
“You don’t get it,” Shan Yue continued, his voice cracking. “You don’t get what it’s like to see you—” His throat tightened, and he struggled to keep his composure. “To see you, bleeding out not knowing if you can… If you can come back.”
Liu Zhichuan stepped closer, the sound of his footsteps soft against the grass, but Shan Yue didn’t move. He couldn’t face him, not now, not when he was on the verge of breaking apart completely.
“You think I’m overreacting,” Shan Yue laughs lightly, but there’s no warmth in his laugh, “That I’m being dramatic, right? I’m not, I saw–I watched you die.”
The last words came out in a trembling breath, his voice barely audible. He had never admitted it before, never allowed himself to feel the fear that had been gnawing at him since. But now, standing here with Liu Zhichuan, it all came gushing out, unstoppable and overwhelming.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Shan Yue finally confessed, his voice shaking. “ I can’t lose you. ”
For a long moment, there was nothing but the wisps of water crashing onto the riverbank, the gentle rustling of the leaves in the breeze. Shan Yue felt his heart pounding, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to focus.
Liu Zhichuan squeezed Shan Yue’s shoulder firmly, the touch was warm and grounding, something he hasn’t felt in so long it sent a shiver through Shan Yue. It was different . There was no trace of teasing of play in Liu Zhichuan’s eyes this time–just a quiet reassurance.
“Shan Yue,” Liu Zhichuan said softly, his voice lacking its usual mockery. There was something else in his tone now, something deeper, more sincere. “I didn’t realize …”
Shan Yue shook his head, tears kissing down his rough cheeks. “Of course you didn’t,” he muttered bitterly. “You never realise ,. ”
Liu Zhichuan’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder, and this time, when he spoke, there was no trace of teasing left.
“I didn’t know you cared this much.”
Shan Yue’s chest throbbed at those words, how could he not care? Even though he was crying, he couldn’t help delude himself into caring, not when he knew what Liu Zhichuan would be experiencing. Shan Yue tilted his head to glare at Liu Zhichuan, even when he could barely see past his tears he wanted to strangle Liu Zhichuan.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Shan Yue asked, his voice cracking, as the tears swallowed up his voice as if threatening him to notspeak anymore. “Everytime… Every Time you’re always protecting me, but what about you? I can’t help you when you get hurt, I can’t protect you.”
Liu Zhicuan’s eyes widened slightly, his smirk morphed into a frown. For once, Liu Zhichuan didn’t have anything to throw back at him. No. He stood there, gazing at Shan Yue with something so warm Shan Yue felt sick to the stomach.
“...I’m sorry,” Liu Zhichuan said quietly, his hand still resting on Shan Yue’s shoulder.
Shan Yue scoffed, wiping angrily at the tears on his face. “Well, I do. And if you keep throwing yourself into danger, one day you’re not going to come back. And then what? What am I supposed to do then?”
Shan Yue scoffed, angrily rubbing at his eyes, “Well, I do! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is when you do this kind of crap all the time? What happens if you don’t make it back in time, what happens if we can’t treat your wound?! What happens if…” Shan Yue’s voice trembled the more he spoke.
Liu Zhichuan’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he looked vulnerable almost —something Shan Yue wasn’t used to seeing.
“You’re right,” Liu Zhichuan admitted, his voice low. “Shan Yue, I’ll look after myself… I was the one who was uptight ..”
Shan Yue’s breath hitched, his heart aching. He has always seen Liu Zhichuan as fearless, untouchable, someone who didn’t need anyone. But, this Liu Zhichuan? Was nothing like the Liu Zhichuan he knew. Shan Yue didn’t mind it.
Without thinking, Shan Yue reached up, tugging at the front of Liu Zhichuan’s shirt and pulling him closer, his voice shaking as he spoke.
“I would miss you,” Shan Yue whispered, his voice thick with tears. “I would miss you so much. I… I don’t think I could lose you, not you, please .” Shan Yue begged for something he knew wasn’t possible.
Liu Zhichuan gazed at Shan Yue, his own hands trembling by his sides as he watched Shan Yue beg for him. Liu Zhichuan leaned closer.
Liu Zhichuan’s rough hands help Shan Yue’s face, his thumbs brushing away the dampness that glossed his cheeks. There was a strange tenderness in his touch that Shan Yue had never felt from him before, it made Shan Yue want to hide away despite the stutter in his heart.
“I’m sorry,” Liu Zhichuan murmured, his voice soft. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”
Shan Yue’s breath was caught in his throat, the unfamiliar warmth of Liu Zhichuan’s hands on his skin anchored him, keeping his emotions at bay.
Shan Yue opened his mouth but before any words could come out, Liu Zhichuan leaned down, closing the distance between them. Liu Zhichuan’s lips brushed against Shan Yue’s in something he would barely call a kiss, it was soft, and barely there.
For a moment, Shan Yue froze, his mind racing as the realisation of what was happening sank in. But then, as Liu Zhichuan’s lips pressed more firmly against his, Shan Yue melted into the kiss, his hands clutching at Liu Zhichuan’s shirt as if he were afraid to let go.
He was afraid to let go.
When Liu Zhichuan pulled away, he had a small genuine smile, their foreheads rested against each other as Shan Yue gazed behind Liu Zhichuan. Shan Yue’s heart felt terribly heavy, but the weight in his chest had eased. Despite his heart feeling so heavy, he felt lighter, warmer.
Liu Zhichuan smiled softly, his hands still cradling Shan Yue’s face as he looked down at him. “You worry too much, you know that?” Liu Zhichuan whispered, his voice low and affectionate.
Shan Yue huffed, wiping at the last of his tears as he leaned into Liu Zhichuan’s touch, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Someone has to,” Shan Yue muttered. “God knows you won’t.”
Liu Zhichuan chuckled softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on Shan Yue’s cheek.
“Hm, I guess I’ll just have to stay close to you then,” Liu Zhichuan said, his voice filled with a quiet warmth. “How could I make you worry sick for me?”
Shan Yue rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was genuine. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fear and frustration that had been weighing him down began to lift, what replaced it was a fuzzy warmth Shan Yue hasn’t experienced since he had left his ‘home’.
“Just…promise me you’ll be more careful,” Shan Yue said quietly, his voice soft but firm.
Liu Zhichuan’s smile softened, and he nodded.
“I promise.”
The quiet hum of the river seemed louder in Shan Yue’s ears, it was almost as loud as his heart beating in his ears. Shan Yue felt himself let out a quiet sigh of relief, all the tension in his body finally leaving him as he allowed himself to lean onto Liu Zhichuan.
“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a softness underneath it now, something warmer than the usual sharp-edged humor .
Shan Yue shoved him lightly, a snort escaping his lips despite himself. “Shut up,” he muttered, trying to mask his lingering vulnerability with annoyance. He had already cried in front of Liu Zhichuan, once, twice, had already let down all his walls—and that, in itself, was terrifying. He wasn’t about to let Liu Zhichuan rub it in.
But, this was Liu Zhichuan he was dealing with, after all.
“Shan Yue,” Liu Zhichuan continued, his voice laced with warmth. “You look like a complete mess right now. Crying doesn’t really suit you.”
Shan Yue groaned, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, trying to clean up the tear tracks Liu Zhichuan had already seen. “I swear, if you keep talking, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Liu Zhichuan cut him off, leaning in closer with that cocky grin. “Kiss me again to shut me up?”
Shan Yue’s face heated immediately, his mind flashing back to the soft pressure of Liu Zhichuan’s lips against his own, the tenderness of the kiss that had caught him completely off guard. But instead of giving Liu Zhichuan the satisfaction of a reaction, Shan Yue scowled.
“You wish,” Shan Yue muttered, though the blush creeping up his neck gave him away. He turned his head slightly, avoiding Liu Zhichuan’s eyes, his ears were bright red.
Liu Zhichuan chuckled, his amusement clear as he took a step back, giving Shan Yue space to regain his composure. “Alright, alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll stop. For now.”
Shan Yue didn’t respond , too busy trying to cool down the warmth burning into his skin. Even if Liu Zhichuan backed away, Shan Yue couldn’t stop thinking about how soft Liu Zhichuan’s lips had felt on his.
It wasn’t just his words—it was everything about him. The kiss, the way Liu Zhichuan wiped away his tears, the gentle way he had cradled his face as if Shan Yue was something precious . It was all so new, so unlike Liu Zhichuan to act like this, Shan Yue didn’t know this Liu Zhichuan.
Liu Zhichuan tugged Shan Yue closer to him, his arms slithering tightly around Shan Yue, he lowered his head onto Shan Yue’s shoulder as he breathed in his scent.
“You’re an idiot,” Shan Yue muttered into Liu Zhichuan’s shirt, his voice muffled but laced with fondness. “You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days, and I’ll be the one stuck picking up the pieces.”
Liu Zhichuan chuckled softly, his breath warm against Shan Yue’s neck. “Guess you’ll just have to keep me in line then,” he said, his voice gentle in a way that sent a shiver down Shan Yue’s spine.
Shan Yue didn’t respond, the words sticking in his throat as he clung to Liu Zhichuan a little tighter, afraid that if he let go, this moment—this rare, quiet moment—would slip away, and things would go back to how they were before.
“You’re still thinking too hard, Shan,” he remarked casually, his gaze half-lidded and amused. “You always do that, you know. Overthink everything.”
Shan Yue bit back the urge to lash out , to yell at Liu Zhichuan for brushing everything off as if it were nothing. He clenched his fists, trying to keep his voice even. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,” he muttered. “Maybe if you thought things through for once, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Liu Zhichuan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips trembling. “Oh? What conversation are we having exactly? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like we just kissed and now you’re getting all worked up again.”
Shan Yue sniffled, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself. “You…you’re not going to take it seriously, are you?” he muttered, his voice still shaky but softer now. “Even after everything I said.”
Liu Zhichuan was silent for a moment , his arms tightening around Shan Yue just slightly. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost lost in the wind, he said, “I’ll try. For you.”
Shan Yue didn’t know whether to believe him or not. But for now, for this fleeting moment, he let himself hope.