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Xiao Xingchen dreamed of Song Lan.
At first he passed it off as that, as just dreams — ones so realistic he felt he was really there, with Song Lan, but just that. Just dreams.
They felt ordinary, and perhaps his mind was trying to make up for the dual pain of losing both his sight and the chance of ever talking to Song Lan again, having him dream of that familiar robe, the equally-familiar sweep of his arm, above nothing more than an empty road. Like this, perhaps, he could imagine that he was still travelling with Song Lan, that he hadn’t broken things between them, before he’d even gotten a chance to explore what things were between them.
Somewhere along the way he realized they weren’t dreams. Somewhere, Song Lan had sat to rest and the dream had gone dark for a long moment before returning. It took another couple of long, slow blinks for Xiao Xingchen to realize what was happening.
He’d cried, that night, staining his bandages so badly that his robes still reeked of blood even after A-Qing had helped him change them. He was glad she was blind too, that she couldn’t see his heart’s blood spilled out upon the blindfold.
But Song Lan was alive, was travelling. His sacrifice had worked.
It wasn’t enough, but it was worth it.
He continued to dream, to be eager for those dreams, for those times when he slept and Song Lan walked, to know at least for a time that there was still a connection between them.
~~~
“Is it just you and the girl?”
The man they’d picked up had a voice far raspier than Xiao Xingchen would have expected for the energy that surrounded him. He’d expected something light, matching his teasing tone. But considering they’d found the man near-death in the bushes by the side of a road to a near-abandoned town, Xiao Xingchen thought that there were more things than an out-of-place voice to worry about.
He thought back to the last glimpse of Song Lan he’d seen. They were getting fewer; whether it was because there were fewer times that Song Lan was awake when Xiao Xingchen wasn’t, or that by some chance, Song Lan had figured out what had happened, found their lingering connection and was trying to cut it, Xiao Xingchen didn’t know. He wouldn’t blame him.
It had been of a mountain path; Xiao Xingchen was still getting used to identifying his surroundings by anything but sight, but the tall trees and clear, open air Song Lan had seen felt different from the fog Xiao Xingchen could feel surrounding him here, the low shrubs they had rescued the nameless man from. Song Lan was moving further from him, that much was clear. As he should.
“Yes. It’s just us.” The truth shouldn’t have felt so heavy.
~~~
It was easier, somehow, to resist the temptation to try and strengthen that connection between himself and Song Lan -- to test if there were some way to see more — with their new addition to his and A-Qing’s little band. When it was just the three of them, there wasn’t a need for names, for pasts. Xiao Xingchen knew that one didn’t just end up in bushes off of a road to a town no one wanted to be in — much less as near to death as the man had been -- for no reason, but he also knew that one didn’t end up a blind cultivator, roaming alone for no reason either. It sat like a weight on his chest, the anticipation of waiting for the other man to ask, to have to crack open his chest once more, to explain all that he’d done, but neither of them ever opened that door. He helped instead; with night hunting, but more than that, with occupying Xiao Xingchen’s days, with giving him something to focus on other than atoning for the death and destruction that he had brought to Song Lan’s doorstep.
Eventually the weight started to ease. The weight that the other man would ever ask, the weight of guilt and responsibility. Days had something of a purpose again. Each time he laughed, Xiao Xingchen felt that much more like things would turn around. Song Lan may never forgive him, would keep wandering in areas Xiao Xingchen would never reach, but that was fine. The sadness he felt at the loss of the dream of starting a new sect with Song Lan slowly lessened, giving way to something that ached in his chest instead of burning in his heart. Perhaps Song Lan would achieve that on his own; for now Xiao Xingchen could do good here. Perhaps there would be more strays to collect to fill that hole.
~~~
One night, though, Xiao Xingchen dreamed through Song Lan’s eyes once more. Years later, it was easier to think of them as Song Lan’s - he would never admit how difficult it had been in the beginning, especially after uncovering the connection. Song Lan was sitting in a tavern, and though Xiao Xingchen had never seen its insides, he’d heard its name shouted on the streets of the town they bought supplies at, recognized the way sound carried in the shape of the room and placement of tables.
He woke, shaking, hands clenched in the quilt over him in an attempt to keep from leaping to his feet and immediately running down to the town.
The man next to him also sat up, more slowly. Xiao Xingchen could hear the curiosity and concern undercutting his sharp words. “Hmm? Bad dream? You’re lucky, you only have to see nightmares when you sleep.”
Xiao Xingchen could hear the way he shifted, could feel the air stir as the other man started to reach a hand out. He’d been trying for a while now, to make them more than travelling companions, but Xiao Xingchen always drew back before he could give in to temptation. He didn’t want to give someone else the hope that he was a good person again. It was safer to keep that distance.
It didn’t mean he didn’t still want to run to Song Lan, though, even after all this time. He heard Song Lan’s words at Baixue Temple echo in his ears once more, and that old familiar concern that he’d never be able to make it right clawed up his throat.
“Go back to sleep. You’re no good as watch, so you might as well.” A hand landed on his shoulder, nudging him back down. Xiao Xingchen reached up to pat the man’s hand gently as he let out a small laugh, surprising them both. Maybe it was time to let himself have this, to move on fully. He just had something to do first.
~~~~
“Xingchen.”
Xiao Xingchen had thought himself prepared, properly shored up against hearing Song Lan’s voice once more while unable to see him. He’d thought he’d be able to sense Song Lan nearby - he’d thought once that he would be able to pick out Song Lan in a crowd, blindfolded. It hurt more than he would admit to be proven wrong. He’d thought he could give himself some sort of warning, but instead he stood, his heart thudding in his chest in surprise.
“Zichen.” He didn’t know if the right to address Song Lan so familiarly had been stripped of him, but the name slipped out so naturally that he had to stop himself from wincing.
There was no reply. He wished he could see Song Lan’s face.
“Song-daozhang—,” he tried again, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.
“Don’t.”
Xiao Xingchen stopped, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He knew they were on the street still, and while he had a feeling his band of three were still considered outsiders in the town, they were familiar enough that they were likely to draw attention and whispers the longer they stayed in the open.
He started to move, to try and get them indoors somewhere, but felt a hand at his sleeve. “Xingchen,” Song Lan said, his name from those lips so familiar and dear that he felt the bandages over his eyes start to dampen. “I looked for you.”
Did you?
For what purpose?
I’ve been right here.
I know.
Xiao Xingchen bit back the innumerable responses that spilled over his tongue, feeling more and more selfish with each one that rattled in his chest.
“Let’s go inside,” he said instead, swallowing down the desire to declare this all a mistake and leave and steering them both towards where he knew the tavern was. He didn’t shake Song Lan’s hand off of his sleeve until they reached the steps, feeling petty as he did so. See? he thought, I’m doing fine. He could feel the way Song Lan watched him, taking in the bandages over his eyes, the way he listened first and moved second.
He wondered if Song Lan knew.
But that would have required Song Lan to suspect him of deception, to know that he could lie, would lie to him.
It would require Song Lan to know the darkest part of him.
He pushed all that aside and led Song Lan into the tavern.
~~~~
It felt surreal, to know that he was standing over Xue Yang’s body.
He could hear Song Lan panting with exertion not so far away, could hear the soft sobbing sounds of A-Qing, knew that she had dealt the final stab, an action and weight she would carry far longer than Xiao Xingchen would have wanted her to bear.
“He said I was the cause of your blindness.”
Xiao Xingcheng wanted to laugh, to fall to his knees and yell because of course that was what Song Lan took from all of that, from the sense of home and stability he thought he’d built these past three years being ripped out from under him as he fell into that empty abyss of despair.
“Do you trust him?” It was a deflection, but everything Xiao Xingchen was felt raw. He couldn’t bear Song Lan to see him like this; he was angry — at himself for being led so astray, at Xue Yang, for weaving a deception so complete that Xiao Xingchen couldn’t help but mourn it, at Song Lan, even, for shattering it.
“I trust you.”
It cut deeper than Xue Yang’s betrayal, deeper than the knowledge that he had slept beside the man who had caused all of this for the past three years, had laughed at his jokes, had welcomed his comfort.
“Should you?” Xiao Xingchen could feel the blood flowing freely from his eyes at this point, but he couldn’t care, couldn’t stop it if he wanted it.
He’d shocked Song Lan; he could hear the way the steps nearing him suddenly stopped. “Should I not?”
Xiao Xingchen wanted to reach out to him. But he knew that it was just as impossible to return to three years ago as it was to return to ten minutes ago. “If you believe that, you must believe I am a murderer.”
He had blood on his hands, that much he’d known already. But the extent to which, to which he’d been manipulated left him floundering; it was only by leaning on Shuanghua that he stayed upright.
“Xingchen…”
The soft tone in Song Lan’s voice was too much to bear. “Why? Why did you come here, Zichen?” The contrast between the warm familiarity and how much he wanted to step back and flee tore at him. Song Lan should have wanted nothing to do with him - hadn’t he said so, those years ago?
He couldn’t see Song Lan’s expression, but the sharp intake of breath told him enough. “I came to find you.”
“You found me. Your mission is accomplished; you can go now.” Each word felt like it was being ripped from him, without his approval, from a core he’d wanted to hide from the world.
“Xue Yang…”
“Is dead. I won’t find my way back to Lanling, but you can bring them the news.” Everything slotted into place then, why Xue Yang had been there by the road, so near to death but alone, why he had been so surprised Xiao Xingchen would help him.
Why he had never let Xiao Xingchen initiate touches, had never touched him with his left hand. He gasped as he tried to hold back another sob, not knowing just what he was mourning.
“I’m not,” Song Lan started. “I’m not leaving you again.”
Xiao Xingchen could feel the tears rolling down his face, having soaked through the bandages. He was past hiding at this point, past most things. “Why not? You had no trouble with it before.”
He was on his knees now, could hear A-Qing to the side, shuffling as she tried to decide whether to come to him or give him space. Song Lan stayed where he was. “That’s not…”
“That’s not right? No, it’s not.” The words spilled from him, unstoppered. “You didn’t leave me, you drove me away when all I wanted was to try and fix what I had done. Zichen, do you know what it was like? To go and find you in shock, your life shattered around you and to know it was my fault? To have to leave you there and know that’s what you wanted?”
There was a long pause. “...I can imagine.”
“And then for you to leave me, for years, to let me think the only choice was to move on without you, that it couldn’t be fixed?
“I’d moved on, Zichen.” He’d thought he was doing well, doing good, even without Song Lan. That even if a piece of him, a piece of his heart, would always be missing, that he could build over it. But that bridge was held up by lies, collapsing as he was in the midst of crossing it.
“I’d thought it would be okay.” His voice broke, then, choking on a sob he could no longer hold back. He tried to wrench himself out from Song Lan’s grasp, the shock of it being Song Lan who initiated the touch blunted by the addition of A-Qing, her small weight flung unto his side in her attempt at comfort in a situation where she should have been offered it. He’d failed her too.
“Xingchen. It will be.” There was a hand at the back of his head, then, tugging him forward. The vindictive part of his heart, larger than he would normally give rein to, was annoyed that Song Lan wore black and his tears would stain nothing but his own robes. “I’ll make it up to you.” Some of the stiffness left him then, as he gathered more of Xiao Xingchen into his arms. “You’ve given so much for me, Xingchen. I...I want to try and return the favor.”
Xiao Xingchen clung to him then, mourning for the life he’d thought he’d have when he left Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, the life he’d thought he’d been building up until now. He dragged A-Qing closer, her solidarity and connection to a life he’d built on his own all the more important even as he let himself be enfolded into Song Lan’s arms and wondering if it would become easier, trying to let himself imagine the shape of what they’d have to build together to move forward and wondering if it would become easier.
~~~~
In some ways, it was. Though they didn’t fall back into old patterns immediately — three years was more than enough to build new habits, to adjust to other people’s chore preferences — but something about Song Lan’s familiar presence was a start at soothing the sharp edges of Xiao Xingchen’s shattered life. It wasn’t the same; it couldn’t ever be the same, not with all that hung between them, but with each day that passed, they settled into something close.
Night hunting was both the easiest and the hardest. Fighting alongside Song Lan was even more familiar than travelling; they fell in beside each other so easily to fend off attacks it was as if there had been no gap at all.
But Xiao Xingchen would always let Song Lan take the final blow.
“Don’t you trust me?” Song Lan asked as they cleaned their swords, wiping Fuxue free of blood, blood that did not stain Shuanghua. “I’m not him.”
Xiao Xingchen knew he should trust Song Lan; he would have, easily, had their lives been different, had the man he’d found on the side of the road just been another man. He wanted to say yes — the fact that it did not come easily to his tongue gnawed at him but he could not lie, not to Song Lan.
“Is it a problem? Shuanghua will still tell me where to defend.” He could do that much at least, no matter if Song Lan saw him as a murderer or not, or was reminded of just who Xiao Xingchen had spent three years beside each time they fought together.
“I’d rather fight by your side again. You always were the better of us.” Xiao Xingchen knew Song Lan didn’t mean it like that, but it still hurt, to have all the ways he’d failed, all the ways he’d changed dragged to light.
“I don’t know if that can happen again.” He tried to keep his voice soft, keep it light as if he weren’t admitting his lack of faith in himself.
There were few moments that Xiao Xingchen truly wanted his sight back; the silence waiting for Song Lan’s reply was one. “I really did look for you, these past three years.”
Xiao Xingchen said nothing; there was nothing he could say that wasn’t rooted in disbelief, as much as he wanted to take Song Lan at his word.
“I saw.”
The surprised noise Song Lan made emboldened him.
“I saw, Zichen. Through my eyes, I watched so many of your moments the past years. No matter how you left, how I tried to leave it, fate linked us. I saw where you went, saw how far you went from me. Did you think it a mere coincidence I was in the village just where and when you were?”
“I…”
“A-Qing or…he usually did the shopping.” It was still a painful tangle in his chest, remembering telling Xue Yang that even if he had cheated, had hidden the longest straw so that he would always win, it was still Xiao Xingcheng’s due for losing to clever tactics. They’d laughed, and Xiao Xingchen had gone to the village. He’d been happy. “I saw you there, in the tavern. I went to meet you and offered to bring you to my travelling companions so that you would see I was fine, that you didn’t have to worry, that we could both move on. I didn’t want to burden you with just one more thing.”
“Burden?”
The damnable tears were back to soaking through Xiao Xingchen’s bandages. “You don’t have to be kind; I knew you would never return my feelings, but it was enough to travel by your side, to be your friend. It was enough that you were kind enough to not mind. You were the Song Lan by my side, with our dream of starting a new sect. You don’t trust me now and honestly, I can’t bring myself to trust myself either. But you do not need to lie to me.”
The next sound that reached his ears was odd. It took him a while to realize that Song Lan was laughing; he had done it so rarely, the memory of the sound made even more distant by the years. “You must not have been able to hear, then. You’re right, though; I was angry and hurt, and I thought that I wanted nothing more than to never rely on someone else again. But the moment I opened my eyes and knew that it was your doing but that you weren’t there to share it with me, I knew that I had made a mistake.
“I didn’t know where you’d gone; your master pointed me far away as a starting point. It’s my fault for not realizing you would have gone right back. That you wouldn’t have given up. I should have known you better.” Xiao Xingchen could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks now, letting out his anger and grief at what might have been had he not shaken his head when Baoshan Sanren had asked if he knew where he would go after digging out his eyes. “I talked to you near to every night those first days -- through that first year, even. Then, I realized I’d rather find you and say those words to you in person.”
The intermittent nature of when Xiao Xingchen dreamed through Song Lan’s eyes. The way the dreams had fallen off — it hadn’t been Song Lan trying to sever their connection — he had called to Xiao Xingchen and then waited. Something in his chest he hadn’t known was still tangled eased.
“What words?”
Xiao Xingchen had gotten used to sensing others’ movements by now, but he still flinched slightly as Song Lan’s thumb wiped away the trace of blood trailing underneath his bandages. “If you once loved me, perhaps you can learn to again. You weren’t the only one with feelings, Xingchen, just the only one smart enough to realize them.”
“I’m…” Xiao Xingchen trailed off, not knowing how to speak the words stoppered up in his throat by the beating of his heart. He wasn’t the same person, that person that Song Lan had fallen in love with, that pure, unstained soul. “I’ve...you know what I’ve done.” He was someone who at times missed living in that quiet ghost town, someone who hated that he would hesitate before refusing to return to that time in ignorance, if given that choice.
He was stopped from his trailing thoughts by Song Lan’s hand over his. It was something Song Lan must have worked on, in their years apart, or perhaps he had always been in a category of his own and hadn’t let himself realize. “We’ve both done things we aren’t proud of. But I don’t want to give up on you again; I want to try. Will you let me?” Xiao Xingchen felt his hand being lifted, knew what was coming before he felt the brush of Song Lan’s lips over the back of his hand.
There was blood on those hands, but perhaps it would be fine. Song Lan didn’t mind, so perhaps he shouldn’t either. Perhaps they would have to relearn each other, the ways their cracks had grown in the three years, but perhaps they could build something new.
He’d built his life on giving: his time, his skills, his eyes. Perhaps it was time he took what Song Lan was offering, to take something for himself. Xiao Xingchen opened his hand, turning it to press against the side of Song Lan’s face, a spark burning in his chest as he felt the way Song Lan didn’t so much as flinch away under his touch, the solidity of his trust something they could build a foundation on. “So long as we try together.”