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