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“Zichen, I was so stupid.”
Song Lan’s stomach drops, hearing the shake in Xichen’s voice when he comes back to find him. He had briefly wondered why it was that Xichen had not followed him from the graveyard, but he had been so caught up in the hunt -
They had been night hunting. It had seemed an unremarkable case, only a few walking corpses in a small town, deliberately chosen for what is only Xichen’s third venture out of seclusion. Song Lan had been honoured to hear agreement from him when he had put forth the idea of hunting together.
Now, Xichen’s features are tense, though when Song Lan first arrived he had been a picture of serenity, meditating as if nothing had been wrong, if it weren’t for the scattered felled corpses, or the lingering sweet smell of the powder in the air. Now, Song Lan notices the irregularity of Xichen’s rattling breaths, the sweat dampening his forehead, the ghost of darkening veins on his neck.
Song Lan is the one that was stupid. He should have stopped to think, he should have - but the corpses hadn’t been acting alone, as they had discovered with the echoing sound of a cruel laugh, and a swirl of dark smoke.
A copycat - that’s all it was. Someone who had heard the tale of Wei Wuxian - perhaps even the tale of -
This demonic cultivator was young, and he was furious that he had never been recognised for the power that he had. Song Lan looked at him, and he could not see him without the face of another.
And so he had chased without thought to how far behind Xichen was, how strange it was that someone so skilled as Zewu Jun was not following after all the corpses had been slain.
Stay calm, he remembers now to sign to Xichen. Don’t move. We can fix this.
Xichen nods, and tries to smile - tries to appease Song Lan’s worries, as he always does. But Song Lan is still calming himself from the sound of that laugh. (It’s still strange, not to have a pounding heart or a gasping breath to remind him of the exertion - but he is not too well trained to panic.)
It was a laugh that had only got louder, when Song Lan had finally caught up to the man in a clearing. Song Lan, with his swords; this man, with nothing but a handful of smoke, and yet he had been confident - more confident, when his eyes had fallen on the lines at Song Lan’s throat. No doubt what he had been thinking - that he could command Song Lan, if he could find the right key.
But this is why Song Lan has his two swords, both sharp and unforgiving. Both ever remembering the consequences of the last that hurt them.
There is no doubt now, here with Xichen, looking around the scattered corpses, that the influence of that demonic cultivator is gone from the mortal realm - but Song Lan still approaches Xichen with a question ready in his hands, trembling with unfounded worry.
Xichen’s eyes have fallen shut again now, in an effort not to move - so Song Lan can’t ask him all that he wants to, can’t tell him -
It was my fault, I should have made sure you were close by, I shouldn't have run after him. like that, he made me think of - and I couldn't help myself - but that doesn't matter because I should have been looking out for you - Xichen, are you, the lines on your neck, down your throat, are you -
He has to know. He has to reach out - he has to -
He hums a sound to catch Xichen's attention, and gestures to his neck. Only a vague motion, because to express it in full would be a weakness, an admittance of a past that he still wants to pretend he can't remember but -
Xichen tilts his head in question, and Song Lan draws his hand closer, a silent question of can I touch in the movement.
Can I check that you're not - that you -
Xichen lets him, and Song Lan’s desperate hands find the base of his skull, starting with the back of his jaw, beneath his ear, moving carefully beneath his hair, keeping his movements quick and light. All the while he dreads the result, expecting to find a hit of metal against his fingertips, steady poison of a nail forced into Xichen's skull, because that's what happens - soon enough Xichen will be voiceless, perhaps sightless too, and his veins will have blackened and hardened and his body will be cold and lifeless and it will be the end of all bright life and morning suns and -
His head, of course, is untampered. The tension Song Lan releases is as much tension as he has ever held in death.
He leans his forehead onto Xichen's shoulder briefly - the way he used to with Xingchen, when they would sit at a fireside, sharing soft words and tales of the day, when Song Lan would laugh quiet in the night, and love through touch.
He remembers himself in an instant - there is still the poison, whether or not there is a puppeteer waiting in the wings.
They are two miles from the town. Back up through the trees and beyond the empty graves, but it's the best chance at finding someone to help them with an antidote. Had Song Lan thought to bring an elixir - this could be over - he has been so careless, with the one precious thing he has left. So careless, when he has so little, and Xichen is the only - and -
He stands, moves away from Xichen with a touch to his shoulder that shouldn't linger as long as it does. Xichen's eyes, thankfully, are open this time, and so Song Lan signs to him.
I will carry you to the town.
Xichen starts to protest, but Song Lan cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head, a dismissive wave of his hand. He reaches carefully down to encourage Xichen to stand, then turns and bends his legs for Xichen to climb on his back.
His arms rest over Song Lan's shoulders, a careful calculation to the touch, clinical and deliberately limited. It is the greatest comfort, that he understands how difficult it is for Song Lan to allow this.
Though - Song Lan would happily allow Xichen's body to drape entirely over him - and - holding such tension in his body - it will only worsen the poison. But he has no way to make this known with his hands supporting Xichen's legs. He can only hope that Xichen will understand that he knows it is necessary, and he wants to allow it. Strange, how easily Xichen has slipped into the category of those he trusts to lay their hands on him.
He moves onto Fuxue, and flies towards the town. It’s a thankfully smooth journey, and he finds his way quickly to the house of one of the women in the village. Song Lan has been to this town before, and so he had been recognised.
He had tried not to notice the softening of Lan Xichen's features at the way the villagers had fussed over him, but he has little control over what he sees. (Because these eyes are still not his own. Of course they answer to him, of course they move as he tells them - but sometimes - a phantom of - and, oh, isn't it just easier to shift the blame?)
Madam Feng opens the door with a smile that drops as she sees Xichen.
"Corpse sickness?" she asks, and Song Lan nods. "Well, bring him in, hurry!" she says, stern in her worry. "I'll assume neither of you thought to bring any elixir?" she tuts, and Song Lan shakes his head, while Xichen looks down in shame for an uncharacteristic moment, before fixing his smile back on, and lifting his head back up.
"Madam, please for-"
"None of that," she snaps. "Stay quiet and sit down. Unless you want it to reach your heart?"
Xichen presses his lips together, and takes a seat where she points, his hands automatically resting on his knees.
"I suppose congee will have to do," she muses. "You're lucky I won’t refuse to make it. No, you sit down too," she adds, noticing Song Lan move towards her to offer his help. "I'm sure you've done enough, if that wound on your arm is anything to go by."
Song Lan hadn't even noticed, had barely felt - as always. A thin black line, deeper than the rest, must have been one of the corpses - he vaguely recalls a brush of the blade that one of them carried. At some point he will have to sew it shut, perhaps ask Wei Wuxian for his assistance if he can stomach the thought. For now - it can cause no immediate damage, stagnant as the black blood is beneath his skin.
While he has been examining the wound, and wrapped it with a handkerchief, Madam Feng had been in the kitchen, setting a fire in the stove and fetching water for the rice. She returns while it cooks,and tilts her head.
“Can I assume that the plague of corpses will no longer threaten our town?
Song Lan nods, and she hums her approval.
There was - someone in control of them.
Her expression sours, as if she knows immediately who he is referring to. “And where is he now?”
Song Lan bows his head. She nods, her expression fierce.
I’m sorry.
"You make no apology to me for it. Fair is fair, for your partner’s safety."
Though Xichen's eyes stay shut, his eyebrows twitch upwards in surprise. Song Lan begins to shake his head.
Not partners, he signs, then wonders whether that may be too blunt. He and Xichen are - friends, he supposes. Companions, of the last few months. And perhaps - but nothing that has been acknowledged out loud.
"Well, I don't claim to understand how you cultivator folk refer to it. You hunt together, you care for each other, that's partners.” She turns back to the kitchen, allowing no argument for her assessment of what they are to each other.
Song Lan dares a glance to his side, to Xichen, but finds his face impassive, his eyes still closed. It’s impossible to tell what he could be thinking - perhaps, when they are both out of this town, when Xichen allows himself to be seen in the spaces where he feels himself - he will share his thoughts. But it’s a new thing for him to do so with Song Lan, and a measurable victory each time for him to allow himself to be not completely strong as he speaks. Song Lan can never expect it to happen.
Madam Feng returns a few moments later, holding out a bowl for Xichen.
“Here, eat.”
Xichen’s eyes open, and he takes the bowl, bowing his head.
“Than-”
“Eat,” she commands. “Thank me when you’re cured.”
Xichen nods, with a small smile, and eats.
His breath starts to come easier almost immediately, but certainly after a few minutes. The shake of his hands calms, and flush of fever fades. He lets out a sigh, relieved and thankful, then stands.
“Madam, please accept my humblest thanks. Rest assured that I will learn from my mistakes today.”
She hums, giving him an appraising look. “You had better,” she says. “I’ll be the last to treat you another time.”
Xichen nods. “I understand.”
There’s a smile slipping through the stern look on her face, and she shakes her head. “Well, now,” she says firmly. “Thank you both for your help.”
We are glad to give it, Song Lan signs, and Xichen glances over, nodding his agreement.
“Hm,” she replies. Then, without a hint of kindness entering her tone, but still somehow tangible, she continues. “You’ll stay for dinner?”
*
They’re on the road up from Caiyi Town in the silence of late evening when Xichen finally relaxes his composure.
“Zichen,” he says, his voice softened and trembling. “I’m so - I cannot imagine how you -” he shuts his eyes. “I understand, if you cannot bear to be around me any longer.”
(This was not what Song Lan expected. He had been waiting for I was so afraid - it reminded me of - ah, no, those thoughts are Song Lan’s own.)
He waits for Xichen to look at him, and signs - Why would that be so?
Xichen’s shoulders drop. “I appreciate that you are softening it for me, but I know that I hurt you. First with my foolishness, in allowing myself to be poisoned - and then - Zichen, I know you do not like to touch others. Please, let me apologise -”
No.
“No?”
If I did not want to touch you, I would not have done so. There were other ways that I could have helped.
“But-”
Song Lan reaches out. He presses the palm of his hand to Xichen’s chest, and holds it there, looking up into Xichen’s eyes. He nods once, to reassure Xichen of his choice in doing so, then takes his hand back to speak.
The reason I have been in discomfort today - he makes sure the motions are slow and deliberate, so that Xichen will not mistake anything, skilled in understanding though he is. - Was my worry for you. Yes, my past influenced me - I remember what it was to be controlled, and I fear that happening - but I fear it because it would mean losing you. The question is not whether I can bear to be around you, it is whether I can bear to be parted from you. And you must understand that I do not wish to be so.
“Zichen,” it’s more of a breath than a word, a gasp of a sound, quiet and thrilled with surprise. “I - do not know what to say.”
Song Lan should have been more afraid of a refusal like this, but now that the drop in his stomach comes, he is relieved that he hadn't been anticipating it. Relieved, and - he doesn't know what else. Something heavy, sharp, close against his ribs.
You do not need to return the sentiment, he cannot help his hands from flying lightning fast now. I only want to thank you for - being someone that I can trust.
He starts to turn, and there's a careful hand on his arm. "Zichen."
Was it a mistake, to allow his touch, or are his emotions heightened into swirling chaos for some other reason?
"Zichen, I do.” Xichen smiles, hesitant, eager, waiting for Song Lan to understand. It takes a moment before Xichen continues. “I do return the sentiment. I am glad to have you with me, now and through the time we have spent. I do not think that I would be here if it weren't for -” He raises his hand from Song Lan’s arm, up to cup his cheek. "Zichen, you have saved me in innumerable ways. I would be honoured if you would stay by my side."
His thumb is soft as it brushes Song Lan’s cheek. His feeling is dulled, and yet this is all he feels. The brush of his thumb and the question in his eyes and the breathy smile and the press - the gentle press - lips to cold lips, inspiriting.
Lips to cheek, then, to forehead. Song Lan’s hands to Xichen's face, and pulling him down in turn to kiss just shy of his ribbon. One day, perhaps he will kiss that, too.
But if they stay by each other’s sides, there will be plenty of time for that.