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Two days after he wakes up in Cloud Recesses, fresh new nephew-gifted stab wound in his side, Wei Wuxian starts to feel restless. It pushes at him even through the fatigue that clings after his four-day fever, but that’s not terribly surprising. He wasn’t good at sitting still to let himself heal in last life either, and the simmering mystery of Jin Guangyao’s plots is difficult to set aside.
He stomps most of the jittery impulses down--every time he tries to do anything more strenuous than walking to the cold pond Lan Wangji frowns at him and checks the wound and hovers like Wei Wuxian is actually in danger and not just mildly inconvenienced by the low state of his resurrected body’s cultivation level. Hiking the back hill, or fishing, or suggesting they leave Cloud Recesses and stop trespassing on Zewu-jun’s goodwill--it’s all off limits under pain of Lan Wangji’s quiet disappointment, which is a rather more potent force than it has any right to be. Surely, Wei Wuxian didn’t used to be such a pushover! So easily swayed by such a tiny dip between eyebrows and a slight downcurve of lips! And yet, every time his restlessness starts to get the better of him, he gives in to that expression. Finds something quiet to do with the drumming urge to move that thrums through his feet and hands.
It’s the way Lan Wangji looked at him on the steps of Jinlintai, he’s almost certain. The clarity, the earnest regard in his gaze, standing at Wei Wuxian’s side as if no one else there mattered--even the memory of it heats Wei Wuxian’s blood like wine. Heady. Intoxicating. More than once he’s had to force himself to look away as Lan Wangji does completely normal and innocuous things like read in the morning sunlight, and play guqin among flickering candles, and pour tea into matching cups. Like the baseline affection Lan Wangji’s presence evokes in him has been fanned from glowing embers to active flames. Like if he keeps staring too long, the wellspring in his middle will spill over into his limbs and he’ll … well. Do something he can’t take back.
There’s no indication that Lan Wangji feels any differently about Wei Wuxian now than he did two months ago, or twenty years ago, or at least, nothing so definitive as the sorts of feelings that leave Wei Wuxian stumbling through floodwaters of sudden emotion at inopportune moments. He knows Lan Wangji thinks highly of him, values him as a partner and confidant, even, but whether they’re reading from the same page… it’s impossible to tell. And staying in a single set of rooms for days on end, watching Lan Wangji move through this space that is so clearly his, has been his for well over a decade now… there are moments when Wei Wuxian wants to be part of it so strongly that he has to excuse himself for a walk, even if it’s just a walk through the gardens around the Jingshi. He has to remind himself that belonging is different from tolerance, no matter how accommodating Lan Wangji is as a host.
But he can’t make himself give back the white undershirt he woke up in, or refuse the chili oil Lan Wangji offers with each meal, or the Emperor’s Smile that is always placed on the table with dinner. He can’t stop himself from crowding into Lan Wangji’s space with talismans and too-wide smiles and the kinds of touches to sleeves and shoulders that can be shrugged off as familiar friendship. The kinds of touch Lan Wangji doesn’t shrug off even when he’s sober.
It’s day five of “sit and wait,” an afternoon and evening after Jin Guangyao’s visit to deliver rumors about the Yiling Patriarch’s villainous return to the Mass Graves, when he realizes that Lan Wangji might be feeling just as cooped up and restless as he is. He stacks the dishes from their breakfast with a louder clatter than usual, and glares at his book of musical cultivation theory with more intensity than it afforded yesterday. The whole mood in the Jingshi sinks rapidly from its normal morning calm into a careful, studied silence.
Wei Wuxian toys with his writing brush until he comes to a decision.
“Lan Zhan,” he asks, “should I pack up my things? The weather is good for traveling today.”
Lan Wangji’s lips tighten minutely.
“Brother wishes to speak with us this evening,” he says. “He will leave for Jinlintai tomorrow morning.”
So they really are just waiting then. Wei Wuxian sighs.
“Lan Zhan,” he tries again, half-whining, half-coaxing, “Can’t we at least go visit the rabbits? Morning classes have started, no one will see.”
He’s pretty sure their presence Cloud Recesses is not quite as secret as Zewu-jun would like it to be. The kitchens must know someone is visiting, even if Zewu-jun delivered all of their meals himself, which Wei Wuxian is fairly certain he hasn’t, and it’s not as if either of them are invisible, moving between the Jingshi and the library and Zewu-jun’s receiving room, no matter what precautions they take. He thinks the Lan prohibition against gossip must be working extra hard, this week.
Lan Wangji continues to stare at his book for a long moment before he nods.
“Mn,” he agrees, and stands quickly to return the text to its shelf. Wei Wuxian sets down his brush and bounds to his feet eagerly.
The rabbit meadow is, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion, the best place to be in Cloud Recesses. It’s sheltered from the wind but the sky is still clearly visible, the meadow grasses and wildflowers smell sweet and fresh, there are rabbits to pet, and, of course, Lan Wangji always looks just a little bit happier when they visit. He grabs his flute and waits at the door as Lan Wangji ensures nothing is out of place. They pause on the threshold, and Lan Wangji presses two fingers to Wei Wuxian’s forehead, the touch of spiritual energy cool and soothing.
As the easiest way to converse about secrets and speculation, the Lan telepathy technique has also been pulling extra weight this week. Wei Wuxian still doesn’t know how it fits into the Lan teachings, or whether it’s something reserved for the main family or even something Lan Wangji made up himself, but it’s certainly proved useful when they need to have conversations no one else can hear.
The touch of Lan Wangji’s mental voice feels different, now, than it did that first time they used it in the Xuanwu cave. For that matter, it feels different today than it did earlier in the week. Wei Wuxian wonders if it’s tied to moods in some way, or if he’s just more comfortable with the feeling after repeated experience.
It is, admittedly, a little strange to be petting a rabbit while talking about something as devious and convoluted as Jin Guangyao’s plots against his eldest sworn brother. The Lan telepathy technique makes it worse, in a way. More vivid, memories bleeding into words. Nie Mingjue’s anger is always on the edge of his thoughts.
He lets the topic drop and silently rambles about the places he hopes they can stop when they’re back on the road--old familiar restaurants and sites of natural beauty he hasn’t seen since before the Sunshot Campaign--until even that topic lapses into comfortable silence. He focuses instead on the soft bunny fur under his fingers and the warm weight of the rabbit in his hands until said rabbit loses interest in him and hops over to Lan Wangji’s infinitely preferable lap.
Not that Wei Wuxian can blame it. Lan Wangji is so peaceful, here, the unyielding perfection of his posture softened to something unguarded and touchable. Wei Wuxian would love to be in his lap--
He stomps the thought down, hard, but not before he’s hit by a sudden image of just how much kissing they could get away with, hidden in this grassy meadow while everyone’s still in lessons, and then he freezes.
Lan Wangji is staring at him, wide-eyed, because … because he definitely saw that too, didn’t he.
“Ah--Lan Zhan I--” Wei Wuxian shuts his mouth with a click of teeth, cancels the telepathy technique with a hand to his brow, and does his best to clear his mind a bit. He was going to wait, he was being so careful, and now… he can’t stop the laugh that slips from his throat, shaky and half-breathy as it is. At least Lan Wangji doesn’t look angry.
“Lan Zhan,” he tries again, “I--” but he doesn’t know what he wants to say. Lan Wangji is carefully moving the rabbits, because of course if they're going to have an argument he won’t want to have it here, they’ll probably go back to the Jingshi, or maybe Lan Wangji will just escort him to the gates and move on with his life--
Lan Wangji’s hand covers his before he can get fully to his feet, fingers curling around his wrist. He tugs, firm and insistent, and Wei Wuxian stumbles--and lands in Lan Wangji’s lap.
“Um?”
It’s a little more awkward than he’d envisioned, but it’s definitely … he’s definitely leaning pretty much all of his weight into Lan Wangji’s chest and shoulder and arm and … and Lan Wangji is looking at him with the kind of intensity he usually reserves for particularly tricky night hunts.
“Lan Zhan?” He licks his lips, reflexive, and Lan Wangji’s gaze dips to his mouth.
“Wei Ying can have anything he wants,” he says, dragging his gaze up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes.
Wei Wuxian has never been very good at curbing his impulses. He grins, and presses two fingers to the little triangle of skin between Lan Wangji’s collars. The skin that would usually be covered by the shirt Wei Wuxian himself is wearing under his single remaining outer layer.
“Anything?” he asks, half-teasing.
“Mn.” He can feel the confirmation rumbling in Lan Wangji’s throat. Can feel Lan Wangji’s hands tightening in his robe.
He swallows and tries to breathe through the sudden tightness in his chest. Apparently he’s misread things. That, or Lan Wangji has always … always--
“Kiss, me, Lan Zhan,” he whispers, and Lan Wangji does, and it’s better than his not-so-idle daydreams, better than he ever thought it could be, to have Lan Wangji’s arm at his back and their mouths pressed together, to pull away and see that same look in Lan Wangji’s face that he wore on the steps of Jinlintai. That earnest warmth and singular focus, like there’s nowhere else in the whole of heaven and earth that Lan Wangji would rather be.
“Ah, Lan Zhan!” He laughs, against Lan Wangji’s neck, the sound a little watery even to his own ears. “Lan Zhan, I like you so much,” he says, and Lan Wangji kisses him again, and again and again. Wei Wuxian lets himself slide his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and his hands into Lan Wangji’s hair, kisses him back with all the enthusiasm he’s been keeping under his skin for weeks now and lets himself think that he can at least belong here, in this warm, heady space caught between Lan Wangji’s hands and his lips.
They do not leave the meadow for a long, long time.