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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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."

For several seconds it does not look as though he is going to say anything at all.

(It should not be so hard to accept, being welcomed in like this, through an open door. He knows this. And yet.)

Finally --

"An instrument stand." Quietly. "One with space for your flute, as well as my guqin."

He thinks of the night Lan Zhan arrived at the inn; the duet they played after Wei Wuxian's flute was fine-tuned. Even then, his heart soared, and now --

It is right that their spiritual tools should rest side by side when Lan Zhan visits. That is all he can think. It is right.

"I will ask Madam Bar," he says, and feels his smile grow. "And I will have it by tonight."

Wei Ying's smile lights up the room, and he feels his own lips curve in answer.

Oh, look at that, it's immediately time to put all his attention back on his tea!

If he is this jittery already, he decides, it will be a terrible idea to add any coffee to the mix, no matter how small a cup. Tea will suffice. Tea will get him through the day. It was not a completely sleepless night, after all, and at least some of the hours he couldn't sleep were... peaceful.

(Even just the memory of Lan Zhan's song slows his racing mind by a pace or two.)

As much as he tries to savor his cup, though, it feels like hardly any time at all before it sits empty in his hands.

He has matched his pace to Wei Ying's, quietly content in simple companionship in this moment, and as a result his own teacup now rests empty as well.

"I should go."

He starts to collect the dishes, with every intention of bringing them back downstairs.

"Let me fetch my robes," says Wei Wuxian as he helps Lan Zhan gather the dishes. "I'll come downstairs with you, at least."

(More possibilities to make a fool of himself? Perhaps. But also more time to spend with Lan Zhan before he goes.)

"All right."

He takes the few moments while Wei Ying prepares to see him off to make sure his forehead ribbon is properly aligned, having realized that he put it on in quite a rush during the night.

He belts his outer robes in place, tightens his hair ribbon a little more, and glances over to Lan Zhan. A deep swell of fondness catches him by surprise; the sight reminds him so much of the first time he ever saw Lan Zhan drunk, Wei Wuxian teasing him that his ribbon was crooked and Lan Zhan earnestly, frantically trying to fix it.

When things were easier -- long before the Sunshot Campaign, the Burial Mounds, Nightless City -- he used to care so little about the Gusu Lan edict that no one touch another's forehead ribbon. He would have cheerily gone over and tried to straighten the ribbon for him, ready for Lan Zhan to push his hand away with a stern look, and he would only grin and laugh in reply.

But when the edict also states that only a significant other can touch the ribbon --

"It looks fine," he assures him from several feet away. He gestures to his own forehead. "Perhaps a centimeter this way."

"Mn."

For an instant, he is tempted to ask Wei Ying to straighten it for him. As many times as he has reached for it and teased Lan Wangji about it in the past, he likely does not realize the significance.

But it would not be fair.

"Thank you," he says, making the small adjustment.

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