xparrot: WeiLan in the taxi in ep 8 (Guardian)
[personal profile] xparrot
The last few weeks have been very confusing for me writing-wise because somehow my brain decided to deal with all the stress and disruption of present times by making me write porn. Which is pretty normal stress-relief for a lot of people, but I...am just not into smut? For the longest time I've said I'm both the worse gen fan ever because I have so many ships; but also the worst slash fan because while I love romance, I always just skim the sticky bits.

I've been writing explicit stuff on occasion for years now -- I actually enjoy writing it more than reading it, have never figured that one out -- but this run I think is about the most I've ever written at once (...and I think it's pretty tame stuff really, but it feels like A Lot to me ^^;;;)

But I seem to be working it out of my system because last night I went back to an old and much-loved trope wheelhouse and wrote pure angst and ahh, it was very nice! Not sure yet what I'm going to do with this, if anything. But there was some talk on Twitter a bit ago about presumed dead and how there wasn't enough of it in Guardian fic, and this is a variation on one of the ideas that came up...

Zhao Yunlan locked the apartment door, and then stood before it--exhaling, his shoulders falling, his head canted down.

"Zhao Yunlan?" Shen Wei could not help but ask, even knowing too well that it would go unheard. He reached out, wishing he could only extend his hand from the wormhole to touch Zhao Yunlan's shoulder. To tug him to turn around, so Shen Wei might see his face now.

In a moment, Zhao Yunlan heaved another breath, and turned anyway to move further into the apartment. Shen Wei peered anxiously into his revealed face, but saw--nothing. No expression he could identify; no expression of feeling at all. Zhao Yunlan's sensitive, mobile lips were set together, not smiling, but not twisted with a scowl either. His brow was relaxed for all the slightly tense hunch to his shoulders. His eyes were...

His eyes were blank, vaguely unfocused, enough that Shen Wei feared he'd been hurt after all, in a way Shen Wei hadn't been able to discern before. Surely his team wouldn't have allowed him to go home alone if he were concussed, or some other injury.

Or else perhaps Zhao Yunlan had been concealing it from them. While he was not limping, his steps were dragging as he crossed the room. As if he were exhausted, though it was not so late. Maybe his stomach was troubling him? Though instead of going to his bed, or to the refrigerator for his medicine, he went to the table instead. Took one of the bottles there, then turned to the counter and started to reach for one of the glasses in the drying rack that Shen Wei had washed this morning, and had since been unable to put away.

Except Zhao Yunlan paused, his hand outstretched for the glass. Froze for a moment, not even breathing, and then let go the held breath in a short, harsh rasp, as he spun on his heel, turned away from the rack of clean dishware.

June 2024

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