Work Text:
Prologue: The past
Outside the library of Gusu University, there grew a Magnolia tree likely older than the university itself. When it bloomed, the campus scattered with pale pink petals, drifting into the doors blown open in the library. It was where Lan Wangji spent most of his time, this old library, levels full of romance novels to weathered scrolls and coffee stained manuscripts. Even when he wasn’t deep in his studies he adored just being there, surrounded by the scent of paper and cracked spines. Of most of the three places he inhabited (his dorm-- the jingshi, the music room, and the library,) this was his favorite. Where he was away from prying eyes, from anyone who wanted to suck up to him for special favor, if only to please the dean. No one saw Wangji that way here, only another student with his nose buried deep in a book. And when he wanted to see the sunlight, he could walk outside and sit under the Magnolia, petals drifting down and landing in his hair like jewels. It was his safe place.
Well, that was, until Wei Wuxian. That boy swept into his life like a nightmare on wheels and followed Wangji everywhere, always on his heels. He wasn’t mean, so to speak, only the royalest of pains in Lan Wangji’s ass, always volunteering himself to be Wangji’s partner in class. And Wei Wuxian wasn’t dumb, either-- he in fact seemed to know a lot about what he was talking about when they talked about Picasso in their art history class, where they had first met. Wei Ying was smart, frankly, and he sent the professor in circles of frustration whenever he answered one of her perfectly confusing questions right. He was an enigma, always scrolling through his phone or doodling in his notebook. But he pulled straight As, and it drove Lan Wangji crazy, because he really, really wanted to hate him. To hate when he caught Wei Wuxian whispering and laughing to his friends and his heart fluttered like a captive butterfly.
But he was beautiful, he really was. Whether his hair cascaded down his shoulders like a midnight waterfall or was tied up in a tangled bun, whether he was dressed like a 2006 goth or like a homeless man-- Wangji really couldn’t resist falling for him. Because despite everything, Wei Wuxian was a genius and he was funny and he was pretty, so goddamn pretty. It drove Lan Wangji literally mad, because Wei Wuxian was so nice to him too, always calling him Lan er-gege as if they were friends or something and he brought Wangji boba, his favorite kind which made him even angrier. How did he even know that? Why is he so nice yet so punishing to me?
But Lan Wangji kept his composure, mostly. All but for a couple times confronting Wei Wuxian, nearly with fists. How was he supposed to react Wei Wuxian drove him crazy, in a way that made his skin feel on fire and his ears burn beet red-- and maybe that was called a crush, although he’d never admit it. Because that would mean that Wei Wuxian had won, and that for sure wasn’t happening.
However, well. There was only so long that one can fight feelings, and Wei Wuxian was persistent. He lingered around, and he spent a lot of time tormenting Wangji. He chased him around campus, well- not literally, but to Lan Wangji, it was about the same. Wei Ying knew his favorite spots in the library, he knew his boba order and where he liked to eat for lunch and was starting to learn too much-- Wangji wanted to kiss him and kill him equally.
But Wei Wuxian was a phenomenon. He could be kind as much as people thought he was an asshole, as smart as people thought he was dumb. He was the opposite of Lan Wangji in so many ways but when he talked, Wangji felt like he was melting. Around him everything felt hotter, despite the fact he was nearly cold-blooded. Even though Wei Wuxian couldn’t entirely penetrate the wall of ice that Lan Wangji had built around himself-- he came damn near close.
And Wei Ying, oh, Wei Ying, his flashy smile and his loud laugh, his pockmarked hands from his skating and his art. How he always smelled earthy, like pine sap and like home, like old blankets. Kind of like the library. Kind of irresistible if he was being honest? And after a while he stopped trying to resist and started allowing himself to enjoy the company of Wei Wuxian. And they spent more and more time together
One day, Wangji met Wei Wuxian under the Magnolia tree. Lan Wangji had his nose buried deep as per usual. Wei Ying snuck up on him too, scaring the life out of him and sending his book out of his hands. He looked beautiful, as per annoyingly usual, his hair tied back in a bun. He was wearing some band tee and his jeans were stained with paint and charcoal and whatever else he got himself into in his art classes. The sun was right behind his head, giving him a bright halo that only accentuated his painfully bright smile.
It was early spring, and the air was sweet. Everyone was finally coming out of their heavy winter clothes into shorts and flowy blouses and Lan Wangji himself had tried to accept the invitation of spring, pulling his long hair back into a ponytail. With winter gone, he had started to feel much better, improving every day as the flowers and trees bloomed.
A petal fell into Wei Ying’s hair and seemingly settled itself there. As he moved, it fell free, landing in the still dewy grass. Lan Wangji watched it without words, only responding in mns to Wei Ying’s questions. As he sat down next to Wangji- without invitation- a handful of paintbrushes falling out of his open backpack pocket as he did. Wei Ying laughed at it, like windchimes jangling in the night. It made Wangji’s heart do backflips and cartwheels, sending him careening though emotions as Wei Ying always had.
They sat under that Magnolia for a while. Wei Ying eventually stopped talking and pulled out his sketchbook and some watercolor markers. Wangji distracted his fluttering heart by dragging his focus back into his book. When he listened, he could overhear the laughing of fellow students in the plaza, the faint music playing from somewhere. Surprisingly, Wei Wuxian didn’t speak for some time, focused on his work. Wangji released his hair, allowing it to relax around his shoulders and move with the gentle breeze.
He’d started to drift away to sleep when Wei Ying tapped his shoulder. “Lan Zhan.” He whispered it. “Wake up, I have something to show you.”
Wangji cracked open his eyes, the sun almost blinding. Some time had passed, he wasn’t sure how much. In front of him, Wei Ying was holding a drawing, rather a painting-- of himself. It displayed Wangji leaning against the Magnolia tree, his eyes closed. His cardigan and hair were dotted with pink petals, and around him, Wei Wuxian had drawn small, fluffy rabbits, one even resting in Wangji’s lap, napping with him.
His heart squeezed. It was beautiful, and he’d drawn Lan Wangji with immense care, his cheeks brushed light pink and his hair midnight black, cascading around his shoulders: stark against the white of the cardigan. It almost looked like those Chinese illustrations they’d been looking at in their art history class, painted with a loose hand but immense detail. In messy script, next to the image was written, Lan Wangji Under the Magnolia Tree with Rabbits. He hadn’t known that Wei Wuxian could write in Chinese-- it had been drilled into Wangji since he was young, important to his uncle that he stayed in touch with his culture.
Lan Wangji had seen many paintings in his life, spanning across eons and countries but this was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. He didn’t know how to react but his heart felt so full, like it was going to bubble over and drown him in affection. “Do you like it?”
“Of course.” Hearing his words, Wei Ying smiled even brighter, and his stomach was quickly evolving in acrobatics. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”
He could’ve sworn he saw a flush across Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, but he dismissed it as probably a trick of the light. “Here.” Wei Wuxian tore it from his sketchbook, with such intensity that Wangji wanted to scold him for mistreating such a beautiful thing.
It was handed to him, and Wangji took it with immense care, like the most fragile family china that they had in their home. He tucked it into his backpack and hung it on his dorm wall when he got home, and never took it down.
Present
It hadn’t taken long for Lan Wangji to give in to dating Wei Wuxian after the party. He was everything Wangji had wanted for a long time. So he let himself fall, and things became so much more about Wei Ying. He wanted to be around him, to hear him talk and watch him draw and paint and so rarely wanted to be apart. A lot of the time he spent in Wei Wuxian’s bed, or in his bed with Wei Wuxian.
For many years he’d carried the baggage of his own intimacy issues around and now, well. It wasn’t even just about sex, although they did a lot of that, but about being close. He’d never imagined how addicting it might be just to feel the warmth of someone you love, to fall asleep wrapped up in their arms. He’d been icy to Wei Ying before, and honestly to everyone, but now he felt so warm, something he’d never felt before. There was so much pleasure in just being a human that loved another. He could never have imagined.
In Wei Ying’s bed, he could just hold and be held, only ever moving to use the restroom or flip the record. Blue light illuminated the room, making the whole space seem near heavenly, the record emanating something that made everything feel slower, warmer, softer. Maybe he was still a little high, but still. They were still shirtless, a tangled mess of limbs and long hair. They hadn’t spoken in a while, comfortable in the silence.
“Lan Zhan?”
“Mn.”
“What’s your favourite song?”
Wei Wuxian had made him think about music differently. He’d thought about it before and he’d loved it before, the music that he could make, especially. The gentle but powerful thrum of the guqin was always something so enchanting to him before. And he’d liked other songs, he’d liked the music his mom had listened to, Stevie Nicks especially, and the music Lan Qiren had raised him on, Mozart and Beetoven, so called “adult music.” But Wei Ying had taught him of so much else, of things so fast and hard and loud they made your heart race, of drum beats that reverberated for your whole body and bass that made you shake; of music that sent you to outer space with sweet melodies and heavenly voices.
Of the music he’d liked most that Wei Ying listened to, he liked the soft, alternative music, voices warm and cozy, slow synth and gentle guitar. Wei Ying told him most of this was of the indie genre, and made him playlists to listen to, even going as far to buy new records they could listen to together. It was nice to listen to music that he felt like fit him, not just songs and artists imposed on him by others. He discovered songs and artists for himself, and he shared them in these moments they basked in the neon light of Wei Ying’s bedroom.
But he’d never asked him this before. Wangji sat and thought for a moment, because in his younger years he’d never really had a favorite song. His favorite song was his mom’s favorite song, or his dad’s, and for a while he hadn’t even had one. But now he had so many options. After some pondering, he stood up and went to the little table where Wei Wuxian held his records. He’d made a small shelf for it in a woodshop class, and kept it to this day. He’d hand painted it and patterned it with a purple and blue galaxy, decorated with a flurry of stars.
Wangji found what he was looking for, and placed the record on. It made him laugh, thinking about how in a world of smartphones and bluetooth that Wei Wuxian, always the art major, kept and frequently used a record player.
There was a second of silence before the needle settled into the groove of the vinyl, and the melody started. It was slow, piano overlying a smooth, airy synth. It was Be the Cowboy by Mitski, an artist recommended to Wei Ying by his friend Wen Qing. The artist’s voice was hauntingly beautiful as the song started to play.
Wei Ying was smiling at him. “Is this Two Slow Dancers? ”
Lan Wangji nodded. “Mn.”
“Dance with me, then.”
When Wangji was young, he’d taken professional ballroom dancing classes. He was a bit rusty, frankly, but settled into the rhythm. They did not dance like Lan Wangji had learned to-- they danced in uncoordinated steps, Wei Ying wrapping his arms around Wangji’s waist.
It’s funny how you always remember / We’ve both done it a hundred times before.
Wangji had been a good dancer for a part of his life. It had been forced into him, the ability to dance, but it had never been to any good use. He’d taken some girl to the prom and danced with her despite the fact that she kept tripping over her dress and her feet. Eventually, she gave up on Lan Wangji chastising her and escaped to dance with her friends without giving him a second thought. For the rest of the night, Wangji sat drinking water in small cups. He’d gotten all dressed up, but he went home early.
It’s funny how I still forgot.
In later years, he’d tried going to dance clubs with his brother. Nearly everytime Xichen hit it off with someone and left early. He drank ice water and ginger ale at the bar until he could say it was fair enough to go home, that he’d given it a valiant try. Even when girls or guys approached him, he never really fit in with the mass of bodies grinding and swaying on the floor. He couldn’t bother-- Wangji stiffened up whenever some girl started grinding against him, aiming for his crotch. And that really sent him away, as far away from that place as he could get. He locked up and went beet red.
It would be a hundred times easier if we were young again.
But with Wei Ying, it felt natural. Even if they were dancing in a tiny apartment barely clothed, tripping over each other-- it was the best dance Lan Wangji had ever had.
We’re two slow dancers, last ones out.
Wangji knew every lyric, and hummed the melody as they swayed. They weren’t on to anything in particular, only physical closeness. If there was anything like heaven, Lan Wangji hoped that it would just be this, forever. It made his heart squeeze, holding him closely and dancing to this song, his favorite song. He kissed Wei Wuxian on the crown of his head. “I love you.” He said it quietly.
And the ground has been slowly pulling us back down / You see it on our skin
He’d never said it before. Wei Ying looked up at him, a look in his eyes that Lan Wangji had never seen before. “I love you.” This time Wangji said it again, louder- more resolute.
It would be a hundred times easier if we were young again. / But as it is, and it is.
“Oh, Lan Zhan.” He stood on his tippy-toes. “I love you too.”
To think that we could stay the same.
And he kissed Wei Wuxian, with all the force of his pining and all that time Wei Ying drove him crazy and that day under the Magnolia tree and the first time they made love. He kissed him like it was his dying breath, like there was no time left to ever kiss Wei Ying again with his fingers tangled in his hair until they were breathless. Until he was sure he’d said it properly to Wei Wuxian that he loved him.
But we’re two slow dancers, last ones out.
And he would, forever.