Title: A Watchful Eye
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: G-rated
Length: ~900 words
Notes: Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan pre-slash. Missing scene/vignette set during episode 8. All the usual new-fandom disclaimers, plus: I've only seen up to episode 9, I don't know anything, this may have been written a dozen times before, or it may make no sense in the overall arc of the show. Thanks to mergatrude for read-through. <3
Summary: Shen Wei didn’t mean to stay all night.


Shen Wei didn’t mean to stay all night. When he came back from the kitchen and found Zhao Yunlan asleep, he put the medicine and water on the shelf by the bed, fully intending to leave.

But Zhao Yunlan was already sick from neglecting to eat; he shouldn’t sleep in his boots, too. Shen Wei unlaced and removed them, ignoring the pale, exposed skin above Zhao Yunlan’s socks and the sliver of bared back where Zhao Yunlan’s t-shirt was riding up. Refusing to contemplate how Zhao Yunlan had allowed himself to fall asleep while Shen Wei was in his house. It was the result of illness, not trust. It didn’t mean anything.

Shen Wei covered Zhao Yunlan with the comforter and hesitated. He could tidy up a little. What harm would it do?

He plucked some discarded clothes from the floor and folded them, the faded cotton t-shirts as soft under his fingers as he’d always imagined. Probably they’d never been folded before in their lives. Probably Zhao Yunlan would think him presumptuous or overly fussy. His hands kept on, though, as if by neatening these clothes he could somehow constrain the unfathomable contradictions that comprised Zhao Yunlan himself, cunning and determined in his work but unforgivably careless of his own person; flirtatious but challenging; by turns disarmingly forthright and sly. And tonight, for the first time, vulnerable.

A flutter of paper roused Shen Wei from his reverie. A letter from the Ancient Archives was hanging in the air. A letter about him, in response to a query.

Lips pressed together, Shen Wei looked at Zhao Yunlan still sleeping soundly.

He had thought they’d become friends, that Zhao Yunlan was finally starting to trust him, but now Shen Wei knew he’d succumbed to wishful thinking. Thankfully Fate had allowed him to intercept the letter.

With a wave of his hand, he replaced the damning words with a more convenient response and despatched the letter to the shelf, next to the bear skull.

Well, then. It was time to leave. Except how could he rest, knowing Zhao Yunlan was sleeping in such a pigsty? And the stench in the fridge was unbelievable—Zhao Yunlan certainly wouldn’t start feeding himself regularly if he couldn’t even use the appliance. No wonder he was always sucking on lollipops. Shen Wei’s exasperation and sense of propriety wrestled each other for a long moment, then he sighed and rolled up his sleeves. At least he’d already been given permission to look in the fridge.

He went to the kitchen and found a rubbish bag and a few meagre cleaning supplies, which would have to suffice. Then he called music out of the air, twisting the frequencies to make it inaudible to human ears so it wouldn’t wake Zhao Yunlan. To the sound of Dixing harmonies, he set to work detoxifying the fridge.

It was disgusting. There were six different strains of mould, and several unidentifiable objects he was loath to touch and transported into the rubbish bag with his powers. Nothing worth salvaging. Well, so be it. He emptied the small space and wiped it thoroughly. By the time he’d finished, the smell was bearable and his sense of accomplishment such that he moved on to the kitchen without breaking stride. He collected together the empty wine bottles, and washed the plates and glasses and pots. How on earth could Zhao Yunlan expect to fight rogue Dixing forces if he couldn’t even make noodles when he was hungry?

The music ended, and Shen Wai summoned another piece, a melancholy tune which reminded him of times past. He blinked away those memories and focused on his surroundings, here and now. The stacks of gleaming clean dishes. The wiped countertop.

It was nearly dawn. There was no point stopping now. Tidying the clutter strewn around Zhao Yunlan’s living room felt like yet another invasion of privacy, but Zhao Yunlan had invaded his: he’d queried the Archive (of course a police detective would do a background check, especially if he were going to offer Shen Wei an official position at the SID; Shen Wei had been foolish not to anticipate as much and plan accordingly) and searched his home too, if that remark about the view from Shen Wei’s bedroom window had been any indication.

Anyway, in the end Zhao Yunlan’s clutter was quite impersonal. Shen Wei piled the weights and other exercise equipment against the wall, folded the rest of the clothes, stacked the magazines and books, and straightened, swept and dusted everything else.

Zhao Yunlan stirred in his sleep, and Shen Wei froze.

He should definitely leave now, before Zhao Yunlan caught him playing housemaid.

But if he did, there was every chance Zhao Yunlan would go to work without bothering to eat breakfast. Then he’d end up sick again, doubled over on a street corner, helpless.

Shen Wei huffed through his nose and went to make porridge in the newly scrubbed kitchen. When he was done, he left the pot soaking in the sink—mostly to spite himself; it was doubtful Zhao Yunlan would even notice—and primly took a seat at Zhao Yunlan’s bedside with one of Zhao Yunlan’s graphic novels.

He’d been in Zhao Yunlan apartment all night, alone while Zhao Yunlan slept, and he felt abruptly foolish and not a little transgressive. But it was too late to put things back the way they’d been—and he wouldn’t if he could. He’d just have to brazen it out, like always.


END