It was the smallest sound. The subtle shift of fabric as Wei Ying moved, the change of his breath. But it was enough to shake Wangji that fraction more sober, his eyes opening a fraction more, his head turning to look over at the other man.

He recognized the face. That was pain.

He found himself watching a few seconds too long, and though he resisted the urge to reach out, he murmured:

"Rest."