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The latest idea that struck Wei Wuxian mid-lunch: if he combined one of the theoretical energy talismans with a paper doll, would that allow him to search the grounds for resentful energy without having to blanket the whole inn with talismans?

It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.

First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.

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He offers a split-second prayer to the ancestors and any friendly deity that might be listening that his ears might not flush, and nods.

"Yes."

He keeps combing as he talks, frowning slightly as he works through a particularly stubborn tangle.

"If you are sure I am not intruding."

"Of course you're not," he says cheerily. Shaking out his damp hair, he drags his fingers through it in lieu of a proper comb -- he worked out most of the tangles in the shower already -- and chucks the towel at the privacy screen. It catches on one corner, hangs there a moment...

...and then slides off to the floor.

Groaning, he gets back up to hang the towel properly.

As he does: "If you were, Lan Zhan, I would not have added you to the warding talisman on the door."

"I know, but--"

The words stick in his throat as he thinks of kneeling outside a closed door in winter, with snowflakes falling; in spring, when the gentians began to bloom.

He abandons the effort at an explanation. He will just have to believe Wei Ying, and be alert to any signs of him changing his mind.

Besides, something else has caught his attention.

"... do you not have a comb?"

"I do, I just, ah..."

Sheepishly, he returns to his bed.

"This is easier, for now?"

"Mn."

Somehow, the simple sound is unthinkingly fond.

He finishes with his own hair and shakes it back over his shoulders.

"You can use this one. If you want. I will be a moment."

Lan Wangji lays the comb down on his bed and quickly retreats to the bathroom to wash up.

Laughing a little, he calls after him, "Thank you, Lan Zhan!"

He probably should look after his hair properly, considering how much else he neglected today in favor of his studies. Wei Wuxian grabs the comb and gets to work.

He figures out the controls for everything with the aid of the small pictures that have been discreetly placed in the room. Lan Wangji thinks it is just another sign of how thoughtful Bar-gūniang is, and he appreciates her kindness.

There is also just enough space for him to perform a careful series of small stretches to loosen the muscles in his back. He is determined to avoid a repeat of what happened the other morning, to avoid alarming Wei Ying further.

Several minutes later, ablutions completed, he steps back into the room, and sees Wei Ying using his comb. A rush of warmth passes through him at the sight, and, quietly pleased, he walks over to resume his seat on the bed.

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, then winces a bit as the comb hits a tangle near the nape of his neck. Carefully, he wrangles the teeth through the knotted hair, smoothing it into place as the tangles give way.

(Yes. He definitely needs to remember to eat, and to take care of himself a little better, if only so Lan Zhan will not have to fuss so much.)

Once he's done, he holds the comb out to Lan Zhan.

He smiles back -- faint and hard to see unless you know him well, but there -- and accepts it, then tucks it away neatly in his qiankun bag.

Hài hour is drawing near, he knows, even though he might wish it otherwise.

"Are you tired?"

"A little." He stretches his arms overhead, twists from side to side, then topples over to sprawl on the bed. His loose hair fans over the pillow. "It was only two ghosts, but it has been so long that I feel like I walked a dozen kilometers."

Edited 2020-09-07 16:42 (UTC)

"Mn."

Wei Ying must be almost boneless, Lan Wangji thinks, like a cat, easily able to lie comfortably draped wherever he finds himself, whether that be on a rooftop, or as now, across his bed.

He himself cannot make himself be quite so casual, but does manage to shift and sit cross-legged on his own bed. Focusing on his posture helps him keep himself from paying undue attention to the black-silk fall of Wei Ying's hair.

"Maybe it will not be as long. Until next time."

Edited 2020-09-07 16:48 (UTC)

"It won't." He aims a grin up at Lan Zhan. "Now that I know it's there, I will have plenty of chances to practice more."

It is ridiculous of him to worry. He knows it. Wei Ying is both brilliant and capable.

And yet--

"I will go with you. When you want."

"Good," he says. "I was going to say -- "

We still work well together.

I have missed this.

" -- I was glad to have you and Bichen at my back."

He feels lightheaded, almost dizzy.

I am sorry I was not there when you needed me.

I will not fail you again.

"From now on," he promises. "As long as you wish."

His smile softens. He watches Lan Zhan a moment longer, then punches the pillow a couple times to make it more comfortable and rolls onto his side.

Let me remember this tonight, he thinks. Let me forget the rest.

"You will fall asleep sitting upright again, Lan Zhan," he warns, lightly.

"Mn."

Wei Ying is ... probably not wrong, he realizes.

Lan Wangji lies down on his back, pillow neatly positioned under his head, and folds his hands over his middle dantian in his usual sleeping position.

"Good night, Wei Ying."

Habit overtakes him, and he is asleep in mere moments.

"Good night, Lan Zhan," he murmurs.

As Lan Zhan's breathing shifts to that of deep sleep, swiftly as ever, Wei Wuxian's smile fades. He props himself on his elbow to study the other man.

Carefully, after a few moments, he swings his feet out of bed to set them on the floor. When Lan Zhan still doesn't stir, he sighs, barely audible, and pads over to the low table to resume his work.

He marks the hour by the arc of the moon; he may not know how long he sits at the table, crafting talisman after talisman, but after what must be several hours, the moon has risen far enough that it no longer shines enough light into his room. He stifles a yawn against the back of his hand, blinking heavily at the latest stack of papers he created. A little longer, he thinks. Just a little longer.

Sketching a line of characters in the air, he conjures a tiny orb of red light, dim enough not to disturb Lan Zhan, bright enough to let him finish another talisman or three. He makes it halfway through the second talisman before realizing his brushwork has become too sloppy from exhaustion; with a sigh, he crumples up the ruined talismans, extinguishes the light, and shuffles back to bed in defeat.

He watches the ceiling. He counts Lan Zhan's breaths. He tries, as hard as he can, to stay awake just a little longer.

But eventually, the exhaustion wraps its arms around him to pull him under, and he is too weak to fight back.

Two hours later, his eyes snap open.

His whole body is rigid, locked in place. He tries to twitch his fingers and can't. His eyes dart back and forth; frantically, he sucks in a rasping breath, struggling to fill his lungs.

Help, he tries to say, but all that comes out is a weak wheeze. Help me.

His breathing is slow and rhythmic in the darkness of the room.

As the faint sound of Wei Ying's desperate, strangled breath drifts through the air, a slight frown draws a tiny line between his eyebrows, but Lan Wangji does not otherwise stir.

He has to get up. He must. If he doesn't, if he can't pull the needle from his neck, if he can't get his body to move in defiance of Wen Qing's attempts to keep him from doing anything --

"Help," he manages to croak, and then all at once, the lock on his muscles breaks.

He rolls from the bed and lands on his hands and knees. Frantically, he scrabbles at the back of his neck -- but he can't find the needle anywhere, where is it, where is it, please --

-- help --

The tiny, miserable cry jerks him from sleep to wakefulness in an instant. As he rolls to his side, trying to see what's happening, Wei Ying falls to the floor and Lan Wangji discovers that he can, in fact, move faster than he ever thought possible.

He scrambles from the bed and drops to his knees beside Wei Ying, throwing an arm around him for support.

"Wei Ying. Wake up. Wake up."

"Lan Zhan -- "

His voice cracks into a sob. He heaves more air into his chest as he keeps clawing at the back of his neck, a curtain of hair half obscuring his face.

"I can't find it -- pull it out, please, pull it out, I have to -- "

"Shh. I will look."

He has no idea what he is looking for, but that does not stop him. He slides his hand up Wei Ying's back to his neck, under his hair, and gently probes with his fingers, carefully searching along the nape of his neck, the sides of his throat, the base of his skull.

While he does, he reaches across in front of Wei Ying to put his other hand on his shoulder. With a light pull, Lan Wangji tries to get Wei Ying to turn and look at him.

"I am here, Wei Ying. I will help."

"Hurry," he begs. "Please. Lan Zhan, I have to stop them before they get too far, they're going to..."

Even if he's half-paralyzed, he can move enough to follow where Lan Zhan guides him. There's no coherence to the gaze Wei Wuxian turns on him; his eyes are too wide, brimming with tears, and each breath moves his chest like a bellows.

Lan Zhan is here, he thinks. He doesn't know why he's here, how he made it to the Burial Mounds or why he wants to help, but he will. He will. He's...

...not wearing his forehead ribbon?

Wei Wuxian's brow knots in confusion.

There is nothing to find, no wound or protrusion or anything to remove. Whatever Wei Ying thought was there must have been part of his dream.

I have to stop them-- They're going to--

The first dim inkling of what this dream may have been starts to seep into his awareness.

His fingers still, leaving his hand gently cupped around the back of Wei Ying's neck as he searches the other man's face, worry visible on his own.

"Wei Ying."

He says it as gently as he can.

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