[ Come hunt, he'd said, forgetting himself. Come hunt, and with it all inherent and uncertain things: the offer, the threat, the dare. He'd expected a no. He still expects a no, even with all the requisite formalities exchanged. Time and place, echoing like a promise and he's not sure this current skin is suited to survive such an ordeal. But. But.
He's no expert when it comes to parsing Lan Wangji's words. He's improved, over time. He can pick the intent and reaction out more often than he can't, can read the tiny shifts that strangers don't so that conversations he plays no part in occur with the other party all but blind in comparison. The selfish part of him takes pride in the *knowing*. The selfish part of him, he understands now, wants more. The want is hard to gauge with entire sects between them.
A kinder man might have given the venerable Hanguang-jun an inn, at least. A city. Some semblance of civilization to land his weary feet at, surely. Wei Wuxian--ever a bastion of propriety--perches himself on a boulder, jar in hand, at a barely-descript crossroads in the middle of nowhere northern Lanling and watches the slowly darkening sky as Little Apple finds a meal in the long grasses that hem in the edge of the nearby woods. ]
( he might have said no, once upon a time. he might not have said anything at all, in fact, but lan wangji is no longer that man, and the memory is almost just a blur, another lifetime. it still aches. it’s the one aspect he’ll always remember, the same one that still wets his cheeks and scorches his throat in the middle of the night, and he lets his fingers curl over his scar then, where it hurts the most, to remind himself that he can never hesitate again.
and so lan wangji doesn’t say no. the whole of him has said yes before he even realized what it meant, and he leaves cloud recesses in a (seemingly) self-possessed rush, though he’s nowhere near composed. his heart is a mess. it beats uneven for one, a little too high, where his throat feels tighter. sixteen years, he waited for him once. he thought he could endure anything after that, but the truth is, hanguang-jun is really just a man, and wei wuxian is... everything.
anticipation sizzles beneath his skin. fear, too, blood pumping hard, because as collected as he usually appears, wei wuxian effortlessly shatters him, and lan wangji’s nerves are positively wrecked. a day, a month, a year. another lifetime, even--it doesn’t matter. the effect is the same, and lan wangji is helplessly caught.
piece of parchment in hand, and feet on bichen, he flies to him within the hour of his last message. little apple is the first to come into view, peacefully grazing in the grass. and then, him, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere, hard against his ribcage, an echo in his temples. wei ying. he comes to a halt. the ground squelches beneath his feet, gaze riveted on a man he hasn’t seen in months, not like this, real, greater than the shadows of his nightmares. and what a sight it is for sore eyes.
his lips part before his name reaches his throat. they’re already shaped like him, and he walks until he can catch the night sky in wei wuxian’s hair, palms moist. he shouldn’t be nervous. oftentimes it feels like he knows him better than he knows himself, and they’ve talked plenty in recent months, but he’s never quite managed to quell the way his stomach churns in his vicinity, or how excruciatingly his chest swells.
he stops. breathes. and along with the breeze... ) Wei Ying.
[ Lan Wangji will never not be breathtaking. He'd known it then, at fifteen, too young and foolish to the machinations of the real world. He'd known it at seventeen and twenty and upon first breath back on shared ground and he knows it now, deeply and unerringly, watching as the shape of him in the sky grows from hope to shimmer to reality.
It takes effort to make himself stay put, to quash the urge to leap up and rush to meet him. He's been all but lounging, sprawled back on an elbow, all the markings of a leader prepared to address the masses of his people. His people, who have all, despairingly, expectedly, gotten lost on their way.
Bar one. ]
Hanguang-jun.
[ There's no chill in it, no derision, no distance. Something soft settles in the corners of his eyes as he says it, warms the slow curve of his mouth around an unbidden smile. It's almost reverent, he realizes with a belated laugh, and his smile widens as he dares to let the delight buoy him up. Indulges in it, even, in a way he's never really allowed. ]
Lan Zhan.
[ And that, that's better. Whatever the reason for this, however it plays out, it will have been worth it for this moment alone.
He levers himself up, inelegant. Lan Wangji is ever-ethereal under the trappings of night and this brokers no difference. He's luminous, brilliant, and all the more important: here.
He mocks a hasty salute from where he sits, grinning still. ]
This humble one is grateful that Hanguang-jun has granted him the gift of his time. And rushed, too! Careful, or I might start to call on you for each and every disappointed spirit that crosses my path.
( oof, that smile. always so wide, and crinkling where his eyes shine bright. starlight. it flickers there like they’re its origin, rather than its reflection. lan wangji’s breath catches. lan zhan, he says, and his voice burns the same hole through his chest that it always does, when shaped like his name. it’s a funny thing, being called hanguang-jun, when even the sky can’t measure up to wei wuxian’s radiance. and lan wangji’s arms are grievously empty.
he dares one step closer, overwhelmed by the simple sight of him. there’s just so much to reacquaint himself with, but it’s the curve of his lips that draws him in, the same one that carved him anew all those years ago. the same one that opened all the doors he’d thought closed, and locked.
his own mouth twitches at one corner, head inclined on a slow blink. ) Mark your words. ( because he might just accept, every time. and then what. but he doesn’t say that. his gaze drifts a little aslant, a different confession, less incriminating. ) The distraction is not unwelcome. ( and it’s true! but it’s so much more than that. it’s there when he catches his gaze again, and the knot in his stomach tightens--he stares a little forlorn, a little enthralled, nails digging into his palm behind his back as he forces himself to stay still, a quiet sigh in lieu of a string of words he doesn’t know how to form. )
[ He inhales through his teeth, a shallow attempt at polite--wholly unasked for--commiseration that he knows Lan Wangji will see for the act it is. He is not uncaring, and most assuredly not uncaring when it comes to the matters that Lan Wangji finds important no matter how he feigns otherwise, but he doesn't believe he's too far wrong in guessing that any excuse to escape from the mundanity of daily sect business is a good one. ]
Is it really all that bad? Ah, Lan Zhan, didn't I say? I warned you. [ He didn't really, not in any way that held weight at the time, but he'll lay claim to it like he did regardless. ] I know, I know, who else could do it? Who else would be suited to such a role? Hanguang-jun is the only one who knows the song to tame the wild hearts of our dear sects.
[ This isn't what they're here for, he knows. As easily as the words spill free, they're just empty, hollow sounds, a performance meant to draw the mind away from the matters at hand, a dizzying array all its own. Even as he leans in where he sits, eyes laughing with the teasing, it feels like treading on foreign, fragile ground. He doesn't want to look down, doesn't want to see that he's at the edge what whatever this is, no matter how fiercely that one spark of hope has taken root in his chest.
All the wandering, all the wondering, and he's right back here where he started: a little breathless, a little intimidated, somehow forever intent on orbiting the intensity of this sun. ]
It's your own fault, really. I would recommend trying harder to be less impressive, but I don't know that it's possible.
( he isn’t. too far wrong. the task is tedious at best, and lan wangji has no interest in politics. he does, however, care a great deal for the world around them. its flaws. and their consequences. it’s the main reason why he’s learned their song, but the notes are still tentative, a melody played by too many who would rather sing from memory, rather than from the heart.
this distraction is just as welcome. wei wuxian’s tease, the same old antics lan wangji one day came to seek. to miss. don’t mind the exasperated shape of his mouth; it’s nothing but fond, more obvious in the glint in his eyes, which he conveniently averts. ) Then let hearsay fill their beliefs, and petty quarrels their boredom. ( because hanguang-jun isn’t as immaculate as they, perhaps, wish him to be. reputation is only that, and underneath layers upon layers of decorum and propriety, he wants, and aches, and longs. anger has settled deep, and shame, too, for a world that refuses to judge him as it judged so many others.
as it judged wei wuxian.
was it a hint of awe in his gaze? there’s something in the air, and lan wangji’s lungs struggle to draw it in. impressive, he calls him, when he is the most fascinating being he’s ever known. he wants to tell him. amends, slightly--the company isn’t unwelcome, either--but the tips of his ears already feel too warm for safety. he looks up instead, staring at nothing in particular: ) Our destination?
[ There's no reason for the air to feel lighter just with Lan Wangji there. He is, despite all evidence to the contrary, just a man. A remarkable one, to be sure! The greatest of them all, by most accounts, and still with years before him to impress them by mere hint of his existence. But still, something inside the cage of his own chest is slowly working its way loose for the first time in months, something he hadn't even known was there, and breathing comes easier. Thinking comes easier. A foundation lost to him has found its way back.
He has to curl his fingers into his fist to keep from reaching out. ]
A village, [ he proposes instead, distraction for them both. He gestures towards the fork over his left shoulder with his jar, then tips it back with a barely-noticeable wink to drain what's left. Lanling wine -- it's fine, it's passable, it does the job -- for all its pomp, has nothing on Gusu. Nothing really does anymore.
He slides off the boulder and onto his feet in a single, graceful motion that he'd swear his body had forgotten. Grace, in and of itself, has rarely been his strong point. Lan Wangji, on the other hand, is nothing but, even just standing in the middle of a darkened road with nothing but the night itself for company. He can't help his easy grin and he doesn't know that he'd want to even if he could. Not like this, not with Lan Wangji gleaming and here and real and the vastness of missing him narrows to this single needlepoint of a moment. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Just to say it, just to treasure it. Because Lan Wangji still has never told him he can't. ] Their lake is haunted.
( it’s stupid. wei wuxian says lan zhan and already his tongue moves to call back. wei ying. more than just a song--a duet--but the notes stutter silent in his throat, and lan wangji is left to swallow past the dryness there. he nods. tries to look away, but gazes catch and hold and it hurts, the distance between them, farther away now that they stand so close. he wears his whites, still. for this, maybe, all the splendors in his vicinity that remain out of reach.
there’s just so much to unpack here. so much to keep locked. it’s familiar territory now, but one lan wangji still struggles to navigate. so he latches onto his answer. a haunted lake, and lan wangji’s eyes marginally soften, treacherous, as long gone memories briefly resurface, laced around the recent conversation they’ve had. it’s dropped to a whisper now, two conversations at once it seems, and his second attempt at willing his focus away miserably fails. )
Casualties? ( he asks, too soft. are there any? other than his poor untamed heart, anyway. )
[ Too nonchalant, maybe. Too callous? He studies Lan Wangji's face closely for a second, somehow still jade-bright and lit from within, somehow harder to read now than it had been the last time they'd parted ways. He's not prepared for the wave of homesickness that hits him, rising up out of the dark like a punch to the gut, a wash of greens and whites and a soft-warm smile he didn't deserve. It feels like a home he's never had, never known, but he wants it with all the suddenness and fierceness of someone who has.
He coughs out a laugh that breaks too sharp in the night air, soothing a hand over the ache in his chest. Distraction, distraction: ] Eh, two in the last handful of months, nothing we could have done about it. But! But we're here now and so far all that's happening now is that things keep disappearing from around the lake. Little things. Tools? A couple of their livestock. I asked if maybe their spirit was trying to build a pen in the lake but no one was very impressed by the idea of builder spirits.
[ Little Apple has at least done them the favour of following the grass up the correct path; a half-step back in that direction and Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, inviting Lan Wangji to also follow. ]
Supposedly the lake spirit sings, too. I've heard she's quite good, if not a bit dated.
( or maybe it’s three conversations at once. the present one, another between the lines, and the last, neglected, ignored, lost somewhere in the curve of wei wuxian’s mouth, in the slow blinks of lan wangji. it’s the one that mercilessly pounds against his ribcage, and it’s so odd, finally being here after so long. maybe it’s the ease with which they orbit around each other, strangely casual, and no matter how familiar, how comfortable, there’s a hint of disappointment that rolls sour in his stomach. a sliver of dread.
he smiles nonetheless. faint, fond, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he wills his legs to move, joining him. he’s missed this. the humor in his voice, aloof, a trifle impish, and the ways his face lights up when he speaks, when he jokes, effortlessly drawing him in. his jaw tightens, his cue to focus on the matter at hand. one of, anyway, and his gaze meets the horizon, steady steps by wei wuxian’s side. )
Mn. ( the picture he paints isn’t exactly foreign, and perhaps less dire than he might have suspected. ) A similar hunt led me to a húlijīng, once. ( years ago, mischievous at best, but relatively harmless. ultimately, it left peacefully, though not all of them harbor benevolent intentions, and older ones can be exceptionally dangerous. his head tilts slightly, a furtive sidelong glance. ) Your experiments. Have you made progress? ( wards and such. )
[ He hums, the sound caught somewhere between reverence and delight. None of his own hunts have led him to quite so auspicious an endpoint, but it makes complete sense to him that Lan Wangji would be bright and interesting enough to have caught one's attention. To even cross paths with one! Or is the other way around, now? He tells himself that's what the undercurrent running beneath his skin is, that he is maybe luckier than the spirit had been. Not only does his path cross Lan Wangji's, but falls in alongside it. Again. Auspicious all its own, perhaps, to have one of the Jades of Lan appear at his call. It's really more power than he should be given.
He strays away instead of answering, off the path and into the grasses to collect his wayward mount. Little Apple responds much more willingly when he's armed and ready with the right reward and it takes little to no coaxing to convince it to wander back to the lantern light of Lan Wangji's whites in the moonlight.
All the things they need to broach and still polite conversation feels safest. ]
Aii, they're not worth the breath, yet. You don't want to hear about them! Save it for if they work, at least that'll be something. Then you can marvel at my genius. How is your brother? Is he still in seclusion?
( it isn’t luck, or luminance, or even fascination that led him there. it’s grief, remorse, anger, and he hunted and he chased with tightened fists at his sides, fingers curled around an emptiness that never failed to scorch its way to where his chest swelled hollow. the things he came across. beasts, ghosts, worse. and ultimately, wei wuxian, the same dry sting in his eyes every time he’s reminded: here, free, alive.
he blinks it all away now, clamping down on his wayward thoughts. what an odd thing it would be, to come across another húlijīng, here, together this time, perhaps the same one he once met. ) Then soon, an opportunity to boast. ( it’s a tease, mostly, faintly lopsided where his mouth curls upward, though he did ask for a reason. wei wuxian is more than capable as is, but should they meet another aqua demon, his creations might come in handy. lan wangji might have felt guilty for entertaining such possibilities, once upon a time--he no longer does.
but guilt wears many different colors. it’s a little dimmer in his eyes now, at the mention of his brother, and he lets out a slow breath, mouth pursed crestfallen as he nods. ) For the moment, he refuses my company. ( and it hurts, to be so helpless, unable to soothe the one man who has unconditionally done so much for him. lan wangji swallows, gaze cast downward as he walks steady. ) Brother’s grief will dissipate, but his guilt and mistrust will linger long. ( perhaps forever, if his own grievances are any indication. )
[ It's a strange thing to learn that your life is not wholly your own. To understand that all the pain, all the hurt, all the loss, that it was all to play a part in someone else's plan? To be a pawn, to be used, to be destroyed by them--there is no easy path back from it. And while Wei Wuxian understands that he is not innocent in either his decisions or their results, it hurts all the more knowing that it might have been worse if he hadn't made those decisions. There was no winning.
Or, as he glances across at Lan Wangji beside him, perhaps he'd done better than he deserved. ]
Ah. Lan Zhan. Zewu-jun is as strong as he is wise. [ He knows Lan Wangji doesn't need to hear reassurances from him, of all people, but they surface anyway, and he sways close enough on the next step to knock their shoulders together. It sparks something in him, tiny and tremulous, but hungry nonetheless. Seeing Lan Wangji is one thing, but proof of his solidity--proof that he's real--feeds something selfish and hungry in the pit of his chest. ] His world's been turned rightside-out. Give him time to rebuild and put things back in their place. You're his brother! Of course he'll need you.
[ He pauses, then. Does a remarkably poor job biting back a smile. ] You're the only one wiser than he is, anyway. Who else would he seek?
( and that’s the thing with decisions. choices. always a forked route before you, one path forever uncharted. so many what ifs have permeated the confines of lan wangji’s mind. even before wei wuxian, quiet then, cloistered, until they clawed their way out and made their home in the hollow space between the beats of his heart. it jolts vibrant at wei wuxian’s proximity, warmer where their shoulders briefly touch, but then it just sort of collapses, offered a smile too bright for him, and words that sting anew.
his pace slows down, a dark little thing in his gaze. if lan wangji was one to smile easily, his lips might have curved slightly forlorn. ) A wise man would not have left so long a trail of torments in his wake. ( mistakes. what ifs. things he could have stopped. others he should have encouraged. inaction is just as cruel a crime as any, clean hands still bloody. he sighs, chest constricting at the thought of lan xichen, so different yet still the same. ) My brother’s fault lies in the benevolence of his heart. ( true, untainted, abused. his jaw tightens, remembering his older brother’s lessons, and his failures despite them. the casualties, and the prices paid. ) Perhaps mine was not kind enough.
[ He slams back into their previous conversation so immediately that he nearly stumbles. Lan Wangji, intent on the dirt. Lan Zhan, who means to level himself with the Yiling Laozu. Hanguang-jun, so bright he burns, so bright it hurts to look at him even now, here in the dark. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Admonishing. Afraid, almost, of what daring to look this beast directly in the eye might reveal. It's easier to play like he's not aware of it, serene in the shared agreement that this is a path better left untouched. If they speak it out loud, if they bring it out into the open then he'll be forced to confront all those things he's been trying to avoid. Wei Wuxian is a selfish man, he knows this about himself and works to try to make up for it when and where possible. He's not sure if he's prepared to face the debts he owes now, especially not where Lan Wangji is concerned. Hell, he's not sure he's got enough of value to make up for any of it, and that's even worse. ]
Aiyo, Lan Zhan. Don't you know it does the spirit harm to dwell in the past? Ah, you should know better. [ He shakes a finger at him, scolding. ] You should be looking forward! Greet what comes! It's bad luck to always be looking behind you. Who but Hanguang-jun is bright enough to lead the way for everyone?
( intent on the dirt. practically rolling in it. you can’t just speak of feelings and stumbling over them and not expect lan wangji to feel at least a little dizzy. he forgets nothing. maybe it’s a curse. sometimes it’s a blessing, and right now, it’s nearly suffocating. he doesn’t belong on that pedestal. not if wei wuxian remains on the ground, and lan wangji stops, turns to fully look at him, and loses himself in a gaze shrouded by similar afflictions. or are they? forsaken envies, untamed. desperate to burst forth.
he doesn’t let them. he wouldn’t know how, a faint question in his eyes as he searches wei wuxian’s, distantly wondering why he sees what he sees. who else but hanguang-jun? you, he wants to say, and it’s right there on the tip of his tongue, sore and warm and ardent where he refuses to blink. wei wuxian tried so hard to show them the way. he died for it, and lan wangji finally breathes, aching everywhere as his gaze drifts away. )
This light is not my own. ( it’s made of a thousand lessons wei wuxian taught him, of years of mourning. it’s made of him, his past, his present, and a future he sometimes dares to touch with the tip of a finger. it twitches now, behind his back, curled around more emptiness, and lan wangji starts walking again, looking straight ahead. )
Forward, then. ( and perhaps there really is no other way. )
[ Jade never bore light like this before. Really, it's a shame. What is jade to compare itself to Hanguang-jun? A pearl? Wei Wuxian stares back at him and a fear, a fury, a deep-seated rage pulses against the restraints containing it. Colour him simple, misunderstood, made scapegoat, whatever; the gentry has never misread anyone quite so badly as it has Lan Wangji. They don't see it, and they're all the more fools for it. Lan Wangji bears light so bright it spills out between the cracks and Wei Wuxian knows that somehow he would always find his way back to it.
The why, on the other hand, burns too bright to even examine.
He doesn't know how it is that Lan Wangji seems to see right through him, strips his defenses to the core, and leaves him bared and breathless when he's had his fill. Something small and fragile cracks when he looks away this time and Wei Wuxian doesn't know what he's read, what he's seen, to disappoint him. He breathes, slow and shallow, miles outside of himself; it takes an extra second for him to gather all the pieces of himself up again, to shove them hastily back in some semblance of order that he'll have to sort through later when he's alone. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Lan Wangji's wrist is warm under his fingers, his palm. When had he reached for him? When had he grabbed hold? Does it matter? He doesn't know why it's important that it be said, only that it is: ] You are that light. You know that, don't you? You have to know that. You aren't that much a fool.
( maybe he misunderstands himself. one of the twin jades, they call him, but when you’re carved from stone, no matter how precious, it’s a little harder to bloom. he and lan xichen were cut from the same cloth, despite their many differences. a life deprived of nuance, unprepared for the finery of subterfuge. unprepared for love, its cruelty and its galvanic warmth. lan xichen turned to ashes. lan wangji was set ablaze.
it’s the same scorching sensation around his wrist, and it’s where his gaze immediately drops, a stutter in his breath. lips part. you are that light. for what? for whom. lan wangji’s never wanted to shine, taken instead by a brilliance he can’t bring himself to look at now. if only he’d been able to be his guiding light before. that he would gladly be, as wei wuxian has always been for him, but this new territory spreads unknown and blurry.
his eyes close, briefly, yet longer than they should have. )Only a fool would think himself greater than he is. ( and he knows what he is. imperfect as they all are, learning still, and the best he can do is to honor his convictions above all else. his head rises up, at long last. as does his chest, full, a sigh stuck there. ) Wei Ying. ( his mouth, pursed unsure, hesitates on the next syllables. ) We are expected. ( elsewhere, away, shielded from a conversation he doesn’t know how to have.
[ His instinct has turned brittle and cautious. He stills under the words; before he might have taken them and twisted them, teased the wrong intent from them. But he's grown now and he's older, he's aware of his shortcomings, he understands his value isn't something so easily dismissed. And he's working on it! Really he is! But it's still hard not to withdraw, to retreat, to shutter himself off lest Lan Wangji realize that Wei Wuxian would all too gladly drag him down into the dirt with him, given the opportunity.
But. They are not those people now. They've aged beyond misinterpreted words. He stills and then he breathes and he squeezes Lan Zhan's wrist once more before he allows him loose again, untethered in the world. He feels shapeless, for a moment. Windswept and free-floating. He works the knuckles of his other hand in their grip on Little Apple's lead and forces a laugh like it might take some of the weight off his chest with it (it doesn't). ]
Humble even in your wisdom, [ he muses, refusing to look at Lan Wangji as he tugs the donkey into a walk again, putting distance between them. ] Pity you're wrong.
( something cracks. a fissure already worn by time, just wide enough to make him stagger on his feet. underneath his robes, it remains unseen. but he feels it. he can practically taste it, bitter in the back of his throat, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. it’s like a compulsion, almost, wei wuxian’s insistence on glorifying him. always so genuinely, so blindly, his trust unshaken. can’t he see the blood on his hands? the dirt. he wears white for a reason, even now, and he knows his own colors. the same ones everyone else refuses to acknowledge. hanguang-jun. always on a pedestal, and it’s no wonder he’s so afraid of heights now.
his gaze drops. warmth dissipates around his wrist, and it’s where he looks, nails digging into his palm. ) Wei Ying. ( low. hoarse. a plea or a warning--it’s hard to tell. it sounds like anger. it isn’t, not fully. it’s a chasm of old hurts and lingering resentment, but none of it is directed at him.
he breathes, a long sigh. his vision blurs, just slightly in his periphery. he glances up, slowly. it’s too cryptic, or perhaps not cryptic enough. he doesn’t want flowers, and he’s so damn tired. )
Speak your mind. ( maybe he’s angry, too, underneath all that trust. at him. maybe he should be.
[ Years have passed since he's heard his name in that tone, in that voice, a sense memory so profound that it blindsides him with its intensity. He's stopped on the road before he even understands that he needs to and Little Apple continues without him, content to stray to the sweeter grasses ahead.
He knows this feeling. Knows it, as it crawls up the nape of his neck, creeps over his scalp, closes in around his shoulders. His fingers itch, grasping at nothing at his sides, and they curl into his palms as he turns, caught. Maybe he should have known better, maybe he should have read between the lines. His stomach lurches as the prickle of anxious fear spreads outward and even the laugh he forces just hangs between them, blatant and obtuse. He knows better. He should.
Speak your mind, but to what end? Which wrong has he caused? Which line has he crossed? Has he offended? Or is it something else, something deeper, something that might pin him to his secrets and flay them open one by one? ]
Lan Zhan, [ he tries, and the way Lan Wangji gleams in the dark is almost punishment now, something borderline celestial and out of reach. A taunt. He doesn't even bother trying to make a joke out of it. ] You'll have to forgive this one, he's used to being told otherwise. What am I speaking to?
( a twitch, there, just between his brows. yet again they stand together on the edge of a precipice, and lan wangji wavers. l’appel du vide. the call of the void, and his heart calls back, deafened by its own beats. wei wuxian’s laughter is hollower than it has any right to be, and the solid ground beneath lan wangji’s feet fractures, melts, sinks.
he doesn’t do impulsive. all of him, shackled by restraints as resilient as his resolve, hardened by years of harsh discipline, bleak and barren. years of drought. it’s what happens, when you’ve been deprived your entire life. you starve, and lan wangji wants. but above all, he grieves, and the words he spoke too fast now resound in the back of his mind; he stares a little agape, a little frightened, and something blooms in the middle of his chest, something impossibly soft that rises higher and wets the corners of his eyes. )
Wei Ying. ( it’s there in his voice, too, but what is there to say now, and what is there to ask. wei wuxian doesn’t owe anyone anything. he doesn’t even owe him punishment, and lan wangji realizes, not without a sting, that it’s what he’s waiting for. but it’s selfish. it’s deserved, but what is punishment, if not a chance for one’s pain to alleviate? lan wangji’s in no position to demand anything from him. not the mysterious depths of his heart, and not his anger, either.
so his mouth closes, lips slightly trembling. he’s on the verge of apologizing--for nothing in particular, for everything--when lil’ apple brays and trots farther away, drawing his attention. for one merciful moment, he regains some semblance of composure as his gaze follows the beast, a tip of his chin in its direction. ) Your steed. ( is sort of running away, maybe. )
[ He doesn't bother to spare his donkey a glance--months enough on the road at this point and he knows roughly how far it's willing to stray before it wanders back. He's the one with the apples, after all, and in the balance of what's important here, Lan Wangji tips the scales. It would be arrogant to call himself knowledgeable in the expressions that break the surface of that calm, reserved pool, but he's spent time enough staring, time enough studying what it takes to eke out something new that he sees it now.
This is new. Or--as he allows himself a hesitant breath and casts back for what he knows of Lan Wangji--it's very, very old. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Soft, little more than a whisper. He cradles the sound in his mouth like it's not just a name, but something to treasure, a gift granted years ago he's not willing to lose. And maybe he should lose it, maybe he should give up the privilege he's been granted because he's caused enough hurt over the years (the years and years and years) but he's a coward all the more here, too, because he doesn't want to let it go. Selfish, again, fingers desperately digging into whatever hold he still has here, because any Lan Zhan is better than no Lan Zhan and he'll temper what needs tempering but.
But.
Something is splintering. He doesn't know what. He can feel it as he dares a step closer toward Lan Wangji and a thousand voices call him a fool for not retreating. He should. He should he should he should-- everything is a mess and he's lost grip on what's real and what's not outside of how very fragile Lan Wangji has turned, a paper lantern about to light. His question is just as tremulous, a crossroads of understanding, reverence, and fear, hesitant even as the words trip out past his tongue. ] Lan Zhan. You feel so very much, don't you?
( have you ever had your body freeze in fear, in shock, in fragmented self-control, while the other half strives to fling itself across the distance between you and the cause of that fluttering ache between your ribs? it feels a lot like nausea, and lan wangji’s head spins, swims, the same way his eyes turn a little red-brimmed, a little blurry.
his grief, his pain. his guilt. it doesn’t spill over, but it’s there, catching the night sky’s light, casting a halo around wei wuxian’s silhouette. he blinks. wei wuxian is still there, almost surreal, and he doesn’t deflect. it’s a game they’ve played for a long time. a game lan wangji thought he’d mastered, his typical silence the greatest diversion of all. but he doesn’t want to run anymore. he doesn’t even know whether he could, when wei wuxian so effortlessly pins him there. it’s a fantasy he selfishly indulges in, to gain his affections, but it is one he won’t ever ask of him, or entertain outside of dreams. wei wuxian, alive, is enough, but right now, for a fleeting moment, his hopes turn adamantine and soften all his jagged edges, eroded by time.
or lack thereof.
he smiles. he doesn’t even mean to, but all things considered, it’s preferable to the alternative, on his knees in actual dirt, shoulders shaking under the weight of too much, unleashed at last. he smiles a weak smile, and when he thinks his voice won’t tremble, he speaks. ) I was taught how to, underneath these robes. ( and he doesn’t mean his literal robes. just. beyond the decorum, the precepts, and the desolate austerity of his clan in particular. wei wuxian showed him… well. maybe not a brighter way, but most assuredly a better one, even with its many pains. especially with them.
and somewhere under the scorching sun, lan wangji allowed himself to bloom. )
[ He's fifteen again and the moonlight overhead highlights the sharp threat of a blade at his throat. Fifteen and who would have thought that the scowling boy that pursued him across those dark rooftops would be the same man that stands here in the middle of nowhere with him now? The incongruity of it nearly takes his breath away, though that could just as easily be the smile (the smile). They've lived so many lives, together and apart, and to think that the poised boy, the rules boy, the boy who kept him writing precept after precept would be behind this smile would have sent a younger him into fits of laughter.
Lan Wangji, the best of them all. Hanguang-jun, Chief Cultivator. Lan Zhan, who caught him on that cliff that morning, here now to find the dirt.
He's overwhelmed with the urge to touch. Lan Wangji has never begrudged the casual way Wei Wuxian takes liberties with his personal space but it feels suddenly like crossing a line. Not a bad line, necessarily, but something new and unspoken and unsure. He holds himself still instead, swallowing past the ache building in his throat and he's afraid to hope just as much as he's afraid to breathe: what if either of them is all it takes to crack the fragility of this moment? ]
Why? [ And oh, that's not the right question, but it's the only question he has the words to ask and suddenly knowing the answer is vitally important. Why, why, why: what's the meaning of it? ] Why did you come? I said come and now you're here. Lan Zhan. Why?
( time passes, and changes. old pains, new ones. literal lifetimes intertwined, broken, coiled again. lan wangji is never really far from that boy who was once struck by the brightest smile he would ever see. wei wuxian stormed in, a disturbance he couldn’t have known how much he needed, a fascination that both outraged and exhilarated. a mirror. the reflection of lan wangji’s quiet, dormant wishes, a splash of colors in his monochrome life. a taste of something more, and a mind that echoed his own.
when he died, he took everything with him. lan wangji wandered half-empty, though he never wished the ache away. it was well-deserved for one, but beyond that, it was shaped like him, wei ying, the last remnants of a love shattered. of a life interrupted. it’s what wei wuxian’s question reminds of. his expression, too, and lan wangji feels so young all of a sudden, so small. why, he asks, and doesn’t he know? another friend might have answered easily. i’ve missed you. but lan wangji is not that friend, and the words are not enough.
his throat closes. his smile subsides, and the potent growth in his chest swells larger. it’s a little harder to breathe, the air thick between them, the distance too great. but it’s safe. the farther the safer, because any answer he might have holds the risk to corner, to trap, and wei wuxian has been chained much too long to owe lan wangji anything. he just can’t lie. he can’t and he doesn’t want to, a bittersweet tang on his tongue as a wave of melancholy ripples through him, furrows his brows a little crestfallen, vaguely enamored. )
Where else should I be? ( barely louder than a whisper. he feels like he’s fifteen again, and maybe he looks the part too. only this time, his walls don’t reach so high, fractured in too many places. )
[ He wants to laugh. It sits there on his tongue: helpless, desperate, afraid. A curtain has been pulled aside or a door has been left open and he feels, dangerously, like he's seeing something he shouldn't, something meant for someone else. It's too raw. It hurts to see the expression on Lan Wangji's face, open in a way he never is, the lines softened with the admission of something neither of them really know how to face.
Fools, both of them. Wei Wuxian moreso, surely, but fools nonetheless.
The answer is easy: anywhere but here. In Gusu, in the Jingshi, at home in bed and peacefully asleep, surrounded by family and the things important to him. But--and maybe this is growth, maybe this is stretching out of a skin that no longer contains all that he is--maybe that's not the right answer anymore.
It's habit to shrug off affection, to deflect away from anything serious, especially when it comes to Lan Wangji, who's already born the burden of Wei Wuxian's association far beyond its expiry. He knows the answer he wants to give, it's the same one that he's spent his life (and death) swallowing because no one deserves to be dragged down because of his choices, no one needs to lose themselves the way he's been lost, no one wants to see beyond the smile and understand that no, he's not okay and that he hasn't been okay for a very long time.
And yet here he stands, staring at a boy under the moonlight who has answered his call time and time again. Here Hanguang-jun is, offering to share his mess, and he doesn't want to say no.
He does laugh, then, warm and wet and on the precipice of understanding but too scared to jump. The splintering cracks into something wider in his chest and maybe Lan Wangji is to blame for that, too. Maybe he'd be okay with that blame. ]
Nowhere, Lan Zhan. A hundred other places were I a better man, but I'm choosing to be selfish tonight.
( a thousand other places, he says, a statement that rings true in more ways than one. just not in a light wei wuxian seems able to perceive. even in his stationary routines, lan wangji has never ceased to travel. home, as he came to understand, is never attached to a specific place, but rather a specific someone--and wherever wei wuxian goes, lan wangji follows.
is it selfishness, when he’s right where he belongs? what is wei wuxian, if not his chosen family, the pinnacle of all the things he holds dear? he loves his brother. his uncle. his son. his affection for them runs deeper than anyone could ever possibly surmise. he’d bleed for them, time and time again. but wei wuxian, he would die for, if only to ensure that he lives.
it’s impossible to remain impassible, when wei wuxian laughs that laugh, softening lan wangji’s mouth upward, just a hint of moisture in his lashes. there’s something here he won’t dare name, though it settles deep in his bones, a faint caress on all his senses. wei wuxian isn’t selfish, yet here he is, demanding lan wangji’s presence for his own contentment. it’s simple. honest. lan wangji is wanted here.
lan wangji wants. )
As am I. ( choosing. him. and he walks, pace unhurried, gaze riveted on him. under the stars, wei wuxian is nothing short of heavenly, their light bringing to bold relief the perfect planes of his face. it’s the first rule he’s ever broken, probably, marveling at his beauty, and he basks in it now, less than a foot between them when he comes to a stop. it’s no longer safe, but lan wangji finds a modicum of strength in wei wuxian’s vulnerability, like a urge to protect, maybe. he stares. searches his gaze. it’s a struggle not to touch, flayed and exposed, a gentle scrutiny. he doesn’t know how much of his affection for him transpires in that moment, but he lets it, until his heart beats too fast and too hard and his chest rises too high. )
Wei Ying. ( a shaky sigh as he slowly blinks, and only then does he avert his gaze, gracefully stepping away as he wills his body to stop trembling. ) We should not loiter.
[ The bright chirp of his laugh cuts through the night air. He feels warm, lit from the inside out, and breathless with an unnamed joy that he's not even sure he's brave enough to face. It's the same stupid, impulsive feeling that had demanded Lan Wangji's company out here, the sudden need to have these parts of Lan Wangji as if proof it actually happened.
To think he might have missed the way Lan Wangji looks at him now.
A thousand words he has to say, a dozen more beyond it; he swallows them down because none of them fit, none are right, and he'd rather leave the ring of Lan Wangji's voice in the air. He doesn't know what this is and he's okay with it because it's comfortable and familiar and he would spend the rest of his life in this space if he could. If he was allowed. ]
Lan Zhan, [ is a reply soft enough it's barely more than a whisper, a two-part note on a updraft. Pleased. Indulgent, almost, toes dipping into a space that he's only guessing is there. Maybe. Maybe.
A steadying breath and he turns to follow, half tempted to grab and hold whatever part of Lan Wangji he can find (not a new compulsion, no, but he wants it in a different way suddenly). Only-- ]
Ahhh, you can't even look after yourself for a moment? [ Further up the road his steed is struggling against a bush; upon drawing closer it becomes clear his harness is caught on one of the branches. Wei Wuxian sighs, admonishing as he follows the donkey into the brush, his skin decidedly too tight to contain him, heart thundering loud enough he's not sure how Lan Wangji hasn't commented on it yet. That loud. ] The sweetest grass is always hardest to get. You should know better!
( what was the poor donkey supposed to do while they both struggled--fools as they are--to find their footing around each other? while lan wangji stared lovestruck and wei wuxian stared back, the proverbial space between them a home with doors cracked opened, only needing that one little push, a step neither of them dares to take. it’s a little ironic, to scold wei wuxian’s steed, when they’ve only floundered so far. it’s trying, at least, and lan wangji smiles amused, the arch of his lips just the tiniest bit forlorn. )
Wisdom can sometimes be a formidable foe to tame.
( aka, some lessons are learned the hard way. some lessons aren’t learned at all. some others are learned only when it’s too late, and lan wangji is well-versed in delayed realizations, a sliver of gentle awareness in the sidelong glance he shoots him, a double-entendre of sorts. there’s a reason he can’t hear wei wuxian’s thundering heartbeat; his own has already deafened him.
he walks a little farther away, delicately picking leaves, flowers, grass. he comes back and silently offers them to little apple, a ghost of a smile as he slowly walks backwards to encourage it in the right direction. )
[ He doesn't fully understand what's happened when Little Apple jerks free of his grip, nearly pulling him off his feet the moment he's got the harness free. A traitor! A traitor in their midst, so easily swayed by whatever Lan Wangji has found to offer. Wei Wuxian can cast blame all he wants, but even as he picks his way back to the road after his donkey he can understand entirely the urge to follow Hanguang-jun no matter what he offers. Coaxed by greater things, him and the donkey both. ]
You can't always pick him just because he's got treats for you! [ A distraction, casual and easy to fall into. He catches Little Apple by the harness once they've reached the road and tugs until they're face to face and Wei Wuxian can make sure he sees the stern look that accompanies the lecture. ] Yes, he's always going to have treats for you but that doesn't mean you get to like him more than me. You're stuck with me! Accept it!
[ Painful, always, to let your children grow up. He heaves a sigh and lets Little Apple free to explore the array of options Lan Wangji has on offer, swatting the donkey's flank fondly as passes. The road ahead is clear and open and his skin tingles with the simplicity of potential. It feels right, a compass needle finally accurate, to know exactly where Lan Wangji is, to know that he's right there with him. Whatever that means. Whoever they are, here. ]
It's not far, Lan Zhan. This will be tough for you, but you'll have to be quiet once we're there, they'll all be asleep by then. Be on your very best behaviour, I won't have you embarrassing me in front of our new friends.
( ah, if only it were that easy. his sleeves would be filled to the brim, jars of emperor’s smile clinking in silent invitation; pick me. he’d give the world to be stuck with wei wuxian, and then he’d craft a whole new one, just for him, served on a jade platter. in a way, it’s what he’s been trying to do, but this world isn’t an easy one to mold, and lan wangji wonders if it’ll ever be vast enough to contain wei wuxian. he is greater than life, after all. quite literally.
it’s a distant thought that lingers in the back of his mind as they walk past weather-worn pillars made of stone, surrounded by dead clumps of grass. they’re closer, hints of a small village in the near distance, though wei wuxian’s tease easily eclipses everything else. head inclined, he quietly huffs, solemn as ever as his eyes shine with reserved, playful mirth. )
I am loath to promise anything I might be unable to uphold. ( and for a moment too short, lan wangji is happy. here, seemingly unrestrained, with his very own world by his side, like no gap has ever existed. a tease for a tease, a simplicity so pure he could cry. but it isn’t that simple, and as little apple brays, he remembers. he’s always going to have treats for you, and lan wangji tilts his head to silently observe wei wuxian, a throbbing twinge between his ribs. )
He seems to prefer the grass in Gusu. ( soft, maybe a tad hopeful, but mostly misplaced, and a faint crease appears between his brows as he offers little apple one last petal. )
[ The look Wei Wuxian cuts him is knowing and delighted both. There's a singular moment, a bare blink of time that passes between statement and comprehension and it's one of the few indulgences Wei Wuxian refuses to feel guilty about: Lan Wangji being funny. He's never quite prepared for it, and therein lies the joy. No one expects it. Wei Wuxian is only just learning to, understanding that this Hanguang-jun is not the Hanguang-jun of his past. This one makes jokes. This one makes jokes with Wei Wuxian. A privilege, but more than that, too.
It's warm.
Even just watching him like this--regal still as he gifts Little Apple more than a donkey so stubborn really deserves--feels like peeking past a screen he shouldn't have. He grins only because he can't help it, because he has reason to, and gestures wide to the grasses crowding either side of the road. ]
As well he should, have you seen this grass? [ It's not bad grass, of course. It's perfectly pleasant grass. The donkey had grown fat and spoiled on Gusu greenery and everything has paled in comparison since their departure, whether it's true or not. ] You see, sometimes--Lan Zhan. Sometimes Gusu is just better at what it offers the world.
[ He sniffs, mock-imperious. ]
But only sometimes. Don't let it go to your head. And--! [ He's swung in around Little Apple, daring to crowd closer to Lan Wangji, as if the subject matter is at all important--as if it requires him low and conspiratorial and vaguely threatening. ] Don't you go repeating that, either. I'll deny every word of it. You have no proof.
( lan wangji’s space is wei wuxian’s space. gone is the boy who once detested touch, starved for it now, though only for one in particular. he does wonder, sometimes, if he ever truly despised him. if he truly wished him gone from his vicinity, from his life. the answer always stings, because he knows he never did. no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, terrified, overwhelmed. he doesn’t know how not to love wei wuxian, and the empty wish of a frightened child ultimately did take him away.
so he never cowers now, when wei wuxian inches closer. it’s not the only reason why--he has plenty of those, like this new easy thing between them. but it’s fragile. the ground beneath his feet is nowhere near solid yet, and wei wuxian’s grin is a threat he barely manages to survive. only the mention of gusu sobers him up. somewhat. it’s never been good enough for wei wuxian, not even sometimes. but he takes the joke for what it is as his sleeve brushes against wei wuxian’s arm, the hint of warmth and solidness there tightening the knot in his stomach. )
No need. ( for proof. or even to try and deny, because... ) No one would believe me. ( he’s not entirely sure he believes him, either, knowing how wei wuxian fared in cloud recesses, but he doesn’t let the pressure in his chest swell too dense, focusing instead on his presence by his side, walking in the same direction. )
[ Another chirp, this one flavoured triumphant. He feels lighter here than he has in days in weeks, in months, buoyant and bright. It always feels a bit like a tightly wound tether let loose: he's fine with most people, friendly, leans to shallow flirting in lieu of genuine connections, but ultimately he's fine. Lan Wangji must hold some secret key to a lock he hasn't found yet because he feels more like himself with him here than he does even when it's just him and his mount.
Strange, that.
He slings an arm over Lan Wangji's shoulders with only a half-blink's thought against it, gestures wide and open-palmed towards the sky as if any answers of worth are hung on display. Lan Wangji is a flame against him, licking up all the tender wounds he hasn't examined, well hidden by dirt. He should step away. He shouldn't have touched him in the first place. So many rules, maybe for good reason.
He leans closer instead, to make sure Lan Wangji is following his hand as he unveils the exact same moonlit Lanling landscape they'd been staring at a second before. It's pure distraction, entirely unrelated to the conversation. Maybe he won't notice the tremor in his fingers. ]
Imagine what they would say. The Yiling Laozu prefers Gusu's amenities? Whose reputation would it tarnish most? Picture Caiyi's market after that news spreads. It's really for the best that you keep it between us.
( he does notice. the tremors. they follow the same unsteady rhythm in his arm--against which wei wuxian is now glued to--wilder where his shoulders have stiffened. it’s hard to tell, whether they’ve started or ended there; an extension of wei wuxian’s, maybe, or two different entities, calling out to each other. he glances up. not just because it’s where wei wuxian is pointing at, but because he doesn’t know where else to look, not without faltering. and he finds that the vastness of the sky, fulgent as it is, doesn’t hold a candle to wei wuxian.
he falters anyway. knuckles white behind his back, his hand trembles, nails digging into his palm. blood oozes, and he realizes he’s been clenching his fist for a while now, feeling the erratic beats of his heart there. it’s barely enough for a drop to form, but it reddens his skin some, moist, and abruptly he stretches his hand wide open, a hitch in his breath. wei ying. it’s a glimpse of something rarely seen, and for a fleeting moment, lan wangji thinks he manages to see through the façade. feigned casualness, maybe, another clue between the lines. his gaze slowly drifts to him, observes. it’s a gentle scrutiny, if nothing else, silent as his mind grows a little chaotic. he thinks of the conversation that brought him here. the cryptic glances, their softness, and everything in-between, left unaddressed. he thinks he’s reading too much into something he shouldn’t, and then he doesn’t think at all, his voice struggling past the tightness in his throat. )
And what does the Yiling Laozu truly prefer? ( and while a vacuum in his stomach threatens to collapse his physical form into a dense, compact little ball, he very slightly leans against him, allowing his arm to slowly fall between them. )
Ah--? [ The question catches him by surprise and his bravado falters. His fingers freeze midair (still reaching, always reaching, up, up, up towards the stars) and slowly curl into his palm as his arm drops.
Does it matter? Should it? It's not a question he's asked. He's told, over and over, from strangers who have no idea who he is: the Yiling Laozu will come for your homes, your crops, your children. A terrifying figure who takes and takes until there's nothing left. It's a game. A story. It's a scapegoat for all of life's problems and he doesn't take any of it to heart because they don't know and they won't ever know him. Not really. The Yiling Laozu prefers suffering, the more the better. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Plaintive, this time. He doesn't like questions like this, especially not coming from Lan Wangji. He deserves better than deflection. It doesn't make it easier. His laughter, when it comes, is hesitant, a child who doesn't know what should and shouldn't be touched. Lan Wangji is too close and he dares a glance at him over the rise of his own cheek and only belatedly realizes he's still got an arm around him.
He retreats, wishing for the undeterred arrogance of his youth, but doesn't actually let himself go too far. Inches now, instead of pressed close. He misses the warmth immediately. ] You should know better, Hanguang-jun. [ Warm, not biting. ] The Yiling Laozu is far too fearsome a beast for the civilized world.
[ A look again, a half-smile, curious and hesitant at once. ] He prefers the dirt.
( and just like that, he’s gone. almost as if he’d never been there, just another rêverie among many. a spasm runs through his now-bereft arm, and it lifts, movement aborted mid-thought; there’s a threshold here that cannot be crossed. it’s more than a habit now, too practiced. it’s a self-made jail, a bit like the grim picture wei wuxian is painting, and lan wangji swallows as bile rises, a twitch in his jaw.
hanguang-jun does know better, and not unlike him, sometimes, he wishes for the glacial dispositions of his youth. but ice melts, replaced by a flame that never wavers, burning raw now, under the same cracked veneer. wei wuxian doesn’t belong in the dirt. wei wuxian is not the fearsome beast they made him believe he is, either, regardless of his faults, and it’s a bitter tang on lan wangji’s tongue. )
Wei Ying. ( this is void of rancor, a soft sigh around the last syllable, laced with an ache that won’t subside. ) Misfortune wears many guises. ( and not all of them are meant to be lessons. some, certainly, but just how long are you supposed to pay, when you’ve been cornered from the start, given no choice? his gaze drops, thin-lipped as he breathes out. ) Hearsay, or precepts, should not smother. ( both of them, victims of a given reputation; one bright, the other dark, neither of which fully deserved. like a prison. who would lan wangji be now, if wei wuxian hadn’t barged in and painted his monochrome world multicolored? who can he be, beyond what he’s already learned, and all the things he wishes to become?
when will wei wuxian take notice of his own worth, and see himself undistorted?
lan wangji risks a glance sideways, a sliver of bravery. ) We must learn to break free.
[ He meets Lan Wangji's eye with a smile, small, but not tentative. He's not sure what it means or what the cause was or how long it might last, but he won't bite it back or swallow it down because Lan Zhan deserves this, too. He deserves as close to honesty as Wei Wuxian is able to get, even if it's the harder path to walk.
Things he knows: he missed Lan Wangji with a fierceness that unsettles him a little if he tries to look at it head-on. He missed these simple moments, the way they fall in step, the way Lan Wangji looks at him like he's afraid he'll be reprimanded for it, the blanket of warmth that carefully drapes itself around his shoulders when Lan Wangji comes to his defense. He doesn't have to. He *shouldn't*, considering who they are. But he does anyway, time and time again.
It's easy to curl his fingers around Lan Wangji's wrist by now, habit and practice and some unstated permission that seems to swing between them, an ever-growing list of things that are allowed. It's harder to draw it to his chest, cautious eyes watching Lan Wangji in the half-light. He lays it flat against his chest, directly over his heart, and keeps it there.
( and why shouldn’t he. stature doesn’t mean anything, rank and prestige and what have you. men of renown aren’t free of sin, or cruelty. men of standing have failed, and strayed, and harmed, and in the name of what, exactly? justice, they like to claim, righteousness, but man-made virtues aren’t void of flaws, and better men often pay the price.
wei wuxian has tasted its weaknesses. even his freedom now is tainted, carrying with it remnants of a past that won’t ever fully dissipate. it’s one of lan wangji’s ambitions to break its chains, but when wei wuxian takes hold of his wrist, his hand, he realizes, not without a stutter in his breath, that he doesn’t quite know how to break his own.
wei wuxian’s open gaze is now oddly undecipherable. lan wangji’s heart stirs in his chest, a flickering tremor that travels up to tickle his throat. it’s pointless to swallow it down, the quivering settling back behind his ribcage, an echo of his puse in the crook of his palm. it beats irregular against wei wuxian’s chest, and lan wangji stares a little dumbstruck, a little nervous, the faintest crease between his brows. )
How much…? ( doesn’t he know? and why does he ask, now, as if lan wangji wouldn’t travel every court of hell for him. whether wei wuxian’s about to spill some dark secret or do something reckless, the answer is the same; fully, and lan wangji’s hand shifts of its own volition, turning to lightly press against wei wuxian’s palm instead. )
Wei Ying. ( how much? completely, endlessly, and... ) With my life.
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He's no expert when it comes to parsing Lan Wangji's words. He's improved, over time. He can pick the intent and reaction out more often than he can't, can read the tiny shifts that strangers don't so that conversations he plays no part in occur with the other party all but blind in comparison. The selfish part of him takes pride in the *knowing*. The selfish part of him, he understands now, wants more. The want is hard to gauge with entire sects between them.
A kinder man might have given the venerable Hanguang-jun an inn, at least. A city. Some semblance of civilization to land his weary feet at, surely. Wei Wuxian--ever a bastion of propriety--perches himself on a boulder, jar in hand, at a barely-descript crossroads in the middle of nowhere northern Lanling and watches the slowly darkening sky as Little Apple finds a meal in the long grasses that hem in the edge of the nearby woods. ]
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and so lan wangji doesn’t say no. the whole of him has said yes before he even realized what it meant, and he leaves cloud recesses in a (seemingly) self-possessed rush, though he’s nowhere near composed. his heart is a mess. it beats uneven for one, a little too high, where his throat feels tighter. sixteen years, he waited for him once. he thought he could endure anything after that, but the truth is, hanguang-jun is really just a man, and wei wuxian is... everything.
anticipation sizzles beneath his skin. fear, too, blood pumping hard, because as collected as he usually appears, wei wuxian effortlessly shatters him, and lan wangji’s nerves are positively wrecked. a day, a month, a year. another lifetime, even--it doesn’t matter. the effect is the same, and lan wangji is helplessly caught.
piece of parchment in hand, and feet on bichen, he flies to him within the hour of his last message. little apple is the first to come into view, peacefully grazing in the grass. and then, him, a silhouette he’d recognize anywhere, hard against his ribcage, an echo in his temples. wei ying. he comes to a halt. the ground squelches beneath his feet, gaze riveted on a man he hasn’t seen in months, not like this, real, greater than the shadows of his nightmares. and what a sight it is for sore eyes.
his lips part before his name reaches his throat. they’re already shaped like him, and he walks until he can catch the night sky in wei wuxian’s hair, palms moist. he shouldn’t be nervous. oftentimes it feels like he knows him better than he knows himself, and they’ve talked plenty in recent months, but he’s never quite managed to quell the way his stomach churns in his vicinity, or how excruciatingly his chest swells.
he stops. breathes. and along with the breeze... ) Wei Ying.
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It takes effort to make himself stay put, to quash the urge to leap up and rush to meet him. He's been all but lounging, sprawled back on an elbow, all the markings of a leader prepared to address the masses of his people. His people, who have all, despairingly, expectedly, gotten lost on their way.
Bar one. ]
Hanguang-jun.
[ There's no chill in it, no derision, no distance. Something soft settles in the corners of his eyes as he says it, warms the slow curve of his mouth around an unbidden smile. It's almost reverent, he realizes with a belated laugh, and his smile widens as he dares to let the delight buoy him up. Indulges in it, even, in a way he's never really allowed. ]
Lan Zhan.
[ And that, that's better. Whatever the reason for this, however it plays out, it will have been worth it for this moment alone.
He levers himself up, inelegant. Lan Wangji is ever-ethereal under the trappings of night and this brokers no difference. He's luminous, brilliant, and all the more important: here.
He mocks a hasty salute from where he sits, grinning still. ]
This humble one is grateful that Hanguang-jun has granted him the gift of his time. And rushed, too! Careful, or I might start to call on you for each and every disappointed spirit that crosses my path.
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he dares one step closer, overwhelmed by the simple sight of him. there’s just so much to reacquaint himself with, but it’s the curve of his lips that draws him in, the same one that carved him anew all those years ago. the same one that opened all the doors he’d thought closed, and locked.
his own mouth twitches at one corner, head inclined on a slow blink. ) Mark your words. ( because he might just accept, every time. and then what. but he doesn’t say that. his gaze drifts a little aslant, a different confession, less incriminating. ) The distraction is not unwelcome. ( and it’s true! but it’s so much more than that. it’s there when he catches his gaze again, and the knot in his stomach tightens--he stares a little forlorn, a little enthralled, nails digging into his palm behind his back as he forces himself to stay still, a quiet sigh in lieu of a string of words he doesn’t know how to form. )
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Is it really all that bad? Ah, Lan Zhan, didn't I say? I warned you. [ He didn't really, not in any way that held weight at the time, but he'll lay claim to it like he did regardless. ] I know, I know, who else could do it? Who else would be suited to such a role? Hanguang-jun is the only one who knows the song to tame the wild hearts of our dear sects.
[ This isn't what they're here for, he knows. As easily as the words spill free, they're just empty, hollow sounds, a performance meant to draw the mind away from the matters at hand, a dizzying array all its own. Even as he leans in where he sits, eyes laughing with the teasing, it feels like treading on foreign, fragile ground. He doesn't want to look down, doesn't want to see that he's at the edge what whatever this is, no matter how fiercely that one spark of hope has taken root in his chest.
All the wandering, all the wondering, and he's right back here where he started: a little breathless, a little intimidated, somehow forever intent on orbiting the intensity of this sun. ]
It's your own fault, really. I would recommend trying harder to be less impressive, but I don't know that it's possible.
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this distraction is just as welcome. wei wuxian’s tease, the same old antics lan wangji one day came to seek. to miss. don’t mind the exasperated shape of his mouth; it’s nothing but fond, more obvious in the glint in his eyes, which he conveniently averts. ) Then let hearsay fill their beliefs, and petty quarrels their boredom. ( because hanguang-jun isn’t as immaculate as they, perhaps, wish him to be. reputation is only that, and underneath layers upon layers of decorum and propriety, he wants, and aches, and longs. anger has settled deep, and shame, too, for a world that refuses to judge him as it judged so many others.
as it judged wei wuxian.
was it a hint of awe in his gaze? there’s something in the air, and lan wangji’s lungs struggle to draw it in. impressive, he calls him, when he is the most fascinating being he’s ever known. he wants to tell him. amends, slightly--the company isn’t unwelcome, either--but the tips of his ears already feel too warm for safety. he looks up instead, staring at nothing in particular: ) Our destination?
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He has to curl his fingers into his fist to keep from reaching out. ]
A village, [ he proposes instead, distraction for them both. He gestures towards the fork over his left shoulder with his jar, then tips it back with a barely-noticeable wink to drain what's left. Lanling wine -- it's fine, it's passable, it does the job -- for all its pomp, has nothing on Gusu. Nothing really does anymore.
He slides off the boulder and onto his feet in a single, graceful motion that he'd swear his body had forgotten. Grace, in and of itself, has rarely been his strong point. Lan Wangji, on the other hand, is nothing but, even just standing in the middle of a darkened road with nothing but the night itself for company. He can't help his easy grin and he doesn't know that he'd want to even if he could. Not like this, not with Lan Wangji gleaming and here and real and the vastness of missing him narrows to this single needlepoint of a moment. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Just to say it, just to treasure it. Because Lan Wangji still has never told him he can't. ] Their lake is haunted.
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there’s just so much to unpack here. so much to keep locked. it’s familiar territory now, but one lan wangji still struggles to navigate. so he latches onto his answer. a haunted lake, and lan wangji’s eyes marginally soften, treacherous, as long gone memories briefly resurface, laced around the recent conversation they’ve had. it’s dropped to a whisper now, two conversations at once it seems, and his second attempt at willing his focus away miserably fails. )
Casualties? ( he asks, too soft. are there any? other than his poor untamed heart, anyway. )
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[ Too nonchalant, maybe. Too callous? He studies Lan Wangji's face closely for a second, somehow still jade-bright and lit from within, somehow harder to read now than it had been the last time they'd parted ways. He's not prepared for the wave of homesickness that hits him, rising up out of the dark like a punch to the gut, a wash of greens and whites and a soft-warm smile he didn't deserve. It feels like a home he's never had, never known, but he wants it with all the suddenness and fierceness of someone who has.
He coughs out a laugh that breaks too sharp in the night air, soothing a hand over the ache in his chest. Distraction, distraction: ] Eh, two in the last handful of months, nothing we could have done about it. But! But we're here now and so far all that's happening now is that things keep disappearing from around the lake. Little things. Tools? A couple of their livestock. I asked if maybe their spirit was trying to build a pen in the lake but no one was very impressed by the idea of builder spirits.
[ Little Apple has at least done them the favour of following the grass up the correct path; a half-step back in that direction and Wei Wuxian raises his eyebrows, inviting Lan Wangji to also follow. ]
Supposedly the lake spirit sings, too. I've heard she's quite good, if not a bit dated.
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he smiles nonetheless. faint, fond, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he wills his legs to move, joining him. he’s missed this. the humor in his voice, aloof, a trifle impish, and the ways his face lights up when he speaks, when he jokes, effortlessly drawing him in. his jaw tightens, his cue to focus on the matter at hand. one of, anyway, and his gaze meets the horizon, steady steps by wei wuxian’s side. )
Mn. ( the picture he paints isn’t exactly foreign, and perhaps less dire than he might have suspected. ) A similar hunt led me to a húlijīng, once. ( years ago, mischievous at best, but relatively harmless. ultimately, it left peacefully, though not all of them harbor benevolent intentions, and older ones can be exceptionally dangerous. his head tilts slightly, a furtive sidelong glance. ) Your experiments. Have you made progress? ( wards and such. )
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[ He hums, the sound caught somewhere between reverence and delight. None of his own hunts have led him to quite so auspicious an endpoint, but it makes complete sense to him that Lan Wangji would be bright and interesting enough to have caught one's attention. To even cross paths with one! Or is the other way around, now? He tells himself that's what the undercurrent running beneath his skin is, that he is maybe luckier than the spirit had been. Not only does his path cross Lan Wangji's, but falls in alongside it. Again. Auspicious all its own, perhaps, to have one of the Jades of Lan appear at his call. It's really more power than he should be given.
He strays away instead of answering, off the path and into the grasses to collect his wayward mount. Little Apple responds much more willingly when he's armed and ready with the right reward and it takes little to no coaxing to convince it to wander back to the lantern light of Lan Wangji's whites in the moonlight.
All the things they need to broach and still polite conversation feels safest. ]
Aii, they're not worth the breath, yet. You don't want to hear about them! Save it for if they work, at least that'll be something. Then you can marvel at my genius. How is your brother? Is he still in seclusion?
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he blinks it all away now, clamping down on his wayward thoughts. what an odd thing it would be, to come across another húlijīng, here, together this time, perhaps the same one he once met. ) Then soon, an opportunity to boast. ( it’s a tease, mostly, faintly lopsided where his mouth curls upward, though he did ask for a reason. wei wuxian is more than capable as is, but should they meet another aqua demon, his creations might come in handy. lan wangji might have felt guilty for entertaining such possibilities, once upon a time--he no longer does.
but guilt wears many different colors. it’s a little dimmer in his eyes now, at the mention of his brother, and he lets out a slow breath, mouth pursed crestfallen as he nods. ) For the moment, he refuses my company. ( and it hurts, to be so helpless, unable to soothe the one man who has unconditionally done so much for him. lan wangji swallows, gaze cast downward as he walks steady. ) Brother’s grief will dissipate, but his guilt and mistrust will linger long. ( perhaps forever, if his own grievances are any indication. )
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Or, as he glances across at Lan Wangji beside him, perhaps he'd done better than he deserved. ]
Ah. Lan Zhan. Zewu-jun is as strong as he is wise. [ He knows Lan Wangji doesn't need to hear reassurances from him, of all people, but they surface anyway, and he sways close enough on the next step to knock their shoulders together. It sparks something in him, tiny and tremulous, but hungry nonetheless. Seeing Lan Wangji is one thing, but proof of his solidity--proof that he's real--feeds something selfish and hungry in the pit of his chest. ] His world's been turned rightside-out. Give him time to rebuild and put things back in their place. You're his brother! Of course he'll need you.
[ He pauses, then. Does a remarkably poor job biting back a smile. ] You're the only one wiser than he is, anyway. Who else would he seek?
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his pace slows down, a dark little thing in his gaze. if lan wangji was one to smile easily, his lips might have curved slightly forlorn. ) A wise man would not have left so long a trail of torments in his wake. ( mistakes. what ifs. things he could have stopped. others he should have encouraged. inaction is just as cruel a crime as any, clean hands still bloody. he sighs, chest constricting at the thought of lan xichen, so different yet still the same. ) My brother’s fault lies in the benevolence of his heart. ( true, untainted, abused. his jaw tightens, remembering his older brother’s lessons, and his failures despite them. the casualties, and the prices paid. ) Perhaps mine was not kind enough.
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Lan Zhan. [ Admonishing. Afraid, almost, of what daring to look this beast directly in the eye might reveal. It's easier to play like he's not aware of it, serene in the shared agreement that this is a path better left untouched. If they speak it out loud, if they bring it out into the open then he'll be forced to confront all those things he's been trying to avoid. Wei Wuxian is a selfish man, he knows this about himself and works to try to make up for it when and where possible. He's not sure if he's prepared to face the debts he owes now, especially not where Lan Wangji is concerned. Hell, he's not sure he's got enough of value to make up for any of it, and that's even worse. ]
Aiyo, Lan Zhan. Don't you know it does the spirit harm to dwell in the past? Ah, you should know better. [ He shakes a finger at him, scolding. ] You should be looking forward! Greet what comes! It's bad luck to always be looking behind you. Who but Hanguang-jun is bright enough to lead the way for everyone?
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he doesn’t let them. he wouldn’t know how, a faint question in his eyes as he searches wei wuxian’s, distantly wondering why he sees what he sees. who else but hanguang-jun? you, he wants to say, and it’s right there on the tip of his tongue, sore and warm and ardent where he refuses to blink. wei wuxian tried so hard to show them the way. he died for it, and lan wangji finally breathes, aching everywhere as his gaze drifts away. )
This light is not my own. ( it’s made of a thousand lessons wei wuxian taught him, of years of mourning. it’s made of him, his past, his present, and a future he sometimes dares to touch with the tip of a finger. it twitches now, behind his back, curled around more emptiness, and lan wangji starts walking again, looking straight ahead. )
Forward, then. ( and perhaps there really is no other way. )
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The why, on the other hand, burns too bright to even examine.
He doesn't know how it is that Lan Wangji seems to see right through him, strips his defenses to the core, and leaves him bared and breathless when he's had his fill. Something small and fragile cracks when he looks away this time and Wei Wuxian doesn't know what he's read, what he's seen, to disappoint him. He breathes, slow and shallow, miles outside of himself; it takes an extra second for him to gather all the pieces of himself up again, to shove them hastily back in some semblance of order that he'll have to sort through later when he's alone. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Lan Wangji's wrist is warm under his fingers, his palm. When had he reached for him? When had he grabbed hold? Does it matter? He doesn't know why it's important that it be said, only that it is: ] You are that light. You know that, don't you? You have to know that. You aren't that much a fool.
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it’s the same scorching sensation around his wrist, and it’s where his gaze immediately drops, a stutter in his breath. lips part. you are that light. for what? for whom. lan wangji’s never wanted to shine, taken instead by a brilliance he can’t bring himself to look at now. if only he’d been able to be his guiding light before. that he would gladly be, as wei wuxian has always been for him, but this new territory spreads unknown and blurry.
his eyes close, briefly, yet longer than they should have. )Only a fool would think himself greater than he is. ( and he knows what he is. imperfect as they all are, learning still, and the best he can do is to honor his convictions above all else. his head rises up, at long last. as does his chest, full, a sigh stuck there. ) Wei Ying. ( his mouth, pursed unsure, hesitates on the next syllables. ) We are expected. ( elsewhere, away, shielded from a conversation he doesn’t know how to have.
and his wrist remains caught. )
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But. They are not those people now. They've aged beyond misinterpreted words. He stills and then he breathes and he squeezes Lan Zhan's wrist once more before he allows him loose again, untethered in the world. He feels shapeless, for a moment. Windswept and free-floating. He works the knuckles of his other hand in their grip on Little Apple's lead and forces a laugh like it might take some of the weight off his chest with it (it doesn't). ]
Humble even in your wisdom, [ he muses, refusing to look at Lan Wangji as he tugs the donkey into a walk again, putting distance between them. ] Pity you're wrong.
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his gaze drops. warmth dissipates around his wrist, and it’s where he looks, nails digging into his palm. ) Wei Ying. ( low. hoarse. a plea or a warning--it’s hard to tell. it sounds like anger. it isn’t, not fully. it’s a chasm of old hurts and lingering resentment, but none of it is directed at him.
he breathes, a long sigh. his vision blurs, just slightly in his periphery. he glances up, slowly. it’s too cryptic, or perhaps not cryptic enough. he doesn’t want flowers, and he’s so damn tired. )
Speak your mind. ( maybe he’s angry, too, underneath all that trust. at him. maybe he should be.
maybe lan wangji wants him to be. )
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He knows this feeling. Knows it, as it crawls up the nape of his neck, creeps over his scalp, closes in around his shoulders. His fingers itch, grasping at nothing at his sides, and they curl into his palms as he turns, caught. Maybe he should have known better, maybe he should have read between the lines. His stomach lurches as the prickle of anxious fear spreads outward and even the laugh he forces just hangs between them, blatant and obtuse. He knows better. He should.
Speak your mind, but to what end? Which wrong has he caused? Which line has he crossed? Has he offended? Or is it something else, something deeper, something that might pin him to his secrets and flay them open one by one? ]
Lan Zhan, [ he tries, and the way Lan Wangji gleams in the dark is almost punishment now, something borderline celestial and out of reach. A taunt. He doesn't even bother trying to make a joke out of it. ] You'll have to forgive this one, he's used to being told otherwise. What am I speaking to?
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he doesn’t do impulsive. all of him, shackled by restraints as resilient as his resolve, hardened by years of harsh discipline, bleak and barren. years of drought. it’s what happens, when you’ve been deprived your entire life. you starve, and lan wangji wants. but above all, he grieves, and the words he spoke too fast now resound in the back of his mind; he stares a little agape, a little frightened, and something blooms in the middle of his chest, something impossibly soft that rises higher and wets the corners of his eyes. )
Wei Ying. ( it’s there in his voice, too, but what is there to say now, and what is there to ask. wei wuxian doesn’t owe anyone anything. he doesn’t even owe him punishment, and lan wangji realizes, not without a sting, that it’s what he’s waiting for. but it’s selfish. it’s deserved, but what is punishment, if not a chance for one’s pain to alleviate? lan wangji’s in no position to demand anything from him. not the mysterious depths of his heart, and not his anger, either.
so his mouth closes, lips slightly trembling. he’s on the verge of apologizing--for nothing in particular, for everything--when lil’ apple brays and trots farther away, drawing his attention. for one merciful moment, he regains some semblance of composure as his gaze follows the beast, a tip of his chin in its direction. ) Your steed. ( is sort of running away, maybe. )
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This is new. Or--as he allows himself a hesitant breath and casts back for what he knows of Lan Wangji--it's very, very old. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Soft, little more than a whisper. He cradles the sound in his mouth like it's not just a name, but something to treasure, a gift granted years ago he's not willing to lose. And maybe he should lose it, maybe he should give up the privilege he's been granted because he's caused enough hurt over the years (the years and years and years) but he's a coward all the more here, too, because he doesn't want to let it go. Selfish, again, fingers desperately digging into whatever hold he still has here, because any Lan Zhan is better than no Lan Zhan and he'll temper what needs tempering but.
But.
Something is splintering. He doesn't know what. He can feel it as he dares a step closer toward Lan Wangji and a thousand voices call him a fool for not retreating. He should. He should he should he should-- everything is a mess and he's lost grip on what's real and what's not outside of how very fragile Lan Wangji has turned, a paper lantern about to light. His question is just as tremulous, a crossroads of understanding, reverence, and fear, hesitant even as the words trip out past his tongue. ] Lan Zhan. You feel so very much, don't you?
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his grief, his pain. his guilt. it doesn’t spill over, but it’s there, catching the night sky’s light, casting a halo around wei wuxian’s silhouette. he blinks. wei wuxian is still there, almost surreal, and he doesn’t deflect. it’s a game they’ve played for a long time. a game lan wangji thought he’d mastered, his typical silence the greatest diversion of all. but he doesn’t want to run anymore. he doesn’t even know whether he could, when wei wuxian so effortlessly pins him there. it’s a fantasy he selfishly indulges in, to gain his affections, but it is one he won’t ever ask of him, or entertain outside of dreams. wei wuxian, alive, is enough, but right now, for a fleeting moment, his hopes turn adamantine and soften all his jagged edges, eroded by time.
or lack thereof.
he smiles. he doesn’t even mean to, but all things considered, it’s preferable to the alternative, on his knees in actual dirt, shoulders shaking under the weight of too much, unleashed at last. he smiles a weak smile, and when he thinks his voice won’t tremble, he speaks. ) I was taught how to, underneath these robes. ( and he doesn’t mean his literal robes. just. beyond the decorum, the precepts, and the desolate austerity of his clan in particular. wei wuxian showed him… well. maybe not a brighter way, but most assuredly a better one, even with its many pains. especially with them.
and somewhere under the scorching sun, lan wangji allowed himself to bloom. )
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Lan Wangji, the best of them all. Hanguang-jun, Chief Cultivator. Lan Zhan, who caught him on that cliff that morning, here now to find the dirt.
He's overwhelmed with the urge to touch. Lan Wangji has never begrudged the casual way Wei Wuxian takes liberties with his personal space but it feels suddenly like crossing a line. Not a bad line, necessarily, but something new and unspoken and unsure. He holds himself still instead, swallowing past the ache building in his throat and he's afraid to hope just as much as he's afraid to breathe: what if either of them is all it takes to crack the fragility of this moment? ]
Why? [ And oh, that's not the right question, but it's the only question he has the words to ask and suddenly knowing the answer is vitally important. Why, why, why: what's the meaning of it? ] Why did you come? I said come and now you're here. Lan Zhan. Why?
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when he died, he took everything with him. lan wangji wandered half-empty, though he never wished the ache away. it was well-deserved for one, but beyond that, it was shaped like him, wei ying, the last remnants of a love shattered. of a life interrupted. it’s what wei wuxian’s question reminds of. his expression, too, and lan wangji feels so young all of a sudden, so small. why, he asks, and doesn’t he know? another friend might have answered easily. i’ve missed you. but lan wangji is not that friend, and the words are not enough.
his throat closes. his smile subsides, and the potent growth in his chest swells larger. it’s a little harder to breathe, the air thick between them, the distance too great. but it’s safe. the farther the safer, because any answer he might have holds the risk to corner, to trap, and wei wuxian has been chained much too long to owe lan wangji anything. he just can’t lie. he can’t and he doesn’t want to, a bittersweet tang on his tongue as a wave of melancholy ripples through him, furrows his brows a little crestfallen, vaguely enamored. )
Where else should I be? ( barely louder than a whisper. he feels like he’s fifteen again, and maybe he looks the part too. only this time, his walls don’t reach so high, fractured in too many places. )
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Fools, both of them. Wei Wuxian moreso, surely, but fools nonetheless.
The answer is easy: anywhere but here. In Gusu, in the Jingshi, at home in bed and peacefully asleep, surrounded by family and the things important to him. But--and maybe this is growth, maybe this is stretching out of a skin that no longer contains all that he is--maybe that's not the right answer anymore.
It's habit to shrug off affection, to deflect away from anything serious, especially when it comes to Lan Wangji, who's already born the burden of Wei Wuxian's association far beyond its expiry. He knows the answer he wants to give, it's the same one that he's spent his life (and death) swallowing because no one deserves to be dragged down because of his choices, no one needs to lose themselves the way he's been lost, no one wants to see beyond the smile and understand that no, he's not okay and that he hasn't been okay for a very long time.
And yet here he stands, staring at a boy under the moonlight who has answered his call time and time again. Here Hanguang-jun is, offering to share his mess, and he doesn't want to say no.
He does laugh, then, warm and wet and on the precipice of understanding but too scared to jump. The splintering cracks into something wider in his chest and maybe Lan Wangji is to blame for that, too. Maybe he'd be okay with that blame. ]
Nowhere, Lan Zhan. A hundred other places were I a better man, but I'm choosing to be selfish tonight.
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is it selfishness, when he’s right where he belongs? what is wei wuxian, if not his chosen family, the pinnacle of all the things he holds dear? he loves his brother. his uncle. his son. his affection for them runs deeper than anyone could ever possibly surmise. he’d bleed for them, time and time again. but wei wuxian, he would die for, if only to ensure that he lives.
it’s impossible to remain impassible, when wei wuxian laughs that laugh, softening lan wangji’s mouth upward, just a hint of moisture in his lashes. there’s something here he won’t dare name, though it settles deep in his bones, a faint caress on all his senses. wei wuxian isn’t selfish, yet here he is, demanding lan wangji’s presence for his own contentment. it’s simple. honest. lan wangji is wanted here.
lan wangji wants. )
As am I. ( choosing. him. and he walks, pace unhurried, gaze riveted on him. under the stars, wei wuxian is nothing short of heavenly, their light bringing to bold relief the perfect planes of his face. it’s the first rule he’s ever broken, probably, marveling at his beauty, and he basks in it now, less than a foot between them when he comes to a stop. it’s no longer safe, but lan wangji finds a modicum of strength in wei wuxian’s vulnerability, like a urge to protect, maybe. he stares. searches his gaze. it’s a struggle not to touch, flayed and exposed, a gentle scrutiny. he doesn’t know how much of his affection for him transpires in that moment, but he lets it, until his heart beats too fast and too hard and his chest rises too high. )
Wei Ying. ( a shaky sigh as he slowly blinks, and only then does he avert his gaze, gracefully stepping away as he wills his body to stop trembling. ) We should not loiter.
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To think he might have missed the way Lan Wangji looks at him now.
A thousand words he has to say, a dozen more beyond it; he swallows them down because none of them fit, none are right, and he'd rather leave the ring of Lan Wangji's voice in the air. He doesn't know what this is and he's okay with it because it's comfortable and familiar and he would spend the rest of his life in this space if he could. If he was allowed. ]
Lan Zhan, [ is a reply soft enough it's barely more than a whisper, a two-part note on a updraft. Pleased. Indulgent, almost, toes dipping into a space that he's only guessing is there. Maybe. Maybe.
A steadying breath and he turns to follow, half tempted to grab and hold whatever part of Lan Wangji he can find (not a new compulsion, no, but he wants it in a different way suddenly). Only-- ]
Ahhh, you can't even look after yourself for a moment? [ Further up the road his steed is struggling against a bush; upon drawing closer it becomes clear his harness is caught on one of the branches. Wei Wuxian sighs, admonishing as he follows the donkey into the brush, his skin decidedly too tight to contain him, heart thundering loud enough he's not sure how Lan Wangji hasn't commented on it yet. That loud. ] The sweetest grass is always hardest to get. You should know better!
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Wisdom can sometimes be a formidable foe to tame.
( aka, some lessons are learned the hard way. some lessons aren’t learned at all. some others are learned only when it’s too late, and lan wangji is well-versed in delayed realizations, a sliver of gentle awareness in the sidelong glance he shoots him, a double-entendre of sorts. there’s a reason he can’t hear wei wuxian’s thundering heartbeat; his own has already deafened him.
he walks a little farther away, delicately picking leaves, flowers, grass. he comes back and silently offers them to little apple, a ghost of a smile as he slowly walks backwards to encourage it in the right direction. )
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You can't always pick him just because he's got treats for you! [ A distraction, casual and easy to fall into. He catches Little Apple by the harness once they've reached the road and tugs until they're face to face and Wei Wuxian can make sure he sees the stern look that accompanies the lecture. ] Yes, he's always going to have treats for you but that doesn't mean you get to like him more than me. You're stuck with me! Accept it!
[ Painful, always, to let your children grow up. He heaves a sigh and lets Little Apple free to explore the array of options Lan Wangji has on offer, swatting the donkey's flank fondly as passes. The road ahead is clear and open and his skin tingles with the simplicity of potential. It feels right, a compass needle finally accurate, to know exactly where Lan Wangji is, to know that he's right there with him. Whatever that means. Whoever they are, here. ]
It's not far, Lan Zhan. This will be tough for you, but you'll have to be quiet once we're there, they'll all be asleep by then. Be on your very best behaviour, I won't have you embarrassing me in front of our new friends.
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it’s a distant thought that lingers in the back of his mind as they walk past weather-worn pillars made of stone, surrounded by dead clumps of grass. they’re closer, hints of a small village in the near distance, though wei wuxian’s tease easily eclipses everything else. head inclined, he quietly huffs, solemn as ever as his eyes shine with reserved, playful mirth. )
I am loath to promise anything I might be unable to uphold. ( and for a moment too short, lan wangji is happy. here, seemingly unrestrained, with his very own world by his side, like no gap has ever existed. a tease for a tease, a simplicity so pure he could cry. but it isn’t that simple, and as little apple brays, he remembers. he’s always going to have treats for you, and lan wangji tilts his head to silently observe wei wuxian, a throbbing twinge between his ribs. )
He seems to prefer the grass in Gusu. ( soft, maybe a tad hopeful, but mostly misplaced, and a faint crease appears between his brows as he offers little apple one last petal. )
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It's warm.
Even just watching him like this--regal still as he gifts Little Apple more than a donkey so stubborn really deserves--feels like peeking past a screen he shouldn't have. He grins only because he can't help it, because he has reason to, and gestures wide to the grasses crowding either side of the road. ]
As well he should, have you seen this grass? [ It's not bad grass, of course. It's perfectly pleasant grass. The donkey had grown fat and spoiled on Gusu greenery and everything has paled in comparison since their departure, whether it's true or not. ] You see, sometimes--Lan Zhan. Sometimes Gusu is just better at what it offers the world.
[ He sniffs, mock-imperious. ]
But only sometimes. Don't let it go to your head. And--! [ He's swung in around Little Apple, daring to crowd closer to Lan Wangji, as if the subject matter is at all important--as if it requires him low and conspiratorial and vaguely threatening. ] Don't you go repeating that, either. I'll deny every word of it. You have no proof.
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so he never cowers now, when wei wuxian inches closer. it’s not the only reason why--he has plenty of those, like this new easy thing between them. but it’s fragile. the ground beneath his feet is nowhere near solid yet, and wei wuxian’s grin is a threat he barely manages to survive. only the mention of gusu sobers him up. somewhat. it’s never been good enough for wei wuxian, not even sometimes. but he takes the joke for what it is as his sleeve brushes against wei wuxian’s arm, the hint of warmth and solidness there tightening the knot in his stomach. )
No need. ( for proof. or even to try and deny, because... ) No one would believe me. ( he’s not entirely sure he believes him, either, knowing how wei wuxian fared in cloud recesses, but he doesn’t let the pressure in his chest swell too dense, focusing instead on his presence by his side, walking in the same direction. )
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[ Another chirp, this one flavoured triumphant. He feels lighter here than he has in days
in weeks, in months, buoyant and bright. It always feels a bit like a tightly wound tether let loose: he's fine with most people, friendly, leans to shallow flirting in lieu of genuine connections, but ultimately he's fine. Lan Wangji must hold some secret key to a lock he hasn't found yet because he feels more like himself with him here than he does even when it's just him and his mount.Strange, that.
He slings an arm over Lan Wangji's shoulders with only a half-blink's thought against it, gestures wide and open-palmed towards the sky as if any answers of worth are hung on display. Lan Wangji is a flame against him, licking up all the tender wounds he hasn't examined, well hidden by dirt. He should step away. He shouldn't have touched him in the first place. So many rules, maybe for good reason.
He leans closer instead, to make sure Lan Wangji is following his hand as he unveils the exact same moonlit Lanling landscape they'd been staring at a second before. It's pure distraction, entirely unrelated to the conversation. Maybe he won't notice the tremor in his fingers. ]
Imagine what they would say. The Yiling Laozu prefers Gusu's amenities? Whose reputation would it tarnish most? Picture Caiyi's market after that news spreads. It's really for the best that you keep it between us.
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he falters anyway. knuckles white behind his back, his hand trembles, nails digging into his palm. blood oozes, and he realizes he’s been clenching his fist for a while now, feeling the erratic beats of his heart there. it’s barely enough for a drop to form, but it reddens his skin some, moist, and abruptly he stretches his hand wide open, a hitch in his breath. wei ying. it’s a glimpse of something rarely seen, and for a fleeting moment, lan wangji thinks he manages to see through the façade. feigned casualness, maybe, another clue between the lines. his gaze slowly drifts to him, observes. it’s a gentle scrutiny, if nothing else, silent as his mind grows a little chaotic. he thinks of the conversation that brought him here. the cryptic glances, their softness, and everything in-between, left unaddressed. he thinks he’s reading too much into something he shouldn’t, and then he doesn’t think at all, his voice struggling past the tightness in his throat. )
And what does the Yiling Laozu truly prefer? ( and while a vacuum in his stomach threatens to collapse his physical form into a dense, compact little ball, he very slightly leans against him, allowing his arm to slowly fall between them. )
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Does it matter? Should it? It's not a question he's asked. He's told, over and over, from strangers who have no idea who he is: the Yiling Laozu will come for your homes, your crops, your children. A terrifying figure who takes and takes until there's nothing left. It's a game. A story. It's a scapegoat for all of life's problems and he doesn't take any of it to heart because they don't know and they won't ever know him. Not really. The Yiling Laozu prefers suffering, the more the better. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Plaintive, this time. He doesn't like questions like this, especially not coming from Lan Wangji. He deserves better than deflection. It doesn't make it easier. His laughter, when it comes, is hesitant, a child who doesn't know what should and shouldn't be touched. Lan Wangji is too close and he dares a glance at him over the rise of his own cheek and only belatedly realizes he's still got an arm around him.
He retreats, wishing for the undeterred arrogance of his youth, but doesn't actually let himself go too far. Inches now, instead of pressed close. He misses the warmth immediately. ] You should know better, Hanguang-jun. [ Warm, not biting. ] The Yiling Laozu is far too fearsome a beast for the civilized world.
[ A look again, a half-smile, curious and hesitant at once. ] He prefers the dirt.
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hanguang-jun does know better, and not unlike him, sometimes, he wishes for the glacial dispositions of his youth. but ice melts, replaced by a flame that never wavers, burning raw now, under the same cracked veneer. wei wuxian doesn’t belong in the dirt. wei wuxian is not the fearsome beast they made him believe he is, either, regardless of his faults, and it’s a bitter tang on lan wangji’s tongue. )
Wei Ying. ( this is void of rancor, a soft sigh around the last syllable, laced with an ache that won’t subside. ) Misfortune wears many guises. ( and not all of them are meant to be lessons. some, certainly, but just how long are you supposed to pay, when you’ve been cornered from the start, given no choice? his gaze drops, thin-lipped as he breathes out. ) Hearsay, or precepts, should not smother. ( both of them, victims of a given reputation; one bright, the other dark, neither of which fully deserved. like a prison. who would lan wangji be now, if wei wuxian hadn’t barged in and painted his monochrome world multicolored? who can he be, beyond what he’s already learned, and all the things he wishes to become?
when will wei wuxian take notice of his own worth, and see himself undistorted?
lan wangji risks a glance sideways, a sliver of bravery. ) We must learn to break free.
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Things he knows: he missed Lan Wangji with a fierceness that unsettles him a little if he tries to look at it head-on. He missed these simple moments, the way they fall in step, the way Lan Wangji looks at him like he's afraid he'll be reprimanded for it, the blanket of warmth that carefully drapes itself around his shoulders when Lan Wangji comes to his defense. He doesn't have to. He *shouldn't*, considering who they are. But he does anyway, time and time again.
It's easy to curl his fingers around Lan Wangji's wrist by now, habit and practice and some unstated permission that seems to swing between them, an ever-growing list of things that are allowed. It's harder to draw it to his chest, cautious eyes watching Lan Wangji in the half-light. He lays it flat against his chest, directly over his heart, and keeps it there.
The world stills and he holds his breath. ]
Lan Zhan. How much do you trust me?
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wei wuxian has tasted its weaknesses. even his freedom now is tainted, carrying with it remnants of a past that won’t ever fully dissipate. it’s one of lan wangji’s ambitions to break its chains, but when wei wuxian takes hold of his wrist, his hand, he realizes, not without a stutter in his breath, that he doesn’t quite know how to break his own.
wei wuxian’s open gaze is now oddly undecipherable. lan wangji’s heart stirs in his chest, a flickering tremor that travels up to tickle his throat. it’s pointless to swallow it down, the quivering settling back behind his ribcage, an echo of his puse in the crook of his palm. it beats irregular against wei wuxian’s chest, and lan wangji stares a little dumbstruck, a little nervous, the faintest crease between his brows. )
How much…? ( doesn’t he know? and why does he ask, now, as if lan wangji wouldn’t travel every court of hell for him. whether wei wuxian’s about to spill some dark secret or do something reckless, the answer is the same; fully, and lan wangji’s hand shifts of its own volition, turning to lightly press against wei wuxian’s palm instead. )
Wei Ying. ( how much? completely, endlessly, and... ) With my life.