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wip wednesday—well, it's still wednesday somewhere.

have a bit of the fic that i'm not writing, which is unfortunately one of only two things my brain is currently willing to produce words for.

Fang Duobing jerks awake into the grey light of morning. In bed next to him, Li Lianhua lies still and silent. His breath isn’t rattling the way it has since they found him on the beach. He’s not shivering. He always shivers.  Fang Duobing's hands hover anxiously, and tears spill down his cheeks, because this stillness can mean only one thing; can mean only that after everything, they’ve failed. He’s failed. Li Lianhua died right next to him, pressed against his side, and he didn’t even notice. The feeling catches in his throat and chokes him, and a desperate, gasping sob falls from his mouth. He carefully keeps his hands to himself, burying his face in them rather than stretching them out, because when he touches Li Lianhua, it’ll be unavoidable. It will be real, and he’s not ready to live in that world yet, not when he can cling to this one, tears or not, for even a moment longer.  ‘Xiaobao?’ Li Lianhua’s voice is morning-rough but steady, and Fang Duobing discovers that his hands move of their own accord, pawing through the blankets to find Li Lianhua.  ‘Xiaohua,’ he gasps, still shoving blankets aside. ‘You’re—’ His hand touches warm skin, and he gives up removing the rest of the blankets and flings himself on top of Li Lianhua, as careful as he can bear to be, but desperate to know that he’s still there. Fang Duobing rests his forehead on Li Lianhua’s bony shoulder. ‘I thought you were dead,’ he says. ‘You were so still; you were so—’ ‘What have you done?’ Li Lianhua cuts him off so sharply that it makes him pull back far enough that he can see more than the shoulder directly in front of him. ‘I was so scared,’ Fang Duobing says. ‘I  thought—’ ‘What have you done?’ Li Lianhua asks again, sounding panicked.