( 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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no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.