acrookedpath | [pfsb]

[pfsb]

The good news: the energy-revealing array works!

The bad news --

It's not bad news, he insists to himself. It just... is. It's a complication, a hole in the road, a little snare tripping him up. That's all. It doesn't have to be more. It might not even be in the first place, yes? He is dead, Lan Zhan is alive, of course seeing just how very alive would stir something in him. That's all it is.

Right?

Never mind that he's fairly certain if he placed the same array on Harrow, or Tom-gongzi, or Ingress, he would not have been struck the same way. That -- it's ridiculous, this is all ridiculous, and that's why he's out here by the lake, standing on a flat rock with another array of talismans fluttering in his hand.

The key is not just luring resentful energy from the forest, despite the suppression around the inn. It is how swiftly he can do it. During his coffee-fueled spree of work last night, he drew up some new lures that ought to work faster than a traditional set. Now he scatters them in a wide circle around his feet, gestures sharply, and sends a bolt of red energy into the yellow paper slips.

Silently, in his head, he begins to count. One... two... three...

At the count of thirteen, something boils at the forest's edge, dark and oily.

Wei Wuxian smiles and lifts his flute to meet it.

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His arm tightens slightly around Wei Ying as if to protect him, even as panic freezes his thoughts for a moment.

Jiang-zongzhu is very angry, Xichen had told him, not long ago. Lan Wangji had hated hearing every word of what his brother had to say, even though he understood why Xichen felt it necessary to tell him. I know what you think of him, Wangji, but he believes Wei Wuxian may possess the body of another, and hunts those suspected of practicing -- the ghost path.

He had been grateful to Xichen for not saying demonic cultivation, another example of his brother's kind heart, even while regretting that Xichen had not understood that Jiang Wanyin's actions in this regard only serve to make it impossible for Lan Wangji to think anything good of him at all, much less to forgive him.

"Jiang Wanyin will be helping to raise Jin Ling soon," he settles on. "When he is a little older. He will spend half of his time at Lotus Pier."

His heartbeat kicks up a notch as Lan Zhan pulls him closer. Wei Wuxian tries to focus on the scent of sandalwood again; tries to calm the dragonflies in his stomach before they can grow out of control once more.

"That's good," he says, no louder. "Someone will have to teach him how to swim properly, and I know Lanling Jin isn't up to the task."

It will always sear him to remember the hatred in his brother's eyes as he drove the sword down. But he does not doubt Jiang Cheng will love -- does love -- his nephew fiercely, as fiercely as he hated Wei Wuxian by the end, and he will do right by him as the boy grows up.

"Mn. No doubt."

A beat of silence.

"Although Lianfang-zun is fond of him."

"Huh." He frowns in thought. "Does Jin Guangyao know how to swim? I can't remember."

"I do not know," he says. "But I would be surprised."

He glances down at Wei Ying again.

"Do you like swimming?"

He lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

"I grew up in Lotus Pier, Lan Zhan," he says, flashing a quick grin. "Of course I do."

"Just because you grew up there does not mean you actually like it," he says, a little stiffly. "So I thought to ask."

"Mm." The smile doesn't abate. "Well, then I suppose I appreciate you asking rather than assuming. Yes, I do like it. I've thought to swim more in the lake eventually -- Harrow has mentioned garments that are specifically meant for it."

He is not drowsy -- in truth, Wei Wuxian is not sure he will be able to return to sleep at all tonight -- but the tea, the incense, and the warmth have begun to do their work. He wants to sling an arm around Lan Zhan as he has wrapped an arm around him. He wants to curl up in bed, side by side, and wait out the night together.

Not alone, he hears again, and tries not to wince as he remembers his foolish reply.

"You have your choice of lake or ocean," he observes. "Or both."

Wei Ying is more relaxed against him, more cheerful, and he is deeply glad of it.

"And I will not even have to travel far to go from one to the other." He closes his eyes, contented. "What about you, Lan Zhan, do you swim?"

Too late, his mind supplies a few images of Lan Zhan doing just that, and he feels his nerves light up anew.

"Probably not as much as if I had grown up in Lotus Pier," he says, dryly.

"But yes, I have done so."

If he were braver, he would suggest they should swim together sometime.

Of course, if he were braver, he would also have told Lan Zhan everything already -- and he would likely be sleeping in a different room for it, let alone a different bed. Not only a coward, but a selfish one, he thinks wryly.

He hums in quiet acknowledgement, keeping his eyes closed.

"Tired?" he murmurs, looking down at Wei Ying.

"Do you want to try sleeping again?"

Even while he asks it, he keeps his arm around Wei Ying, holding him close.

Edited 2020-09-29 19:41 (UTC)

A soft sigh.

"I don't know," he admits, quietly. "I don't think I want to sleep again."

"Then you do not have to."

Gently said.

"Do you want to lie down? To be more comfortable?"

He hesitates, but only for a moment, and then adds,

"I will stay with you. And keep talking."

He swallows. Nods, after a moment, and whispers, "Yes."

Coward, sighs a voice in the back of his mind.

"If you run out of things to say, you could -- " (Please, let his face not betray him.) "You could sing. Instead. Whatever you'd like. Or stay quiet," he hastens to add, "I will not mind -- "

"Wei Ying."

Quiet, gentle, and yet very, very clear.

"I will sing for you."

He falls silent.

If he is lucky, the room will be too dim for Lan Zhan to notice the flush to his cheeks -- because how can he not raise his head to look at him, now? How can his heart not race as he studies him, looking for... for what? Lan Zhan to notice, and recoil?

Nothing happens. Lan Zhan does not pull away.

"All right," he says, so quiet he barely hears himself, and -- reluctantly -- eases himself away from the other man to lie down.

"Wait only a moment," he murmurs, and gets up.

Lan Wangji clears away the small table with its tea service to stand by the door, extinguishes the incense burner, and puts out the lantern over the low table. The one at the foot of the bed he leaves lit, for now.

All the while, he orders his pulse and breathing to steady and demands of himself that he remain composed. Wei Ying has been through enough stress for one evening.

He returns to the bed, makes sure the coverlet is spread over Wei Ying, then lies down beside him.

"Come here," he says, glad of the moment to compose himself, praying his voice will not tremble and betray him. "Lay your head on my shoulder. You will be comfortable, and able to hear, both."

Which is true. Lying is forbidden.

...It is a good thing he's already dead, because otherwise Lan Zhan might kill him with this.

Wei Wuxian stills beneath the coverlet. Lan Zhan, are you sure, he almost says, Lan Zhan, would you offer if you knew --

He wets his lips and says nothing at all. Instead, cautiously, he edges close enough to do what is asked of him: rest his head back on Lan Zhan's shoulder, and let his eyes close once more.

(He's right, he admits. It is more comfortable.)

There are many songs he could sing.

One of the specialties of Gusu Lan is musical cultivation, after all, and it is a particular strength of his. There are lullabies, meditative melodies, spiritual soothing songs, and more, so very much more. There are many, many, many songs he could sing.

But here, now, with Wei Ying, in this moment, as before, there is only one choice.

There are words to this song. He has known them for years. He does not use them now. To do so would be to lay his heart bare at Wei Ying's feet.

Instead, he begins to hum the familiar melody, low and clear.

He exhales. The breath trembles, stirring a few strands of hair that have fallen in front of his face.

He can picture the bright glow of Lan Zhan's energy rippling with the music; the warmth of his golden core heating them both, gentle as a hearth. Faintly, Wei Wuxian can feel the vibration of Lan Zhan's song where they rest against each other. The sound eases out the frantic hum in his chest. He does not have to worry here. He can just -- be.

He'll have to tell him. Soon. He cannot keep stealing this comfort when Lan Zhan does not know what he truly offers.

But if Lan Zhan turns away from him once he does know, at least Wei Wuxian will have this memory to keep him warm.

He does not sleep -- not truly. But here and there, as the night stretches toward morning, he drowses against Lan Zhan's shoulder, comforted.

He keeps up the flow of music without stopping, occasionally switching between songs while Wei Ying rests beside him. From time to time he will murmur an explanation of why he chooses this piece or that melody before starting to sing again.

Every so often, he repeats their song, using it as touchstone and transition both, especially when he feels Wei Ying start to tense up for any reason. Each time, as he does, Wei Ying will relax again, and Lan Wangji cannot articulate even to himself the complex way that makes him feel.

The hours pass, illuminated by the dim light of the single lantern and marked by melody, until dawn breaks as mao hour arrives.

After the evening he had, Wei Wuxian did not expect to feel even remotely rested. He is still tired, to be sure, but it is not the bone-deep exhaustion that means he will be incapable of thought for most of the day to come. He may -- very, very cautiously -- ask Madam Bar for a small cup of coffee if tea does not do the trick. But considering what he thought he might endure --

This is better than he could have hoped.

As the sky lightens, he nestles closer to Lan Zhan without realizing, as if to forestall him getting up. "Mao hour is still too early," he mumbles.

He lets out a soft huff of breath in what might, in fact, be a laugh.

"Mn."

He turns his head to look down at the other man, but does not otherwise move.

"I know you prefer to sleep later."

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