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Wei Ying teases a tendril of Lan Wangji’s hair in the crook of his index finger, the whorls of his fingerprints brushing Lan Wangji’s forehead - just by his ribbon - with a kind of hesitant reverence. “I get to have this,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “I get my second chance.”
Lan Wangji is certain that pretending to be asleep is against a rule in spirit, even if it is not explicitly forbidden. But Wei Ying’s skin is so very soft in this newer body, not yet marked with callouses, and he is so very weak. He has broken rules for Wei Ying before. This is nothing new.
“I get to live,” Wei Ying whispers, and his voice trembles on it.
So much for feigning sleep - Lan Wangji gives up all at once and tugs his husband into a kiss, curving his arms around Wei Ying’s shoulders. He wants to say yes. He wants to say I’m here. He wants to tease out Wei Ying’s hurts and broken edges like he teases out the tangles in his hair, every night. He draws back, opens his mouth - the words stick in his throat like glass. “Wei Ying,” he says instead, insistently, earnestly. Wei Ying is always easy to say.
“You’re awake,” Wei Ying says disapprovingly, but there’s a touch of laughter in it, as there is in everything he does. (There was laughter, as he shouted, as he cried, in Nevernight - Lan Wangji does not think about that now. Cannot bear to.) “What, you just like hearing me talk, huh?”
Lan Wangji searches for words and settles for “Always”.
“You,” Wei Ying grumbles, and he settles his entire weight upon Lan Wangji like he’s sprawling across a rug, “are going to kill me one of these days. I’ll just die of heart palpitations and then you’ll be left all alone, again -”
His voice breaks on again, tone stumbling from teasing into a lament. Lan Wangji’s heart surges into his throat and he tugs Wei Ying close, closer, so tight he can barely breathe. His fingers clutch on Wei Ying’s shoulderblades. “ Never,” he breathes, fervently, desperately. He cannot lose Wei Ying again. He doubts he would survive it. He will not fail, not this time, not again -
“Shh,” Wei Ying soothes, and Lan Wangji releases a broken, choking sob into the fabric of Wei Ying’s robe where his cheek is pressed against his shoulder, curled in the manner of a child. There is a twisting, primeval fear making itself known in the pit of his stomach. Wei Ying’s hand is tangled in Lan Wangji’s hair, and Wei Ying’s chin is pressed against the top of his head, and Wei Ying’s legs are tangled with his, warm and present and so very insistently, vigorously alive. Lan Zhan realises, with a shock of guilt squirming nauseous in his chest, that he should not be the one being comforted right now.
He should be stronger - for Wei Ying, he should be stronger. For Wei Ying, he should be braver. He should protect Wei Ying like he should have protected him at Nevernight - should have been faster - should have torn Jiang Wanyin’s sword from his grasp, should have saved Wei Ying sooner, should have caught him -
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, sharply. It’s a rebuke and Lan Wangji draws back immediately, stung. But Wei Ying doesn’t look upset. There’s a lilting mirth in his tone when he next speaks, and his eyes are bright with the faintest brush of tears and a fierce spark of warmth. “I can hear you thinking,” he admonishes, and raps on Lan Wangji’s forehead with his knuckles to make a point. His pinky finger catches on Lan Wangji’s ribbon.
Wei Ying does not recoil. Wei Ying does not flinch away. Slowly, Wei Ying leans his hand deliberately into the touch, presses his forehead to Lan Wangji’s. Their breaths intertwine.
“I love you,” Lan Wangji whispers, suddenly hoarse. “More every day.”
Wei Ying gasps, theatrical and stunned, and Lan Wangji aches with his vibrance, with the presence of him. “Lan Zhan, you love me? You have a crush on me? Man, that’s embarrassing -”
“We have been married a year,” Lan Wangji huffs.
“Still,” Wei Ying whines, before quieting; his other hand finds Lan Wangji’s, while the hand cradling Lan Wangji’s face tucks another tendril of hair behind his ear. They still. Slowly, Lan Wangji intertwines his fingers with Wei Ying’s, and lets the tension leak out of his chest into the bed.
Wei Ying is here. Wei Ying is safe.
“I love you,” Lan Wangji repeats, quietly, like it’s a secret. “You are alive.”
“Yes,” Wei Ying murmurs back. His hands are shaking, just the tiniest amount. “I love you. I’m alive.”
“You are safe.”
Wei Ying sighs, as though exhaling some tension of his own, and closes his eyes.