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 is not about whatever foolish games the infatuation plays with his mind. It doesn't matter. It never should have mattered, this entire past night. He could not be there for Lan Zhan, but he has the chance to be there now: that is what's important. Later he can go back to his foolishness, but right now --

Wei Wuxian reaches across the table, covers Lan Zhan's shaking hand with his own, and holds tight. Their hands are warm. No blood streaks across their skin, threatening to make them slip free of one another. There is no cliff. No whispered pleas for Lan Zhan to let him go.

He doesn't let go.

He turns his hand under Wei Ying's and holds on in turn, forcing his breathing to steady, forcing the memories back.

He cannot make himself tear his gaze from the other man, however; cannot bring himself to look away.

"Wei Ying," he whispers.

His mind is a complete blank. He cannot see anything but Lan Zhan's eyes, can feel nothing but their hands twined together, sparking bright as a golden core. The words he has tried to choke down all night sense their chance, bolt up his throat, almost make it to the tip of his tongue --

He swallows them down again.

If it was not the time before, it is absolutely not the time now.

"I am here, Lan Zhan," he repeats instead, hardly above a whisper either.

I am here.

Yes. He is here -- and he has just spent half the night wracked with his own nightmares, ones so bad that he felt the need to hide himself away, and now here he is once again reaching beyond his own needs to provide comfort and care to another--

Lan Wangji draws another slow breath, nods, and squeezes Wei Ying's hand before allowing his grasp to loosen. (He cannot make himself let go, not quite, but the indication is clear that Wei Ying can easily pull back if he so wishes.)

"Yes," he says.

"And your nightmares will ease in time. Rest assured."

Lan Zhan loosens his grip, indicating Wei Wuxian should as well, and he forces himself to draw away. He nods as he wraps both hands around his teacup. There isn't much tea left in it; soon, he thinks, it will probably be time for Lan Zhan to leave.

"Or they will go back to the nightmares I had before," he jokes, half-heartedly. "Where my flute has suddenly turned into a chicken and yet everyone expects me to play it just as normal."

Lan Wangji stares at him.

"..."

"What?" he asks, struggling -- with no success -- to keep a straight face. "You've never had a dream like that about your guqin?"

"No."

"Ah, count yourself lucky, then, Lan Zhan," he says, all the seriousness of his voice overshadowed by the cheerful grin that breaks across his face. "Chickens make for very uncooperative spiritual tools."

He lets out a sigh that is half exasperated, half fond.

"Wei Ying."

"Yes, I know, I know." He waves one hand as his smile goes more lopsided. "What else am I to do but joke, Lan Zhan?"

Dry as dust:

"Avoid chickens."

Midway through taking a sip of his tea, Wei Wuxian sputters, and has to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from spitting out the drink altogether.

Once the danger has passed, he dissolves into the sort of helpless giggling most often seen after too little sleep, or too much wine, or a lingering tension finally broken.

He makes a quiet, satisfied sound, and merely watches as Wei Ying collapses in laughter.

It takes some moments before he can pull himself together. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he shakes his head and quickly downs the rest of his tea, lest he run the risk of snorting it up his nose again.

"I will keep that in mind, Lan Zhan," he manages. "And you must promise me you will do the same."

"I will."

He reaches for the teapot, intending to refill Wei Ying's cup.

He pushes his cup closer so Lan Zhan can do just that. Unthinking, he glance goes to the window, tracking the rise of the sun.

"Will you have to leave after this cup?"

It comes out a little quieter than he intends.

"Mn."

He finishes pouring for the other man, then refills his own.

"Not too long after. I should return by early in chén hour."

"All right."

He will have to savor this cup, then. For all the moments his thoughts jolted him to panic and awkwardness, he doesn't actually want Lan Zhan to go. Even if it will not be for long.

Maybe he will think of what to say in the handful of hours they are apart. I will hope to be a braver man tomorrow, as he said to Harrow. It does not have to be anything -- excessive. And it does not have to be right away, if he cannot find the words after all.

(And, he reminds himself with dark humor, there is always the option of spending the rest of his afterlife hiding in the woods if it goes poorly.)

"I will plan to come back by yǒu hour," he adds. "As usual."

He takes a sip of tea.

"Would you mind if -- if I brought up a couple of things? More incense, and some tea, for example? To -- to have on hand."

He smiles. Softly, "I would not mind at all. It will be easier, to have them close. If things are bad again."

(When, in truth.)

"Then I will."

He very likely would have done it anyway, but it seems the right thing to do to ask Wei Ying about it, as this is his room, his residence.

"Can I -- "

He's saying it before he quite realizes it.

"Is there anything that you would like? That would make you more comfortable here?"

His eyes go wide and startled.

"... you do not have to," he says, carefully.

"Lan Zhan."

Gently, as he keeps a firm hold on his teacup so his hands don't tremble.

"Your name is on the talisman as well. It will not be an imposition."

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