Work Text:
Jian Yi jolts awake. His face is wet, and the cold, humid air prickles the skin on his arms. He blinks away the image of the faceless man from his dream. Breathes into the murk.
About once a year he thinks about running an image search on his father’s name. About once a year he decides not to.
"You okay?” Zhan Zhengxi's sleep-rough voice anchors him in the present.
Jian Yi studies his face in the dark – his tired squint, his mussed hair. He fumbles for Zhengxi's hand. Holds it tight.
“I'm fine, Xixi.”
Zhengxi grunts, and pulls him close.