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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This time there is no mistaking it: Lan Wangji chuckles, soft and low, just for an instant.

"No need," he says. "Stay. I do not mind."

Oh, no. That laugh.

Wei Wuxian's face flames bright red. Swiftly, he turns to hide it in the coverlet under the pretense of yawning. He can't even remember the last time he heard Lan Zhan laugh.

"All right," he mumbles once the 'yawn' has passed. "If you insist, Lan Zhan."

"I do."

Wei Ying turns away slightly to stifle a yawn in the coverlet, and he takes the opportunity to shift, very carefully, so that he can get up.

He is just as careful to support Wei Ying with one arm as he does, gently lowering his head to the pillow instead of Lan Wangji's shoulder.

"Rest a little longer," he says, as he heads for the door. He has no need to don his outer robes first, as he has been wearing them since his rapid trip downstairs for tea in the middle of the night.

"I will be back as soon as I can."

"All right." He cocoons further into the blanket. "I'll see you soon."

As soon as the door shuts, he hides his face again with a tiny groan. He was doing so well, damn it.

At least he'll have a few minutes to regain his composure before Lan Zhan returns.

It takes several minutes, actually, before Lan Wangji returns - and when he does, carrying a tray that he carefully maneuvers through the door, he looks mildly bemused.

"Bar-guniang had very definite ideas, when I explained to her," he says, as he sets it down on the table.

On the tray is a small platter of French pastries, including brasillé, pain perdu, gibassier, canistrelli, and chouquettes. A small jar of syrup accompanies this, as do two servings of oeufs cocotte, two mugs of hot chocolate, and the usual pot of tea.

Wei Wuxian's eyes widen as he surveys the array of pastries. He sits up, the coverlet falling from his shoulders, and pushes some of his hair aside as if it could help him get a better look.

"Impressive!" he finally manages with a laugh. "Where should we even start?"

The ones shaped a bit like tiny fans look interesting.

"At the table," he suggests, dryly.

"But first --"

He takes Wei Ying's hair ribbon from where it lies coiled on the black notebook and crosses over to him, holding it out.

Wei Wuxian pulls a face -- albeit a good-natured one -- at Lan Zhan's first comment. That fades to something faintly sheepish as he accepts the ribbon from him.

"Thank you," he says, gathering his hair in a simple ponytail to wind the ribbon around it. "If I am to wake this early for breakfast, I suppose I should be presentable."

At last, he pushes the coverlet aside to clamber out of bed.

"It is not that."

He does not explain, though, and instead goes back to the table, where he proceeds to begin setting things out for them both.

"Then what?" he asks as he drops onto one of the cushions, stifling another yawn against his arm.

(It is, somewhat to his chagrin, a real yawn this time.)

"I thought you might not want your hair in your breakfast."

He sets one of the mugs in front of Wei Ying. It is liberally topped with whipped cream, which would indeed be very messy if it were to end up in his long hair.

(The fact that he finds the sight of the crimson ribbon against the black silk of Wei Ying's hair beautiful is only a secondary, selfish consideration.)

He snorts a laugh, grinning at Lan Zhan. "So thoughtful! Yes, I suppose it might ruin all of your and Madam Bar's hard work."

He peers at the mug, curiously, then picks up one of his chopsticks to nudge a bit of the whipped cream aside. "What is under there? I've heard you can sweeten coffee like this, but you will never buy that for me, I know."

"Chocolate."

He sounds a little dubious about this.

"As a drink."

"Oh?" He brightens further. Gesturing to Lan Zhan's own mug with the chopstick, "If you like this, then you will very much like the milkshakes Lady Ingress taught me about. It is similar, but served cold. And not as thin."

"Mn."

He still looks skeptical, but willing to give it a try all the same.

He places the egg dish in front of Wei Ying, then an empty plate for the pastries, and sets the platter between them before repeating the process for himself.

"Do you like it?" he asks, with a nod to the mug Wei Ying is holding.

"I had a strawberry milkshake, not a chocolate one," says Wei Wuxian thoughtfully, "so..."

He takes an experimental sip of the chocolate.

Immediately, his eyebrows rise as he hums in obvious pleasure.

He makes an immediate mental note, and picks up his own mug to investigate.

After considering it for a moment, he cautiously stirs the topping into the drink below, then tries a sip.

It is very, very sweet, almost like eating tanghulu, but richer. He blinks.

"... maybe not for every day. But."

"But for special occasions, yes?" he concludes with another bright smile. "Like the end of your seclusion?"

He sips more of the hot chocolate, trying not to get any of the whipped cream on his nose, then moves on to investigate the pastries.

He takes another careful sip, savoring the flavor on his tongue.

It is the topping that is sweeter than he might otherwise choose, he realizes, and not the drink itself, which is rich and complex and intoxicating in a way that he approves of.

"... yes."

"Perfect," he declares as he shuttles a few of the little confections onto his plate. "I will remember that! It will be wonderful, Lan Zhan -- anything you like from any world you can imagine. And you could -- "

He almost stutters to a halt as he realizes what he's about to say. If he doesn't finish the sentence, though, Lan Zhan will only grow curious; and if he deflects the curiosity away, they will be back to the fidgeting awkwardness of the previous night.

"You could stay longer," he says -- more to the pastries than to Lan Zhan, despite his best efforts. "Not have to leave so early in the morning every time, if you wish."

He nearly fumbles the mug he is holding, and quickly sets it down.

"I -- "

A quick breath, as he feels his ears start to flush.

"I would like that. If you do not mind."

A beat of silence.

"Certainly you could sleep later, before breakfast. If I did not leave so early."

He laughs a little, studiously ignoring how his hand quivers when he picks up one of the pastries to take a bite. Maybe Lan Zhan won't notice? Maybe he'll just think it's because he slept poorly.

"That's what I thought," he says lightly once he's swallowed the food. As if that were the only reason: a selfish desire to sleep late. Not any other selfish desires. "Will you not be so bored waking so much earlier than me, though?"

"I will not," Lan Wangji tells him.

Accepting, as usual, of abandoning silence during meals when it is with Wei Ying, he examines the egg dish, then uses the utensil provided by Bar-guniang to take a bite.

"I will meditate, and prepare for the day."

"Good," he says. And then, with mock-generosity, "Though if I sleep past wu hour, you may feel free to shake me awake."

The fan-like pastry, it turns out, has a pleasant orange and spice flavor to it. The smaller diamond-shaped one almost shatters in his hand for how crispy it is; another pastry is so light that it feels like biting into sugar-spun air. He tries them all before investigating the thick, battered slices of bread, and the syrup that runs darker and sweeter than honey.

"Mn."

Breakfast, aside from the egg dish, is very sweet. He limits himself to the fan-shaped pastry and half a slice of the battered bread, without the syrup, and is content.

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