repair: being confined to bed due to injury or illness and hating every second of it. Â
It wasnât the pain in his leg or the way anything other than a shallow breath caused a sharp, hot feeling in his side. His injuries - while certainly bad and likely would have killed anyone else - would heal and there would be little evidence of them except for perhaps a scar on his leg where the break had occurred.Â
But he felt as if he was dying. There was nothing as bad as being confined to a bed like this.
No matter how he shifted, he couldnât get comfortable. No matter what books he tried to read, he couldnât get his mind to settle.Â
What was supposed to be a simple request to appease a forlorn spirit had turned into angry spirits that needed to be suppressed. It had caught him and Song Lan so off-guard that even with their skill, it had been all they could do to escort the grieving family away safely.Â
That thought rankled; people could be hurt because of him.Â
Sighing, Xiao Xingchen placed the book aside and leaned back, eyes drifting across the dark wood ceiling of Biaxue temple.Â
âThis doesnât look like resting,â said Song Lan as he slid the door shut as quietly as he had opened it.Â
âZichen.â He straightened and then winced. âI am resting.â
âYouâre fidgeting.â His long strides carried him across the room and he held out the book that had been tucked under his arm. âI brought another I thought you might like but it seems you havenât read the last.â
âI canât focus, Zichen, not sitting here like this. Not when we left so much unfinished at that shrine,â he said, a strained sort of urgency in his voice.
Song Lanâs face softened and carefully he took a seat on the floor, next to the bed, facing Xiao Xingchen.Â
âI know.â He moved his hand as if he wanted to touch Xiao Xingchen but stopped. âAnd as soon as you heal, weâll go back, but first you have to heal.â
The slight movement didnât go unnoticed and Xiao Xingchen placed his hand over Song Lanâs.Â
âThank you. Iâm being childish but itâs hard to sit here and do nothing.â
For a moment, Song Lan didnât answer, eyes focused on their hands. It was hard to tell when it was Xiao Xingchen being... Xiao Xingchen and when it meant something more. He hoped it meant something more. Selfishly, thatâs all he wanted. Song Lan swallowed.Â
âIf youâre being childish, then perhaps I should read to you, instead.â
âI think you just want to make sure Iâm resting and not fidgeting,â he said, the smile on his face amused, the worry that had lined his face fading.Â
âDo you think it will work?â Song Lan asked, even though he had already opened the book, turning the pages until a poem caught his eye, a slight half smile on his face.
âThereâs only one way to be certain,â said Xiao Xingchen, his attempt to sound serious failing towards the end.
Xiao Xingchen laid back, fingers running over the fabric of Song Lanâs sleeve, and decided that being confined to bed was not so bad when the company was so good.Â