He luxuriates in the quiet while it lasts, held by Lan Zhan, noting every small shift in movement between them without concern or thought. Warm sunlight stretches toward them across the bed, no longer the red glow of sunrise but the yellow light of morning. It surprises him how simple this is. How easy, to do nothing but exist.

But his mind cannot stay quiet for too long. It starts with a few restless threads of music that will not be banished; that, in turn, spins into a web of ideas -- music to call thanergy, music to play alongside Lan Zhan, compositions the library might hold, a trip to the forest to continue his explorations --

He squeezes Lan Zhan's hand to calm the thoughts, noting how the other man's long, elegant fingers feel against his own.

"Here," he whispers, and raises his head. "Let me take care of your hair, and your back as well."