[ 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?
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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?