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Wei Wuxian wakes to the sound of a guqin with a quiet sorrow lodged in his throat. It takes a few moments to sift through the memories and make sense of the dread weighing him down.
The music keeps playing. It doesn’t ease the ache in his heart, or the aches everywhere else in his body, but it clears enough space for him to breathe.
When Wei Wuxian turns his head, Lan Wangji is seated before his guqin, fingers moving deftly in a familiar song. His hair is down, his posture relaxed, and Wei Wuxian has never seen him unguarded like this. It’s breathtaking.
Mo Xuanyu’s mask is sitting on the table next to him. Wei Wuxian panics for several heart-stopping seconds, but the music keeps playing, and nothing seems real with the quiet thrum of the strings. It’s been so long, but the sound resonates in his chest, and the pressure of the memories diminishes into something like a dream.
The guqin stops when Lan Wangji says, “You’re awake,” but only for a moment. Wei Wuxian eases himself up to sit against the edge of the bed, and now he recognises the drift of faint spiritual energy that wraps around him alongside the melody, like a hand hovering in case he falls.
“I can’t believe I’m still alive,” Wei Wuxian says.
“The day you fell, Jiang Cheng insisted on checking the bottom of the valley,” Lan Wangji tells him. “But he only found the bones of the dead.”
“What about you? Did you look for me?”
“Three years later, I went. By then, even the bones were gone.”
“Why was it three years later?”
The music stops. The peace and the dreamlike quality of the conversation recedes. They keep talking and they’re both skirting around the things they don’t want to say, but Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate when Wei Wuxian asks whether he believes him. Wei Wuxian can’t look at him for the gratitude that pools in his chest.
Everything still hurts, but he’s breathing.
When he wakes next, Lan Wangji is reading through papers stacked in neat piles on his table, occasionally pausing to make notes. He glances up as Wei Wuxian shifts onto his side to see him better, but he doesn’t say anything.
His robes have changed, but his hair is still unbound, pulled back from his face in a simple, informal style.
“Sleep,” he says after a few moments. “You’ll recover more quickly.”
Wei Wuxian watches him work until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.
It’s the hand on his hair that rouses him first, but by the time Wei Wuxian is awake enough to register his surroundings, Lan Wangji is shaking his shoulder.
“Eat,” he says and moves away to where the table is laden with steaming bowls.
Wei Wuxian flexes his toes experimentally. He’s more stiff than sore now.
The sky outside the windows is dark again, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach voices its displeasure at having slept through another set of meals.
It’s typical Gusu fare, bland and unappealing, but Wei Wuxian is hungry enough he foregoes complaining. Without bothering to be polite about it, he shovels food into his mouth until his hands stop shaking.
As it always is this far up the mountain, the air is cold, but the warmth of the meal sits pleasantly in contrast.
Lan Wangji pours them both tea, drinking his own sedately. He looks—tired somehow. His face is as still and pristine as always, but there’s a lethargy to his blinks and a slight roundness to his shoulders.
A quick survey of the room reveals that the only bed is the one that Wei Wuxian had been asleep on, for who knows how long, and that this room clearly belongs to Lan Wangji. Abruptly ashamed of himself, Wei Wuxian gets up and stretches, distracted briefly by the satisfying pull of long-stationary muscles.
Lan Wangji stands with him and waits.
“I need to stretch my legs,” Wei Wuxian says. “Is it okay for me to wander around?”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says. He gestures to the door, then follows Wei Wuxian outside. Since he can’t think of an objection that doesn’t transparently boil down to I feel bad about monopolising your bed, Wei Wuxian smiles to himself and descends the steps without saying anything.
They walk in silence through the gardens, and when they come to the end of the paving stones, Wei Wuxian wanders into the trees and follows a trail he’s never noticed before. The incline isn’t especially steep, but his recently abused muscles still protest the uneven ground.
Lan Wangji keeps pace with him so he notices when Wei Wuxian can’t quite suppress a wince. He takes hold of Wei Wuxian’s elbow to stop him from continuing.
“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian says, expecting Lan Wangji to dismiss it with an expression of annoyance, but he just peers at Wei Wuxian, concerned and with a hint of something like desperation. It’s a painful echo of how he’d looked before, and it snags on something substantial behind Wei Wuxian’s ribs.
He squeezes the hand on his elbow and tries to smile. “I really am okay, maybe not as spry as I used to be.” With a slow nod, Lan Wangji resumes walking, though his pace is subdued and he leads the way onto a different path, one that winds lazily up the hill.
Wei Wuxian’s wobbly legs are very grateful.
By the time the trees thin and the sky opens above them, Wei Wuxian has forgotten his discomfort in favour of gaping at the view.
They’ve reached the edge of a clearing ending in a moss-covered cliff face. A series of small waterfalls splash down into a wide pool. None of them alone are big enough to make much noise, but they combine into a hushed murmur.
A broad, flat-topped rock sits proudly in the centre of the glade. Lan Wangji arranges himself in a lotus position on one side of it and contemplates the ripples in the water. For some reason, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure he should join him. It feels too private. Lan Wangji turns his head slightly, not looking at Wei Wuxian, but enough of an acknowledgement that Wei Wuxian finds himself walking over anyway.
“Peaceful,” he says, once he’s settled, watching the way his breath curls, visible in the air before him.
“Mn,” says Lan Wangji. “It is where I come when I require solitude.”
He says this as if it’s barely significant. The mist of Wei Wuxian’s gasp has long since dissipated when Lan Wangji eventually looks away from the water and meets his eyes.
It’s difficult to reconcile this man with the one Wei Wuxian had known. Lan Wangji had always been like steel, swift and cold and deadly. There were times when he had softened: a small unconscious smile, relief, concern, and hints of an old sorrow. But all of these were fleeting and quickly hidden.
This Lan Wangji is older, quieter, and deeply, unquestionably sad. The thought of why that might be is momentarily suffocating before Wei Wuxian can push it away. He rubs his chest, steadfastly ignoring the knowledge that the ache there has nothing to do with Zidian this time.
It leaves him feeling wistful, thinking of moments in the past when there was a flicker of something he’d never had time to examine.
So much has passed between them. So much anger and hurt, so much scarcely concealed contempt for the path Wei Wuxian had chosen. And he wonders now how Lan Wangji can simply put it aside, how he can look at Wei Wuxian like this, open and curious, and so patient.
Lan Wangji may not be holding himself like a statue any more, but his expression is no more decipherable than it ever had been.
None of these scattered thoughts explain why Lan Wangji has brought Wei Wuxian to this place, but there are no answers to be found by staring at him, as much as Wei Wuxian discovers he wants to. So he turns away and leans back on his hands.
“Tell me about your Lan juniors,” he says with a smile. “I’m sure we were never that small.” And, to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Wangji does. Mostly he recites their family connections and cultivation status, so it’s not interesting, but Wei Wuxian looks up at the stars and listens.
He feels steady for the first time since waking in Mo Village, like this body is once again his own and not humming with the residue of sacrifice.
When Lan Wangji runs out of family trees to list (it doesn’t take him long) they sit without speaking, and Wei Wuxian relishes the calm of the night.
It’s difficult to measure the passage of time here, so Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how long it’s been when he notices that Lan Wangji is shivering. It would be hardly noticeable if not for the way Wei Wuxian had absently started listening to his breathing.
Wei Wuxian frowns. It’s cold, but Lan Wangji should be able to keep himself warm easily unless he’s low on spiritual energy. Wei Wuxian is having no problem doing so, and not long ago he couldn’t climb a hill without his knees quaking. The dew that’s settled on their skin and clothes is pleasant and refreshing, so Wei Wuxian had thought nothing of it.
“Lan Zhan, let’s go back,” he says. Lan Wangji raises his head and blinks in surprise, but recovers and inclines his head. He stands fluidly and holds out a hand for Wei Wuxian. His fingers are freezing when Wei Wuxian grasps them.
Together with the shivering, it’s concerning enough that Wei Wuxian keeps a close eye on him as they make their way back down the path. Unfortunately, Lan Wangji is watching Wei Wuxian closely too, and they keep catching the other’s eyes and turning away, embarrassed. Well, Wei Wuxian is embarrassed, Lan Wangji is mortifyingly earnest, which makes the whole thing worse.
Wei Wuxian has to take a few deep breaths to keep his composure. He’s swallowed probably a hundred times by the time they can make out roof tiles in the distance.
They are nearing the edge of the tree-line when Lan Wangji stumbles. Wei Wuxian catches him, of course.
“Lan Zhan?” he asks urgently.
“Mn. Fine,” Lan Wangji says, and at least, Wei Wuxian thinks, his stubbornness remains unchanged. He keeps an arm around Lan Wangji’s waist as they shuffle towards the Jingshi, and pressed against him, Wei Wuxian can feel the tremors running through Lan Wangji’s body.
Once they’re back inside, muddy boots lined up neatly by the door, Wei Wuxian pulls Lan Wangji to the bed, makes him sit, and wraps the quilt around his shoulders. Lan Wangji tolerates this without complaint.
“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asks, crouching in front of him.
“Nothing is wrong,” Lan Wangji says, pronouncing the words very deliberately.
“You’re shaking.” Lan Wangji just blinks. “Lan Zhan, your family recreationally bathes in ice-cold water, and right now you’re shivering. Should I go find—”
“Stay,” Lan Wangji interrupts. His gaze is sharp again, then he lowers his eyes, almost embarrassed.
“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian says, and kneels on the floor. “I’ll stay if you tell me when the last time you slept was.”
Lan Wangji primly folds his hands in his lap before he answers. “Four days.”
“Four d—” Wei Wuxian huffs in disbelief. “I know for certain that is against the rules, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji doesn’t react other than to tighten his grip on his own hands.
Wei Wuxian takes a calming breath. “Why have you been awake for four days?” he asks, more gently this time.
Lan Wangji swallows, still staring at his hands. There’s a slight furrow between his brows that is utterly wrong on his face. “Wei Ying was gone for so long,” he says after a pronounced pause.
Something in Wei Wuxian’s chest, something that has been steadily cracking since he woke up here, breaks open and he can feel his face twist in anguish before he gets it under control. It’s one thing to suspect the cause of Lan Wangji’s palpable grief, it’s another to have it laid out before him.
There isn’t enough air in Wei Wuxian’s lungs to get all the way through that thought. He’s still reeling when Lan Wangji finally looks up from his hands. Unbidden, Wei Wuxian says, “I’m here now.”
He says it in spite of the unfinished sacrifice still lingering in the torn flesh of his arm, in spite of the peril that clings to him wherever he goes, in spite of all the uncertainty between them. Even with no promise of safety when the sun comes up tomorrow, the words tumble from his mouth, and he knows there was nothing else he could have said.
“Here,” Lan Wangji echoes. He’s stopped shivering, but he makes no move to lie down and continues to stare at Wei Wuxian, his eyes restless and searching.
“Will you sleep if I promise to be here when you wake up?” Wei Wuxian tries.
Lan Wangji glances away contemplatively for a moment, then says, “Mn, here,” and reaches out to tug on Wei Wuxian’s wrist. It’s not hard enough to force Wei Wuxian to move, but enough to make his meaning clear. Wei Wuxian allows himself to be pulled up to sit on the bed.
Lan Wangji lies down and shuffles back towards the wall. “Stay here,” he says. There isn’t really room for the two of them, but Lan Wangji keeps hold of Wei Wuxian’s arm and blinks expectantly. Perhaps if Wei Wuxian waits long enough, Lan Wangji will just fall asleep halfway through one of the blinks.
Lan Wangji narrows his eyes as if he read the thought from Wei Wuxian’s face, and his expression is so much like the ones in Wei Wuxian’s memory that Wei Wuxian can’t help but give in, laughing softly. Because, as it happens, he wants to stay.
He settles himself as comfortably as he can next to Lan Wangji, spreading the quilt over both of them.
Lan Wangji considers him with a strange mix of exhaustion and intensity. His fingers are still wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Wei Wuxian carefully pries them off and gathers Lan Wangji’s hands in his own, breathing warmth onto them.
“How will you play music if your fingers freeze and fall off?” Wei Wuxian scolds in an attempt to dispel the intimacy of it all. As he has at every opportunity so far, Lan Wangji ignores the hint and frees one of his hands to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Wei Wuxian’s ear.
“Will you stay?” he asks.
The words are different, Wei Wuxian realises, but this is not the first time Lan Wangji has asked him this.
“I’ll stay,” Wei Wuxian says, and it is apparently convincing because Lan Wangji tangles their hands together again and closes his eyes.
Watching the slow, steady rise of his chest, Wei Wuxian thinks about all the things they’ve never said out loud. He thinks about how there never seemed to be enough time, how everything had unravelled so quickly, and how tonight Lan Wangji had given him time, fragile and liminal, but a gift nevertheless.
It can’t last, he knows that. There is still a curse mark on his arm that will need to be dealt with, and the small matter of the entire world hating him. But for now, he can breathe, and he can stay.