Work Text:
Lan Wangji stared blankly at the wall opposite his bed, the screaming of his wounds, both mental and physical, so loud that they almost canceled one another out. He felt so much be barely felt anything. As if he were outside his body he watched himself lay there, a mass of bandages and blood, gaze emptily directed at the paneling of his wall.
Hollowly he went through the past, wishing he’d done something differently, wondering what he could have done to avert this tragedy. Could he have stopped it? If he had spoken differently, more clearly? If he had acted more decisively? If he’d had more courage? What action could have been taken to stop this from happening? Could it have been averted at all? Was tragedy always his destiny and he’d never known?
The wall in front of him was unchanged. He’d never paid it much attention before, of course. It was simply a wall, always there, never noticed. It was well put together. It was the house of a gentry, after all. His mother had lived here before him. Another tragedy. The wall could not see, it knew not of the tragedy within it. It couldn’t taste the staleness of isolation, the bite of blood, or the twang of regret. The wall was the same despite the way the world changed and came crashing down around him.
Someone walked in front of the wall, and hands were touching him. Likely another doctor changing his bandages. His brother might be here, somewhere. Or maybe not. Maybe there was a political incident, some fallout to everything that had happened that needed to be dealt with. He let his bandages be changed without complaint. Made no move to wipe the tears that slid out of his eyes.
It didn’t matter anyway. It couldn’t be changed. It was done, and there was nothing left to do.