Work Text:
He remembers his past life with a clarity that haunts him in his dreams at night, waking up in cold sweat and contemplating the things he had done. Nie Huaisang sketches scenes upon scenes, filling up pages after pages. His brother, who thankfully does not dream of battles and bloodbaths, used to comfort him when he was younger, hugging him as he held on tightly as if he’ll disappear if he lets go. This Nie Mingjue was distinctly different but familiar, still rough at the edges but softer than the war-hardened who had to be a sect leader at a young age.
This Nie Mingjue enjoyed sparring neither on the battlefield nor in the training ground, but inside the courtroom. He also insisted that Huaisang applies to an art school instead of joining him at the family’s law firm, and now he’s doing what he always wanted to do. He feels a little...spoiled?
Huaisang tells himself to be content, and yet the dreams play every night, and most nights featuring one person -
Hands holding tightly to his, and wet tears staining his robes, and the air is heavy so heavy -
there was anger - but also, a thank you.
….do not thank me just yet.
It was one thing to decide that he does not regret the things he did in that life, another to fully absorb that he was capable of doing such things - which he won’t hesitate to do again. Anything, for his brother.
Nie Huaisang fears that the dreams are a weird omen. His friend, Jiang Cheng, disagrees. He puts it like this:
"Maybe the correlation between us is that we all regret something one way or another, that is why we are burdened with these memories..." he explains one day, leaning against the balcony, half of a cigarette resting between his fingers as he ruefully glances towards the direction of his brother inside the apartment, animatedly flirting with his boyfriend. Like always, Lan Wangji is a picture of stoicism, save for the red tint of his ears that never fails to give him away.
Some things remain the same.
Nie Huaisang would smile lightly, then, "But don't regret any of it. "
The other man sighs, “It’s the only conclusion there is.”
It’s true. It was the same case with Lan Xichen, as with Xue Yang, and even Meng Yao. His brother died cursing Jin Guangyao. Thankfully, he’d been spared from remembering anything. Probably for the best, he honestly didn’t know how he would have handled it if his brother started asking questions about the past and finding out what he had done. Huaisang doesn’t necessarily disagree with this conclusion, but he also meant what he said, he didn’t regret the things he did then, not even now.
Jiang Cheng takes a drag from the cigarette and tells him, “It’s not easy, you know. I knew I had a lot of regrets, but it took me a long time to figure out what I really regretted the most. Maybe it’s the same with you.” This was something they never talked about in the past. Jiang Cheng had shut himself out after the events at the temple. Bitter, angry, and the thing with Jin Ling especially prevented any conversation happening in that lifetime. But now, they had another half a lifetime to dwell on things, a long time to make peace with their pasts.
They are different persons now, more so Jiang Cheng. In the past, Huaisang himself did not think he’d be saying things like this, but now… well.
He doesn’t say anything in reply. They sit in contemplative silence on the balcony until Wei Wuxian pulls the both of them inside because he and Lan Zhan totally did not make out for five minutes!
He and the other man weren’t close, in the past and until now, only connected by this common friend they put up with. And now that they share and commemorate a past that only they remember, there is a quiet camaraderie between them, and it makes remembering a little less painful.
He paints the man a landscape of the Lotus Pier, before the reconstruction, in its grandiose beauty. The man scowls when he presents it to him, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes that he chooses not to comment on. Wei Wuxian is too busy asking one for himself and asking Lan Wangji when they will move in together so they can hang paintings on the wall to notice.
He dwells on the man’s words often, sketching yet another scene from the past. His brother comments that he's very inspired by the historical drama he's been watching, but in truth, he closes his eyes and he can recall the finer details and designs of the clothing back then, just as he could paint landscapes from the past.
Today he sketches a picture of Wei Wuxian, but not quite him, this one is wearing another’s skin, A-yu’s skin, in fact. Without the heavy makeup, there is something refreshing about his features, not quite as handsome as Wei Wuxian had been, but something he admired all the same. He will not show this particular drawing to anyone.
From the life he led back then, if there was anything to regret it was -
He gingerly reaches for the box hidden in his cabinet, bringing out an old, weathered sketchbook. Inside, there are only sketches of one man. Pages filled with sketches of one Mo Xuanyu. There wasn’t a lot to work with, they didn’t know each other long, but in those fleeting moments they shared, he knew the man deeply.
There are paintings of him that he drew from memory, when he found the man crazy with anger, tear-stricken and vengeful, a plethora of emotions that he knew so well. There are those from his dreams, shopping in the markets together, the other man adorned with trinkets that they bought, a small smile gracing his features. Somehow, he thought that his eyes would crinkle when he smiles and isn’t that adoring? Not that he ever found out.
He keeps Mo Xuanyu like an age-old secret, his hidden inspiration. For reasons he hasn’t dwelled on until now, Nie Huaisang had always put his brother above everything.
He slips into remembrance of him, in their final moments together. It was an experience he could not quite put a label on, even back then when he was playing the foolish sect leader Nie and after.
It happened like this:
Their skins were touching as he slowly guided the man’s hand as they drew the array, quiet and solemn. He is teaching him everything that he needed to know to execute this on his own perfectly. He murmurs instructions on the other man’s ear, his lips softly touching the lobe.
There is something sacred in the scene they make, the herbs and red pigment of the paint they used to draw the array. They were both holding their breaths, hands trembling slightly, a silent rage sweeping over them.
Once it was over, overwhelmed with emotions, the other grabs him and pulls him into a kiss.
He finds that he does not mind. He drops the brush and lets his hand wrap around the other man’s back. “A-yu…” he whispers, almost reverent.
The other hushes him, “Please, just for a while, let me experience this,” he begs.
But oh, this is the first and the last time they will have this.
They delve deeper into the kiss. Once they broke away to catch their breaths, Huaisang uses both of his hands to wipe the tears flowing from the other’s eyes.
“Will you regret this?” he asked quietly, but he already knew the answer.
The other meets his eyes, determined. Mo Xuanyu gestures at the array, “This? Never.” However, he gently allows himself to bring his hand to caress Huaisang’s chin, smiling sadly.
Huaisang sucks in a breath.
“But this?” the man whispers, looking down, “I’m scared that I might.” And brings up his hands to push Huaisang away, and he grabs the other’s hands and pulls him to his chest.
“Stay the night,” he tells him. The other hesitates, before finally crumbling into his arms and nods. That night, they sleep little, clinging tightly to each other, faces wet with tears and counting the hours to daybreak.
“Ah,” He comments. So this is my regret.
He spent the better half of this life convincing himself that he had no regrets, that he did what he was supposed to do, regardless if it was morally wrong or not. Oh but he denied these thoughts so, scared that it wasn’t something allowed for him.
Back then, they were too angry, too vengeful to even consider something like that. But in that heat of the moment, Huaisang couldn’t stop himself from seeing their potential. They’d be perfect together, wouldn’t they? But it was the last time they will ever see each other again. His heart clenched painfully at that thought.
He never let himself indulge the thoughts of how he would have wanted him, of how they would be if it weren’t for the circumstances that happened in the past. He'd never entertained the thought of looking for him now.
He remembers, in his previous life, when the night is deep and he was sure nobody will hear him, he wonders out to the wind, “Is this what you would have wanted? Or do you blame me, as well?
But
Oh, but as he laid down sketches after sketches on his cold bedroom floor, full of drawings of the life they had in his dreams, oh, he yearned to have a life with him.
Did he regret it now?
They were different people then, filled with rage and anger. Huaisang did send him to his death, simply put. Did A-yu hate him? For what he did? Even if he said he did not regret it, maybe he would now. Does he even remember?
In true Wei Wuxian fashion, he steals a whiskey that his brother thought he had hidden well and drank himself to sleep.
Life goes on.
Huaisang is running to his class, hair pulled into a messy bun, with just a sketchpad and a small bag of his art materials. Lazy, his brother snorts at him and rejects his pleas to drive him to school just this once. Thankfully for him, his professor is an understanding woman. He reaches his class on time, just in time for his professor to introduce their model for that day.
“...from the Fashion Design department, please treat him gently.” She gestures to the man and the class, and Huaisang’s eyes widen as he meets Mo Xuanyu’s gaze.
He almost drops his materials, and he laughs it off when his classmate asks. A warm feeling spreads throughout him as if the pieces are finally falling into place.
The other man, already settled on a chair surrounded by a circle of art students, smiles at him. He finds that his eyes really do crinkle when he does.
And much, much later, a few weeks after, between shared kisses and flipping through sketchpads, he finally sees what he was missing.
“I think I regretted not ever thanking you,” A-yu tells him one day, on a cold night where he woke up from a nightmare of the past. And he could tell because the other gets this broken look in his eyes when he does. Huaisang wraps them both in warm blankets and holds him while listening to each other’s breaths. The other wraps a hand around his face, “I don’t regret what happened, but A-sang, you don’t have to bear the burden of the past and your actions alone. I’m here.”
And from then on, the dreams of the past still plagued them, but this time, they don’t dwell on it too much anymore.
“Ehh, you used me as a model for your clothes?” He excitedly flips through the notebook that the A-yu handed to him, explaining that it was some sort of journal for a class back in his freshman years.
“...That was before we met again, now I usually use your brother in my designs because he’s hot. Especially in a suit. A-sang, why is your brother a lawyer? He looks illegal in those.”
“............” Huaisang sighs, “I can’t argue with that.”
Mo Xuanyu prepares a feast when he asked him to meet his brother over dinner.
“...Are you trying to win over my brother? He’s already taken, in case you didn’t know.” He jokes. The other pinch him on the arm, “Shut up, I’m dying from being so worked up about it!” Huaisang smiles, oh but his brother adores him already. There was no need to impress, and he tells the other as much.
A-yu scowls, “I know, but I should at least make a good impression on him!” He fumbles with his hair again, tying it up in a bun and untying it. “Do I look okay?” He laughs again and gives him a kiss, at the exact moment his brother walks in. They break away instantly as if burned, and Nie Mingjue snorts, looking away.
His brother enjoys the food, and he says, “Are you sure? He’s pretty hard to take care of.”
Later, much, later when Huaisang is washing the dishes in the kitchen (because he’s not lazy) and his brother and his boyfriend are left in the dining to clean up, he hears his brother tell A-yu, “I’m glad you’re here. He’s a lot less haunted these days, and I don’t know what happened and I don’t think I’ll be able to understand if I asked, but you mean a lot to him.”
Huaisang smiles from the sinks, tensed shoulders relaxing and carrying on as if he didn’t hear anything.
He thinks they’re going to be just fine.
There is a house built out of stone
Wooden floors, walls and window sills
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust
This is a place where I don't feel alone
This is a place where I feel at home
- To Build a Home - The Cinematic Orchestra