Chapter Text
The visit from his sister motivates him, gives him that final incentive he needed to fully devote himself to his research and practice. Lan Wangji acts as his temper, a clever ear to bounce ideas off, someone to bring him down if he gets too enshrouded by resentment. The cave becomes a veritable jungle, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji lugging plants from all over the Burial Mounds into the cave in makeshift pots. He practices and practices and practices until Lan Wangji forces him to stop, forces him to eat, to sleep. And it seems like they’re getting nowhere, that nothing is coming from their efforts, plants slowly withering from lack of sunlight and nutrients, leaves and faces alike wan and drawn.
Sometimes when Wei Wuxian is lying on their bed roll (Lan Wangji refuses to sleep on hard rock, no matter how austere his upbringing) , head on his lover’s chest, he wonders if he has finally gone crazy like everyone used to say, if all of this is just some grand illusion because he’s finally pushed himself too far, and that maybe, one day, he’ll wake up and find himself alone and starving in a dank cave surrounded by the dead bodies of his friends and family.
He no longer gets nightmares but he doesn't need to be asleep to be tormented by terrifying visions, and no amount of knowledge that this is the residual effects from his reliance on resentful energy can rid them from his mind; he’s killed too many people to not put his family’s faces in their places. It used to just be his brother and sister, familiar mouths contorted in pain as he rips them apart with terrifying ease, Jiang Fengmian was another regular, and even Madam Yu appeared sometimes. Once he rescued the Wens, their faces would also cameo. Lan Zhan was a new addition, however, and he was one of the worst, his waking mind cruel and unforgiving; he’d be leaning in to kiss him and he would suddenly see Lan Wangji’s pristine white robes splattered with blood, eyes blank and open, beautiful gold irises cold and dead. His hands on his chest knew how to kill, where to drive in a sword or to drag out his burning core. He was a murderer and he could never forget, wouldn't let himself forget.
He wonders if Lan Wangji can tell, can feel the stuttering of his pulse under his fingertips, can feel the slight flinch, the shudder that runs through him, the involuntary clenching of his hands. Lan Wangji is as aware of him as he is of himself, eyes always on him, steady, careful, loving. The way Lan Wangji looks at him almost makes him forget the blood staining his skin, the terrible things he did in the name of justice. People always say ‘do the right thing’ but they never tell you how hard it is to live with what you did.
But Lan Wangji makes it easier.
A month comes and goes; they hold a celebration for his shijie, Lan Wangji leading him by the hand to where everyone is gathered, lanterns strung around their camp, sweet wine flowing freely. He plays his flute for the first time without the intent to harm, soft notes twining around their home while his friends dance. It is the most content he has felt for a long time.
That night they make love for the first time, Lan Wangji’s hands reverent and eager and experienced . For a moment Wei Wuxian is consumed with intense jealousy and he has to take a moment to pull back from Lan Zhan , leaning on his glorious chest, look s into his eyes, and ask s :
“Have you done this before?”
Lan Wangji's ears turn red (well, redder) and he pauses, “...No.” And Wei Wuxian is confused because Lan Zhan doesn't lie but it also doesn't explain how he seems so skilled and knowledgeable, but then he very quietly says a name. A name he knows.
“Wen Qing?! You asked Wen Qing about this stuff?!” At Lan Wangji's silent nod, he groans and buries his head in Lan Zhan’s chest. “And she knows about this,” he gestures vaguely to where they're both joined together, “happening right now?”
Lan Wangji nods again.
“ Lan Zhan, even I have limits to my shamelessness,” and he’s going to say more, mouth open, but his next words turn into a drawn out moan when Lan Wangji suddenly bucks up underneath him and he stops worrying about what Wen Qing thinks of him.
They spend the night together, in their own facsimile of a wedding night, sweet touches and quiet gasps, soft hands tracing over shared scars, love and something almost sacred passing between their two bodies until the breaking of the dawn.
It’s when they are lying in the aftermath, bodies spent and content, hands gently running over skin, that Lan Wangji says, “I want to introduce you to my parents.”
And after what they shared that night, Wei Wuxian can only understand it in one way.