It's the warmth of familiar arms after the familiar sense of wounds being cleaned that starts to rouse him, and that voice speaking to him that has him press a little into Xingchen's arms. Head turning just a little, but not sure he wants such a nice dream to end.
Pricks of a needle to his stomach have him tense though, one eye forcing open to stare down...his cheeks flush when two things register: his own lack of clothes, and who is literally stitching him together.
Xingchen's arms around him, holding on. He won't throw him off, so forces himself to hold still as his gaze returns to Zichen.
no subject
It's the warmth of familiar arms after the familiar sense of wounds being cleaned that starts to rouse him, and that voice speaking to him that has him press a little into Xingchen's arms. Head turning just a little, but not sure he wants such a nice dream to end.
Pricks of a needle to his stomach have him tense though, one eye forcing open to stare down...his cheeks flush when two things register: his own lack of clothes, and who is literally stitching him together.
Xingchen's arms around him, holding on. He won't throw him off, so forces himself to hold still as his gaze returns to Zichen.