( 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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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. )
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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. )
no subject
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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
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.
no subject
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. )
no subject
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?
no subject
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. )
no subject
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?