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The rain had been falling since sunset, but by midnight it was no longer rain — it was a full symphony. The wind prowled like a hungry beast pacing outside the window, rattling the panes in uneven rhythms, thunder cracked like someone was ripping the heavens apart, and lightning strobed against the windows. And buried under his blanket, A-Yuan slept uneasily, like someone being tugged between two worlds.
He was thirteen — old enough to insist he wasn’t scared of storms anymore, young enough that thunder still reached into the deep corners of his heart.
And tonight… it reached far too deeply.
A-Yuan tossed on his bed, cheeks damp, breath shallow. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back.
The dream was suffocating. He dreamt of darkness.
A void, stretching endlessly, swallowing sound, swallowing breath.
He tried to run, feet slapping against nothing, a child’s panic rising sharp in his throat.
Ahead, he saw them — his Baba and A-Die.
But they weren’t his.
Not the warm arms, not the soft laughter, not the gentle scolding. These two turned away from him, backlit by a pale ghost-light.
“Baba? A-Die?” His voice was small in the emptiness.
No answer.
Just the sound of footsteps fading, walking away, silhouettes fading, their voices distant.
“A-Yuan,” Baba said, voice cold as winter creek water. “You’re trouble. You always have been. We don’t want a kid like you.”
“Leave him,” A-Die added. “He always causes trouble.”
And then — they vanished.
Thunder cracked — a brutal, bone-deep roar — and the void swallowed him whole.
A-Yuan jerked in bed, whimpering. Sweat dampened his forehead, clinging to his hair. His toes curled, fists tightening in the sheets as if the fabric might anchor him to reality.
Another thunderclap.
Louder.
Meaner.
He bolted awake with a gasp.
For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Just a pitch-dark ceiling and the sound of rain assaulting the windows like it had a vendetta.
His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape. His breath came too fast, too sharp. His vision swirled; the shadows in the corners of his room seemed alive, shifting with each lightning flash. His forehead glistened with sweat. His fingers clenched and unclenched the sheets. His hair stuck to his temples. His eyes were wet, and he only realised it when he felt the cool trail of tears slipping down his cheek.
And then—
BOOM.
The thunder hit so hard the bed frame shuddered.
A-Yuan jumped, nearly falling out of bed as he curled into himself, clutching the sheets to his chest. Tears, hot and humiliating, ran down his cheeks before he could stop them. His lips trembled as he whispered fragments—pleas, broken words, apologies that, in the waking world, made no sense.
“I—I don’t like this… B-Baba… A-Die…” he whispered, voice trembling so hard the words barely formed.
Another boom.
That was it.
He couldn’t stay here.
The shadows in the corners looked deeper, creepier and more alive with every flash of lightning.
Nope. Absolutely not. He was not at all gonna stay here.
He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders like a lifeline, slid out of bed on unsteady legs, and padded out of the room — barefoot, shaking, small in the hallway’s darkness. Every thunderclap made him freeze mid-step like a baby deer, but he pushed forward — the way only a scared teenager with dignity hanging by a thread could.
The thunder chased him.
He rushed to his parents’ door, didn’t even think about knocking — he never knocked when he was scared — and twisted the handle.
“Baba— A-Die—!!”
He bursted in.
And froze and immediately wished the lightning had struck him first.
There They Were. Doing It.
They froze.
Time stopped.
Even the thunder seemed to blink.
Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were very clearly in the middle of it.
Not cuddling.
Not kissing.
Actually doing it.
The dim, warm lamplight in the room revealed just enough — Sheets everywhere. Clothes on the floor. Limbs tangled, hair messy, Wei Ying’s shoulders bare, flushed and breathless, Lan Zhan very distinctly shirtless, above him, holding him like he was something precious and illegal. Wei Ying looked like someone caught stealing moonlight; Lan Zhan looked like someone who’d been saying Wei Ying’s name a few seconds prior.
(He absolutely had).
A-Yuan’s brain short-circuited.
His tears were still there.
But now his face went so red he looked like someone had slapped him with a tomato.
Wei Ying scrambled upright, clutching the blanket to his chest like a scandalised Victorian maiden.
Lan Zhan, getting off him, froze like a carved jade statue.
“A-A-A-Y-Yuan—!” Wei Ying squeaked, voice an octave higher than usual.
A-Yuan’s soul exited his body.
“I— I— I— SAW NOTHING!!!” he yelped, nearly choking on his own spit. “I’m GOING AWAY NOW— I DIDN’T— YOU WERE— I’LL JUST— GOODNIGHT— I MEAN NO— I MEAN— AAAAHHH—!!”
He slapped a hand over his face, spun around so fast he almost tripped. He slammed the door so fast the walls shook, and Wei Ying squeaked again from inside.
A-Yuan sprinted down the hallway, almost tripping over his own blanket, chest still tight from both fear and humiliation. He dove back into his room, slammed the door, crawled under his covers, and curled up into one trembling, overheated, emotionally devastated dumpling.
He curled into a ball.
Heart racing.
Face burning.
Mind screaming.
All of them, in both fear and embarrassment.
The thunder outside continued raging…
…but at this point, honestly, the storm inside him was louder. (In whichever way the readers want to interpret, they can interpret this line)
~*~
The moment the door slammed, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan stared at each other in utter, biblical horror.
Wei Ying slapped both hands to his flaming face. “Oh my god. Oh my G O D. Lan Zhan, he saw EVERYTHING. Everything! My soul left my body—”
Lan Zhan, still stunned, simply said, “Mn.”
“‘Mn’?! That’s all you have to say? Our son is emotionally scarred— permanently— forever— he will never recover— I will never recover— WE SHOULD MOVE—”
Thunder cracked outside.
Another one rattled the windows.
Lan Zhan’s eyes sharpened. “We should go to his room. He is definitely awakened by the thunder and is scared,” he murmured, already sliding off the bed and grabbing the nearest pair of shorts.
Wei Ying froze mid-panic.
His stomach dropped. “Oh crap. You’re right. The thunder. He gets terrified.”
They changed at light speed—well, technically changed. Wei Ying pulled on shorts, nothing else, still looking freshly kissed to death. Lan Zhan did the same, except he somehow looked ethereal and calm despite having been caught mid-sin 30 seconds ago.
Only these two men could look like half-dressed disasters and devoted parents simultaneously.
They rushed down the hallway barefoot, trying not to look like they were rushing. Wei Ying’s mind was a chaotic battlefield. Oh great, perfect, wonderful — my son has seen me in positions that should never be seen by anyone not legally married to me. Fantastic parenting, Wei Ying. Ten out of ten. Peak performance. I should win a prize. Best Baba of the Year Award. But thunder. He must be terrified. Crap…
Beside him, Lan Zhan was in his usual quiet composure, though his ears were still slightly pink. His inner thoughts, however, were a dignified spiral: Why did we not lock the door? I must buy new locks. Strong locks. Industrial-grade locks.
But none of that mattered.
Not when their son had cried like that.
Not when he had trembled like a little bird thrown into a storm.
~*~
Wei Ying pushed open A-Yuan’s door.
A wave of cold darkness met them—curtains still open, rain streaking the windows, thunder muttering like an angry beast.
On the bed sat a trembling mound of blankets, curled up so small that it broke Wei Ying’s chest clean in two.
“A-Yuan?” Wei Ying whispered softly, stepping closer.
No answer— just a tiny shivering movement.
Wei Ying instantly went into full Baba Mode, scooping the trembling burrito-boy into his arms like he weighed nothing.
A-Yuan felt a strange mix of relief and embarrassment rush through him — relief because they came, embarrassment because they came like this.
“A-Yuan, baby, hey… hey, it’s alright,” Wei Ying murmured, kissing the top of the covered head. “It’s Baba. You’re safe. We’re here.”
A-Yuan clutched the blanket tighter but leaned into the familiar chest, shaking. “S-s-sorry… I d-didn’t mean t-to b-barge in— I was j-just— the thunder— and— and the dream—” His voice cracked, and he stuttered harder when lightning flashed again.
Lan Zhan crouched beside them, hand gentle on A-Yuan’s back. “Do not think about what you saw,” he said calmly (so calmly it made Wei Ying glare at him). “It is unimportant. Your nightmare is important.”
Wei Ying nodded rapidly. “Yes! Absolutely! Forget everything from 5 minutes ago! Delete! Recycle bin! Gone!”
A-Yuan buried his face deeper in his Baba’s chest, refusing to even breathe on the memory. “You two didn’t have to… um… come like— like that,” he mumbled, ears burning.
Baba raised an eyebrow. “Like what? We were sleeping, ok? Do you expect me to dress in full robes at midnight?”
A-Die chuckled under his breath.
“Good,” Wei Ying said immediately. “Never speak of it again. I know I won’t.”
Another thunderclap.
A-Yuan jolted violently, fists tightening against Wei Ying’s chest.
Wei Ying held him closer, rocking gently. “Hey, hey… I’ve got you. I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen. Not while Baba’s alive.”
Lan Zhan moved closer, sitting beside them on the bed so their shoulders touched. His voice was soft, warm, grounding. “Tell us,” he said quietly. “What happened in the dream?”
A-Yuan sniffled, trembling, easing only slightly as he leaned against both of them now—Baba’s warm chest in front, A-Die’s calm hand soothing his back. “They… you guys… You w-were leaving me,” he whispered. “It was dark… really dark… and I kept calling you, but you didn’t hear me. You were walking away. The thunder kept getting louder and louder. And then you both… disappeared. Like… like you didn’t want me anymore.”
His whole body shuddered, tears dripping onto Wei Ying’s skin.
“I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore…”
His voice broke.
Wei Ying clutched him tighter, fiercely protective and heartbreakingly gentle. “Oh, A-Yuan… baby no. Not in a million lifetimes. Never.”
Lan Zhan’s voice deepened with emotion, soft but firm. “We will never leave you. Not once. Not ever.”
A-Yuan trembled again, but this time from crying, not fear.
He finally pulled the blanket off his head, eyes swollen and red, and mumbled: “C-can I sleep with you tonight…?”
Wei Ying pressed a kiss to his forehead, already standing with him in his arms. “Obviously. Come on. You’re stuck with us. If Heaven itself tried to snatch you away, I’d fight back. Barehanded. Shirtless. With a frying pan.”
A-Yuan huffed a watery laugh.
Even Lan Zhan almost smiled.
Behind them, thunder growled again.
Wei Ying growled louder.
“Try me, sky. My son comes first.”
Lan Zhan only sighed, amused and fond, and followed them back to their room—ready to sandwich their boy between them and chase away every nightmare the universe dared to throw.
~*~
The storm rumbled like an angry engine as Wei Ying carried A-Yuan—blanket and all—back to their room. Lan Zhan followed close behind.
They stepped inside their dimly lit room.
The little bedside lamp glowed a soft gold, a warm halo in the darkness.
Everything else—rain, wind, thunder—felt muted in comparison.
Wei Ying sat down first, pulling A-Yuan onto his lap.
Lan Zhan settled beside them, forming a protective half-circle around the boy.
A-Yuan finally peeked up from the blanket—eyes still wet, lashes stuck together. His eyes adjusted to the lamp’s faint glow.
And then he froze.
His gaze got stuck on Wei Ying’s neck.
Specifically…
The marks on his neck.
Purplish bite marks. Faint bruises.
Red flushes blooming along the collarbone.
A drowning-in-passion kind of constellation.
A-Yuan’s face went crimson to the ears.
Wei Ying followed his gaze.
Saw the marks.
And erupted.
“Oh for—YOU SAW NOTHING, YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” he barked, mortified, tugging the blanket higher to hide his own neck. “Don’t you DARE think anything! Not one thought! Not one cell of your brain is allowed to think right now!”
A-Yuan, still red, squeaked out, “I—I wasn’t— I just— I wasn’t starring— I mean—”
Lan Zhan quietly turned his own marked neck away from view, dignified as ever while clearly dying inside.
His ears were straight-up glowing.
The room hung in hot embarrassment for three long seconds.
“I—I just… You… Um… mosquito!” he blurted.
A-Die almost choked trying not to laugh.
Baba groaned and covered his face with one hand. “A mosquito. Yes. Very creative. Try again.”
A-Yuan wanted to dig a hole under the mattress and live in it forever. He tugged the blanket up to his chin, deciding silence was the safest strategy. The air thickened awkwardly for a second… until the sky split with a violent flash so bright it made the lamp’s glow shudder.
Then a massive thunderclap cracked the sky.
A-Yuan let out a choked gasp and instantly dove straight into Wei Ying’s chest, burying his whole face there like a frightened kitten.
Wei Ying’s anger evaporated on the spot.
“Oh, baby…” he whispered, arms sliding around him protectively.
Lan Zhan’s hand joined in, stroking A-Yuan’s hair with slow, steady movements.
They all lay down together—Wei Ying pulling A-Yuan between them, Lan Zhan curling around from the other side.
A perfect little cocoon.
A-Yuan trembled once more.
Another rumble rolled across the sky.
Wei Ying pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
“Shhh… Baba’s here,” he murmured. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to take you away from us.”
A-Yuan clung to him, fingers fisted against Wei Ying’s chest.
Lan Zhan spoke quietly, voice warm and grounding, “We are with you. You do not need to be afraid.”
They held him, stroked his back, pressed close until the shaking eased.
Then, softly—so softly it almost melted into the rain—Wei Ying began to hum.
A lullaby he used to sing when A-Yuan was small enough to fit in one arm.
A simple tune, warm and familiar like old sunlight.
A-Yuan’s tense shoulders loosened.
His breathing slowed.
His eyelids fluttered. His body softened, sinking deeper into the blanket of arms and warmth around him.
Another rumble shook the sky—
—but this time, nestled between his parents’ arms, the fear didn’t reach him.
Wei Ying kept humming.
Lan Zhan traced circles along A-Yuan’s back.
Each stroke gentled the storm inside him.
Within minutes, A-Yuan’s breaths grew deep and even.
His body sagged into sleep, cheek smushed against Wei Ying’s chest, one arm draped unconsciously over Lan Zhan’s side.
Wei Ying’s humming softened into silence, a fond smile blooming on his lips. “He fell asleep,” he whispered.
Lan Zhan nodded, eyes warm. “He is safe.”
Wei Ying pressed his cheek against A-Yuan’s hair, letting the rhythm of their son’s breathing lull him in turn.
“Good,” he murmured, voice already drowsy. “He deserves… the best sleep… my poor baby…”
Lan Zhan’s hand found Baba’s under the blanket; their fingers laced loosely. A-Yuan didn’t see it — he was already slipping into sleep, wrapped between them like the final piece of a puzzle — but he felt it, somehow, in the softening air.
And with the storm still raging outside—but a quiet warmth filling the room inside—the three of them drifted into sleep.
Close.
Safe.
Together.