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Exhaustion ran deep in Wei Wuxian’s bones. Sometimes he thought he’d been exhausted since the day his parents never came to pick him up from preschool. He’d sat on the front step of the school, waiting, while all the other kids got picked up around him. He’d waited alone, then, and eventually fallen asleep waiting, and was never picked up. He left when he got too hungry to stay, and lived on the streets for a few years until Jiang Fengmian found him. His memories of that time were hazy, and the time before it even more so, and it wasn’t until he was middle school that he’d looked up his parents’ names to find their obituaries. Car accident, it said, and made no mention of him at all.
Loneliness ran even deeper, however, and there was no end in sight. Wei Wuxian was a social creature, craving people and attention, always wanting to crack jokes and make friends just so he could see them smile. There were no friends to be made on the streets when you’re running from the law. Jumping from safehouse to alley to shelter and never staying anywhere long enough to know anyone’s first name, let alone get close, the loneliness had weighed on Wei Wuxian in the first year. By the thirteenth, he treated it as his only friend, speaking aloud to the gnawing emptiness in his chest as though it had consciousness and could understand him. It was the only way to keep himself from breaking entirely.
“Maybe it would be better to just give in,” he murmured to Loneliness as he watched a cockroach climb the wall beside the dirty mattress he’d dragged into a condemned building somewhere west of Gusu. “If there was some way to get out of this I would have found it by now. Am I really more scared of death than I am of continuing like this forever? I’m so tired. Maybe it would be better to sleep forever. Turn myself in, argue my case…” He trailed off, considering it, then laughed softly. “No, they’d never let me off easy. And what would it do to Jiang Cheng and jiejie, to see me get the death sentence? … Not that they’ve seen me at all in over a decade, but still. Is this better than that?”
It was a familiar conversation, one that had been common in the first couple of years before he started openly talking to himself to ease the clawing pain of being alone in the world. It had returned in the past six months, and the temptation was stronger than it had ever been. Maybe he’d be able to see his family again, if he turned himself in.
“A-Yuan is seventeen now, isn’t he? Does he even remember me?” he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. “I wonder who’s taking care of him. Maybe jiejie took him in. That would be good. Jiang Cheng isn’t really a parent, and I don’t think I’d want my baby with him anyway. A-Yuan deserves a sweeter parent than him. I made sure the school had as many emergency contacts as possible, so he better not have ended up like I did…”
Eventually, the exhaustion won and Wei Wuxian fell asleep on the waterlogged mattress in the crumbling building. Waking to spears of sunlight in his eyes the next morning, he didn’t feel any less tired than when he’d fallen asleep, but he couldn’t afford to linger. It was time to move again, he’d been in this city for a month.
The truck stop showers were a luxury he rarely could afford, but he refused to get kicked off another bus so he paid the twelve whole dollars for the privilege of warm water, cheap soap, and a weak washing machine. It was better than the public library’s bathroom, anyway. Once he was cleaner than he’d been in a long time, he headed for the bus station and picked the next bus out of town with no regard for where it would take him. He still got eyed for the ratty clothes and stained old backpack, but they let him on the bus anyway and he dozed against the window for the whole ride.
After a while, every city started to look the same, and he’d probably been to a few more than once. He paid no heed to the niggling feeling of familiarity as he hunted for the busiest park to set up in the morning after he arrived. A small plastic bucket at his feet with a sign taped to it forbidding recordings of him and no other beggars nearby, he pulled out the one item of value he still possessed. The black lacquer on the bamboo flute was scratched, and the tassel had fallen to pieces years ago, but he was careful to maintain it well enough that the notes were sweet and clear as he began to play. First a jaunty tune, cheerful and light, a handful of coins dumped in his bucket. Next, something sweet and romantic, reminiscent of longtime lovers spending a long evening together. Then, something mournful and longing, a song that tugged at his heart with familiarity, but after so long he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it. Unlike all the other songs he played, this one he never deviated from, never improvised or changed. He played it exactly as it sounded in his dreams, and his eyes slid shut as the notes flowed from his fingers with ease.
A voice, so familiar it sent a stab of agony straight through his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in thirteen years, made him trip on a note and stop playing. “Wei Ying?” His eyes snapped open and were immediately assaulted by a figure he hadn’t seen since the night before he’d finally fled. Golden eyes wide with shock, soft lips parted, Lan Wangji was even more beautiful than Wei Wuxian remembered. His features had sharpened, and he stood taller than before, broad-shouldered and lean and strong, as pristine as ever in tan slacks and a white peacoat to ward off the autumn chill. Unfair, Wei Wuxian thought for a moment, then snagged his half-full bucket of change and his backpack from the ground beside his feet and sprinted in the opposite direction.
Maybe if he’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours, he would have gotten further than thirty meters, and maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Lan Wangji was long-legged and more athletic than he seemed at first glance, and Wei Wuxian was out of practice keeping him on his toes. As it was, a warm hand closed around his wrist and pulled him to a stop, and they stood there staring at each other. Wei Wuxian panted for breath, clutching desperately at his flute, but Lan Wangji didn’t even seem winded.
“What, no handcuffs?” Wei Wuxian finally said, somewhat more harshly than intended. “I guess you don’t really need them to subdue me, but I thought it was procedure. I know how much you love procedure.”
The look of shocked awe that had been on Lan Wangji’s face instantly shuttered into unreadable blankness at the words. “I quit the force eleven years ago,” he admitted quietly. “I could not arrest you even if I wanted to.”
That was news to Wei Wuxian, who blinked in surprise. “Why?” he asked, and it meant so much more than just why would Lan Wangji quit the job he’d loved.
Lan Wangji was silent for a long time, so long Wei Wuxian began to wonder if he’d say anything at all. “They took me off your case,” he said at last, almost startling Wei Wuxian. “They said I had failed to be objective, my judgement was compromised. They refused to listen when I told them there was more going on and you were innocent. I fought it. I lost. I left.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and he had to quickly scramble to rearrange his thoughts on Lan Wangji.
“You fought for me?” he whispered at last, voice rough. Lan Wangji nodded.
“I never stopped,” he replied, gaze intense. “But I failed you.”
Wei Wuxian had no idea what to say to that, so he just stood there, being held but not minding it so much anymore. They stared at each other for a while longer, as though no one else existed.
“Come back with me,” Lan Wangji said at last, and Wei Wuxian huffed a laugh. Somehow, it didn’t sound like condemnation anymore, like it once had.
“You know why I can’t,” he replied, the exhaustion he felt creeping into his voice. It was going to hurt even more when he left, the loneliness in his chest was going to ache fiercely once more, but even so he was glad he’d had the chance to see Lan Wangji, to know that the man he’d thought had turned on him along with everyone else truly hadn’t. If Lan Wangji had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but Lan Wangji never lied. Never. If he said he had been fighting to protect Wei Wuxian, then Wei Wuxian would believe him.
“You can,” Lan Wangji insisted, and Wei Wuxian pulled his wrist free with a frown. Lan Wangji let him go, and Wei Wuxian tried not to feel irrationally disappointed. “Your name has been cleared. Wen Qing resurfaced eight months ago with enough proof to bury what remained of the Wen family. Wen Ruohan and his remaining son were arrested a month later. The trial is in a few months, but everyone knows they will not get free this time. Once the search warrants were issued, the evidence was more than damning, and just keeps growing. A pardon was issued for you when proof that you were framed came to light, but no one knew how to find you.”
Lan Wangji jumped forward to catch Wei Wuxian when his knees gave out, and carried him to a bench, setting him down on it gently and sitting beside him. “Pardoned?” he whispered, feeling dizzy. The world was blurry, and it wasn’t until Lan Wangji gently wiped his cheek that he realized he was crying. “Am I dreaming, Lan Zhan? I don’t want to wake up.”
“Not dreaming,” Lan Wangji replied, and Wei Wuxian could swear that was tenderness in his voice. “Come home.” Wei Wuxian laughed wetly, helplessly. After everything, after so long, what kind of welcome could be waiting? But he wanted, desperately, aggressively, with a yearning so strong it felt like an illness, to do just that. “... A-Yuan is waiting for you,” Lan Wangji added, and Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up.
“A-Yuan? Where is he, who took him in? Is he safe? Is he happy? Does he remember me at all?” he asked at once, the words tumbling out so fast they tripped on one another.
“He is safe,” Lan Wangji told him, and Wei Wuxian slumped against the bench in relief. “I adopted him,” he said, and Wei Wuxian jolted in his seat, staring at Lan Wangji with a million questions in his eyes. “He is your son, and I would not leave him. He remembers you, though only in pieces. Enough to call you dad, still. He would want to see you.”
Wei Wuxian hid his face and the fast-falling tears in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He felt the man tense up for a moment and braced to be pushed away, and was startled when Lan Wangji pulled him nearer instead, lacing the fingers of one hand into his hair and resting the other at the small of his back. “Cruel of you to use my son against me like that, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, but the bite was taken out of the words by his tears and fond tone.
They sat like that for a long time while Wei Wuxian cried out the mess of emotions he’d been suppressing for thirteen years and Lan Wangji patiently held him and rubbed his back soothingly, until at last Wei Wuxian calmed. “Why did you come back to Caiyi, if you did not know?” Lan Wangji asked when Wei Wuxian pulled away to scrub the tears from his face.
Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise, then took another look around. “This is Caiyi?” he asked, but once he said it he saw the truth for himself in the shapes of buildings and familiar shops. “Ah, I didn’t notice. I was half asleep at the bus station, just picked the next one to leave without looking at the destination. Wasn’t thinking about it when I got here…” He winced. That made him sound like the worst runaway ever, to carelessly pick a city to hide in that was frequented by his ex’s whole family, who all knew him. He was lucky it was Lan Wangji who found him first. He shuddered at the thought of being found by Lan Qiren instead.
“Come to the police station with me,” Lan Wangji said next. “We will get your official pardon, and you can come home.”
Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji for a long time, fighting against the instincts that had saved his life for thirteen years that told him not to trust this, to run and not look back. But this was Lan Wangji, his Lan Zhan, and this man did not lie. A pardon was waiting for him if he turned himself in, not the death sentence he’d been running from. He could see A-Yuan again, and jiejie, and even Jiang Cheng. He could meet his nephew, see his friends. If Wen Qing had been the one to bring all this to light then maybe he could even see her and Wen Ning.
“Okay, Lan Zhan,” he finally said, and was graced by Lan Wangji’s small and beautiful smile.