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The paperman’s journey had been long and arduous, a distance and task insurmountable for a vessel which could fit in the palm of ones hand. Though imbued with magic, the journey left its edges softened and slightly frayed, strain clear in each movement as it climbed the final steps back to its point of origin. There was no sweeter reward for a mission completed than to collapse into the extended palm of one of Lan Zhan’s long fingered hands. To touch the thinning paper made the exhaustion, the fervent weariness he had so feared palpable, and he is quick to return Wei Wuxian’s consciousness back to his own form.
There is a gasp like a man half drowned breaching the water and Wuxian will be thankful on a far off date that Lan Zhan’s arms were waiting for him to fall into, not holding as in to contain, but to shelter, to protect. Though there is the solidity of muscle ( decades spent fighting demons and maintaining the absolute composure of a stone wall would do that ) there, too, is warmth and safety. A thing to behold after sixteen years of dark nothingness, after the last years of his last life had been spent loathed and in hiding. Still, he has no sooner thought to relax in accordance of the bone deep fatigue which accompanied using so much spiritual power, than he is stiffening and sitting upright, jerking out of Lan Zhan’s hold even as he is reluctant to let him.
“We have to go,” Wei Ying says as he attempts to rise to his feet and promptly stumbles, lands on his hands and knees wincing. Though his body had not been the one to go on the journey his consciousness had it still felt as if it had climbed stairs like mountains and fought with giant swords. He made a mental note to discover who had decided Suibian should stay in the Jin Clan’s possession and introduce them personally to the blade.
“Where are we going.” There is a hand with ironclad grip on his wrist ( he thinks they will bruise permanently from how often it occurs now ) and a voice which sounds disinterested to the unfamiliar ear. To Wei Ying he sounds almost concerned, the words coming off of his tongue quicker than they normally would. It would be endearing if it weren’t frustrating.
“To Jin Guangyao’s chambers,” He answers insistently, more slowly coming into an upright position sitting back on his heels. His head spins and aches but he has overcome greater obstacles in worse condition. “His wife--- she has some kind of informant which has revealed something horrible, so he trapped her in his secret vault. Nie Mingjue…” A shiver runs down his spine at the fresh memories he had relived, now seared into his mind as if they were his own. “Nie Mingjue’s head is there, also. Jin Guangyao killed him.”
There is a minute shift in Lan Zhan’s expression which he knows to mean contemplation, a tiny twitch in his brow the only indication of how quickly he was shifting through his thoughts. Moments pass with Wei Ying testing the strength of his still steady grip and the fresh protests of his body before there is a short exhale. He gestures broadly with both hands as if to say “well? Let’s go!” and begins to sway to his feet, only to find that Hanguan Jun does not follow.
“Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao will still wait for us once we have had time to plan our route. And once you have had time to recover.” Wei Ying opens his mouth to protest and Lan Zhan raises two fingers to stop him before he can form even a syllable. “You have expended a great deal of spiritual energy in a short period of time. You will need some time to regain your strength before you can act effectively against him.”
Wuxian pouts even as he half collapses back into a sitting position, this time pressed firmly against Lan Wangji’s side. It is no time to act so petulant, but he would not be himself if he did not. Wangji finally releases his hold and he is almost disappointed by its absence. Though, not as disappointed as he is when the other man rises and walks out of his view. Wuxian groans in frustration and exhaustion and flops forward, forehead thumping solidly against the low table before him. The weight in his bones outweighs the frantic energy in his head and he is shockingly near to dozing when Wangji returns with a gentle hand on his shoulder and an offering of water, prompting him to rise enough to drink. Childish and lazy he refuses to hold the cup himself, drinking only when it is offered up. Though perhaps it is not only due to these traits, but also a silent longing for care and for closeness which gnaws at him like a wild dog at discarded bones.
“Can you walk effectively?” Hanguang Jun asks and Wei Wuxian nearly considers himself lucky for how many words the Twin Jade has graced him with unprompted. His luck, however, is allusive as he tries to rise and finds his leg weak and uncooperative. He huffs, frustration at inability rising quickly in his chest, exacerbated by exhaustion and the limitations inflicted upon him. Before he can put any tone behind the breath he uses so frequently, there are arms beneath his knees and shoulders and he is being lifted with a half-aborted, thoroughly surprised shout. He clings to Lan Zhan and tells himself it is only because he does not wish to be dropped, and not because the press of skin brings more comfort than anything in his memory.
Carefully, gently, he is laid in the bed of their guest chamber. Lan Zhan begins to right himself as if he intended to leave, and this time it is Wei Ying grabbing him by the wrist. His eyes are too wide, too vulnerable as he looks up at the other man and he feels stupidly young, too innocent and soft. True vulnerability had been laid to rest in the burial grounds long ago and even this look comes too close. To voice the desire, the voice in his head asking stay with me, rest beside me, help me prepare for what is to come, is unthinkable. Lan Wangji does not make him ask and easily sits at the edge of the bed, understanding passing between them as river through bank. His grip softens but he does not let go, even as the hand he holds prisoner comes to cup the side of his head, palm against his cheek as fingertips brushed into hair. His eyelids flutter and brows knit, pressing into the contact without thinking on the action.
“I have not thought to ask how this body tolerates the stress you have exposed it to.” It isn’t an obvious apology, but the way guilt stains Lan Zhan’s tone turns the words into one.
Wei Wuxian hums an acknowledgement, turning onto his side and casting his gaze up to the other man's face. He does not rest or eat adequately, keeps up with Lan Wangji despite the signs he shouldn’t. He is aware now of the aches in his bones, the phantom pain of injuries long healed. There is a sick feeling in his throat along the line which had severed Nie Mingjue’s head from his body. Though Empathy was not a wicked trick, it’s negative effects could be lasting. But the problems underlying it all, the fatigue and uncooperation of his body had existed long before even his resurrection. He wonders if it is because he surrendered his golden core, or if his core had simply protected him from what his body would have always naturally done. It is as stubborn as he is.
“It is not this body in particular,” He admits finally and feels almost guilty at the confusion which flashes subtly across Lan Zhan’s face. It is not only he who had been left in the dark; in fact only Wen Qing had known the difficulties he faced prior to her own death. Some thought him lazy or insolent for the relative lack of physical work he put into their home in the Burial Mounds. Wen Qing had known he only had so much to give, especially when he was constantly using up what little spiritual power and energy he possessed experimenting and ensuring their safety. On more than one occasion she had threatened him with her needles if he did not obey his own limits. Ironic, considering how things ended.
But Lan Zhan does not know he lacks a core and he intends for it to remain this way. Only the dead could keep secrets. The Wen siblings had both died, however permanently, and his life had ended the first time he entered the burial mounds.
“I do not know what illness plagues me.” The lie comes easy and clever and with only a slight increase to the aching guilt in his chest. “But it does and it drains me and ensures most of my time is spent in pain. In my body I had a tolerance. This one hasn’t gotten there yet.”
Lan Zhan’s lips are pursed, his eyes searching Wei Yings features. He does not know what he is looking for but he supposes that he must find it when he sighs, comes to rest fully beside him. His thumb brushes absently against his temple and before he can think better of the action Wei Ying reaches out to hold Lan Zhan’s face in the same way.
“Wei Ying should have told me,” He says softly and this time it is his own lips parting in a sigh, eyes closing as not to deal so closely with this reality.
“Lan Zhan should know I will avoid worrying those I love at any cost.”
The word hangs heavy between them. Whatever this is is complicated, twisted in a dozen directions by history and fate. They could be lovers or strangers or friends who got angry. Wei Wuxian knew what he wanted, but to face the possibility of rejection before their shared quest had ended was a terror he could not bear to risk. To be turned away and continue to travel at his side with wounds still fresh would be too much. If he was turned away when all was said and done he could leave, heal, come back fresh faced and ready for whatever Lan Zhan would give him. But not yet. He can’t know yet.
Tenderly, shockingly, Lan Zhan presses chaste lips to his forehead, in the same place the emblem of the Lan Clan would sit if Wei Ying wore their head band. It sends waves of emotions crashing through him, hurled against his notions of what he was allowed like rocks eroding under the push and pull of the tide.
“I would rather worry than have you suffer in silence. Sleep.”
He wants to argue. Want to ask what this means, this casual intimacy, these tender words. But his fatigue makes him weary, sinks into him and pulls him heavy into the mattress. So he sleeps, the paperman and all he had seen temporarily forgotten at the table.