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When Lan Wangji steps into their living quarters, the room is completely still, the silence almost oppressive. Not that Lan Wangji has ever particularly minded silence, but marrying Wei Wuxian was essentially waving that particular privilege. Where it used to feel like a reprieve, now it only offers a sense of foreboding. The evening sky offers nothing to illuminate the Jingshi; the darkness is flat and encroaching, and the room is preternaturally still.
A small movement catches his eye, and he turns his attention to the blanketed lump on their bed. It might be shaking, he registers, sweeping over to sit on the bed and gently laying a hand on what Lan Wangji approximates is an arm.
“Wei Ying,” he says simply, voice low. The lump twitches.
“...Sleeping,” comes the muffled mutter, sounding raw in a way that Lan Wangji thinks is not from having just woken up.
“Wei Ying can sleep after dinner; it is late.”
“M’ not hungry,”
“Even so, you must eat,” Lan Wangji says carefully, stroking his husband’s back. “It will be here soon.”
“...Mm.”
With one last squeeze of Wei Ying’s shoulder, Lan Wangji moves to light the braziers, casting a warm glow over the room. The teapot is set carefully on the stove, then Lan Wangji busies himself picking up discarded robes and abandoned talisman designs.
He’s learned not to force Wei Ying when he’s like this- pushing him before he’s ready could make things much worse. Lan Wangji’s heart aches, wanting nothing but to hold his husband tight until there’s no room left for the spiraling thoughts in his head, but nothing is so easy.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and by the time Lan Wangji is back with their meal, Wei Ying is sitting at the table with the blanket wrapped snugly around him, hanging over his eyes like a hood. It obscures his face somewhat, but not enough to hide its ruddiness.
Wei Ying’s eyes nervously track Lan Wangji’s movements as he arranges the dishes on the table, pours cups of tea for each of them, and pushes Wei Ying’s jar of chili oil towards him.
Dinner is a painfully quiet affair; Wei Ying spends more time staring at his bowl of rice than actually eating it. He will not meet Lan Wangji’s gaze. He hasn’t looked up once this entire time, in fact, and Lan Wangji cannot figure out why .
It’s only after Wei Ying ignores the third vegetable put in his bowl that Lan Wangji tries to say anything.
“Wei Ying.” His voice is soft, but in the stagnant silence of the Jingshi it feels like a shout.
“I know, I know,” Wei Ying mutters, stabbing his chopsticks into his rice petulantly. “Eating.”
Lan Wangji does not miss the untouched oil jar, or the cold tea. “Wei Ying-”
“No talking during mealtimes,” his husband declares before stuffing a far too large piece of bok choy in his mouth like a child. The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches.
Wei Ying finishes his meal, as he always does; even now he can’t bear to waste food. Lan Wangji’s attempts to talk are firmly shut down as Wei Ying washes up and climbs into bed. Although he refuses to speak or meet Lan Wangji’s eyes, Wei Ying still pushes himself against the far wall, the empty space beside him an invitation.
With a wave of Lan Wangji’s hand, the Jingshi is bathed in darkness.
oOo
Lan Wangji wakes to a shaking bed. His eyelids are heavy as he blinks away the haze of sleep, only for awareness and fear to surge up his spine at the choked sob to his right.
Wei Ying is facing the wall, body taut like the strings of a qin. He’s trembling ceaselessly beside Lan Wangji, who is sitting up so fast his head spins, leaning over to see his husband’s face, and-
Wei Ying looks terrified. His wide eyes are blinking frantically as tears streak down his face, his breaths little more than short gasps for air. Both hands are pressed tightly against his mouth in an attempt to dampen the sound.
“Wei Ying-” he chokes on the words, rolling Wei Ying onto his back and gently prying his hands away from his face. Then he’s laying down and pulling his husband’s head against his chest, right over his heart. “Wei Ying, it’s safe. I’m here.”
“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry…” He mumbles into Lan Wangji’s robes.
“No need, Airen , I have you, it’s alright…” He keeps talking, voice low and soothing, until Wei Ying’s breathing evens out. Lan Wangji does not sleep.
oOo
“Why did you not wake me?” Lan Wangji asks the next morning, both men sitting on the bed as he combs his husband's unruly damp hair.
“Because you need all the beauty sleep you can get,” Wei Ying deadpans.
Lan Wangji is thankful his face is out of sight, for the small smile the joke elicits. “Mn. As does Wei Ying.”
At this, Wei Ying spins around and shoots him a mock pleading look. “Er-gege doesn’t think I’m pretty enough?”
“Er-Gege thinks Wei Ying is avoiding the question.”
Wei Ying pouts as he turns back around. “I didn’t want to bother you over something so stupid,”
“Ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous, it’s being a good husband!”
“If it were me, would you want me to wake you?”
Wei Ying throws his hands up in frustration. “I hate when you do this. That’s different, alright?”
“How?”
“Because you- you’re practically running a sect on your own, and I’m just… Being a leech, so the least I can do is let you sleep. I guess.” His voice quavers, so brittle that Lan Wangji instinctively lifts a hand to his chest at the violent squeeze of his heart.
He has had enough of this, he thinks, setting a firm hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Wei Ying, look at me.”
A slight shake of his head is the only response.
“A-Ying, please. ”
A minute passes, then two. Lan Wangji is about to give up entirely when Wei Ying moves. He shifts until his body is facing Lan Wangji, but his head is bowed. He stares fixedly at his hands, rubbing them together, cracking his knuckles, digging his nail into his palm, fiddling and fidgeting while refusing to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes.
He’s at a loss. Why won’t Wei Ying look up? Is he ashamed? They had already seen the worst of each other; none of it mattered, and Wei Ying knew that. They had nothing to hide from the other.
Is he angry? Had Lan Wangji done something to make him like this, and Wei Ying was waiting for an apology? A wave of fear crashes over him so fast it makes him dizzy. He had vowed to stay by Wei Ying’s side, to keep him from hurting- he’d had enough hurt for a lifetime.
Or two , he thinks somewhat deliriously, extending an arm towards his husband, hand trembling just slightly. Noticeable enough, because Wei Ying lets out a choked noise at the sight.
Wei Ying’s eyes, finally, finally, meet Lan Wangji’s own, and they are red and puffy, unshed tears threatening to spill over onto flushed cheeks. His pupils are blown wide open in anxiety, or fear, even.
It clicks into place then, why Wei Ying had kept his head bowed throughout dinner, why he had tried to stifle his nightmare, why he so stubbornly avoided Lan Wangji’s gaze. Lan Wangji suddenly feels a bit faint. His hands reach up to frame Wei Ying’s face, thumbs gently wiping away the hot tears that are now rolling down his cheeks.
“It’s alright, Airen ,” he starts, although the right words are far from his grasp. He never knows what to say when it’s most important, and now is no exception. “I will not… think less of you, for this.”
Wei Ying’s face scrunches up at this, tears falling even faster. “It’s so stupid, I’m so stupid, Lan Zhan-”
“Wei Ying-”
“-and I know, I know I’m too much sometimes, and too weak, and-”
“Wei Ying, please-”
“-now I’m crying like a child-”
Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying’s mind spinning, churning, one awful thought morphing into another. His eyes are darting around nervously; his breathing is so fast and shallow that Lan Wangji fears he might pass out. There’s really only one thing he can think to do.
In one quick motion, he’s pulling Wei Ying close, lips pressing roughly against his husband. Lan Wangji can feel tears wet on his face. Wei Ying is frozen, hands braced on Lan Wangji’s knees, eyes wide.
After a moment, Lan Wangji pulls back, although he doesn’t let go of his hold on Wei Ying. Lan Wangji will not let him look away.
“Crying,” he says firmly, “is not just for children. Wei Ying will never be too much, he is my world . Please do not speak ill of him.”
“I- Lan Zhan, you-” Wei Ying stutters. Lan Wangji can’t help but feel a little smug.
“I love every part of you, good and bad. Nothing you do can change that.”
“You… can’t know that, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji drops his hands to grab onto Wei Ying’s own. “Wei Ying, do you trust me?”
“Yes,” the answer comes without hesitation.
“Then trust me to treasure every part of you. To stay by your side. To really see you, no matter the state of you. Trust me to love you, Wei Ying.”
A fresh wave of tears fall onto Wei Ying’s cheeks, and for a moment Lan Wangji fears he’s said all the wrong things again. However, Wei Ying’s expression is not one of hurt or sadness, but of complete bewilderment.
“Y-You- Lan Zhan!” he pokes Lan Wangji’s chest, face reddening. “You can’t just say these things! At least warn me, or- or something!”
“You deserve to hear them,” Lan Wangji says plainly, a small smile gracing his lips.
“Okay, well I’m gonna cry, and get tears and snot all over your robes, and no one will be happy then.”
“That is fine. Wei Ying is pretty when he cries.”
“ Lan Zhan!”