When Wufan started to wake up, his first thought was where am I?

He could sense warmth in the air around him, and his injuries, although still agonising, were no longer strong enough to drive him into unconsciousness. Shifting slightly, confusion clouded his fatigued mind as he felt fabric rubbing against his skin. He propped himself up on his elbows and dragged his heavy eyelids open to see he was on a couch in a room of some sort, covered in towels. An apartment…? He wondered, dully registering that his wounds were no longer bleeding heavily, instead covered by dressings of some sort. As his vision cleared slightly he looked to see another man in the room, and indignation suddenly sparked within him.

Who the hell is this guy? Where is this? Why am I here? Where are my clothes?! Questions flitted through Wufan’s confused mind relentlessly, and he began to get frustrated by his complete helplessness. Resigning himself to the fact that he couldn’t do anything, Wufan fixed his glare on the other man’s back and waited impatiently for the stranger to turn around so he could find out where he was.

The other man didn’t look at Wufan for some time, instead busying himself tidying and cleaning his apartment. Wufan wondered if the man was deliberately avoiding his eyes. It wasn’t until the stranger was crouched right next to the couch picking up dirtied clothes when his gaze flicked up to meet Wufan’s.

The stranger yelped and scrambled backwards, surprised to find such an intense stare mere centimetres from his face. “Aah, you’re awake!” he stammered, dropping his bundle of clothes in surprise. Wufan took some time to process this before replying dully with, “Yeah.”

The stranger waited patiently, realizing Wufan wasn’t quite in his right mind and sensing he was working his way up to some sort of pointed question. After struggling to think straight for some time, all Wufan could manage was a bemused “what happened?” before his eyes glazed over slightly and he fell silent.

Zitao hesitated and bowed awkwardly, unsure of what to do. “Uh, sir, my name is Huang Zitao, but you can call me Tao, uh, I found you on the street, and you were badly hurt so I brought you back to my apartment,” he stuttered rapidly, finding himself unreasonably shy.

Wufan looked down at himself and back up at Zitao. “Uh,” he grunted in a pained tone, “thanks.”

Zitao gave a shaky smile and nodded, “would you like some food or drink, sir? Or maybe you’d prefer pyjamas, or nicer bedding?”

Wufan’s attention was switched off; pain was clouding his awareness and dimming his senses. “Huh? Oh. Yeah,” he replied to Zitao sluggishly.

Zitao nodded slightly uncertainly and busied himself with doing all of the favours he’d offered Wufan. Wufan watched quietly, his head swimming. Privately, he was fascinated by this utter stranger’s totally unwarranted kindness.

“Do you want me to help you drink?” Zitao asked casually, returning with his arms full of the objects he’d mentioned. Wufan was confused for a long moment and then realised it’d be difficult to drink and keep balanced with his bad shoulder. He felt a burn of frustration flood his mind; there was nothing he hated more than being helpless. Zitao picked up the water without needing a response, and said right on cue, “there’s no need to be embarrassed, stranger… it’s fine to let somebody help you with something when you’re not able to do it yourself.” Wufan stared at him for a moment and Zitao covered up his embarrassment by popping a straw into the glass of water and holding it out for his guest.

Without hesitating Wufan leaned forwards and drank deeply. At that moment nothing in his life had tasted sweeter than the cool clear water, and he could almost feel it nourishing his parched body. “Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice smoother and clearer than it had been before, the water having soothed his throat.

“It’s no problem,” Zitao replied kindly, turning to pick up the bowl of soup.

As he waited, Wufan felt his head starting to spin. Pain, exhaustion, and extreme cold were taking their toll on his battered body. Dimly aware of his arms giving way and his body falling back onto the couch, Wufan heard himself sigh as darkness clouded his vision and consciousness spun away from his gasp.

Zitao turned at the soft thump of Wufan’s body against the couch and panic surged through him.

“Sir? Are you okay?!” he asked, his voice rising a pitch in worry. “Wake up!” he begged, tugging at the stranger’s uninjured arm in an attempt to earn a response. Zitao turned a tiny circle as he searched for his phone, and dialed Yixing’s number rapidly when he found it.

“Tao, what do you want this time?! I just walked in the door!” an exasperated voice came through the phone.

“Yixing, he woke up, and now he fainted, and I don’t know what to do,” Zitao replied anxiously, his cousin’s irritation completely lost on him.

“Oh.” The annoyance faded from Yixing’s voice, replaced by calm authority. “Well, is he breathing normally?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t check,” Zitao replied, immensely relieved to have someone else take over the situation.

“Well, check to see if he’s breathing normally then come back,” Yixing instructed.

Zitao put the phone down and crouched besides the stranger, wondering how one went about checking somebody’s breathing. After a short time spent thinking he peeled the towel over the stranger’s chest back and blushed involuntarily, feeling like a ert as he took in the man’s lean, smooth muscles. Zitao shook his head quickly, scolding himself, and then placed one hand lightly on the other man’s chest, letting it go limp as he felt for breathing. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw and felt the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest, as well as a strong heartbeat thudding into Zitao’s palm.

Returning to the phone he replied, “His breathing seems normal enough, and his heartbeat is okay too if that matters.”

Yixing hummed into the phone thoughtfully. “He’s probably just exhausted, Tao,” he consoled gently. “Just make sure you get him dressed and warm; there’s a chance he’ll wake up with the flu or a cold tomorrow morning but there’s little we can do about that right now. Get a good night’s rest and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?” he instructed.

“Of course, Yixing,” Zitao replied obediently, instinctively falling into his role as the younger cousin. “Have a good sleep, sorry for calling again.” He yawned into the phone as he said it and Yixing laughed.

“See you tomorrow, Tao.”

Zitao turned off his phone and faced the stranger. “First things first sir, let’s find you some pyjamas.” He knew ‘sir’ wasn’t the most ideal title for the man, but he planned on sticking with it until he learned his guest’s real name. Privately, Zitao also thought the stranger had a powerful, dominating aura even unconscious and as a result the title ‘sir’ seemed all the more befitting.

Burrowing through his drawers, he found a pair of pyjamas and took them back out to the stranger. Zitao blushed and looked away as he dressed the man in his pyjama shirt, smirking softly to himself as he realised how bizarre they must have looked. With that achieved he carefully helped the man into his pyjama pants, keeping his shy gaze fixed on his own hands as he went.

After this Zitao made short work of hurrying through the apartment and collecting every blanket he could find (there were five.) After setting down three beside the couch as a makeshift mattress, he got up and covered the stranger with the fourth, adjusting the position of the soft cushion beneath his guest’s head. Zitao fetched a pillow, locked the door, flicked off the lights, and tucked himself in. Sighing happily, he propped himself up on his elbows and gazed around the now-quiet apartment.

The room was serene and still, the silence of the night only broken by the sounds of their breathing and the occasional siren or car horn from the city below. The moon, now high in the sky, shone bright with an eerie glow, painting the city beneath it with beautiful shades of blacks, greys, and whites. Zitao bathed in the unlikely beauty of his surrounds as he let his mind wander, thinking and dreaming until the greyscale world pulled him into sleep.