Work Text:
(i)
Even paces, even tones. A delicate laugh and tepid emotions. Routine to structure the physical and dogma to structure the mental. It wasn’t easy – it was never meant to be.
Growing up in Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji learned a lot but, as he sat alone in his chambers, he pondered on all the things he did not know. Rising with the sun was so ingrained in him through practice that he truly did not know if he was a morning or a night person – would he have so easily woken up before even the birds or, perhaps, would he have been the type to sleep in? If being told to restrain his emotions hadn’t been repeated to him over and over until they became a sharp trigger word to draw in all emotion, would he perhaps have been the emotional type, prone to outbursts and crying easily?
Who was Lan Wangji, he pondered as he looked out the window to see A-yuan practising forms with Lan Jingyi. Even though A-yuan had only been at Cloud Recesses for a handful of months and the elders hadn’t even decided if Lan Wangji would be allowed to keep him as his son, it seemed Lan Jingyi had decided that A-yuan was his friend and, if Hanguang-jun said so, he was Lan Wangji’s son and any descendant of the family should know at least basic Gusu Lan forms. Lan Wangji watched, feelings he couldn’t quite put into words bubbling painfully in his chest as he looked at the little boy, the last remnant of Wei Ying’s idealism. If nothing else – and it hurt, it clawed up his insides because there really was nothing else – at least the little boy was still alive, blissfully amnesic.
But at that moment, more than the boy he had proclaimed as his own son, Lan Wangji’s eyes kept flickering to Lan Jingyi.
Lan Jingyi’s presence was larger than he was, exuberance radiating off him as he squealed in delight as A-yuan finally got something exactly right. His laughter filled the space, even slipped into the Jingshi. Perhaps, Lan Wangji thought, the boy was too young to know better. But given his age and how close he was to the main family, Lan Wangji somehow doubted it. He remembered himself at that very same age, already learning to clench his tiny fists instead of opening the floodgates of his juvenile, volatile emotions. He remembered his brother gently reprimanding Lan Jingyi when his visits happened to coincide with A-yuan’s playtime.
With wonder, Lan Wangji realized Lan Jingyi knew and had simply decided not to heed it. It should irritate Lan Wangji – after all, rules were sacred, but he couldn’t find anything inside him except relief for the boy now pulling a face and deep, sudden sadness for the boy he himself had been and the man he could have become.
Perhaps it was the lingering pain of his physical wounds, perhaps it was the still gaping emotional wound, but it took Lan Wangji by surprise when a sob escaped his lips. He caught the next in his throat and swallowed painfully, convinced it was the physical hurt of it that caused his eyes to water. But he couldn’t swallow away the haunting thought of everything he had lost, and it seemed to flood him just then, on a clear evening. He was horrified at himself as his chest began to hurt, as his face screwed up in a desperate attempt to keep the emotions locked in, but he couldn’t do it. He ducked his head away from the window just as the first deep sob wracked out of him.
Pain shot through his back – it was nowhere near healed, it would take years for it to heal and it had only been a few months but the stinging on his back was overshadowed instantly by the pain in his chest, the lump in his throat and the way pouring out emotion seemed to physically hurt. A sharp gasp and a frantic attempt to pull himself together. As seemed to be the trend with him recently, he failed, and the sob turned verbal. Whatever rational part of his brain was still functioning slammed the window shut.
Curling up in himself to muffle the sounds was painful beyond belief and Lan Wangji would later berate himself for it when his wounds would need tending to; when the blood would soak through the bandages and stain his sheets.
Right then, they felt like temporary reprieve from the sheer tsunami of emotional pain coursing through him, flooding out without consent. The sharp pains seemed to bring him back to himself for just a moment before the grief washed over them. Intrusive thoughts lay siege on him, as he thought of all that was lost. Of the light dying in Wei Ying’s eyes, of the way the world had hardened him to distrust everyone - of the way the world had turned Lan Wangji into someone who could not save his Wei Ying. He was shaking and his eyes were screwed shut and he tried to breathe deeply but his breath just hitched, and it was like a fresh wave crashing into him.
A particularly painful sharpness tearing through his back brought him a moment of clarity, a moment where his mind was too occupied by the physically painful to continue its assault of mental anguish. A moment where he was brought back to the Jingshi, remembering his son was beyond the window and he could not let the small child see him like this.
He couldn’t open the window, knowing he looked awful and if the children laid eyes upon him, they would go running to an elder, asking if Hanguang-jun was sick again. Instead, he strained his ears, hearing the thumps of feet landing on the ground, of yelps of glee.
As though it was an anchor, Lan Wangji managed to calm himself, though he knew it was a tenuous peace, his captive anguish restless and determined to be known, to be heard, to be felt. It would not be ignored any longer and it began its painful climb up Lan Wangji’s throat as Lan Wangji took deep breaths to push it back down.
It was not as though Lan Wangji had never cried – he knew that to be an impossibility with him. He had long since accepted that, even though he kept a frosty façade, he cared . He cared far too much to remain unaffected but – Excessive emotions are frowned upon .
He learned, very early on, to cry when he needed to. He would bottle up his emotions and then, when alone, he would allow the floodgates to open and empty himself, going back to cool numbness. Lan Wangji laughed at himself, the echoing sound bitter. Of course, he had gotten such an emotive part of himself to follow a clinical routine. Perhaps if he hadn’t been quite so put together, perhaps if he had let his desperation bleed into his voice, Wei Ying would have considered his words. Perhaps if he had let the tears building shed, Wei Ying might have softened and understood.
But he hadn’t.
His hands were in his hair before he could comprehend them moving, an instinctual action covering his face as the emotions gained an upper hand and declared victory. In a corner of his mind, he was still aware of the children beyond the walls and he managed to remain quiet. Though perhaps the quiet was less the knowledge of people close by and more an inability to vocalize anything . Wailing wouldn’t encapsulate the depth of his emotions and he was rendered mute, chest aching from the sobs being racked out of it, head spinning from the lack of air.
He didn’t know how long it took for his being to be too exhausted to continue when his eyes grew heavy-lidded and he slipped into unconsciousness. He only knew that his brother gently shook him awake hours later, concern heavy in eyes Lan Wangji tried to avoid.
All his grief had not had a chance to be known but he still felt considerably lighter, as though emotions he wasn’t even aware of had been physically holding him down. He breathed and it passed unrestricted through him and if only momentarily, he felt at peace with nothing more to bleed out.
(ii)
A-yuan slept soundly against him, small hands clenched on Lan Wangji’s sleeping robes, warm and heavy against him. Lan Wangji sighed, brushing his fingers through fine hair gently.
It was 8 p.m. and it was the last night A-yuan would spend with him before he was sent off to the juniors' dorms to start his official training as Lan Sizhui, son of Lan Wangji. Lan Jingyi and Lan Xichen had done what they could to make sure A-yuan was up to par with his peers and Lan Wangji helped how and when he could. He was still healing, though he was beginning to be able to move around on his own and most of his spiritual energy wasn’t being expended on healing his wounds anymore.
Looking down on the slumbering face, Lan Wangji felt pride blossom in his chest. Pride at A-yuan, for growing up so well. And a small inkling of pride at himself, for his part in ensuring A-yuan had the opportunity to bloom. Lan Wangji had made a lot of mistakes and he had many regrets but Lan Sizhui was one of his only victories these past few years. He couldn’t save Wei Ying, he couldn’t be the venerated image of a Lan descendent that was expected of him but he could do this – he could father Wei Ying’s child.
A drop of water fell on his hand and Lan Wangji frowned, looking up to see if there was a leak on the roof. Nothing of the sort and it hadn’t rained recently. Then he noticed the haziness in his eyes and the lump in his throat. The laugh he let out was quiet and thick, not as self-deprecating as he had intended. Another teardrop fell onto A-yuan’s cheek and A-yuan frowned in his sleep, ever the light sleeper. Lan Wangji wondered if it came from growing up in a warzone or living in Burial Mounds – perhaps this was something he shared with his son; unknowing if their quirks were the result of nature or nurture.
Another drop and A-yuan blinked his eyes open, disgruntled. The irritation disappeared when he focused on his father’s face, though.
“Baba,” A-yuan whispered and it shot a wave of pleasure over Lan Wangji. Recently, A-yuan had taken to calling him Hanguang-jun more often, always in front of others. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Lan Wangji replied quietly. “Go back to sleep.”
“Not nothing,” A-yuan said, wiping the stray tear against the sheets. He looked up at Lan Wangji earnestly, sleepy eyes that were heavy with concern.
Lan Wangji only held his tongue for a moment before smiling down softly, the turn of his lips watery.
“I’ll just miss you,” Lan Wangji admitted in the cover of the night. “I’m very proud of you too. These are happy tears.”
“Oh,” A-yuan sounded dumbfounded and awkward, as though unsure of how to reply. Lan Wangji deeply understood and his ears burned with embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, hadn’t planned the words that had slipped out but he wasn’t expecting A-yuan to wrap his slender arms around Lan Wangji and burrow himself against his father, his smile pressing against Lan Wangji’s body.
“I’ll still be here,” A-yuan promised, with such sincerity that it made Lan Wangji’s heart tremble. “You’re still my father.”
Lan Wangji wasn’t sure how to respond with words, didn’t think he had the vernacular to, so he just wrapped an arm around the boy, patting his gently. Tomorrow, Lan Sizhui would get up with the sun with his father and Lan Wangji would help him get ready. And then, they would go to the elders and he would finally be bestowed his headband with the cloud detail, a physical token of his status. But for the night, he was still A-yuan, the little boy who had clung to Lan Wangji’s leg, who was unbothered by his father’s ridiculous emotions.
(iii)
Lan Wangji clenched his jaw, his heart hammering. His eyes were hard as steel as he watched the scene before him, his hands in fists under the sleeve of his robes. The words being snapped stuck to him but he remained silent, though his mind raged against it.
Just who , a snide voice said in his mind, did this old man think he was to talk to his students in such a way ? Lan Wangji reprimanded himself, rationalizing that it was not unusual for an elder to discipline the disciples, that Lan Wangji had been in similar situations, kneeling in front of them with his head bowed, for crimes as small as a mishap on some coursework and as big as standing by the Yiling Patriarch.
The six disciples kneeling took the beratement with the appropriate amount of shame; Lan Biyu’s face was downcast and hurt as she winced with every sharp retort. Lan Hui had tears streaking down his face but he made no sound. Lan Jingyi had a terrifyingly blank face, not at all suiting the vibrant boy, but Lan Wangji could see from the set of his jaw that he was holding back his responses. Lan Mei had her hands clenched over her knees. Lan MieXiu’s back was straight and there was something close to impatience in her eyes as they darted to Lan Wangji’s and then back to the ground. Lan Sizhui’s shoulders were hunched and he seemed to startle every time the elder raised his voice, eyes fixed on the floor, body almost turning away from where Lan Wangji was standing.
Ridiculous, Lan Wangji thought. Utterly ridiculous.
“I think,” Lan Wangji said as soon as the elder took a moment to take a breath. “That’s enough, elder.”
Perhaps his tone was unwittingly as hard as his emotions, as the elder narrowed his eyes at him.
“What could you possibly mean, Second Master Lan?” The man’s voice was aggravating. “I am disciplining our disciples and I think I know when is enough .”
Lan Wangji closed his eyes and took a deep breath, already exasperated beyond belief. He opened his eyes and walked forward, placing himself between the elder and his ( his ) disciples. The emotion clawing up his chest was ugly and possessive and angry . He swallowed.
Lan Wangji looked at the man. Despite the scowl on his old, ragged face, there was a bit of hesitance in his eyes, just a hint of ingrained deference. After all, going by rank, Lan Wangji was the Second Master while this elder was part of the extended family.
“With all due respect, all this,” Lan Wangji started tersely. “For a broken branch seems excessive, elder.”
“Excessive?” The man was furious. “They need to learn respect and restraint! They are no longer toddlers; they are past a decade old! They should be revising their works, not making noise and breaking property!”
“They are children,” Lan Wangji snapped back and the elder looked as though he had been slapped. Lan Wangji took a breath to calm himself before continuing. “Have you even asked them why they were attempting to climb a tree?”
“Tumbling around, laughing!” The man said. “It was evident.”
“Do not make assumptions,” Lan Wangji’s voice was cold but he softened it as he turned slightly. “Lan MieXiu, come here.”
A frozen moment and then some shuffling before the girl came to stand beside him. She bowed to both him and the elder deeply before turning to him questioningly.
“Tell this elder why you were climbing the tree,” Lan Wangji instructed. Lan MieXui nodded and turned to the elder, who looked moments away from an aneurysm as a child more than half a century junior to him looked at him with obvious disdain. Lan Wangji smiled internally. This disciple of his always did have a rather short fuse.
“You see, elder,” Her voice was sickly sweet, the pouty innocence a contrast against the impatience he had seen there earlier. “On that tree, every day, there would be a songbird. After lessons, we would go to the tree and sit with the bird and meditate to its tune. As you know, us Lans are musically inclined.”
The elder began to look irritated at her tone towards the end but she steamrolled on as only a preteen could endearingly do. Or perhaps Lan Wangji was biased.
“Today, the songbird was accompanied by other smaller ones and we got excited. We noticed the nest was precariously placed and we only climbed the branch to fix the nest on the alcove above it. It is a Lan’s duty to help even small animals.”
In the resounding silence that followed, Lan Wangji heard a sniffle behind him.
“Perhaps next time, elder,” Lan Wangji said. “Allow the children to explain.”
With a stiff bow, Lan Wangji turned away from the elder and looked to his disciples.
“Get up,” He said and the children rushed to stand upright, wincing after their long kneel. They bowed at him and muttered respects but were unable to look him in the eye. He shook his head – Foolish children – and started walking out of the room. The children followed without needing instruction. They were unable to see Lan Wangji’s quick fond smile at their dejected shuffles.
Lan Wangji finally came to a stop once they were away from the room and turned to them.
More than anything, they looked tired, as any child would be after such an emotionally draining evening. Scanning their faces, he noted how Lan Biyu, Lan Hui, Lan Sizhui and Lan Mei seemed apologetic and remorseful while Lan Jingyi and Lan MeiXiu were poutier and more petulant.
“Well,” He started, and they all stood straighter. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“Apologies, Hanguang-jun,” The juniors chanted obediently, bowing deeply. The breeze that trailed by brought the ghost of Wei Ying’s tsking and teasing voice (How he would have been delighted at these children!) and Lan Wangji wanted to roll his eyes.
“What are you apologizing for?” He asked kindly. The juniors look at each other before falling silent. Lan Jingyi shrugged.
“We should have called an elder to get permission for climbing the tree,” Lan Sizhui piped up quietly. He still wouldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes.
“We didn’t want to bother a senior with something so small,” Lan Jingyi explained, crossing his arms. “We didn’t know the branch would break. So, what if it did? It’s just a branch!”
Lan Jingyi seemed to be getting more and more aggravated, angry tears threatening to spill. His small body was almost shaking with rage at how unfairly he had been treated. Lan Biyu shot Lan Wangji a look and elbowed Lan Jingyi in reprimand. This did nothing to cool Lan Jingyi down, but it stopped him from speaking further. The juniors looked down, awaiting their verbal reprimand from their actual teacher.
“Be more careful,” Lan Wangji said finally. “You could have gotten hurt.”
Lan Biyu and Lan Hui looked at him with large, hopeful eyes. He nodded at them and the first hints of a smile started blooming on their small faces.
“Thank you, Hanguang-jun!” They exclaimed, bowing along with Lan Mei and Lan Meixiu. With a nod and a wave of a hand, he dismissed them. They walked off in a fast walk that was pointedly not a run.
Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui stood before him and he sighed softly again.
“What is it?” He asked.
“It’s not fair,” Lan Jingyi choked out. “He made Hui cry because of a stupid branch.”
He wondered if it would be overly pessimistic of him to tell children that life wasn’t fair.
“It isn’t,” He said instead, stepping closer and putting a hand on Jingyi’s shoulder. “You did a good thing. I’m proud of you.” He didn’t know if his words would make the unkindness they had faced seem less hurtful but he tried. Lan Jingyi only sniffled in response, tears now dripping down his cheeks.
“Baba,” Came Lan Sizhui’s watery voice and Lan Wangji’s heart ached at the tone of it. “I’m so sorry, Baba!”
“Come here,” Lan Wangji spoke softly but A-yuan quickly scrambled to stand beside Lan Jingyi in front of his father. With both boys in front of him, Lan Wangji continued softly, “You should listen to your elders and the rules are important. But – but your own morality is also important. The rules are guidelines and elders can be wrong. Do not put your worth on being able to follow rules.” At this, A-yuan’s shoulder started shaking.
Before either boy could put on a strong face and wipe away the tears, Lan Wangji pulled them close, letting them bury their tear-stained faces against his robes. They barely reached past his mid-torso and they froze for a moment before melting into the warm embrace.
“You did well,” Lan Wangji said as two children sobbed against him, clutching him almost painfully. He ran his hands over their heads and down their backs in the way a much younger him had wished someone had done for him. He let them sob as he hadn’t allowed himself to at their tender age. Through them, he was reconciling with his own past. “You put your morality and care for life above tradition. It’s commendable.”
He let them exhaust themselves against him, holding them close and up easily. Let them muffle their cries against his body until only tired sniffles could be heard. Finally, they pulled away, looking sheepish but much lighter. A-yuan uselessly wiped at the wet stain on Lan Wangji’s outer robes while Lan Jingyi gave Lan Wangji an embarrassed look.
“Sorry,” He began to say but stopped when Lan Wangji gave him a look.
“It’s okay to cry,” Lan Wangji said firmly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Both boys looked like they were unsure of that but neither argued, only nodding and wiping at their faces, trying to make themselves look presentable. When Lan Jingyi finally smiled at him, Lan Wangji felt the child inside himself finally sag in catharsis.
+ (i)
As propriety would have it, A-yuan was far too old to be burying his face in his father’s neck, as a boy far too quickly reaching his twenties. It was a good thing, then, that Lan Wangji, at that moment, did not give a single fuck about propriety as he held his son tightly, a steady hand on the back of his neck. He could feel tears soak through his collar and ran a soothing hand over A-yuan’s head.
His eyes flickered up to meet Wei Ying’s befuddled gaze. The man seemed confused at the scene before him.
“Ah, A-yuan,” Wei Ying said after a moment. “Jingyi is going to be fine.”
“I know,” Came A-yuan’s shaky response, mumbled into formerly pristine robes. “I know.”
Wei Ying looked helplessly at Lan Wangji, who looked at him pointedly, rubbing A-yuan’s back again. Wei Ying seemed to catch on and gave Lan Wangji an unfathomable look. It flickered away as he stepped closer and put his hand on his son’s head.
“It’s okay,” Wei Ying said softly. “You must be tired, huh? You did so well. You saved his life.”
A hitch in A-yuans breathing and a fresh wave of tears. Lan Wangji felt his heart break. Ever the empath, Wei Ying’s eyes got wet as sobs wracked A-Yuan’s body.
“I know it’s scary,” Wei Ying continued, his voice wavering, his hands joining Lan Wangji’s in their soothing gesture. “It’s so terrifying to almost lose someone. You were so strong. It’s okay.”
A-yuan nodded frantically, and Wei Ying sighed, stepping forward and back hugging A-yuan, his arms locking behind Lan Wangji, keeping A-yuan tucked between them as he rested his chin on A-yuan’s shoulder. He, for once, didn’t say anything, his own eyes teary from seeing A-yuan break down. Wei Ying had always been so unafraid to show his emotions.
It was later, much later, when it was just Lan Wangji and Wei Ying in the Jingshi, lying in bed as they turned in for the night that Wei Ying brought it up.
“You know,” Wei Ying started hesitantly. That alone immediately tipped Lan Wangji off. Wei Ying rarely hesitated to blurt out his ramblings.
“Mm?” Lan Wangji hummed questioningly.
“I just thought,” Wei Ying continued, reaching out to take Lan Wangji’s hand into his own. “That excessive emotion was frowned upon in Cloud Recesses.”
“They are,” Lan Wangji confirmed.
“I see,” Wei Ying replied, fingers starting to play with Lan Wangji’s. He didn’t vocalize the question Lan Wangji could so clearly hear bouncing around on the tip of his tongue.
“My brother,” Lan Wangji started before Wei Ying could find the words to vocalize his thoughts. “Is very good at soothing.”
“I’ll bet,” Wei Ying muttered but quieted, looking at Lan Wangji expectantly.
“When I was too young to be told not to cry – or rather when I was unable to keep my emotions in check, he would comfort me away from Uncle,” Lan Wangji thought back to those times, when his brother would pat him comfortingly, telling him not to cry. Soon enough, Lan Wangji learned that lesson. “I learned very early to keep my feelings in check.”
“You mean repress your emotions,” Wei Ying snorted. Lan Wangji shot him a sideways look and Wei Ying protested, “Come on! You were absolutely repressed! Don’t think I remember teenage you! You told me to get lost because you saw tame erotica!”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said fondly. “You underestimate your ability to drive someone absolutely insane.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Wei Ying sniped even as he leaned up to press a kiss against Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji sighed against it, the chaste peck soon turning deeper and messier as Wei Ying pressed himself over Lan Wangji.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said breathlessly as he pulled away. Lan Wangji hummed in acknowledgement, chasing after addicting lips. “Lan Zhan!”
Lan Wangji looked up at his lover questioningly. Wei Yong was looking down at him with concern and something else Lan Wangji couldn’t quite place. Wei Ying’s emotions had always been so much more complex and layered.
“It’s great that you’re letting the little Lans actually feel but,” Wei Ying sounded serious as he peered at Lan Wangji. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes,” Wei Ying insisted, a finger curling around a strand of Lan Wangji’s hair. “When was the last time you cried?”
The question tugged a smile out of Lan Wangji as he looked up at Wei Ying fondly.
“This isn’t funny!” Wei Ying insisted, misinterpreting Lan Wangji’s amused look. “I just think —” Wei Ying yelped as Lan Wangji flipped them, bracketing his arms around Wei Ying as he slipped Wei Ying under him. “Lan Zhan!”
Wei Ying crossed his arms and moved his face when Lan Wangji leaned in but Lan Wangji only proceeded to pepper the side of Wei Ying’s face with butterfly kisses, revelling in the fact that the man was real and under him . Alive and breathing and petulant.
“I cried when you died,” Lan Wangji whispered against Wei Ying’s collarbone. Wei Ying froze under him before relaxing, his body opening up and his fingers moving to card through Lan Wangji’s hair. Lan Wangji’s lips moved against Wei Ying’s clavicle. “When I realized I had lost you.”
“Silly boy,” Wei Ying said even as his voice wavered and his hands shook. “Wasting your tears on me.”
“I had so many regrets,” Words pressed against Wei Ying’s sternum, his body shivering under Lan Wangji’s mouth. “There was so much left unsaid.” A pause. “There still is.”
He pressed his forehead against Wei Ying’s chest, breath shuddering out of him. It was true he had a lot to say and while he had thought about it immensely, the words seemed to frustratingly die on his lips when it mattered the most. His hands twisted around the sheets under them as he tried to scour his suddenly scattered mind for the right words, the practised turn of phrases.
“What are you thinking about?” Wei Ying asked after a moment’s silence. Still hiding his face, Lan Wangji answered, “You.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined. “If you’re thinking about me, you should say what you think! My ego could use a little stroking.”
Lan Wangji lifted his head to see earnest eyes looking at him. Lan Wangji blinked and sat up on his knees.
“Huh?” Wei Ying frowned. “Where are you going? Get back here, you were so warm!”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, his tone serious enough that Wei Ying pushed himself up on his elbows. “I want to apologize for my inability to express myself earlier. I spent years thinking about how it could have been different, how I could have saved you if I had just been less emotionally closed off.”
During his speech, Wei Ying had started frowning and by the time Lan Wangji paused, he had sat up completely.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying started before Lan Wangji could continue. “You, of all people, have nothing to apologize for.”
“Wei Ying may think so but that doesn’t change the fact that -”
Wei Ying did not let him finish, coming to kneel in front of him and grabbing Lan Wangji’s face between his hands. This startled the words to a halt as Wei Ying forced Lan Wangji to look at him. He didn’t say anything but the flaming look in his eyes was enough. Lan Wangji had barely opened his mouth to blurt out another apology in the face of Wei Ying’s emotions when lips quickly pressing against his stole both his breath and the words he had been planning on saying.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said slowly once he pulled away just enough. “You said there are no sorrys and thank yous between us.”
“Yes but -”
“I think,” Wei Ying interrupted. “That even if you had poured your heart out back then, things might not have been different. I was wounded, Lan Zhan, and broken.” Calloused thumbs caressed his face tenderly. “I wouldn’t have listened to anyone beyond the angry voices in my head. I pushed everyone away and I didn’t have it in me to ask for help. I don’t think I knew how to accept it at that point, the prickly, sensitive monster I had become.”
Tears dropped onto their laps but Wei Ying’s voice continued; he was far too used to his emotions spilling out for them to be a hindrance when he needed to say something. Emotion choked Lan Wangji but he instinctively kept any moisture in his eyes at bay.
“It took me a long time,” Wei Ying continued softly. “To process everything that had happened since the Xuanwu cave. You couldn’t have saved me, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji’s hands tightened around his knees. He didn’t like that — it meant Wei Ying’s sadness was inevitable and he was powerless to stop it.
“If I–” If I was better, stronger, more open. If I communicated clearly, if I spoke out more. All the words shrivelled up and died, unable to get past the almost painful block in his throat.
Slightly shaking hands came to rest over his and the tender gesture seemed to break the dam as Lan Wangji took a shuddering breath before letting out a guttural cry. Arms immediately wrapped around him and his head was pressed against Wei Ying’s chest, hand moving soothingly over his head and down his back.
Powerless. Powerless to save the love of his life, powerless to get his mother to stay, powerless in the face of the masses of society. It wasn’t fair . Powerless from saving Cloud Recesses from Wen Xu’s massacre. Powerless in the face of fate, unable to stop her from being as cruel as she wanted.
Lan Wangji was aware that he was vocalizing his thoughts but he couldn’t be sure if he was being coherent in any way. All he knew was that the arm around his waist and the hand in his hair grounded him; but the feeling of security only caused more racking sobs to escape him. Stupid.
“It’s okay,” Wei Ying whispered. “It’s okay to cry. Your emotions aren’t stupid.” He pressed a kiss messily to the side of Lan Wangji’s face. “Let it out.”
It was disgusting and disgraceful, the ugly sniffling and snotty sobs a long cry from the elegance that’s expected of the Second Master of Lan. It was also unstoppable and all Lan Wangji could do was bury his face deep into Wei Ying, curl himself around him to shield himself from the expectations of the rest of the world. Wei Ying, for his part, remained steadfast, his comforting gestures never ceasing, his litany of soothing words never quieting. Even when the pain in his voice was evident, he carried on.
It didn’t take long for the tears to dry out and for sheepish embarrassment to dawn on Lan Wangji as he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself and pulling away. He took the piece of cloth that was offered to him and wiped his eyes and nose, Wei Ying’s hand still steadily on his lower back.
“There,” Wei Ying said, his voice so tender that Lan Wangji almost started crying again. “Don’t you feel better?”
Not trusting his voice, Lan Wangji only nodded. He looked at Wei Ying and saw a strangeness shining in his eyes.
“What is it?” Lan Wangji frowned. Wei Ying smiled.
“I’m proud of you,” Wei Ying said, reaching forward to pat him fondly on the head. Lan Wangji looked at him in confusion. “You’ve done so well, Hanguang-jun. All these years, I was God knows where and you were out here, raising the next generation of Lans to be less emotionally repressed! It’s admirable!”
Lan Wangji wanted to deny it but - he supposed that had been what he had been doing, in a way. He had simply wanted to ensure that his children didn’t make the same mistakes he had, that they didn’t live with the same regrets he had to. Instead, Lan Wangji smiled softly at Wei Ying, who still seemed in awe at the simple gesture.
Filtered moonlight through the curtains found them lying back, Lan Wangji’s head on Wei Ying’s chest, his arm around his waist as Wei Ying’s arm curled around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, keeping him close. Their legs were intertwined and Lan Wangji was emotionally drained way past his bedtime and was close to dozing off when he heard his name being softly whispered. He hummed in acknowledgement.
“I love you,” A kiss pressed on his temple.
Lan Wangji was sure his smile could be felt by Wei Ying as he mouthed the response against Wei Ying’s collarbone. After all, loving Wei Ying was the one thing he had never regretted.