Jongdae is wide-eyed, hair a matted, sweaty mess and his mouth wide open with words he cannot speak. The sound of his breathing is heavy, laboured; it is a sadly familiar state of affairs for Yi Xing. He has woken up in the middle of the night too many times to be greeted by this sight.

It doesn’t matter. It has never mattered, because Jongdae is precious. Jongdae deserves all of the effort Yi Xing puts into coaxing him back to life. There is nothing more important than getting Jongdae to smile; it is his life’s work.

There is nothing more beautiful than that smile. As if anything else ever could be. Yi Xing lost his heart to it long ago, in the winter months of a year that has long since passed by. 

He draws the fractious Jongdae into his arms slowly, so as not to startle the younger man. The low moan that slips from his mouth used to frighten Yi Xing; it is an eerie, detached sound that never quite sounds human. But he has heard it too often now to be truly scared. Instead, he wraps his arms around Jongdae tightly, pulls him onto his lap and croons softly into his ear.

He does not have the singing ability that Jongdae has, but that’s okay. He doesn’t need to for this. All he needs to do is sing the words of a half-remembered lullaby, and it is enough. It won’t calm Jongdae down completely – it will not bring him back the clarity of mind he needs – but it will sooth him, if only for a moment.

The song is not long. It is only a simple thing of repetitive lyrics, a story about a west wind. As soon as it finishes, Yi Xing starts up again without missing a beat. He will sing until he is hoarse, if he has to. There have been nights when he has gotten no sleep at all, too consumed with smoothing the damp hair off of Jongdae’s forehead and murmuring the sweetest songs he can in the whorl of his ear.

Jongdae whimpers. It breaks Yi Xing’s heart, but he does not say anything. He only cradles him closer, sings louder to drown out the crashing voices in his lover’s head. They never quieten during the night, Yi Xing has learned.

He knows that Jongdae can see nothing with those wide eyes of his. They simply stare, unblinking because he’s not functioning. Yi Xing’s not even sure he can actually hear him, but he still sings because it is the only thing that seems to keep Jongdae anchored to the here and now.

Perhaps, then, it is more of a comfort to Yi Xing himself, than it is for Jongdae, but he still carries on with this routine. There is nothing else he can do. He can’t leave Jongdae by himself; he will not let him sit in silence, crying out in fear and pain.