Title: till my heart bruises
Fandom: Guardian
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~640 words
Notes: Shen Wei pining, set during episode 1, spoilers for ep 35. Title from “You” by Ben (Healer OST). Many thanks to trobadora for beta. No warnings apply.
Summary: Shen Wei traces his fingertip over the words in the personnel file.


Shen Wei traces his fingertip over the words in the personnel file. He feels like a youth again, breathless with excitement, and he has to clamp down hard on those feelings so he can think. The man he met today is Kunlun—if the mannerisms and the lollipops weren’t proof enough, Da Qing’s presence certainly confirms it. But although Da Qing had hesitated when questioned, neither he nor Kunlun seems to remember their time in the past.

Shen Wei had always hoped against hope that when they reunited, Kunlun would know him, would greet him gladly. But when they met all those millennia ago, Kunlun was familiar with who Shen Wei would become. So it follows Kunlun must have already met him for the first time. And that first time was today. The logic is inescapable.

Zhao Yunlan has a past in Haixing, has lived here his whole life. He’s the son of Zhao Xinci, who hates Dixingren in general and Shen Wei in particular, and Chu Shuzhi’s reports don’t suggest this second Chief Zhao is a significant improvement. Is that who Kunlun is? His Kunlun, who had fought at Shen Wei’s side, laughed with him, lain with him? Who’d been his friend?

Two men, ten thousand years apart, whose philosophies seem diametrically opposed, and Shen Wei’s Kunlun is both of them. Or, more precisely, he is one and will somehow become the other.

I wish you still remembered our promise to meet again. The thought spills from his heart and seems to echo around his office. He closes his eyes, holds his breath and waits for a knock on his office door that cannot come.

What he wants, more than anything, is for Zhao Yunlan to barge in right now and lean his hip against the side of Shen Wei’s desk, with Kunlun’s fond grin on his face, Kunlun’s warmth and knowledge in his eyes. For him to reach out and remove Shen Wei’s glasses, the way he once stole his mask.

“It is you,” Shen Wei would breathe, and Kunlun would laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Who did you think I was? Didn’t I tell you we would meet again?”

In Shen Wei’s imagination, Kunlun takes his hand, draws him up from his chair so they’re only a whisper apart.

“I’m sorry I have to pretend we don’t know each other yet. Smart of you to play along.” Kunlun’s voice would be low and admiring, as it had been all those thousands of years ago.

“Why do we have to pretend? To what end?”

Of course, Kunlun wouldn’t answer, but perhaps his affection would overcome whatever barriers fate has set between them now. Perhaps he would cup Shen Wei’s jaw and gaze lovingly upon his face, glad at their reunion. Perhaps he’d say, “I missed you,” and lean in and brush their lips together, and the constant quiet ache in Shen Wei’s chest would ease.

Shen Wei’s imagination runs on unchecked, fantasy blurring with memory. Kunlun’s hands and mouth, hot and hungry. The elegant column of his neck beneath Shen Wei’s kisses. Zhao Yunlan’s fraying clothes, which look so soft. Shen Wei imagines fingering them, the cotton warmed by Kunlun’s skin, then pushing them aside. He imagines Kunlun peeling back the layers of Shen Wei’s own Haixing clothes, the sleeve garters like ribbons tied on a gift. He imagines them coming together, here, anywhere, against the bookshelf, on the desk, their bodies straining to get closer, to hold on. He imagines the rough sound of Kunlun’s breath in his ear, the taste of him, the press of skin, his voice as he cries out.

When Shen Wei finally looks at the clock, half an hour has passed. He’s hard, but he ignores it. And of course, as logic and the timeline dictate, the knock on his door never comes.


END