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Wangji pressed his face deep into the pillow and wondered vaguely how long he had been awake. Nights like these, when he was kept up by his pain, always felt like they lasted for an eternity. Tonight was worse than usual. He had been so tired after running all over Qinghe that he had fallen into bed without remembering to take any pain medication, and now, hours later, he was paralyzed by the pains shooting through his back. Wei Ying was deeply asleep, and Xichen was in the next room over, so Wangji resigned himself to lying in the dark and waiting for morning to come.
He felt Wei Ying roll over and mutter something unintelligible. It had been a long day, and his boyfriend had fallen asleep the moment they had returned from dinner. Wangji wondered if he had been wrong, before everything had changed so abruptly, about why Wei Ying had seemed to lose his spiritual power. If he was still experiencing that same fatigue, maybe it hadn’t been related to the demonic cultivation after all. Wen Qing probably had known. Maybe Wen Ning would know, but he had not seemed to be in control of himself back on Dafan Mountain. Wangji twisted a loose part of the fitted sheet between his fingers and grumbled into the pillow as his back decided to spasm.
“Lan Zhan?” Wangji had not realized Wei Ying was awake. He turned his head slowly to the side and peered through the darkness at his boyfriend. “Is your back bothering you?” Bothering was an understatement, but Wangji made a quiet noise of affirmation. Wei Ying clicked his tongue, quietly. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” Wangji didn’t reply, but Wei Ying still let out a hiss of worried breath and flicked the lamp on. “Do you want me to get your meds? The heating pad? Something else?” Wangji fingerspelled ‘heat’ against the mattress with the hand closest to Wei Ying, and his boyfriend nodded. “Hold on; I’ll get it.” He leaned down to kiss Wangji on the forehead, then hopped off of the bed and disappeared into the shadows. Wangji listened to the quiet sounds of Wei Ying rummaging through his duffle bag, dropping things and cursing. He was back shortly, the cord of the heating pad trailing haphazardly behind him. It took some patient untangling, but eventually it was plugged in and settled in its place across the length of Wangji’s torso. Wei Ying crossed his legs and reached over to stroke his hair.
“Why is your hair so soft, Lan Zhan?” he murmured, slipping out of his position and lying down on the mattress next to Wangji so he could reach his hair more easily. “Is it some Lan secret?” Wangji managed a smile and moved across the small space in between them so he could rest his head on Wei Ying’s chest. Wei Ying’s fingers worked their way through the tangles sleep had left in Wangji’s hair, and Wangji did his best to focus on the repetitive motion instead of his pain. It didn’t help very much, but it was still nice. “Ai, Lan Zhan, I missed this.” Wei Ying’s fingers moved their way down to Wangji’s shoulders. Instinctively, Wangji flinched as his boyfriend reached the edge of the latticework of scar tissue. Wei Ying stopped, his hand hovering just above Wangji’s back. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. I’ll go back up here.” His hand returned to Wangji’s hair. “What are you thinking about this whole sword ghost thing?”
“Mmph.” Wangji was fairly certain that he and Wei Ying were thinking the same thing about the sword ghost.
“I really want to know who decided to plant Baxia in Mo Manor. Do you think it’s connected to my resurrection? Maybe the person who murdered Nie Mingjue is the same one I’m supposed to get revenge on.”
“Mmm.”
“I know we don’t know for sure that it’s Baxia, and I know Zewu Jun doesn’t think Chifeng Zun was murdered. But why else would it lead to that man-eating bunker?” Wangji’s hand had been lying loosely across the center of Wei Ying’s torso, but he let it shift down to his boyfriend’s stomach. Xichen had been avoiding the subject of Nie Mingjue’s probable murder since they had returned from the bunker. This trip had been a hard one for him. It had only been a year since Nie Mingjue’s qi deviation. When Xichen had asked Wangji to come with him, Wangji had tried to convince his brother to let them go for him, but he had insisted. “Are you thinking about your brother?” Wangji nodded, and Wei Ying tangled his fingers deep into his hair. “I hope we can find whoever killed Chifeng Zun and get revenge. For Zewu Jun, if nothing else.”
“Yes.” Wangji began tracing winding patterns over Wei Ying’s stomach.
“I just want to know why they pulled me into this,” Wei Ying continued. “I’ll go after whoever it is because they’ve hurt my brother-in-law, but why did Mo Xuanyu have to curse me? I don’t want this. I just...well, I’m glad now that I’m alive.” He sighed, and Wangji shifted up onto his elbow, ignoring the renewed spasming that shot through his back.
“Wei Ying,” he breathed. Several different emotions flashed across Wei Ying’s face, and he sat up slightly as well.
“I thought it would change things,” he said softly. “I thought that...if I were dead...they wouldn’t touch you. That you would keep your reputation. And I was right, wasn’t I? Mostly.” Wangji stared at him. “Don’t look at me like that, Lan Zhan.”
With an effort, Wangji said, “What was the point of my reputation without you?” Wei Ying’s face crumpled into a sad smile, and he reached over to caress the side of Wangji’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was...I don’t know. I’m...I’m grateful I have a second chance. This time, I’m staying. Forever. That’s a promise, Lan Zhan. I will be with you for the rest of our lives. I promise.” He shifted down the bed and rested his forehead against Wangji’s. Wangji let himself fall back down onto the mattress, and Wei Ying joined him. They lay there in comfortable silence for a long moment. Finally, Wei Ying closed the gap and kissed Wangji, softly. One of his hands found its way onto the side of his face, and Wangji’s hand wandered down to his boyfriend’s hip. They slid closer together until their legs were intertwined and their hair was mingled on the pillow. Wangji chased Wei Ying’s kiss with another, his hand finding its way under the other man’s shirt and up his back. His back twinged, and he grimaced.
“Your back again?” Wei Ying paused his exploration of Wangji’s hair. “Here.” He reached over and tugged the heating pad back into place. Wangji tucked his face into the crook of Wei Ying’s shoulder and hid a smile. They lay there in each other’s arms for a while, until Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan, do you remember the first time we kissed?” Wangji snorted, and Wei Ying laughed. “I’m taking that as a yes.” Their first kiss had been in a dark, damp cave, hiding away from a giant turtle out of legend. Wangji had had a broken and bleeding leg, and Wei Ying had been severely burned in the chest, and it was as far from the secret romantic fantasies Wangji had harbored since he had first fought Wei Ying on the roofs of Cloud Recesses. Do you like Mianmian? Wei Ying had asked him, and Wangji had not been able to hide the answer. “I think we had to have a kiss like that because all the other ones needed to be so much better.”
“Was good,” Wangji mumbled.
“You don’t have to be so nice, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying teased, kissing the side of Wangji’s head. “I know I was a terrible kisser at sixteen. And I smelled like burning flesh.”
“Good,” Wangji insisted, breathing the ghost of a kiss over Wei Ying’s collarbone.
“I wonder how Mianmian is,” Wei Ying continued. “She defected, didn’t she? Where did she end up?”
“Teaching.”
“At one of the universities?” Wangji nodded. “Good for her. Maybe we should go visit her. What do you think, Lan Zhan?” Wangji smiled and gave Wei Ying’s neck another kiss. They traded slow, sleepy kisses for another moment, then Wei Ying yawned and said, “I’m tired again. Do you want me to play you something so you can get to sleep?” Wangji nodded. He slid over to his side of the bed, and Wei Ying tucked him in and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He picked his flute off of the dresser and crawled back into bed, sitting cross-legged next to Wangji. “I hope we don’t get a noise complaint,” he said with a smirk, then played a few scales. Wangji settled deeper into the pillow and watched through heavy eyes as Wei Ying began playing one of the Songs of Clarity. It did not take him long to drift away into sleep.
When he woke up, the morning light was creeping through the small gap in the hotel room’s window, and Wei Ying had left his side of the bed a crumpled pile of sheets. Wangji’s back was still throbbing, although it had calmed down since the previous night. He was still unwilling to sit up, and tightened his hold around the pillow. The door banged open, and Wei Ying came waltzing into the room. Wangji turned onto his side and gave his boyfriend a small smile.
“I brought you breakfast,” Wei Ying said, displaying the plate of rice porridge and bao balanced carefully in his hand. “I’ll get you your meds; hold on.” He disappeared into the bathroom, and Wangji pushed himself up into a sitting position. Wei Ying returned with the pill bottle and a glass of water in his hands, and Wangji accepted them. He ate with his usual care while Wei Ying perched on the edge of the bed. “How’s your back feeling today?” Wangji gave a noncommittal grunt, and Wei Ying turned to frown at him. “That’s not an answer.”
“Better.” Wangji finished the bao, took his medication, and contemplated standing up and getting dressed. He had enough energy for that. He was swinging his legs over the edge of the bed when Wei Ying cursed colorfully. Wangji moved to look over his shoulder at the phone in his hands and saw a text from Sizhui.
“Good morning, you two.” Xichen came through the door with the confidence of someone who had accidentally walked in on his brother multiple times. “What’s...why are you looking at the phone like that?”
“Zewu Jun, we have to go to Shudong,” Wei Ying said. “There’s a...situation.”
“A-Yuan and Jingyi found something,” Wangji explained, holding the phone out. His brother cursed more colorfully than any self-respecting leader of the Lan clan ought to.
“Pack up, then. We’re going to Shudong.”