Archive of Our Own

When news had reached Jiang Cheng that the Yiling Patriarch was wandering the lands as a homeless rogue cultivator, a year after their last meeting at the temple, he had found himself flying to his shixiong’s last known whereabouts in a flash of rage. It hadn’t been his intention to drag him back to Lotus Pier but – ah, the indignity of the former head disciple of the Jiang being without a home was more excruciating than forcing himself to kneel in penance in the ancestral hall long enough to wear holes in the floorboards.

Weeks later, he’s not used to it yet – living with Wei Wuxian again. He is loud and annoying and doesn’t fit in, not quite a second in command not quite a head disciple. But Jiang Cheng has been trying to stop himself from poking at good things to see them snap. So they’ve been living in the same compound, edging around each other like caged tigers, which is ridiculous.

Point being, there is no routine to being with Wei Wuxian in his life again. So when Jin Ling spontaneously ditched them on their joint night hunt to spend time with one of his loud little friends – it only dawned on him then how Wei Wuxian had apparently been very careful to never have to be alone with him. Judging by the caught-out look he sent him as they realized they were stranded in this inn in some nothing town alone.

And really, what was there to do after that realization than get spectacularly drunk.

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“Wei Wuxian!”

Jiang Cheng stamps his foot, catches himself doing it, and stamps his foot again. If he wants to act like a boy again, who’s there to stop him.

Screeching laughter echoes down the hill before him. He squints his eyes – it’s not a very tall hill, but with his vision as alcohol-laced as it is, it seems insurmountable. “Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian yells down at him from the top, waving with the jar still clutched in his hand.

Jiang Cheng huffs and starts stalking his way up the soggy incline. He curses the summer weather for deciding today was the perfect day for a storm. At least it’s stopped. If it stays dry throughout the night, they have at least some hope for the ground to dry up before they journey into the forest tomorrow.

Of course, his luck has always been shit. Leave it to the heavens to make sure he won’t only have to deal with his shixiong alone tomorrow, he’ll also have to do it soggy.

“Jiang Cheng ,” Wei Wuxian yells. Jiang Cheng stops muttering to himself and looks up from his feet; turns out, Wei Wuxian wasn’t all the way up the hill after all. He’s swaying on his feet, his hair fluttering in the warm breeze – some part of him always moving.

When Jiang Cheng reaches him, Wei Wuxian leans towards him, Mo Xuanyu’s fewer inches not as noticeable now that he’s standing on higher ground. “Jiang Cheng,” he says again, inches from his face. His breath mixes with the heavy air, floral and thick like the wine Wei Wuxian tried to bully out of the poor innkeeper for free before Jiang Cheng stepped in.

“Yes, can you not say anything else? Has dying ruined your tolerance?” Jiang Cheng grumbles, shoving Wei Wuxian out of his face. Wei Wuxian just laughs, moving so he’s next to Jiang Cheng and they’re facing the top of the hill together.

“I could, ” he muses, slinging an arm over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder and starting them on their trek again. “But I know it annoys you! You can’t hide from me.”

A finger pokes Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “Oh, have I been hiding how annoyed I am? Maybe I should make myself more clear,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, shoving at Wei Wuxian, who just moves with the motion. The rest of the way up, Wei Wuxian carries the movement on, widening his steps and swaying them left to right. Jiang Cheng just – huff, and goes along with it.

He only realizes how warm Wei Wuxian is against his side when they reach the top and he doesn’t move away. He should push him, put some distance between them, but –

Looking down, they’re really not that high up. He sighs. “What are we, five? I can’t get this drunk.”

Wei Wuxian sighs, a puff of hot air as he tucks his face into the side of Jiang Cheng’s neck. He should push him away.

“You make me sad, Jiang Cheng.”

“You annoy me, I make you sad,” Jiang Cheng says, furrowing his brow. “Even drunk we can’t fucking stand each other.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. He doesn’t raise his head. He is glued to Jiang Cheng’s side, heavy on his shoulder. The sleeve of the arm draped across Jiang Cheng’s back rubs against his cheek on the other side of his face, not coarse but not silky either. Wei Wuxian has been dressing more modestly than befitting his status, only adding to the general confusion dogging him everywhere he goes in Lotus Pier. Jiang Cheng should put an end to it; it doesn’t do a sect any good to have no clear structure of power. But that would mean putting a name to what Wei Wuxian – what Wei Wuxian at Lotus Pier means to him and he has been very careful not to think about that.

He catches himself leaning into the coarse texture against his cheek and jerks away, which jostles Wei Wuxian. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, have mercy, everything’s spinning.”

Jiang Cheng just knows his cheeks are red, so he bucks Wei Wuxian off completely and steps away. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, then decides that all of this is stupid and uncorks the bottle Wei Wuxian knotted to his belt down in town. This is stupid.

“This’s stupid,” he says after he’s downed half the bottle in one gulp.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Yes, yes,” he says. His hands come up to lay on Jiang Cheng’s waist. Mo Xuanyu’s hands really aren’t that big (not like he’s looked), and he’s not taller than Jiang Cheng – but Wei Wuxian’s presence has always been larger than life and so he feels like he’s looming over Jiang Cheng, cradling him in his palms. “Come on, Jiang Cheng, let’s sit.”

Jiang Cheng can’t resist digging his heels in a little, just to test Wei Wuxian’s limits. He’s gotten a lot stronger, still not back at his earlier level and not on Jiang Cheng’s, certainly, but it’s way too easy for him to usher Jiang Cheng along.

“C’mon, you can never make anything easy, can you?” Wei Wuxian dramatically moans, lips very close to Jiang Cheng’s ear suddenly. They’re advancing in little abrupt stop-and-go steps towards a large stone on top of the hill, Jiang Cheng suddenly intent on making Wei Wuxian move him, handle him.

“Why would I? You deserve to work for stuff, wandering here and there all day, I’m sure you’re just lazing around all the time instead of making yourself useful,” Jiang Cheng says forcefully, still trying to stop Wei Wuxian in his steps.

Wei Wuxian heaves a long-suffering sigh and grunts something that sounds like “if you weren’t so –” as he gives a particularly hard shove to Jiang Cheng’s waist.

“What?”

“What?”

Jiang Cheng grumbles, deciding to forget the sound of what might have been the word pretty in his shixiong’s voice, then decides actually, he’s had enough of this entire day and lets his weight slump in Wei Wuxian’s grip. Wei Wuxian yelps and they nearly drop down, but Wei Wuxian has always been fast; annoyingly fast. He throws his body into Jiang Cheng’s back to prop him up, his left hand sliding up to grip painfully hard at his ribcage. His right arm snakes around to sling around his torso, sliding up his chest so that the span of his forefinger and thumb cups – it really doesn’t bear thinking about. Jiang Cheng fumbles with the bottle and takes another swig of alcohol.

Wei Wuxian laughs and starts crabwalking them forward again, jostling Jiang Cheng definitely on purpose so he splashes wine all down his chin.

He drops the bottle, then lays his head back on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, letting himself be shepherded. The stars are numerous and bright, glittering white against the pitch-black sky.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this. He’s really not that drunk. But Wei Wuxian is warm against his back, his voice familiar but not, and he’s been doing this the whole day; made comments just like that. Like he used to when they were younger and Jiang Cheng convinced himself it was disgusting how he thought about his maybe-brother until it didn’t even hurt when Wei Wuxian started fawning over Lan Wangji.

It’s been years since Jin Guangyao died at the Yunping temple and they’ve talked more today than they have in the entire time since. Everyone talks about Jiang Cheng like he’s so hot-headed, harping on a childhood weakness he’s long left behind. He’s used to staring straight ahead for hours on end, clenching his jaw and biting his tongue until half his face is numb in the evening and he has to massage feeling back into it. Jin Ling says it’s not normal but Jin Ling knows fuck all – Jiang Cheng is well adjusted and he can keep perfectly polite when Wei Wuxian is around.

Or maybe not. Maybe he was only relaxed because there was always a buffer between them during the occasional night hunt, one or more of the brats, the ghost general, whoever. People who he can’t be like this around – but he can with Wei Wuxian.

At least, when they’re both shitfaced apparently.

The arm on his chest has drifted down to his hip, a broad hand hooked on his hip bone. Wei Wuxian is humming, laughter in his strained breaths as he bodily moves Jiang Cheng across the hill to finally spin him around and push him down on the stone with both hands on his shoulders.

“What are you, my handler?” Jiang Cheng says, looking up at him, trying to ignore how he must look – wide eyes towards the night sky. It was eye-opening, having the few people who knew him as a teenager – Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen – look at teenage Jin Ling, grumpy and less emotionally intelligent than his dog but earnest – and comment how much he looked like Jiang Cheng. He’s tried not to let himself look like that and it crawls over his skin now. He’s so much older than Wei Wuxian.

“Well, someone decided he’s too good to walk on his own anymore. When did sect-leadering go to your head like this, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian says, a big grin on his face as he twirls and falls onto the stone next to Jiang Cheng with a flutter of his sleeves. Their sides press against each other, dark grey fabric draping over all-but-black purple.

Jiang Cheng huffs and doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t move away either. It seems to be good enough for Wei Wuxian, who smacks his lips all satisfied and leans back on his hands, one arm crossing behind Jiang Cheng.

There’s blessed, excruciating silence for maybe a minute before there’s a finger poking sharp and deep into the muscles of his lower back. He turns back with a jerk. Wei Wuxian has slumped further, leaning back on one elbow, his finger still poking at Jiang Cheng’s back.

“You sit like you expect grandmaster Lan to show up any moment to correct your posture,” he grins, his eyes crinkling and the rows of his teeth glinting in the moonlight.

“Shut up, that was so long ago,” Jiang Cheng grouses.

“Hah, I suppose so. Doesn’t feel like it.”

Jiang Cheng, because okay, fine, he hasn’t learned how to keep his fucking mouth shut around Wei Wuxian after all, says: “Because you were away.”

The words come out harsh. They hang between them in the crisp night air, floating uncertainly. Jiang Cheng clenches his fists on his knees and jerks back around, sitting straight again. Goddamn pathetic. He’s been without Wei Wuxian for how long now? He knows what Wei Wuxian did; how he doesn’t owe Jiang Cheng a single fucking thing, how Jiang Cheng will be constantly paying him back until the core in him stops spinning. So what’s he sounding so needy for?

Stupid fucking wine.

“Ah, what are you muttering Jiang Cheng, stop,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. He’s sitting up, one hand coming to grab at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder only for him to slap it away on instinct.

“Who are you to tell me anything, huh?” He says, turning away angrily only to remember that there’s still more wine knotted to his belt. The man at the bar had looked at them strangely when Jiang Cheng went to pay for the bottles Wei Wuxian had been haggling for only for Wei Wuxian to pipe in and demand three more. Jiang Cheng remembers bristling like a scolded child at the raised eyebrow, dropping exactly as much silver as he owed the man and leaving without a word. He’s been in such a bad mood, it’s making him act unsightly.

He manages not to spill wine on his chest this time. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Wei Wuxian sit up. When he turns with the bottle still raised, Wei Wuxian is looking at his lips. He takes another sip, tipping his head a little further back than necessary. Wei Wuxian’s eyes feel like a knife at his throat. His eyes are dark. “Well, I didn’t know you were so needy so I’ll say it,” he says, barrelling on when Jiang Cheng chokes on his wine and has to turn away to hack up his lung, “I’ll say it Jiang Cheng: I’m not planning on going anywhere anymore so it doesn’t matter I’ve been away. There’s time.”

With a wheezing “ needy? ” Jiang Cheng turns to Wei Wuxian again. His shixiong is grinning like an idiot, his eyes crinkled at the corners so Jiang Cheng can’t make out whether there’s still that awful focus in them. The focus Jiang Cheng would have given anything as a child to never go without. That he apparently still needs.

He can’t see his eyes, but he knows Wei Wuxian well enough. “You’re a liar,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. He doesn’t mean you’re lying, doesn’t mean right now. Wei Wuxian is just a liar. He’s learned this.

Wei Wuxian, his grin dimming a little but not disappearing, heaves a dramatic breath. “Jiang Cheng, ah Jiang Cheng,” he sing-songs, then swings his body forward, rolling to his feet in a swift motion. Just as swiftly, he drops to his knees in front of Jiang Cheng.

“What- what are you doing ?” Jiang Cheng hisses, his cheeks heating. The bottle still in his hand drops to the stone, rolling around before falling to the ground with a wet smack. There’s more color than usual in Wei Wuxian’s face too – has he really lost some of his tolerance?

“Jiang Cheng, ah, let’s try and live very long, okay?”

Jiang Cheng squints down at him. “How much did you drink?” Wei Wuxian just keeps grinning, one cheek drifting until it settles featherlight on the inside of Jiang Cheng’s knee. He squints even harder. “You think I want more promises from you?”

Wei Wuxian hums. “No, I’m not promising anything. I’ve learned my lesson,” he says.

“Oh? So you will leave again?” Jiang Cheng asks. His tone is bitter.

A huff as Wei Wuxian digs his cheek harder against Jiang Cheng’s knee. Like a cat. It’s – comfortable. Jiang Cheng’s fingers itch to touch his hair, to dig his hand in and keep him there.

“Well, you don’t act like you want to keep me. You’re so difficult” Wei Wuxian pouts, staring up at Jiang Cheng. And Jiang Cheng can’t even defend himself. He knows he has no leg to stand on, that Wei Wuxian didn’t exactly leave him, or at least he doesn’t think about it that way. He doesn’t owe Jiang Cheng anything, anyway. He doesn’t owe him any promises and he doesn’t owe him to stay. But – well, Jiang Cheng didn’t restore his sect’s standing without there being a clan to back his claim by being modest. His entire life has been yearning for the things he couldn’t have and the people who wouldn’t have him. And he’s drunk, and tired and he can see the first few tiny, mist-fine raindrops landing on Wei Wuxian’s upturned face. So he gives in and buries his hand in his shixiong’s hair.

Wei Wuxian lets out a content sigh and closes his eyes. “Let’s grow really old, okay Jiang Cheng? It’s been some time since the cultivation world has produced an immortal. And I’ll stay, if you’ll have me.”

Jiang Cheng huffs. “Empty promises. You’ll have to prove it,” he says, petulant like they’re 15 again. He tugs lightly on Wei Wuxian’s hair, who just laughs.

“Alright a-Cheng, I’ll show you,” he says. Then, he turns his head to press a very careful kiss to Jiang Cheng’s palm. The universe shrinks down to just them, the hill and the stars. Jiang Cheng smiles for the first time in years.