Work Text:
Wei Wuxian tears himself out of the dream and clumsily throws back the heavy covers.
Pressing himself back against the pillow, he breathes quickly, unhearing. Beneath that gauzy dark silence, even noise cannot be heard.
After a while, Wei Wuxian finds himself turned perpendicular on the bed; he must have been moving within the past few minutes, though he has no recollection. His leg is splayed out over the edge, his left arm inclined against the headboard. He sits up, then stands.
This is not his usual routine.
Usually, he kneels up on the bed to push back the curtains that cover the window over his bed, tucking each side behind the headboard; he doesn’t have curtain holders, of course. After that he gets up and turns off the fan, whose white-noise is annoying during the day. And then he slides on fuzzy socks and goes to wash his face.
But since today is shaping up to be really rather awful-- since his night was really rather awful-- Wei Wuxian can’t bring himself to mind. He just wants out of the bedroom, and this will do it the quickest.
Through the closed door, into the morning-still hallway. He hadn’t checked his phone, but he feels groggy and hungry and sick with sleep, so it’s probably late. He glides through the morning ablutions and teeth brushing with his brain turned to static, fixating on an image of a dried-out hermit crab he saw last week and the nausea in his gut. His mind turns to his dreams. He forcefully turns it away.
They weren’t even that bad. Wei Wuxian’s an expert in nightmaring, and the dreams really weren’t that bad. Not too many dead people, and no natural disasters or body horror-- kinda-- no confined spaces or falling, just this visceral wrench in his guts and the choppy-synchronicity of his mind at night and the feeling of his ribs cracking.
Wei Wuxian is always slightly worried that the pain he experiences in his dreams will occur to his body. Like if dreams are just mind-static, then dream pain is a sensory reflection of the real world. He doesn’t worry about dying in dreams, because he doesn’t. Die, that is. But he does feel pain.
He breathes in and his ribs don’t crack or stutter. Wei Wuxian does not take this for granted.
Just throw the whole day away , he thinks longingly, closing his eyes, but that can’t happen. He has things to do. People to talk to. Tears to cry in the bathroom when everything gets to be too much.
Methodically eating leftover chickpea masala with cold rice, Wei Wuxian wonders if he’s a crybaby. It doesn’t count if he doesn’t cry in front of other people, right? How would they even know to call him that? It’s not like he bursts into tears when people insult him, and Wei Wuxian smiles in wry humor at the thought. Otherwise he’d always be crying.
If a crybaby cries alone in a forest, are they still pathetic?
Philosophical thoughts finished for the day-- and Wei Wuxian laughs at himself for calling all his musings philosophical, but it’s either that or writing them down in his journal to go over with his therapist, and he likes to approach life with the appropriate lackadaisical attitude-- he gets dressed. Clean underwear. Pants. Undershirt. Overshirt. Belt. Jacket. Sock. Sock. Shoe. Shoe.
When he pulls his hair up into a ponytail, he’s aware that he looks almost identical to himself on other days. Put-together enough to be acceptable, but messy enough to disguise when his brain is flatlining. Wei Wuxian had explained this to Lan Zhan once, who understands because he has the whole, if I don’t ever talk people won’t think it’s abnormal when I can’t talk, sort of thing. Lan Zhan had nodded but his hand had twitched like he wanted to-- pet Wei Wuxian’s head or something.
Lan Zhan worries too much, and too often does that worry swamp into sadness. It settles just below the surface. His eyes are so deep, then, like pools of black and blue melted metal, iridescent without the help of tears. Like the wavering darkness of a cobalt night. But Wei Wuxian understood that, too.
In his dream, his brother's hands had cracked his ribs. He was tightening a corset, of all things, but he wouldn’t stop when Wei Wuxian told him to, and then there was no breath to speak. It was such a small crack, a hairline fracture, a small shift in a tectonic plate, and as Jiang Cheng tightened the strings he murmured, quiet as he so rarely is, “These things can break your bones, you know.”
Wei Wuxian drives to the beach. He drives because otherwise he’d have to take the bus, an endeavor which is good for late-night loneliness but very much not late-morning panicking. Also, he’d like to be able to leave when he can.
It’s a family gathering at the beach. But not just family, it’s friends of the family as well. And likely their families, too.
If it were at a park , marches endlessly through Wei Wuxian’s head, I might be better able to bear it . It’s not at a park. Which really is to everyone’s detriment, because there are likely no bathrooms to duck into to cry. And beaches are always overwhelming; loud, with the waves and the gulls, and tactilely unpleasant, with sand under fingernails and on jeans and in the hinges of sunglasses. And bright.
If it were at a park …
The only bright side is jiejie. She’ll be there with Jin Zixuan, who’s lame, but he’s better now that Yanli’s gotten to him. She can always tell when Wei Wuxian’s flatlining— and that’s what he calls it, not because it feels like dying, but because all he can focus on is the drone of his heartbeat in his head, persistent and annoying and bad— and helps just by being perfect, and there, and speaking with her soft sotto sotto voice. In college she’d hosted a popular radio show, which was funny in concept but actually so, so great.
Wei Wuxian hopes that Lan Zhan will be there, too, but he doesn’t text to find out. If he learns he isn’t coming-- the Lans are distant friends, but not close enough to guarantee attendance-- then Wei Wuxian will not be strong enough to avoid turning home right now. And he can’t afford to miss this party, not if he wants the rest of the holidays with Auntie Yu to be pleasant this year.
Wei Wuxian steels himself for a long day. Tomorrow today will be forgotten , he lies to himself, like he can trick his brain into ever not ruminating on a bad day. He’s so used to pretending to others that he finds the past inconsequential that he often goes mindlessly through those words, even though they’re false. He holds his head up determinedly and ignores how his veins feel calcified. The hollow nausea in his stomach hasn’t gone away.
At five after 1 pm, he arrives at the beach parking lot. There are no open spaces, of course; by now his symptoms have shifted from dread into a truly impressive bad mood. It’s aggressively, angrily sunny. Wei Wuxian finds a spot to park along the busy road and thunks his head against the steering wheel, careful to avoid the horn.
This will suck. But it’ll be done within a few hours. Just put on your smile, Wei Wuxian , he thinks.
He can see the group from up on the bluffs: a large amoeba of people congregating around a set of plastic tables laden with food and drink. He can hear them as well, loud laughter and conversation drifting up on the salty breeze. Wei Wuxian’s body forcefully rejects the idea of joining them.
But Wei Wuxian is an expert at ignoring what his body says. As soon as he gets closer, he pastes a smile on his face and greets people with a nod and a wave. It’s difficult to walk on the loose sand with shoes-- and who thought a beach was a good venue? He beelines towards Auntie Yu, who stands like a queen surrounded by her court. If he doesn’t greet her first she’ll be angry.
Her sharp eyes notice his approach but she doesn’t acknowledge him until he has. He feels, hysterically, like a jester. Let me amuse you , he prays. The crowd of family and friends should discourage her from being anything but passive aggressively courteous.
“Good afternoon, Auntie Yu,” he greets, already sweating under the oppressive heat. The crashing of the waves is a somewhat fitting accompaniment for Auntie Yu’s razor gaze and disapproving frown. Even when she isn’t speaking, her expressions give speeches.
“You look so messy,” she says, and Wei Wuxian can’t stop the stiffening of his already forced smile. “Why are you wearing that earring? This is a family gathering, where are your manners?”
Wei Wuxian’s hand goes up mindlessly to the single stud in his left ear, aware that this will show his weakness, not caring. He’ll lose regardless. “Sorry, Auntie Yu,” is all he feels capable of responding with. He searches his mind for something additional to say, but comes up empty; he can’t find the proper motivation to sort through the angry buzzing right behind his jaw. Auntie Yu raises an eyebrow, scornful. “I…” he trails off, and then revives his smile with effort, feeling her assessing gaze scrape like knives. Her looks are always painful, but today it is excruxiating, to be seen. “I’ll go say hello to the others.”
Auntie Yu narrows her eyes. She snaps, “Don’t embarrass me, Wei Wuxian!” and Wei Wuxian can’t muster up the corresponding nod, just turns away. He’ll pay for that later.
The next hour passes in jagged, hazy moments defined by Wei Wuxian’s body’s responses. A distant uncle sets a hand on his shoulder and he barely passes off the shudder as chill. A small child screeches, running past, and Wei Wuxian jolts, heart rate picking up. He can’t find his sister, and the pit in his stomach deepens; she’s probably late, and Wei Wuxian can’t care enough to blame Jin Zixuan for it. His buzzy, overwhelmed annoyance deepens into a hazy, unsafe apathy. He doesn’t remember what he says. He’s not sure if the people he talks to notice.
And then he turns and glances through the crowd and there stands Jiang Cheng, barely masking his grumpiness, speaking with an aunt, looking polite and angrily attentive in a way that only he manages. He glances over and he might see Wei Wuxian, his eyes narrow slightly, but Wei Wuxian— can’t. He’s already leaving.
Luckily, there is a bathroom. This is a very good thing, because 1) there are a lot of people and not having a bathroom sounds like very bad event planning and 2) it allows Wei Wuxian to slip away with an accepted excuse. He walks up the sand-covered steps towards the damp stone-brick restroom and ducks behind it quickly. Farther away from the ocean, the crashing of the waves is a quieter barrage and the shadows are a welcome respite. Wei Wuxian leans against the cold stone and tilts his head back, blinking quickly to prevent tears from falling.
God. I’m such a pathetic crybaby, he thinks, not without some humor, and wraps his arms around his sides. In front of him is a small field of iceplant, the purple flowers almost in full bloom. His ribs all feel a little cracked.
He can’t bear to watch Jiang Cheng’s face go from boredom to recognition to anger just at the sight of him. That would be— Wei Wuxian swallows and squeezes at his sides, digging his fingers deep in between his ribs. His brain is a tipped-over tv, static pulsing out in shockwaves, and he’s at the epicenter.
“Wei Ying?”
That’s Lan Zhan’s voice, not loud enough to startle, and suddenly that’s Lan Zhan standing before him. Wei Wuxian can’t help the way his shoulders slump in relief at the sight. Lan Zhan looks so worried, and that expression only deepens when he sees the unspilling tears.
But Lan Zhan already knows Wei Wuxian’s a crybaby, and he doesn’t mind, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t turn away.
“Wei Ying. What is wrong?” he asks, voice so steady and deep and familiar, like a weighted blanket made out of the night sky. Wei Wuxian would like to hide in his vocal cords. Press his face against his throat and feel the vibrations as he speaks.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling nothing but relief. “You’re here?” He looks around and oh, there is the path off to the side. Leaning as he is against the bathroom wall, Wei Wuxian must have just barely been visible.
A nod. “I am sorry I am late. Wei Ying, what can I do?” Lan Zhan looks worried. He’s wearing a nice, silky-looking shirt with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He has such nice forearms.
Wei Wuxian’s arms have dropped to his sides. Now that Lan Zhan is here, his head feels so heavy. And his shoulders. And his hands. Like the solid weight of a bowling ball. “We should have carpooled,” Wei Wuxian says in dismay, blinking slowly. He’s aware he’s not quite answering Lan Zhan, but he’s not sure how to with fog creeping up his limbs. “I like watching you drive, you have nice hands. Carpooling helps save the planet, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan’s hands-- and they really are very nice, big and strong and graceful, with callouses on his palms and the tips of his fingers and on the side of his middle finger-- are hovering over his shoulders, now. “Can I touch you?”
Wei Wuxian takes a moment to actually think about this. If it were anyone else-- he doesn’t let his brain complete that thought because otherwise he’ll shudder and then Lan Zhan will step away and not touch him. But it’s Lan Zhan, who’s a weighted blanket of night sky. Who understands. Around Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian’s borders are permeable. “I like when you touch me,” he answers, and then yawns. His head hurts. He knows he sounds-- drunk, or crazy, or something, but he can’t care, not when it’s just Lan Zhan.
After a pause, Lan Zhan gently cradles his shoulders in his nice hands. One of them slides up to his neck, then forehead, leaving warmth in its wake. Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh and leans against it, closing his eyes. A wave of exhaustion is cresting over him now, like a wave down on the beach. He might be swaying. This probably isn’t the best place for falling asleep, but the iceplant had looked nice and soft.
Being unconscious sounds really nice.
He’s moving. Or rather, he’s being moved, carefully, supported by arms. When Wei Wuxian opens his eyes, he finds Lan Zhan leading him over to the parking lot. It’s full, but most of the people are down on the beach. He’d forgotten that it was so bright out, and he squints unhappily. Lan Zhan sits him down on a wooden bench and crouches in front of him. His eyes are doing the dark melted metal thing. Wei Wuxian blinks at him.
“My car is down the street. Can you wait here?” It’s a sincere question, which is good because Wei Wuxian stiffens; the parking lot is quiet, but not empty. Wei Wuxian feels irrationally exposed, sitting clumsily on a bench with his brain full of empty flutes. He can’t bear anyone’s eyes on him except Lan Zhan’s. The sun beats down upon his neck.
Lan Zhan nods calmly in response to the look on his face and rises. Wei Wuxian takes the initiative to stand up, which he does successfully, and Lan Zhan watches him carefully the entire time. Wei Wuxian knows he’ll be embarrassed later-- because really he’s fine, he’s just having a bad day, it’s stupid to be this childish-- but right now he’s not.
He takes a final glance over his shoulder, at the beach, and feels his stomach twist. They walk to Lan Zhan’s car. The ground is torn-up black asphalt, and it takes effort to lift his feet.
Into the car he goes, arranging his limbs on the seat. Lan Zhan sits before the wheel and turns to him.
“Your house or mine?”
Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and sinks back. He feels like a man made from tissue paper, dipped in olive oil. If someone held him up to the light, he’d be see-through. Paper pulp. Weighed down. Dripping. He wonders if he should tell Lan Zhan that, but decides not to, it would take too much effort. “Mine.”
The car starts up, then pulls out. Wei Wuxian turns his head away from the sunlight but it follows him, insistent, and he makes the smallest little noise. A moment later, something soft is set down on his head, taking the light from blinding to dull. When he opens his eyes, peeking out from under the cover, he sees Lan Zhan’s floaty scarf and Lan Zhan driving carefully down the road. His mouth twitches slightly into a fond smile and he sinks into a haze.
Wei Wuxian wakes up when the car turns off. He lays there for a minute, gathering his bearings, and pulls the scarf down, mussing his hair. He’s in the shade of his apartment building. His breaths travel through each capillary. Lan Zhan opens his door.
“Bet you wish you could carry me inside like a princess, huh Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, smiling at the image. Lan Zhan huffs lightly but his gaze is fond.
When Wei Wuxian lifts his hands to be pulled to his feet he feels like a child, and a giggle bubbles up through his lips. The nausea in his stomach has turned to dancing champagne. His limbs are made of unfired clay.
They make it inside, somehow, and up the stairs. Wei Wuxian fumbles for his keys and then sighs at the reminder. “My car,” he says, to Lan Zhan’s look. “I should have taken the bus after all,” he murmurs, lips barely moving. Lan Zhan unlocks the door.
“We will get it tomorrow.” Wei Wuxian smiles frailly at Lan Zhan.
Wei Wuxian walks over to his couch and collapses onto it, throwing an arm over his head. His brain is beginning to come back online. He’s not sure this is a good thing; the guilt and embarrassment are setting in, thick like unsalted bread in his stomach. He’s barely a functional person right now, and for everyone else this would be too much, but-- it’s Lan Zhan. Maybe he doesn’t need to feel bad, if it’s Lan Zhan.
Wei Wuxian sits up, dizzy, and sets his feet on the ground. He still has his sandy shoes on. Lan Zhan kneels before him once again, his hair flowing loose down his back, and begins to unlace them, fingers nimble.
Wei Wuxian blows out a breath and curls forward to set his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, pushing aside the part of his brain that wants to deflect and apologize. Lan Zhan, after the briefest of pauses, takes off one shoe and starts on the second. From this position, with Lan Zhan’s head tilted down, Wei Wuxian could turn his head and kiss his soft cheek. He doesn’t, because he really wants his shoes off. Instead he closes his eyes and dreams of falling asleep with his head on Lan Zhan’s chest.
He probably wouldn’t have nightmares then.
Finished, Lan Zhan doesn’t move. He just tilts his head up and rests it against Wei Wuxian’s, gentle and patient and warm. In the quiet of the apartment they nestle together, their breathing the only sound. Soft, kinder afternoon sunlight drifts in but doesn’t touch them. Wei Wuxian would like to stay here forever.
But eventually he pulls back, though not all the way, and looks at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan looks back, beautiful and pink-eared and tender. His eyes are endless pools of dark night, absorbing all that they see.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel the need to paste on a smile or laugh or straighten up. But he smiles anyway, a soft thing, easy. His heartbeat thumps slowly, like through syrup, in his chest and hands and feet. His ribs don’t creak when he breathes. “Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan reaches up a hand and untangles his messy hair from his earring, where it had gotten stuck. He tucks it behind his ear, and his hand lingers on his neck, warm. A weighted blanket.
Wei Wuxian grabs it before it can fall, and tucks it against his chest. “Lan Zhan,” he says again, heart thumping its way through his love, veins thick with it. Wei Wuxian’s a sticky honey mess of affection for Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan leans forward, blinking slowly, a magnet on a string. “Wei Ying,” he says, voice a sweet murmur. The golden light barely touches the tips of his feet. The sight of him is an eternity of golden-thread dusks and starry night skies.
Wei Wuxian kisses him.
It’s an easy thing, like gravity. Lan Zhan’s lips are so soft beneath his, and they part on a small exhale of surprise. Wei Wuxian pulls back, but not too far.
Lan Zhan’s eyes are wide but not with uncertainty. “Wei Ying,” he whispers, and then he’s leaning in and they’re kissing again, noses bumping gently and eyelashes fluttering against cheeks. Wei Wuxian savors the slow glide, chaste and warm and sweet.
Lan Zhan’s hands raise and settle on his hips, framing, and Wei Wuxian stutters on a breath at the sensation, heart thumping wildly. All of the bad haziness is gone, replaced by joy and contentment. Lan Zhan’s tongue slips into his mouth, wet and hot, and Wei Wuxian moans quietly and opens wider to welcome him. He slides his hands up around Lan Zhan’s neck, pushing in closer, gliding one hand into his thick hair. Lan Zhan slips a hand around to the small of his back, guiding him. Wei Wuxian entangles their tongues and parts his thighs around him, and--
Lan Zhan climbs up onto the sofa, still kissing him, and presses him against the back. He feels like the sweep of a warm tide, and Wei Wuxian pants slightly, heart pounding. His exhaustion has disappeared in the face of Lan Zhan kneeling between Wei Wuxian’s legs, his hand curving against his cheek.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes. “Lan Zhan—” He pushes up against Lan Zhan and flips them over, clambering onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips. Lan Zhan inhales sharply and holds onto his hips again, desparate. It’s a hot, heady feeling, and Wei Wuxian leans in to kiss him again.
He delights at this new angle, only barely higher than Lan Zhan, able to pull his plush bottom lip into his mouth and bite down gently. Lan Zhan’s grip tightens, and he pulls back slightly. His eyes are dark, his cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed from Wei Wuxian’s hands. Wei Wuxian knows he probably looks messier, can feel himself panting, notices his hair falling out of his ponytail.
They look at one another for a moment, breaths mingling, and Wei Wuxian feels his desperation gentle into something that settles deep behind his navel, in his veins. Slowly, not closing his eyes until the last minute, he leans in and presses his lips to Lan Zhan’s, who seems to be barely breathing. Curious, Wei Wuxian lightly traces the seam of his mouth with the tip of his tongue and Lan Zhan inhales, chest expanding against his. “Wei Ying .”
Lan Zhan is the one who leans in this time, and they kiss deeply, tongues curling around one another. Wei Wuxian finds that he likes this rhythm, likes that he can press in and be pressed against with equal pressure, equal excitement. His hands cradle Lan Zhan’s face now like he would cradle something precious, thumbs caressing his pretty cheekbones.
Eventually, Wei Wuxian pulls back, feeling sticky sweet and breathless. He presses his face into Lan Zhan’s throat, trying to calm his racing heart, and Lan Zhan’s arms curve around him. They stay like that for a while.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan ah,” Wei Wuxian says, muffled, and his lips brush against Lan Zhan’s rapid pulse. Lan Zhan swallows. “That was so good. Let’s do that again, okay?” Wei Wuxian yawns and snuggles closer, taking stock of his heavy limbs and drowsy eyelids. “After I take a nap,” he adds, punctuating it with a soft kiss on his neck.
Lan Zhan’s arms gentle, now supporting rather than pressing closer. “Whatever you want,” he says, voice a rumble of beloved vibration.
“I want,” mumbles Wei Wuxian, sliding easily into half-asleep. “Do--” he pauses as another yawn splits his sentence. “Do you?”
There’s a pause, as the afternoon begins to settle into dusk and Wei Wuxian hovers on the edge between wakefulness and dreaming, waiting for Lan Zhan’s answer. He doesn’t feel scared. He’d wait forever, if he had to.
“Yes.” Lan Zhan’s voice is a whisper, enclosed by the warm air and dust motes. His chest rises and falls beneath Wei Wuxian’s. “Yes, Wei Ying, always.”
The haze and panic and hurt from earlier is gone, leaving only a soft echo in its wake. His heartbeat is back in his chest, regular and light. His ribs feel strong when he exhales. Lan Zhan, beneath him and around him and everywhere that he can sense, is warm and lovely and loved.
Wei Wuxian falls asleep.