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There’s a weird sort of fog hanging around the Cloud Recesses when Lan Wangji exits the Jingshi that morning. It’s not abnormal per se, but it seems heavier than a typical winter fog in the mountains.
Beyond that something feels... off. There’s something different about the environment, something different about him — he feels more flexible, doesn’t feel the subtle pull of rigid scar tissue across his back. He lifts a hand to slide under his robes, pressing on the left side only to feel smooth skin.
He realizes now that he’s dreaming. It’s not the first dream he’s had where he was scarless, white skin flat and smooth like marble. He thinks it’s probably because it took him so long to heal, and his body took a long time to reach the same level of motion with the lack of elasticity in his back. Sometimes he longs for the days when they weren’t there.
Regardless, he sets off to complete his daily tasks. First things first: the rabbits need to be fed. He heads towards the back of the mountain as if he’s just taking a leisurely stroll, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the scenery.
When he arrives to where the bunnies typically gather, Lan Wangji is shocked to find they’re nowhere to be found. Instead, leaning against a tree and no doubt asleep is —
“Wei Ying?”
Wangji nearly trips over himself as he rushes forwards. It’s not just Wei Ying; it’s Wei Wuxian Wei Ying, all familiar angles and youth. Wangji’s chest tightens at the realization. When he went to sleep, Wei Ying was definitely with him, and definitely in the body of Mo Xuanyu. How could he be here in his own?
Wei Wuxian opens his eyes to see Wangji there and grins. It’s the kind of grin that would have annoyed Wangji when they first met, but now it just makes that tightening of his chest worse, more uncomfortable. It’s the kind of grin he fell in love with.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Wei Wuxian says, sitting up properly against the tree and holding out his arms, inviting Wangji into them.
Without really thinking about it, Wangji steps forward, all too eager to take the other in his arms as well, as he’d longed to do for years and years.
It feels a little surreal; Wei Wuxian’s body is different from Mo Xuanyu’s. He’s a little more muscular, a little less bony. It’s not the embrace he’s grown accustomed to, but it’s the embrace he yearned for, and he feels awful upon realizing that. He nuzzles into Wei Wuxian’s neck, inhales deeply through his nose. There isn’t a smell. It’s a dream.
“What are you doing all the way out here, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Wuxian asks, his breath tickling Wangji’s ear. “Just enjoying the scenery?”
Wangji doesn’t answer, suddenly caught up in the thought that he’s never had this dream before. Even when Wei Ying was gone, the dreams were nothing but repeats of the past, longing stares and bubbling frustration, arguments and misunderstandings and that overwhelming sense of loss. Once Wei Ying returned, Wangji didn’t dream about the past anymore. In fact, he thinks he stopped dreaming at all.
“Mn.”
It’s not really an answer, but he’s sure Wei Wuxian will take it as an affirmation. He tries to push the thoughts of how odd the dream is from his head, instead focusing on the feel of Wei Wuxian’s form, solid enough to feel real, but lacking the details to make him so. Wei Wuxian’s hair wasn’t quite as shiny, that mischievous twinkle missing from his eyes; his hands were cold where one came to rest on the nape of Wangji’s neck.
However, Wangji is more than happy to sit in silence like that, arms around Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian’s arms around him. It’s everything he wanted back then, when their bodies matched this moment.
The contentment inside of him fades out with a soft hiss as he feels Wei Wuxian’s nails dig into the back of his neck, nails sharp, hands slick with something that smells vaguely metallic.
When Wangji opens his eyes again, they’re not at the Cloud Recesses. Instead they’re sitting in a cave, surrounded by shadows that seem to have their own intent and the whispers of a large group of people.
He’s a bit woozy, scraped and bruised with several cuts here and there, but more importantly, he’s still holding Wei Wuxian, still being held by Wei Wuxian. Footsteps approach from behind, and Wangji stiffens, anticipating the worst. It feels like it takes all his energy to turn, but he regrets it immediately as Wei Wuxian’s arms fall limp to the floor, and Wangji is left cradling the man’s unconscious form in one arm, brandishing Bichen towards the other members of his sect with the other, his hand shaking with the effort.
“Wangji,” his uncle snaps, voice biting and harsh. “Lower your sword.”
He refuses and uses his aching legs to push himself and Wei Wuxian deeper into the cave, away from his uncle and the other Lan Sect Disciples. They don’t follow. They don’t even take a step forward. They watch from their spots as Wangji props Wei Wuxian’s limp form against the wall, holding his face with desperate, gentle hands, calling his name softly.
“Wei Ying,” he calls, again and again, until there’s tears streaming down his face, mixing with the blood and dirt from the fight. “Wei Ying, please.”
There’s a moment where he thinks Wei Wuxian is going to wake up, and his heart nearly stops. Wangji forgets, for only a moment, that this is a dream, and a horrible sense of hope washes over him.
But then Wei Wuxian begins crumbling. His body breaks into loose bits of dirt and rock, practically dissolving in Wangji’s hands until there’s nothing left but a pile of scatterable earth.
And again, Wei Wuxian is gone.
And again, Lan Wangji is alone.
The morning light is bright through the windows of the Jingshi when he next wakes. His back is sore, likely from sleeping curled up into a ball, which he hasn’t done in ages, and when he moves to straighten out and stretch, his head slides onto the bed from… a pair of thighs?
Wangji pulls himself up properly, blinking himself properly awake to see Wei Ying — Mo Xuanyu Wei Ying — sitting against the head of the bed, legs curled under himself. He’s snoring softly, his head hanging forward like a child who has fallen asleep in it’s highchair. Wangji realizes, as he reaches out to gently maneuver Wei Ying into a more acceptable position, that his head was on the other’s lap as he slept.
As soon as he properly lands on the mattress, Wei Ying also blinks awake, shooting into a sitting position and reaching out for Wangji. It’s not a blind search, as Wangji would rather eat dirt than let Wei Ying search for him, even in a moment of half-awake panic, and he takes the man’s hands in his own with a hum.
“You had a nightmare,” Wei Ying says, cutting himself off with a yawn. He blinks a few more times until he can properly look at Wangji without squinting in the light. “It seemed pretty bad. I haven’t seen you… move in your sleep. Like ever. But you were shaking. I was surprised you didn’t wake yourself up.”
Wangji doesn’t respond, instead scooting forward on the bed to embrace Wei Ying once more. The body is slender, bonier than the one in his dream, but it feels right. Wei Ying returns the embrace, hands wrapping around to rest softly on Wangji’s upper back. This time when Wangji nuzzles into Wei Ying’s neck and inhales, it smells familiar. It smells like home.