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The curfew bell had rung more than two hours ago, but the lights in the Jingshi still burned brightly.
Ordinarily, that would be because Wei Wuxian was hunched over some ancient Cultivation puzzle, lost in thought; or putting the final strokes on his most recent sketch in the collection of Wen faces he was pulling from memory; or because he and his husband were wrestling for dominance between the sheets. The last was most often the cause. But not tonight.
Three weeks ago, Wei Wuxian had finally secured Lan Qiren’s permission to take on a permanent position teaching the youngest juniors in basic sword forms in the morning and the older ones first and second level talisman work in the afternoons. It made him feel useful and kept him occupied while Lan Wangji spent long hours still pandering to the sects in his role as Chief Cultivator. But the regular schedule and early hours were taking a toll, and Wei Wuxian was the one asleep before curfew tonight.
Rather than wake him and shuffle him to the bed, though, as Lan Wangji probably should have done, he’d gently shifted Wei Wuxian from his awkward slump at the table and settled his head on his thigh where Wei Wuxian’s cheek and brow and tousled hair were within easy reach of Lan Wangji’s absently stroking fingers while he slowly turned pages and made notes one-handed on the stack of missives he’d not had time to sort through that afternoon in his office.
It was silly of him to be so covetous of Wei Wuxian’s closeness after all this time. It wasn’t as if he worried anymore that he may come home to find his lover—his husband—absent from their home. Wei Wuxian had settled in solidly in Cloud Recesses by now, as his current ventures in teaching attested to, and their one year wedding anniversary was in three days. Lan Wangji was more assured now than he had ever been of Wei Wuxian’s continued existence and presence in his life; but even two years removed from his resurrection back into this world, Lan Wangji still did not have his fill of the little moments.
He paused in his brushstrokes over the parchment before him as Wei Wuxian murmured in his sleep and rolled over, tucking his nose into Lan Wangji’s hip and snaking an arm around his waist. Lan Wangji reached automatically to sweep an errant strand of hair from Wei Wuxian’s cheek before it could tickle his nose and irritate him into wakefulness, then just took a moment to savor his husband’s peacefully sleeping face.
It was a sweet and indulgent pleasure for Lan Wangji to watch him undisturbed now. There had been no such moments in their past, and that was Lan Wangji’s greatest regret. Or at least his greatest sorrow.
In the short few years they’d been graced with before, Lan Wangji had spent his time confused and angry at the ebullient personality that was Wei Wuxian and his complete disregard for propriety or personal space. He’d not been able to appreciate the bold forthright attitude that so often came across as disrespect; nor the determination of will to do the right thing that was mistakenly translated as mere willfulness instead. He had missed every opportunity Wei Wuxian offered him to gather the memories of friendship that might have seen him through the interminable sixteen years of his grief after his death. All of his memories of Wei Wuxian were overshadowed by petty anger, worry, war and an unfathomable sadness, and none of them could sustain him. So, when Wei Wuxian was gone, Lan Wangji was left with nothing but a hollow, shapeless pain to define his days and nights.
Wei Wuxian moved restlessly, snuggling deeper, and Lan Wangji sifted his fingers lightly through his hair to calm him. He traced the shell of Wei Wuxian’s ear and the bold line of his jaw, trailed his fingertips down the column of his throat and the slope of his shoulder with the lightest of touches before settling his hand over Wei Wuxian’s heart just to feel its slow, comforting beat.
He had time for all those moments he had missed before, and he would write every one indelibly on his soul.
He stacked up his papers neatly and pushed them aside. Sifted his fingers into Wei Wuxian’s hair again simply for the satisfaction of touching him and allowed himself the moment to appreciate in detail the fine texture sliding between his fingers, how it was a bit more coarse than his own because Wei Wuxian was not nearly so fastidious in combing out the snarls, and the sunshine and heat he so greedily devoured in his love for being outdoors tended to dry it out. Tomorrow night Lan Wangji would comb it out for him with some of the sandalwood scented oil he used on his own.
It was a small thing to be able to do. So inconsequential, but a treasure greater, to him, than talons of silver or heaps of silk.
In the early years, when he’d so often disappeared from Cloud Recesses, everyone said he was chasing chaos—chasing ghosts—and that was true. To a certain extent. What he was really doing was chasing Wei Wuxian, chasing any moment in any place they had spent together that had not been in anger because the Jingshi was a space devoid of anything having to do with him, and Lan Wangji couldn’t stand it.
How many hours had he stood in the streets of Yiling with the crowds teeming around him? So often that he almost became a fixture, like some landmark everyone knew was there but ignored after a while because it had become commonplace. Eyes closed and listening, he’d reimagined that voice calling his name. The smile that harkened back to their earliest days. Before the world had burned them both.
And he’d come to haunt the stony halls of Bujing Shi so often in his comings and goings, on all his self-ascribed Night Hunts in search of something—anything—that would assuage the empty hole in his heart, that Huaisang had eventually just kept a room waiting for him and told the guards to ignore him when he perched on the courtyard rooftops to wait out the night with his faded memories and pretend the conversation that had taken place there so many years ago had ended differently.
The Jingshi was no longer empty of memories. Eventually, Lan Wangji had settled himself with making new ones with A’Yuan, and the place had brightened considerably, embellished by his own nighttime dreams of Wei Wuxian’s presence making this place a real home with a real family living inside its walls.
They were not embellishments anymore.
Wei Wuxian sat at this table now, eating, gesticulating, regaling Lan Wangji about all the little things in his day; talking with Sizhui about his latest plans for a night hunt; helping Lan Wangji copy his correspondence. Wei Wuxian sprawled on this floor with his scrolls and books and sketches surrounding him. Wei Wuxian lounged on these cushions in front of Lan Wangji’s guqin, listening to him play and playing along on Chenqing. Wei Wuxian curled up at this hearth on cold winter evenings to keep warm. Wei Wuxian slept in their bed.
All of those memories were here now, and Lan Wangji would have them to hold forever.
'Lan Zhan…'
Wei Wuxian snuffled against him and wiggled around, stretched luxuriously, nearly upending Lan Wangji’s tea that had grown cold during his maudlin musings. He rescued it with a quick hand and set it out of harm’s way.
'Wei Ying.'
Wei Wuxian smiled sleepily and blinked up at him, eyes still unfocused and drowsy. 'I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.' He blinked again, finally cognizant of his position and grinned sheepishly. 'Literally.'
Lan Wangji smiled. 'Wei Ying may sleep anywhere he likes.'
Wei Wuxian stretched again and yawned, then wiggled his way into Lan Wangji’s lap and draped himself around his shoulders and against his chest and pressed his face into the curve of Lan Wangji’s neck. 'That’s good,' he sighed. 'You’re a very comfortable pillow, Lan Zhan.'
Lan Wangji could feel his smile against his skin above his collar. Like sunshine on a summer day. He wrapped his arms around Wei Wuxian and cradled him close, breathless still with awe that this was his to have. One more moment to overwrite all the old loneliness.
'Lan Zhan?'
Wei Wuxian’s fingers trailed across his cheek, and he lifted his head, gaze no longer quite so muzzy and sleep disoriented.
'What’s this for?'
He held out the tips of his fingers for Lan Wangji’s examination. They were damp with tears. Lan Wangji kissed each one, slow and tender.
'For happiness,' he whispered. 'That Wei Ying is here. With me.'
Wei Wuxian blushed sweetly, and Lan Wangji greedily added it to the growing collection of all those moments he’d made his husband’s cheeks turn pink under the embarrassment of riches that was Lan Wangji’s love for him. Wei Wuxian burrowed back into Lan Wangji’s neck and pressed his lips warmly against his pulse.
'Always, Lan Zhan,' he murmured happily. 'Forever.'