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The Library Pavilion is always a quiet space, but it is especially so in the mornings. It’s the time when night creatures have dozed off from their chittering under the moon, lulled to sleep as the sun shines its first rays over the horizon, but when life that flourishes in the day has yet to bring itself from the last tendrils of sleep. There is a stretch of time—no man’s time—where everyone is asleep.
That was several hours ago and the sun has long since risen. Consequently, Lan Wangji has also long since settled himself at his desk in the Library Pavilion, back straight and book in hand.
Late morning light pierces in from the windows, slowly cutting a path along the wooden floor as the sun heads towards its highest point in the sky. It is, without a doubt, a peaceful and elegant scene. Anyone happening upon the younger Twin Jade at this moment would sigh wistfully at the scene, a shiver stirring at their heart.
It is exactly what happens to Wei Wuxian after he pushes open the sliding door, although he manages to contain the sigh. Instead, he unconsciously allows a rare gentle smile to tease at the corner of his lips, silently admiring his husband as he closes the door behind him.
Lan Wangji doesn’t move from his position, doesn’t even look up, but Wei Wuxian knows he’s aware of his presence. With long and casual strides, Wei Wuxian saunters over. He settles into the spot across the table with a loud sigh, eyes briefly scanning the top of the desk.
There’s an elegant white porcelain teapot, short and squat, decorated with simple but controlled brushworks depicting several shoots of bamboo in a pale qing glaze. Two matching teacups rest on the table as well; the one in front of Lan Wangji is half full, while another one sits empty but at the ready in front of Wei Wuxian. The style of ceramic is uncommon for scholars, who prefer unglazed and earth-coloured pots decorated with black ink, but it is very Gusu Lan-esque to choose such pieces. Wei Wuxian slouches onto the table, resting his cheek in his hand as he watches the man across from him.
Silence has its way for several moments as Wei Wuxian simply admires Lan Wangji. He studies the way the sunlight gently grazes the planes of his face and studiously watches the flutter of his eyelashes as Lan Wangji reads from one line in his book to the next. Even now, after so many years, the silent form of his husband makes him want to tease and provoke the other man.
And who is he, to deny himself every desire that crosses his mind.
“Lan Zhan,” he calls, voice lilting. “Lan Zhan, I arrive and you don’t even look up to greet me? You’re so cruel, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes flick towards him briefly. It’s an empty stare to most, but Wei Wuxian catches a blanketing warmth in the second that his amber eyes meet his own, filling him up with a giddiness that sloshes over in his chest.
It takes him a moment to compose himself and pull out a petulant pout.
“Ahh, no words? No morning greeting for your husband?”
Husband. The term rolls off his tongue so easily but the very concept of it fills him with another giddiness, making him want to jump up and dance like a small child who just received a candy from the village granny.
His husband. They’re husbands. He lets the word pass his lips multiple times a day, every time filling him with a wondrous burst of joy and every time never failing to bring either a softness to Lan Wangji’s face or a redness to his ears; Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he will ever tire of the word.
Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything, his eyes stay fixed to his book. It’s what Wei Wuxian expected so he doesn’t mind, especially with the way Lan Wangji gaze remains stagnant and unmoving on the page. His attention is completely caught by Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian knows this. Wei Wuxian knows this and Lan Wangji knows that he knows, not that it was ever meant to be a secret. With Wei Wuxian around, a distracted Lan Wangji is inevitable.
Wei Wuxian still plays along, as he’s bound to do. He grins and reaches across to tap his finger against the table beside the teapot on Lan Wangji’s side.
“Husband,” he calls sweetly. “Dearest husband. Husband of my life. The only one I should ever call husband.”
He pauses, laughing inside with the way Lan Wangji’s ears are bright red while his eye appears to be twitching in irritation. As much as Lan Wangji loves hearing the term come from Wei Wuxian’s lips as much as he enjoys feeling its weight off his own tongue, the blushing it draws out of him is embarrassing and terribly undignified. Had they been in public, Lan Wangji would have used the few words in his day’s word quota to divert the conversation. It’s because he doesn’t stop him now that Wei Wuxian knows he does not mind it. A carefree grin spreads across his face, bright enough to rival the sun casting its gaze over the library.
“My husband,” Wei Wuxian repeats, voice dripping with flair. He picks up the empty teacup from the side of the table with both hands and holds it up with obnoxious purpose in front of Lan Wangji. “May I bother you for a cup of tea?”
Lan Wangji properly raises his head this time, his face as neutral as always.
“The teapot is well within your reach,” is the reply, each word spoken clearly and articulately, as is expected of the esteemed Hanguang-Jun.
“Ahh come on, Lan Zhan. Play along. Save me some face,” he says, lowering the teacup slightly.
Lan Wangji does not set down his book
“Although,” he muses thoughtfully, letting go of the teacup with one hand to prop up his cheek. His lips stretch into a wide grin. “It isn’t really playing. Since we really are married.”
The look that Lan Wangji sends him steals the breath from his lungs. He had been expecting more frustrated blushing from his husband, but his last musing brings Lan Wangji’s gaze towards him in a way that is anything but frustrated. Those clear, limpid eyes are filled with an unmistakable deep-rooted warmth that stirs up the emotions that are already whirling inside Wei Wuxian’s chest.
Unexpectedly, he feels his own cheeks heat up.
With a slam, he returns the teacup to the desk. He jerks backwards, sitting up properly as he tries to bring his mind back to ease. The loud noise makes Lan Wangji frown the slightest bit but Wei Wuxian pays it no mind. His fingers twitch around the teacup before he lets go altogether. Slamming his palms against the table this time, Wei Wuxian lowers his head and breathes out a loud sigh, a loose attempt to hide his face while he gets his bearings.
By this point, his face feels cool enough to show himself and so he does, pushing against the solid wood to stand up. He crosses his arms, bringing a finger to his lips in contemplation. His eyes flicker several times to Lan Wangji, who glances at him with contained curiosity before focusing back on his book.
Wei Wuxian abandons his teacup; his interest in it was mild at best to begin with. With a sweep of his robes, he rounds the scholar’s table. His hand slides across Lan Wangji’s back as he lets himself fall comfortably into his side. There’s a gentleness to the curve of his husband’s lips that suggests a smile, and Wei Wuxian can’t help his own, resting his cheek against the broad shoulder. He would be more than content to stay here for the rest of the morning.
His eyes drop to the book in Lan Wangji’s lap. Skimming the page, he catches the characters for “sword” and “golden core”. As if in response, the weak one left behind for him by Mo Xuanyu seems to shiver.
In his past life, demonic cultivation had been his eventual downfall; he knows this. The buildup of resentful energy in his body without a proper way to cleanse his spirit nearly ruined his soul. As for his body, it tore that apart entirely and rather brutally.
When he initially returned to this world, there was no time to properly cultivate Mo Xuanyu’s golden core to a higher level. The ghost hand—Nie Mingjue’s, his mind reminds him—began wreaking havoc within days of his return. He fell back on cultivating resentful energy, both out of habit from the last few years of his previous life, but also out of convenience.
If he is being honest, he wouldn’t really mind exploring demonic cultivation. He was alone in it last time and never had the outlet necessary to balance out all the resentful energy he was absorbing. This time, it isn’t him against the world anymore. He has someone by his side, the same person he never realized he’s had since the beginning. There’s a guilt that hits him when he thinks that, but there’s also still so much to explore with the cultivation of resentful energy and the unquenchable curiosity within himself begs to learn more.
But he knows that Lan Wangji fears for him, and he doesn’t blame him. He left him once, torn away and apart in such a brutal way. Wei Wuxian winces; it’s not really something he likes to think about. And that isn’t to mention the terrible way he had treated Lan Wangji in the past. Truly, resentful energy is acidic. Cultivating it in his past life eroded at his spirit and left behind a shell of manic smiling and the trail of a desperate murderer.
And Lan Wangji had to watch all of that unfold.
When Wei Wuxian thinks about it, he doesn’t know why Lan Wangji mourned for him, why he stayed hoping for him for thirteen long years. Wei Wuxian had treated him so cruelly in those last few years; he was hardly worth the ache and tears.
That was what he’d thought in the beginning. Excited as he was to marry Lan Wangji, the thoughts would keep him awake most nights as he watched the steady rise and fall of his husband’s chest. He contemplated it for many months after their marriage, the guilt often keeping his mind restless when he was left alone.
But Lan Wangji, in his quiet ways, was adamant in his love for him. He doesn’t know how he does it, but Lan Wangji always notices when Wei Wuxian begins to fall into his thoughts. In public, it’s a quick squeeze of his hand, a signal that they should talk later. In private, it’s an embrace with Wei Wuxian’s face pressed to his chest, an unmoving pillar until Wei Wuxian finally spills his mind into his arms.
The first time it happened, all Wei Wuxian could utter was a “Why?” before his throat closed up and he realized his cheeks were wet. Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to say in response that time; too much had happened for him to guess which misfortune his beloved was asking for.
With a loss for words, Lan Wangji had held him close.
A few instances like that later, Wei Wuxian finally managed to put into words his frustrations without falling apart. But when he did, he almost wishes he hadn’t, because the look with which Lan Wangji had pinned him with was loving, sure, but also so, so devastated.
That had been one of the rare moments when Lan Wangji spoke more than Wei Wuxian could handle. His words were slow at first (I love you) but they gradually came faster (your heart is so caring) and his words grew stronger (you helped me see things differently) and heavier with conviction (you are worth the stars and more) tripping over each other to be spoken (you inspired my whole world).
Wei Wuxian was shaken that night, overwhelmed to his core by Lan Wangji’s words, which seemed to not know how to stop once he had started. And Wei Wuxian did not stop him, could not stop him with the way Lan Wangji held his gaze with those light eyes, the devastation from moments earlier morphing into a determination so that Wei Wuxian would know exactly every single reason why he was a beautiful person, inside and out, even with this flaws, and especially with his past.
For Wei Wuxian, that night was another reminder of just how attuned to him Lan Wangji was. It was—is—a love that he wasn’t sure he was capable or worthy of bearing, even at the end of that night. He knew Lan Wangji could see it on his face, and he knew Lan Wangji knew he knew, but the doubt inside him had also begun to uproot itself some, and he knew Lan Wangji saw that too.
With a sigh, Wei Wuxian runs his fingers idly over Lan Wangji’s shoulders, feeling the delicate stitches of embroidery detailing curling wisps of clouds and the occasional elegant crane. He follows a line of silk, feeling the craftsmanship and bringing his hand lower down his back. Subtly, he is brought out of his bliss when the smooth embroidery threads rise in a more-than-obvious bump. Followed by another. And another.
Wei Wuxian opens his eyes. (When did he close them?) He can see the welts in his mind’s eye. He has spent so many hours tracing the angry marring across his husband’s back with a feather light touch, pressed kisses to each and every one with a gentleness that fears of bringing more pain to the scars long since healed, cried more drunken apologies to Lan Wangji than he wishes to admit, to not have them imprinted into his mind. Blinking slowly, he lifts his head from the shoulder he was leaning on. His fingers continue to trace the old scars, almost obsessively, despite the ache he feels in his heart when confronted with them.
“Wei Ying.”
The sound of his name in that grounding timbre stills his hand. His brow twitches as he stares at Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and breathes in sharply before opening them again, reaching for the teapot to pour himself a cup of tea. His hand is still but it is with little success that he manages to smooth out the scowl at his brow, although he can’t help but relax when Lan Wangji lightly touches the back of his hand.
Wei Wuxian sends a small smile his way before taking a sip from the cup. It’s a fragrant jasmine, still warm and leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest. Whoever brought the tray of tea to the Library Pavilion had even added several blossoms into the cup as a simple garnish; they sway lazily in the liquid as Wei Wuxian sets the cup back down.
He looks back to Lan Wangji, eyes flickering briefly to his shoulder, an attempt made of the involuntary urge to see at his back. When he looks back into Lan Wangji’s golden eyes, he sees a soul, open with all the answers he could dream of. All he needs to do is flip to the right page.
“Lan Zhan,” he begins, somewhat redundantly given that he already has his full attention. His hands clench around the teacup and a rueful smile plays at his lips. “…You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?”
Lan Wangji blinks slowly. He looks down at the teacup, clenched tightly in Wei Wuxian’s hands, and reaches out to gently pry one loose. With deliberate movements, he threads their fingers together.
“We’ve all suffered,” he says without looking up, his tone matter-of-fact.
Wei Wuxian breathes out a weak laugh. He lets go of the cup and rests his elbow against the table, resting his chin heavily in his hand. The one entwined with Lan Wangji’s, he leaves where it is and gives a gentle squeeze. There’s a short moment of silence as Wei Wuxian stares unseeingly across the room and Lan Wangji waits for Wei Wuxian’s next words. Then,
“A lot of it was because of me,” he says quietly.
“Wei Ying—”
“I’m alright,” Wei Wuxian says quickly, cutting off Lan Wangji’s words. He lets go of his husband’s hand in lieu of moving closer and falling into his arms instead. On instinct, he wraps his arms around his neck and almost immediately, there are arms wound tight around his waist as well.
He brushes his hand down Lan Wangji’s back.
“But the scars on your back…,” he mutters. “They were because of me. You can’t deny that.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything. Wei Wuxian pushes away so he can look him in the face. The eyes that stare back at him are resigned, as if there was no other choice. Wei Wuxian’s next words are a whisper.
“Sometimes I wish you didn’t stay by me.”
He says it knowing how selfish it is for him to even think. If Lan Wangji never stayed by his side, it would spare him the scars that cross over his back, yes, but it would also spare Wei Wuxian the guilt that is still deeply rooted in his heart. The roots have latched on, and there is no way to uproot it without taking out a chunk of Wei Wuxian with it.
He expects hurt to slash its cold heart over Lan Wangji’s face as it sometimes does when they talk about the past—his words are too much like a dismissal of all that Lan Wangji has done for him, after all—but he doesn’t get that. His husband looks sad, looks a tinge helpless, maybe worried, but in seconds, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure anymore. His vision blurs and he blinks. There’s a warmth that rolls down his cheeks and ah, there’s that worry again. Lan Wangji swipes his thumb over his cheek, a tenderness that contrasts his usual aloof expression.
Wei Wuxian lets out a breath and it shakes. He scowls, frustrated, and shakes his head.
"Tell me, Lan Zhan," he says, forcing his voice to remain calm. It takes a minute, but he succeeds, as he often does. The redness in his eyes recede until it's only the tightness of dried tears on his face that serve as a reminder of the moment before. "Have you truly never regretted it? Any of it? The lashes must have hurt."
He tries to maintain eye contact but, in the end, he drops his gaze.
This is not something they have talked about in length before. They are old scars to Lan Wangji and it isn't in his nature to complain of hurting anyway. But for Wei Wuxian, they have latched onto the back of his mind since he first saw them and have burned incessantly since Lan Xichen told him how they came to be.
It's guilt.
The fact that the punishment came because Lan Wangji stood so resolutely by his side, because he opposed his own elders, because he even fought back against them... And for what?
"Get lost."
No gratitude. No appreciation. Not even a smile.
"Get lost."
Wei Wuxian really doesn't have the memories from that time at the Burial Mound, but he can imagine himself saying it, and it hurts to even think it. He catches onto Lan Wangji's hand and squeezes it tight and wonders if this was how Lan Wangji held his hand too when he fed him spiritual energy while he was delirious and out of commission.
There’s a responding squeeze back.
“Yes,” he hears, “it did indeed hurt.”
Wei Wuxian nods slowly. His husband has always spoken to him the truth and he appreciates that. He was given a second chance at this life and they both have learned it best not to speak in lies or half truths.
The admission still stings though, a little.
But the kiss that follows it soothes it just the slightest.
It’s short but sweet, dulling the sharpness of his words. Wei Wuxian has just closed his eyes when Lan Wangji pulls away again. It isn’t until he opens his eyes again that he speaks.
“I believe Brother told you I was bedridden for years,” he says, words spoken like he was reciting from a textbook. “I will not lie; it was unpleasant and the pain on my back made it difficult to lie down to rest.”
Wei Wuxian smiles wryly, muttering, “Please. Don’t spare me the details.”
Lan Wangji raises his eyebrows. He has inevitably gotten used to Wei Wuxian’s jokes and teasing, but he occasionally plays dumb for the sake of it sometimes.
“It was excruciating,” he says monotonously. “There were days I could not move from my own bed. I could not reach my guqin nor my books on those days. My only entertainment would be the rabbits that hopped around my room.”
Wei Wuxian hits his shoulder but a smile fights at his lips and the shadow has lifted from his eyes.
“I was kidding,” he says. “Although I appreciate knowing that the rabbits I brought you from so long ago kept you company.”
He gets a responding nod and the hint of a smile.
“I know.” A pause, followed by a sigh. “But to answer your question, no, I did not regret standing by you. Even if time went back, I would not change my decision.”
Wei Wuxian can only stare.
“You changed my perception. I loved you, and I still do. I do not believe I was blinded by love, but that I could see the real you because of love. I stand by you and I stand by my decision to help you, who always smiled when calling my name, who always smiled facing both foe and friends who unwittingly became foes because they failed to comprehend you out of grief or the circumstance.” Lan Wangji frowns.
“Wei Ying, I could never regret you.”