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It isn't a severe injury, but it is inconvenient. The clumsy blow caught him in an awkward place, he couldn't roll into the fall, and now random steps lance pain from hip to foot, strong enough to make him walk much more carefully for fear of falling again. It's a blessing that he doesn't catch anyone's attention on the street and he can make it past the guards without issue.
The bureau is usually quiet at this time of day, so he expects to make it to his rooms without interruption.
The universe, however, doesn't want to cooperate with that goal. Not many steps away from the library Zhuo Yichen's leg gives out again and before he can reach for a wall to steady himself someone's arm wraps around his waist, propping him up.
“Woah, Zhuo-daren!” Ying Lei's familiar voice calls. “Are you alright?”
“I'm fine.” Zhuo Yichen tries to move out of the hold and Ying Lei lets him, but as soon as he puts weight on the injured leg it falters again. This time, he doesn't push away Ying Lei's support. “What are you doing here?”
“Lady Goddess told me to wait in town just in case. Good thing, or you’d have fallen, huh?”
With a world of patience, Ying Lei helps Zhuo Yichen hobble his way into his private rooms. He was meant to go back to the Situ state right after releasing Pei Sijing, but the barely disguised and very much expected ambush waiting for him was more effective than anticipated. Well, as far as a lucky blow and a bad fall can be considered effective.
“What happened?” Ying Lei asks, after Zhuo Yichen finds his balance holding onto a chair and the doors are safely closed.
“Some Chongyu agents were waiting on the way. One managed to hit me on the back.” He tries not to wince, hurt both in body and ego. “I fell. It’s nothing serious.”
When he’s staying put, weight off his right leg, it barely hurts at all. It’s a vague enough ache that Zhuo Yichen is suddenly very aware of being alone with Ying Lei behind closed doors once again.
Zhuo Yichen’s mind still wanders from time to time, moments of quiet filled with the memory of being kissed so, so gently. Tiandu isn’t nearly as cold as Kunlun Mountain had been, but after waking up being held tightly only once it seems like his own covers are never warm enough.
“Thank you for the help,” he says, a dismissal already at the tip of his tongue to send Ying Lei back to Wen Xiao’s side.
“It’s no problem,” Ying Lei interrupts. “I like holding you.”
The same sunny smile as always colors his face and it takes a second for Zhuo Yichen to register what he said and several more for his mind to reset itself and react by making him flush so quickly it leaves him a little lightheaded.
“Where are you hurt?” Ying Lei pushes right through Zhuo Yichen’s confusion. “Let me see.”
Zhuo Yichen backs away without thinking, then has to jump back on one foot when pain drives down from his lower back. His fall is only stopped because Ying Lei catches him by the arm and helps him stabilize again.
“Thank you, but I can handle it.” It is possibly the least dignified Zhuo Yichen has been in a long time, and he doesn’t need to go through it in front of the man he has been dreaming of kissing for many weeks. Something that is already less than honorable.
Ying Lei, however, is having none of it. Without even asking he helps Zhuo Yichen back away from the bed and sit with his weight leaning on his other side. Zhuo Yichen doesn’t even remember exactly onto what he fell but the pain is honestly ridiculous for such a minor thing.
“Why? It will be easier with help.” Ying Lei speaks as if he cannot fathom a world where not relying on friends is an option. And also as if kissing Zhuo Yichen silly on his own bed hasn’t changed anything. Maybe it hasn’t, which only makes Zhuo Yichen even more pathetic. “I get if you don’t want to show weakness in front of the lady goddess or Xiao Jiu, but it’s not like it makes a difference to me.”
He’s crouching down in front of Zhuo Yichen, looking up with bright eyes that shine almost gold in the afternoon sun. Zhuo Yichen doesn’t remember ever meeting someone so completely open, utterly pure hearted. It’s a wonder that Ying Lei spent so much time roaming around the human world alone and still end up this optimistic.
It’s very hard to not simply bask on that.
So many years of carefully walling off a section of himself, only for Zhuo Yichen to completely crumble at the barest touch. Ying Lei had kissed him because he looked lonely, held him as support for his own grief, and such simple, inconsequential things fanned the dying embers of Zhuo Yichen’s desires into an overwhelming heat.
When Zhuo Yichen doesn’t answer, Ying Lei pokes him on the good leg.
“C’mon, show me. You said it’s your back, no way you can reach it properly.”
It’s only because the pain stops him from sitting in a more appropriate way that Zhuo Yichen relents. Under Ying Lei’s disconcertingly eager stare he undoes and sets aside the heavier outer layers of his clothing while trying to not put weight on his right leg. Even with his back turned he can feel the young mountain god hovering, ready to catch him if he wavers again, but Zhuo Yichen manages to get undressed enough without embarrassing himself further.
When he lifts away the right side of the robe and shirt, Ying Lei whistles.
“That’s a nasty bruise, Zhuo-daren.” The barest touch of warm fingertips would have made Zhuo Yichen jump if he wasn’t so aware of even Ying Lei’s breathing. “What did they hit you with?”
“I don’t know.”
Ying Lei’s fingers trace what must be the edges of the bruising right over Zhuo Yichen’s waistband, from spine to outwards.
“It goes down, too. It’s your back or leg that hurt?” He takes a step back and Zhuo Yichen drops the clothes back down, glad to hide the goosebumps that such a brief touch caused.
“Both,” Zhuo Yichen admits, not really seeing the point in pretending. “I hit my leg on something when I fell.”
When he turns, Ying Lei is pulling off a pack that had been hanging crossed over his back. He is always such a ball of energy but right now his calm focus puts Zhuo Yichen at ease. It had been the same at Mount Kunlun - overwhelming circumstances and yet that same sense of simplicity. Ying Lei grieved, cried himself to sleep in Zhuo Yichen’s arms, but still looked at everything with the clarity only afforded to those without malice.
“Take off your pants,” Ying Lei says, rummaging through his pack.
“What?” Zhuo Yichen answers, completely certain that his silly fall had somehow caused hearing damage.
Ying Lei pulls out a small tin with a quiet “há” and looks up at Zhuo Yichen.
“You said you hit your leg, didn’t you? The bruises on your back also go way down.” He shakes the little tin to show it off. “This thing is supposed to do magic for injuries like that.”
Spoken like asking someone else to undress is something he does every day. Ying Lei had been casual about that in the temple as well, and then too there didn't seem to be any intentions other than comfort. Zhuo Yichen, however, has been much too conscious of Ying Lei's…general presence since the young god came back to the city.
“I can do it myself, thank you.” He tries, after clearing his throat, utterly ashamed that a small part of his brain wants the wish to be ignored.
“Why do it the hard way?” Ying Lei asks. He flickers the little tin in the air, catches it mid fall.
There’s a brand of innocence to Ying Lei that Zhuo Yichen has a hard time understanding - he is more than willing to make dirty jokes and doesn’t miss on any of the adult conversations, but also doesn’t seem to see the issue with kissing another man where anyone could see. Or sharing a bed. Or asking someone to take off their clothes .
Zhuo Yichen would love to steal the medicine from him but he isn’t very sure he can walk without help, much less be agile enough for the tussle. He could, if truly pressed, but it is increasingly hard to want to push back.
The kissing blew away the dust that had settled over Zhuo Yichen’s long abandoned desires, but it had been the comfort, waking up still in that tight hold, that makes him waver now. Ying Lei looking so earnest surely doesn’t help with the strength of Zhuo Yichen’s will. He already feels very exposed, down to so few layers not completely tied. The thought of undressing even further shakes up so many feelings Zhuo Yichen can’t even begin to line them up for examination.
“You can keep whatever isn’t in the way,” Ying Lei says. “Do you need help? Or I can look away.”
“No need,” Zhuo Yichen bites.
Even so he turns his back to the room, completely unwilling to see Ying Lei’s face while in such a mortifying position. Thankfully, when he manages to kick off the one boot and step out that leg of his pants, there’s only need to hold the right side of the long robe away and he ends up still mostly covered.
Still humiliating.
“Oh, that looks awful!” Ying Lei says, and this time Zhuo Yichen jumps when he touches him even if it’s very light. “The bruise, not your behind. Just to be clear. It’s a shame, actually, to see pretty things mistreated.”
With each word of his mouth Zhuo Yichen’s fingers tighten more around the bed’s railing. It would be impolite to kick out the help he already accepted, but it is certainly tempting. Before he can decide one way or the other, he hears the tin click open and Ying Lei’s fingers are again on his back - this time firmer and coated in something slick that starts heating up as soon as it’s spread over skin. Zhuo Yichen must flinch, because Ying Lei makes a shushing sound.
“It gets really warm, then really cold.” His fingers glide with only enough pressure to spread the ointment. “You shouldn’t tense up so much or it will hurt more later.”
It makes sense, of course it does, but try as he might to breathe deeply and keep his body relaxed, Zhuo Yichen can barely keep himself from flinching every time Ying Lei touches him after drawing away to swipe up more of the medicine. It’s disconcerting, for one, to have someone else see him undressed like this. But also it twists something deeper, worse, to have it be this one man in particular to touch skin that was never supposed to be seen by another person.
“What is the human thing about nudity?” Ying Lei asks when Zhuo Yichen tenses back up as his fingers drag over the outer edge of his bottom.
“What do you mean?” Zhuo Yichen’s words come out a little punched.
“Humans find nudity to be something very intimate, don’t you?”
“Because it is?” Incredulity distracts Zhuo Yichen enough that he makes the mistake of looking back in search of Ying Lei, only to find him half crouched near his side, examining the darkening bruise on Zhuo Yichen’s thigh.
His face is much too close when he looks up and very suddenly Zhuo Yichen is very glad to sink into the awkwardness and feel nothing else.
“Not for yao . It’s just the way everyone comes into the world, there’s no shame in that.” Ying Lei’s touch is so very careful that Zhuo Yichen barely feels the push against injured skin. “Some born, some transformed, but everyone is naked at first. As do humans, but for some reason for you it's special. It's cute.”
Suddenly Zhuo Yichen is curious. History always said that yao all live by their base desires, instinctual needs, so one can easily extrapolate that…intimacy…would be one of the things they chase. But Ying Lei is here, steading his crouch on Zhuo Yichen's knee and touching him with careful but detached precision, even knowing Zhuo Yichen is willing to be kissed senseless. Or was, at least. He's not as sure now, when he's not as tightly wound up like that day in Mount Kunlun.
“So for you, human intimacies mean nothing.” He says, trying to focus on the slight burn of the medicine and not the feel of Ying Lei's fingers on the back of his thigh.
Ying Lei clicks his tongue, then makes an already familiar sound of consideration. The tin clicks closed and he reaches for Zhuo Yichen's pant leg, helps him step into it without much pain and pulls it up. The casualness is not enough to wash out the shame, so Zhuo Yichen's face colors all the same.
“Lay down, let me see if I can help with your back.” Before Zhuo Yichen can really protest, he's herded to the bed and laid on his stomach. His clothes stay mostly on, only pushed up to his waist, but Ying Lei's hands are back on him, thumbs walking down his spine like little steps. “It's not that it doesn't have meaning,” Ying Lei answers. “But context matters. Xiao Zhuo-daren is hurt, that needs to be taken care of. Doesn’t make you less beautiful, but that's not why you undressed.”
Zhuo Yichen sucks in a sharp breath when Ying Lei's fingers find the injured spot and the very slight press makes lightning run down his leg. The pressure lets go immediately, substituted by warmth that seems to bypass skin entirely and spread directly over strained muscle. It takes everything in Zhuo Yichen to hold back a groan and only muffle a quiet sound into the mattress.
“It's pretty swollen here, must be pressing on nerves,” Ying Lei comments. His hand is warm and wide, occupying almost all the space between Zhuo Yichen’s spine and waist. It's one thing to notice that breadth on his arms, but this new realization has Zhuo Yichen burying his face on the bedding as much as it allows. “I don't know if I can fully fix it, but…”
So that's what the warmth was. With that knowledge Zhuo Yichen can identify the unique mix of Ying Lei's energy - the vaguely familiar shape of divine energy wrapping around injured nerve and muscle and bleeding out to join the regular flow of Zhuo Yichen's meridians. It makes him melt, relaxing not only the targeted region but Zhuo Yichen’ whole body.
“It's good,” he mumbles, almost completely burrowed on the bedspread. When Ying Lei makes a questioning noise, Zhuo Yichen turns his head to the side, too relaxed to care about his blushing cheeks. “It's good.”
He can't see Ying Lei's face from where he's laying - for the better, probably - but the mountain god makes a surprised noise and chuckles. Even his laugh is nice, Zhuo Yichen thinks, feeling a little drunk and a lot sleepy as the pain and adrenaline finally subside. Laughter is Ying Lei's appropriate state, not the melancholy with which they had left him on the mountain.
“At least that, then.”
The process is slow, Ying Lei either not skilled enough or unwilling to work with anything other than the smallest threads. Before too long Zhuo Yichen is mostly used to it, though that doesn't detract from the loose and light way he feels. The silence - interrupted only by Ying Lei’s absentminded humming - lets him think.
That night in the mountains was the first time Zhuo Yichen had been touched with…purpose, in a long time. Not for lack of opportunity - he knows his looks and the reputation of being strange morphed into some sort of desirable mysteriousness as he grew from boy to man.
He could have his pick of women, for fun or marriage, with the exception of the only one he’s ever wanted. It wouldn't be too hard to find men either, if that stuck his fancy, but Zhuo Yichen refused to pay attention to the subtle flirting and subtler invitations. To the less colorful building nestled right beside the bright entrance to Tiandu's famous flower house.
Acceptance was always closer to his tongue in those cases - the flirting of women flustered him, but the attentions of other men felt more flattering and gave rise to a keen curiosity instead of awkwardness.
Zhuo Yichen blames the almost-drunk state of his mind for opening his mouth.
“Is all intimacy irrelevant? There are yao that chase humans for…” he trails off for a second, the words stuck in his mouth. “But do other yao even care for those things?”
“I never said it's irrelevant,” Ying Lei's smile is in his voice so Zhuo Yichen hides his face on the mattress again. “Is this something Xiao Zhuo-daren thinks about frequently?”
The last weeks found Zhuo Yichen harassed, flustered, humiliated even, in several creative ways. Ying Lei’s teasing is as warm as it is embarrassing, though, and Zhuo Yichen doesn’t feel inclined to push him away. Not when his touch is so careful and comfortable and Zhuo Yichen hasn’t been able to completely brush that one night away from his mind yet.
“I didn’t use to,” he confesses, still a little muffled by the bedding. “It is interesting.”
Ying Lei’s hand leaves Zhuo Yichen’s back and he mourns the permeating warmth of his energy as it fades away. The young god doesn’t allow him much time for it, though, because he immediately coaxes Zhuo Yichen to turn by pushing his shoulder lightly.
And then Zhuo Yichen is a little trapped on his back between the bed’s railing and Ying Lei’s bright eyes and playful smile.
“If Xiao Zhuo- daren wants, I have time to answer questions.” Ying Lei says, holding his weight on a hand all the way on the other side of Zhuo Yichen. “We can make notes. For the library.”
It should feel suffocating to be caged like this - Zhuo Yichen’s whole life was built on hunting demons, always on his guard. Being so easily pushed, moved and trapped by an inhuman creature was unthinkable until so very recently.
There’s nothing about Ying Lei that’s threatening. Even after witnessing him fighting, the steadfastness of his magic, Zhuo Yichen can’t find it in himself to worry. Instead, he finds himself feeling a host of other things.
“No notes,” he says.
Ying Lei doesn’t need any more input. Zhuo Yichen’s eyes are closed long before their lips touch, his whole body vibrating with anticipation. The touch is still hot, still a little dry, but Ying Lei tastes different this time. Without the copper-salt of fighting as distraction, Ying Lei scent is mostly spice and when he finally licks through the seam of Zhuo Yichen’s lips, it tastes plain.
It lights Zhuo Yichen up so much more than their previous kisses, filling him with heat until his hands are moving on their own. The fabric of Ying Lei’s clothes is rough in Zhuo Yichen’s hands - one on his braced arm, the other’s fingers holding onto his belt. Reaching for anything he can anchor himself to and still failing because he can’t help but want more.
Zhuo Yichen doesn’t really know what he’s doing but Ying Lei seems to enjoy it when Zhuo Yichen pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, following directionless want. One of his hands lands on the unharmed side of Zhuo Yichen’s waist, fingers digging a little and all Zhuo Yichen wants is to be held tighter.
“That color looks nice on you,” Ying Lei says when he pulls back, as if Zhuo Yichen isn’t a pathetic sight all breathless under him, and playfully pokes at his flushed cheek.
This time it’s Zhuo Yichen that reaches first, pulling Ying Lei close by the belt until he has to get on the bed too. Ying Lei’s hair is thick and coarse when Zhuo Yichen works fingers through the base of the burn holding it back and the poems about a silky soft lover don't make any sense anymore. Ying Lei has a beautiful face and sweet personality but nothing else is soft - not his hair or his lips or the touch that moves from Zhuo Yichen’s waist to his flank and pushes him into the bed.
A sort of hunger Zhuo Yichen had completely forgotten about compels him to search Ying Lei’s mouth until his own is watering, until he needs to stop and breathe. They stay there for a moment just breathing the same air and weirdly Zhuo Yichen can’t find it in himself to be self-conscious about it.
“Why?” He asks, nonsensically.
“For fun, Ying Lei answers, eyes still bright and still carrying that almost constant hint of mischief that suits him so well. “Why not?”
There’s something so light, so easy about Ying Lei that allows Zhuo Yichen to give in to things he kept very tightly locked away for most of his life. There’s a half-yao on top of him and all Zhuo Yichen feels is the quiet thrum of arousal and a strange need to laugh.
“Alright.” He says and Ying Lei kisses him again.
Zhuo Yichen is too distracted trying to keep up with the playful quick pecks raining on his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, to pay much attention to Ying Lei’s roaming hand until it stops on his lap. Even the light pressure over the hardness Zhuo Yichen had been ignoring is enough to make him take in a sharp breath and flinch - he tenses and the flare of pain shooting from his back down his leg makes him groan before he can stop himself.
“Oh no.” Ying Lei pulls back, sitting on his heels with one of Zhuo Yichen’s legs still between his. “I’m sorry.”
His grimace looks so guilty that Zhuo Yichen feels a little bad but for now he can just stay quiet and will himself to relax again and ignore the throbbing pain.
“It’s fine,” he says after gathering himself. Ying Lei gives him a hand and helps him sit up, the process a little awkward until they can both be comfortable. “We should go.”
There’s no discreet way to wipe his mouth so Zhuo Yichen tries to be at least a little dignified while using the edge of his sleeve. Ying Lei looks a little worried as he brings Zhuo Yichen’s discarded clothes closer.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Ying Lei holds out his hands and even if he doesn’t really need the help, Zhuo Yichen accepts the extra support to stand up. “I got distracted.”
“It’s alright.” Despite - and probably because - his shameless behavior only moments before, Zhuo Yichen can’t meet Ying Lei’s eyes while he dresses. “I…was distracted too.”
Zhuo Yichen can tell his hair is a mess, the ponytail askew and pulling at his scalp rather painfully now that he pays attention.
“Come here. Let me help.” Ying Lei herds him to the bed again and climbs behind him without waiting for Zhuo Yichen’s opinion and uncaring of his own disheveled appearance.
His hands are a little clumsy taking down the tie and ribbon and the string of beads and little bells needs to be carefully extricated from Zhuo Yichen’s fine hair, but Ying Lei manages to gather it all in the end.
“Humans have complicated conventions so I won’t ask,” he says while carefully winding half of Zhuo Yichen’s hair around the tight ponytail exactly like he usually does. As if he still remembered. “But everyone should enjoy the fun things in life, and having a friend to trust is the best.”
Zhuo Yichen doesn’t think he can untangle the messy string inside him to explain his feelings to someone so uncomplicated. The strands of love and desire are things he neglected until they were almost unnoticeable, until they didn’t interfere in his life at all. To have someone offer him this so easily is… surprisingly relaxing. For a second time Ying Lei pushed through Zhuo Yichen's tightly knitted anxiety and shook him up until he’s loose and breathing and thinking clearly again.
Maybe if it's like this, in the privacy of stolen moments, with someone that has no reason to hold this weakness against him… It can be alright. So Zhuo Yichen sits at the edge of his rumpled bed, waiting for his heart to find a steadier rhythm and openly admires Ying Lei's appearance like he never allowed himself to do with anyone else before. His handsome face, relaxed posture, the way his hair tumbles surprisingly far down his back when undone. It is strange that he knows exactly how heavy he is, and how their shapes slot together back-to-chest.
Ying Lei holds a strip of what seems to be worn leather between his teeth as he quickly twists the golden mess into a rough braid and Zhuo Yichen's fingers tighten on the edge of the mattress.
“Wait,” Zhuo Yichen calls, and Ying Lei stops mid movement, looking curious. Careful not to strain his injury further, Zhuo Yichen fetches a piece of thick velvet ribbon in a rich shade of brown from a box and hands it to the young god. “Yours is fraying.”
The smile he gets in response is almost blinding, and the fluttering feeling that settles in his stomach when he looks at the nice ribbon laying on Ying Lei’s shoulder is strange. There’s too much happening and his mind is too busy for it at the moment, but Zhuo Yichen vows to himself that when things inevitably settle and they have a little more time he’ll stop and consider with care if there really isn’t space in his life for something soft and easy like this.
It’s very easy to overlook the yao half, when Ying Lei insists on carving his place in all their lives with nothing short of divine care.
“Can you walk?” Ying Lei asks, breaking Zhuo Yichen’s musing. He nods. “Let’s meet Lady Goddess then! Tell her the good news. About releasing Pei-daren, I mean. No need to tell her anything else.”
A little horrified by the mere idea of disclosing any of that happened to Wen Xiao of all people, Zhuo Yichen stares at the hand Ying Lei offers for a moment before straightening his own posture and gingerly walking past him.
“Please let me do the talking,” he begs quietly.
“Of course! I wasn’t there!”
Ying Lei’s hand hovers over Zhuo Yichen’s injured back through all the empty corridors of the bureau as he chatters, the warmth of his energy only fading from the sore muscles when they come across someone else.
Somehow, Zhuo Yichen knows the bruising will be gone when he looks later. Somehow, he thinks he can push some things aside to make room for the soft and fun things in life.