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Summary
There are things that Lan Wangji remembers. The tap of a hand fastening a talisman to his anger-taut shoulder. The snap of fingers. The evening turning syrupy and amber, honey-drowned. The messy room, the fragrance of wine, a laughing mocking face. The slow-flowing stream of his thoughts. Fingers on his sleeve making a suggestive gesture. Fury. Longing.
He thinks about that night. He thinks about it when things are bad.
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OR: Things Wei Wuxian Never Did to Lan Wangji.
