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Lan Wangji has been told many times, by many people, that he and Wei Ying are complete opposites. That they are white and black, virtue and vice, good and evil. This is not something that he believes, of course. Their values coincide, their minds are often thinking the same thoughts, their hearts are aligned. They are similar in the ways that matter.
Lan Wangji firmly tells himself that their dissimilarities in sleeping habits is not something that truly matters.
Wei Ying is draped across his chest, his face curled into Lan Wangji’s neck. One arm is tucked under his head while the other is curled around ribs. His legs are slotted between thighs and his hair descends in a cascade over a shoulder. He’s breathing deeply, evenly, his heart thudding against Lan Wangji’s own. He looks peaceful, for once.
It is taking everything in Lan Wangji’s power to not throw him off.
He had found Wei Ying far up in the mountains of Gusu yesterday, playing a love song only the two of them knew. They’d embraced, kissed, and cried in the tall grass, the breeze blowing around them, the hum of insects filling the quiet spaces. Lan Wangji had carried him back to Gusu on Bichen, Wei Ying laughing breathlessly as the world fell away below them. By the time they had returned, they were both exhausted. They’d eaten, had extremely tender sex, and fallen asleep even before nine.
It is now, according to Lan Wangji’s internal clock, close to three in the morning, and a small part of him regrets bringing Wei Ying back to Gusu. It is a thought he immediately kills and buries, but the rest of his brain can understand the sentiment.
He can’t sleep.
Every place where Wei Ying is touching him is a swamp of sweat. His shoulder, trapped underneath Wei Ying’s river of hair, is burning. His neck is soaking wet from the moisture in Wei Ying’s breath. His arm, wrapped around Wei Ying’s shoulders, is almost completely dead from being lifted for so long. He feels like he’s boiling from the heat. He needs to pee.
But if he moves, he will certainly wake Wei Ying, who is worn out from travelling. Lan Wangji can’t be sure of the last time his beloved had slept in a bed and not on the ground. He also knows, from experience, that Wei Ying could always use some more sleep. Not to mention the fact that he has waited an excruciating thirteen years, and a bittersweet six months, for this man to finally be in his arms.
Lan Wangji is one of the strongest cultivators of his time, skilled and principled. He is well disciplined and also helplessly in love. He can survive being slowly cooked alive for a few more hours.
-
Wei Ying eventually stirs and begins to wake. He rubs his eyes in a sleepy gesture, bracing himself on Lan Wangji’s chest with one arm as his mouth slowly draws into a smile. It’s slow, and beautiful, like watching the sun rise. It’s wasted on Lan Wangji, who can only think about how badly he needs to pee.
“Good morning,” says Wei Ying sweetly, his voice still low with sleep. He looks amazing like this, naked and soft, his hair completely undone and sweeping down his back.
“Morning,” Lan Wangji replies quietly. “Please get off me.”
Wei Ying’s smile immediately drops into a frown, and then a scowl as he pushes himself off. He may be putting that much weight on Lan Wangji’s ribs specifically to be vindictive. Lan Wangji could care less as he grabs a robe, discarded on the floor from last night, and heads for the door. There is a sputter of rage and then rustling as Wei Ying sits up so he can properly berate Lan Wangji.
“Lan Zhan! We’re reunited after all these months, and you’re going to just leave me here like this? I thought Lans were all respectful! Rule 1831 specifically states-”
There is also a rule against running, but Lan Wangji is ignoring that one too.
-
When he returns, Wei Ying is sitting up in bed, arms crossed. His scowl is still there, but there’s something in his expression behind it as well. Lan Wangji thinks, dreads, that it might be fear. He stays in the doorway, awkwardly standing there while Wei Ying glares at him. Xichen would definitely laugh at how he looks right now, bowing under the force of his love’s displeasure, his fist clenching and unclenching behind his back. The thought is painful, so he tucks it away.
“I… needed to pee.”
Wei Ying stares at him some more, until his expression melts into exasperation and he shakes his head. The gesture is dizzyingly similar to how Jiang Cheng used to react basically whenever Wei Ying spoke.
“Come here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says with a sigh. “Use your words next time. ¬Before, not after.”
Lan Wangji crosses the room, and the instant he’s in reach Wei Ying’s hands are fisted in his collar.
“I am sorry.”
Wei Ying shakes his head. “It’s nothing. And… you look incredibly good in red.”
Lan Wangji looks down. Ah. No wonder the robe feels too tight around his waist.
“I didn’t-”
“But you’d look better in nothing, of course,” Wei Ying continues like he hadn’t spoken, and then immediately goes to untie the robe like Lan Wangji had actually agreed to anything.
Not that Lan Wangji was about to deny him. He lets Wei Ying push the robe off his shoulders and pull him back into bed.
-
Lan Wangji was supposed to have been away from Cloud Recesses for at least ten days. He had taken to travelling frequently after Wei Ying’s death; it was a habit he was not keen to break while acting as Chief Cultivator either. One of the first things he had done after taking his position was arrange for breaks every three to four months. He already missed traveling, wandering aimlessly and helping those he stumbled across along the way. That their reunion happened when it did had been chance; Lan Wangji had simply been wandering the mountains on his days off while Wei Ying was making his way steadily back, at last, to Gusu.
As such, Lan Wangji still had two more days when he would not have to perform his duties. He was strongly considering not leaving the Jingshi during that time, especially with Wei Ying, warm and sated, curled up against his side. But he is blisteringly hot again, so he carefully maneuvers Wei Ying off him, and gets up to make breakfast.
They talk, or, more accurately, Wei Ying babbles and Lan Wangji talks. About his travels, the people he’d met, the creatures he’d fought, the curses he’d lifted, and the wine he’d drunk. Lan Wangji tells him in kind about the political fallout of Jin Guangyao’s death, of the new alliances and petty rivalries, of the juniors and their adventures. He provides an update on Sizhui, on Xichen, on Jin Ling, and, reluctantly, on Jiang Cheng, not that he has much information on the last one. They lounge in the room for hours, until they invite Sizhui for lunch. Some emotion shatters across Wei Ying’s face as he looks at his lover and his son, sitting quietly across from him. Both Lan Wangji and Sizhui politely ignore how he cries into his rice. The afternoon passes somehow both syrupy slow and far too quickly as Sizhui explains his own adventures to Wei Ying, and the conversation moves from there. Lan Wangji doesn’t think he’s ever been so relaxed in his life.
After dinner, Sizhui heads back to his peers and they play duets together. Lan Wangji thinks his heart may burst when he finally hears the twisting harmony of his song, their song, being played alongside his guqin. They have sex again, drawn out and sweet, and then Wei Ying begins to doze off so they get ready for bed.
Lan Wangji refuses to admit he has been dreading this.
They start off well enough, Lan Wangji flat on his back while Wei Ying curls up on his side. One of his arms is sacrificed to Wei Ying’s death grip, but at least he’s not drowning in sweat. With Wei Ying already half asleep, it’s easy enough to follow suit.
It’s later that things take a turn for the worse.
Lan Wangji wakes up in a panic as the breath is punched out of him. Bichen is already in his hand before he realizes that it’s Wei Ying laying on his chest, now scrambling to grab Chengqing. His squirming makes him slide off and Lan Wangji could breathe again, if his heart would stop pounding in his throat.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is off the bed now, crouching with Chengqing in his hand. “Did someone break a ward? Did you hear something? What happened?”
Lan Wangji lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
“Nothing,” he grits out, sending Bichen back into its sheathe.
There’s a click as Chengqing is set back down, and Wei Ying begins to crawl back into bed.
“That didn’t seem like nothing.” He tries to play it casually, but Lan Wangji can hear the cautious undertone in his voice.
Words. He needs to use words. “…you scared me.”
Wei Ying turns to face him, propping himself on an elbow. “Huh?”
“Rolled on me.”
“I rolled on you while you were asleep? Shit, Lan Zhan, I thought we were being attacked!”
So did I, Lan Wangji does not say. He pulls on Wei Ying’s shoulder to get him to lie down again, and his love goes easily, still looking somewhat wild. “Sleep.”
Wei Ying does not sleep. He tosses and turns, shuffling as he tries to get comfortable. Every time Lan Wangji feels himself on the brink of unconsciousness, Wei Ying shifts and bumps him with a shoulder, or flings an arm over his chest, or kicks him, or simply makes too much noise turning over. By the time the sun begins to rise, Lan Wangji is simmering in frustration. He’d slept maybe three hours.
Luckily, Wei Ying seems content to get up early. They get breakfast, they have sex, Wei Ying talks at him, they play music, they invite Sizhui for lunch. The afternoon passes, slow and lazy, in hours spent with the rabbits and in the back hills. Tomorrow, he will have to return to his duties, but for now, the day is filled with the silk of Wei Ying’s hair, the curve of his smile, the lilt of his voice. After dinner, Lan Wangji flounders, trying to find the words to talk about their sleeping arrangements. Wei Ying patiently waits for him to find the words, to voice what he’s feeling out loud. It’s one of the things Lan Wangji loves most about him- the patient silence, the understanding that it takes time for him to express himself, the waiting for words that will eventually come.
“Tomorrow I have meetings.”
Wei Ying nods slowly, telling him with his eyes to continue.
“They begin at seven, and will last most of the day.”
That earns a wince. “Really, the whole day? Do you at least have a lunch break?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, good. Then you can come back here and we can go again.” Wei Ying winks as he says that, and spreads his legs under the table in a way that Lan Wangji guesses is supposed to be suggestive, but really just looks stupid. It’s endearing. He loves it.
“If I am not occupied.”
Wei Ying’s sultry smile falters. “Occupied? What, people are going to bother you during lunch too? Can’t they give you a break? I mean, you’ve got more important things to do.” He winks again and begins to tug his collar open, revealing a jutting collarbone with a bruise already on it.
Lan Wangji casts his eyes downward. They’re getting off track.
“They are exhausting. I need to sleep well tonight.”
Wei Ying cants his head to the side and pretends he hadn’t been struggling to get his shoulder out of his robe. “Uh, yeah, sure.” Something must be in Lan Wangji’s face, because Wei Ying softens. “Anything I can do?”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quietly, that mouth curved into a small smile. “Tell me, I’ll do what I can to help.”
“Don’t touch me.” They both wince, but then Wei Ying gestures for him to keep going. “When I sleep. I get too hot. Or…”
“Or it scares you,” Wei Ying finishes for him, his voice firm. “I understand. I can try to avoid touching you tonight. We might need to get a bigger bed soon, though, there’s not much room if one of us shifts or something. Plus,” he waggles his eyebrows and starts pulling on his collar again. “Think of what we can do with a bigger bed…”
Wei Ying laughs when Lan Wangji finally lunges forward to help him with his robes. His flirting may be dumb, but it’s effective.
When they’re finished, Lan Wangji stays in bed, taking the far side, along the window, while Wei Ying moves to the other side of the Jingshi. He’d taken a stack of books from the library to peruse. It was definitely against the rules, but Lan Wangji hadn’t bothered to tell Wei Ying that. Considering how many times he’d copied the sect rules in punishment, even if it was years ago, Lan Wangji rather figured he knew already and didn’t care. The light coming through the screens is dim, and the sounds of Wei Ying flipping through papers and unrolling scrolls soft and soothing. Lan Wangji soon drifts off to sleep.
-
He wakes up at five, as normal. Wei Ying is curled on his side next to him, dark hair flowing over the pillow and off the edge of the bed. His red inner robe is untied, leaving part of his chest exposed. It has only been a few days since Lan Wangji was granted permission to touch whenever he wants; he indulges himself in tracing Wei Ying’s collarbone, swirling his finger on the bruise he’d left there, and trailing his fingers up Wei Ying’s neck. He drags them up the smooth line of his jaw, lingering on his cheek while Wei Ying murmurs and huffs in his sleep. With the noise, his trance is broken. He doesn’t want to wake Wei Ying, so he pulls his hand back and begins to maneuver himself to climb out of the bed. It’s awkward, to say the least, as he finds himself on his hands and knees, carefully stretching a leg out over the edge of the bed before shifting his weight onto it.
Several things happen then.
Lan Wangji steps on Wei Ying’s boots, which had been left on the floor. They slide under his weight and shoot out from under his foot. Lan Wangji falls nearly into a split with the movement and lands face first on Wei Ying’s ribs. Under his weight, his love startles awake and elbows Lan Wangji in the temple.
There is a humiliating silence when everything has stopped moving.
“Lan Zhan? Oh, Lan Zhan, did I hit your head? Are you ok?” Wei Ying is twisting under him, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Lan Zhan, say something.”
“Mn.”
Wei Ying’s fingers push through the hair around Lan Wangji’s temple, carefully searching for a bruise.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, darling, you’re going to have a nasty bump here, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
“It is fine.” He tries to push himself up, but Wei Ying’s arms snake around his shoulders and pull him back down.
“It’s not, you’re going to get a headache. And that’s on top of the headache you’ll get from listening to all these stupid sect leaders-”
“I did not mean to wake you.”
Wei Ying’s hands tighten slightly in his hair. “Lan Zhan, that’s ok.” Since Lan Wangji is lying on top of him, they both shake with Wei Ying’s laughter. “This is horrible. We really need a bigger bed. One where you can get in from either side, not like this one.”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan, if you stay laying on me you won’t be able to meditate for your full hour, and then some of the sect leaders that came to visit you might actually die.”
“Mmnnnnn.”
Arms tighten around him as Wei Ying shakes again. Lan Wangji knows it is at his expense, but pushes his face further into the warmth of skin anyway, if only for a few more minutes.
Eventually, Wei Ying needles him enough that he gets up – it is never a good sign when Wei Ying is reduced to the role of the responsible one. He gets breakfast and lights incense to meditate, all while Wei Ying tosses and turns in the bed, trying to go back to sleep. He’s still awake when Lan Wangji leaves at seven, waving blearily from the bed. Lan Wangji tries to ignore the pang of guilt he feels at how pathetic Wei Ying looks, red eyed and wrapped in blankets.
He then spends several hours trying to ignore the boiling headache he gets, both from the bruise on his temple and the simpering, inane meetings with sect leaders he endures. As predicted, he is occupied during lunch, forced into mediating between Sect Leaders Yao and Mei. He politely does not mention the fact that he has spent four months mediating for the two of them and is starting to become very sick of it.
Somehow, he manages to force them to compromise again, if only temporarily. The instant they leave, he asks a disciple to order a new bed. The disciple gives him a look of deep shock before schooling his face and scurrying off. Lan Wangji thinks despondently of the number of meetings he still has. The bed better be there when he gets back.
By the end of the day, his head is pounding, and he marches back to the Jingshi as soon as he is finished. He finds himself moving like he’s being pursued and has to force himself to face forward rather than check over his shoulder for more sect leaders following with their complaints. When he finally reaches the Jingshi, he slams the door shut as soon as he’s inside and briefly considers barring it somehow. He stands there, hands braced on the door, trying to breathe through the pounding in his head.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying is hovering behind him. “Is something wrong?”
Lan Wangji shakes his head slowly.
“Lan Zhan, seriously.” Wei Ying’s hand lands gently on his shoulder, easy to shake off if he wanted. “Tell me.”
“…my head hurts.”
“Your meetings were that bad?” The hand on his shoulder is firmer now, guiding him to the tea table. Wei Ying pushes him gently down and Lan Zhan sits gratefully. He nods, belatedly, in response to Wei Ying’s question.
“Here, just sit.” Wei Ying’s hands move to the towering hairpiece of the Chief Cultivator. It’s better than Jin Guangyao’s hat, but rather heavy; Lan Zhan can feel the strain in his neck ease as Wei Ying removes it. Fingers carefully pull his pinned hair free, then dig into the back of his neck and head. Lan Wangji hums in approval, leaning back into the touch.
“Poor Lan Zhan, having to deal with fools all day. Don’t they have anything better to do than bother the Chief Cultivator and give him a headache?”
Lan Wangji does not mention how much that headache is compounded by Wei Ying hitting him this morning.
Instead, he lets Wei Ying’s voice wash over him as he rambles about the research he’s doing. The voice is melodious, lilting up and down with his excitement, and Lan Wangji can feel his head dropping, lulled half to sleep. He’s jostled awake when Wei Ying suddenly removes his hands.
“Oh, Lan Zhan, I nearly forgot! Some juniors brought by a bigger bed. I rearranged the room to fit it, I hope you don’t mind.” Lan Wangji sincerely doubted he would mind, but he nods anyway.
The new bed is wide but simple, the headboard carefully carved in neat lines. A lotus blossom sits above the center of it, and the sheets are light blue and, unsurprisingly, already clumped around the bottom. Wei Ying is explaining what he’d moved and where when Lan Wangji lets himself fall face first onto the bed. It’s soft, he finds. The mattress shifts next to him and Wei Ying’s hand lands in his hair again, petting it.
“It really was a rough day, huh.”
Lan Wangji nods into the mattress. His uncle would probably punish him with rule copying for being so childish, while his brother would have smiled, the corners tinged with annoyance, and gently chided him. But Wei Ying just sits with him in silence, not judging, not moving, and Lan Wangji aches with how much he loves him. He rolls over to grab that thin waist and pull Wei Ying down with him, and the sex they have is slow and easy.
Eventually, Lan Wangji reluctantly tells Wei Ying he’s too hot to keep cuddling him, and watches his love squirm out of bed and back to the writing desk. He falls asleep quickly, his heart full and the pounding in his head eased.
-
He wakes up when Wei Ying kicks him.
Despite the size of the bed, Wei Ying had managed to sprawl himself over half of it. He’s lying on his stomach, limbs spread wide, and his face smooth with sleep. Lan Wangji takes a deep breath.
It is not hard to move Wei Ying. He doesn’t weigh much, his body thinned from months of travelling and never fully recovered from the scarcity of the Burial Mounds, years ago. Lan Wangji can easily pick him up and manhandle him, something which delights Wei Ying to no end. Misplaced limbs are not new to them; they’re still learning each other’s bodies, and there is always an elbow in the way or a knee getting twisted when they’re having sex. But then Lan Wangji can just grab Wei Ying’s limbs or toss him on the bed, earning him moans and breathless giggles. Now, Wei Ying is asleep, peaceful and quiet. There are still deep bags under his eyes, and Lan Wangji thinks guiltily of him this morning, bleary and exhausted.
He moves over and goes back to sleep.
Some time later, Wei Ying kicks him again. His love is still asleep, apparently, so Lan Wangji moves over again. He hasn’t even gotten back to sleep again before Wei Ying whacks him with his hand. Lan Wangji moves over once more and finds himself hitting the edge of the bed. Wei Ying keeps crowding him until Lan Wangji is practically falling off, struggling to keep his balance. Throughout it all, Wei Ying appears to be completely asleep, his breath even and his eyes closed. Without any more ground to give, Lan Wangji finds himself being kicked every so often, and resigns himself to dozing between each one. When the sky begins to lighten around five, it takes more self-control than he’d like to not scream along with the birds singing in the dawn air. Getting out of bed is easy, since he’d already been half over the edge, and the instant he’s gone Wei Ying moves into the spot. He’s spread entirely over the bed, and Lan Wangji watches in bewilderment as his love stretches over each side of the bed, his hands dangling on one side and his feet on the other.
Lan Wangji has no plan of action to deal with this, so he lights incense and meditates. When the stick runs out, he lights another one, unwilling to get to his duties just yet. After that, he forces himself out the door, glancing sidelong at Wei Ying, still spread out across their bed, fast asleep.
-
It is a quiet day today, thankfully. The sect leaders are mingling among themselves, requiring minimal input from Lan Wangji; he focuses on writing letters and digging through his brother’s notes, trying to decipher the mess of trade agreements in the southeast which seem to be the cause of everyone’s problems. He doesn’t meet Wei Ying for lunch, but he finishes his writings in the afternoon. He practices sword forms in the back hills while Wei Ying whistles at him, walks through the woods with him, sharing melon slices, and ends up drinking tea in the Jingshi, closing his eyes against the sudden return of his headache.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, did you sleep poorly again?” Wei Ying asks, all sweetness as though he is not the main cause of the problem.
Lan Wangji leaves his eyes closed and nods instead of screaming. His head still throbs.
“Is it something I did?” There is hesitancy, now, in Wei Ying’s voice, and Lan Wangji thinks of the fear in his face their first morning together. He sweeps Wei Ying into his lap, first, and buries his face in his neck. Wei Ying’s fingers immediately begin to undo his hair piece.
“You kick.”
“Oh.” Wei Ying hums as he pulls the pin out. “Yeah, Wen Qing used to say I kicked,” and his voice is still fragile, with grief instead of nerves.
“You shared a bed with Wen Qing?” Lan Wangji lets his voice go flat, enough that the joke is obvious, allowing Wei Ying to take the easier route if he wants.
He does take it, his voice lifting into something airy and light. “Oh, Lan Zhan, you know how cold it was in the Burial Mounds! I thought I’d freeze in that cave, Wen Qing and I had to huddle for warmth!” His dramatic tone drops and he shrugs, which Lan Wangji feels rather than sees. “Plus, she was the only one that would go near the blood pool.”
He hums again and leans back, smiling at Lan Zhan’s faux glare. “She said it helped if I had something to hold. Like a pillow. Our sleeping arrangements were strictly business, see?”
Lan Wangji bites him, hard, on the neck, and Wei Ying gasps and swats his shoulder.
“Lan Zhan, you vicious, jealous thing! How can I possibly prove to you that I’m yours?” He throws an arm over his eyes for effect, leaning so far back in Lan Wangji’s lap that he’d fall if he wasn’t being held by the waist.
Lan Wangji puts that grip to good use, and carries Wei Ying to the bed.
As soon as they’re done, he sends for more pillows.
-
At nine, he settles in to bed while Wei Ying continues reading on the other side of the Jingshi. The new bed is soft and smells clean; Lan Wangji pushes the new pillows to the other side of the bed and settles in. He falls asleep quickly.
He is half woken by Wei Ying getting into bed sometime later, but he’s tired enough that he’s very nearly asleep again in a moment.
Until he hears a loud pop ricochet through the room. Then another, and another. Suddenly he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling while he listens to Wei Ying methodically crack each of his knuckles. It takes far too long; Lan Wangji hadn’t even known there were twenty knuckles to crack in your hands. Finally, though, Wei Ying finishes, and Lan Wangji sighs, ready to go back to sleep.
A moment later there is another pop as the bed shifts. The chorus starts up again, as Wei Ying cracks every. single. joint. in his entire body.
Lan Wangji is going to kill him.
He listens in horror as Wei Ying continues, wondering with morbid curiosity how his love’s body could possibly be manipulated to make all this noise. Eventually, there’s a resounding crack at the end of the bed that Lan Wangji speculates came from Wei Ying’s toes, and the symphony ends. The silence feels heavenly after the cacophony of bones. The mattress shifts as Wei Ying curls on his side, but Lan Wangji remains staring at the ceiling. It feels like hours before he can get the grotesque music out of his head, and finally go back to sleep.
-
The lack of sleep must be written all over his face, because the sect leaders are unusually skittish today. In the week or so since he has returned to his Chief Cultivator duties, he has not had a single day where he has not been asked to mediate, message, manage, or manhandle someone, though he never agreed to any requests for the latter. Why some of the sect leaders believed he would take to their hints of violence against some others is beyond him, though he supposes that today he is seconds from snapping even without their prodding.
Somehow it is always Sect Leader Yao. Lan Wangji is not much of a politician, leading more by his own competence and morals than his charisma, but even he can tell that Yao wears everyone’s patience thin. It speaks to the power of the Yao clan’s merchants that his nose is intact.
Lan Wangji refuses to admit how difficult it is to not be the one to finally break it when Sect Leader Yao asks him, again, to mediate for him and Sect Leader Mei. He takes a deep breath, allows his hand to clench where it’s hidden behind his back, and thinks of Wei Ying waiting sweetly for him in the Jingshi. The thought is marred by the memory of every single one of Wei Ying’s joints cracking. He closes his eyes, feeling the headache behind them, for just a second.
Sect Leader Yao is waiting expectantly.
“No.” Lan Wangji does not snarl, but it is a near thing.
“No? I would hardly expect the Chief Cultivator to not care about the prosperity of the sects under his-”
Lan Wangji’s fist clenches with the urge to smash it into Sect Leader Yao’s face. It shows enough on his face that the man abruptly stops talking.
“Ah, uh, of course, Chief Cultivator, we shall make another effort at making peace between us! I’m sure that there’s common ground,” Sect Leader Yao says in a rush, ending with and uncertain chuckle.
“Good.”
Sect Leader Yao bows quickly and scampers off. Lan Wangji is grateful that his position does not require him to reciprocate the gesture, because tilting his head in any direction is going to compound his headache.
-
For the first time since finding Wei Ying on the mountain, he actually gets to have lunch with his love. It’s something he’s been looking forward to. Wei Ying is understanding of the importance of the work, of course, but still frowns slightly when Lan Wangji tells him of the meetings that will last through the day and the sect leaders who have demanded his attention. And anything that makes Wei Ying frown is abhorrent, so Lan Wangji has rearranged his week, determined to have lunch with the man he loves.
The lack of sleep means he’s struggling to really appreciate it.
He’s almost nodding off by the time they’ve finished quietly eating, Wei Ying settling into a silence that is rare, but not uneasy. Pushing his bowl to the side, Wei Ying leans on the table, propping his chin in his hand and seemingly content to just stare at Lan Wangji, a soft smile dancing on the edge of his lips. Lan Wangji returns it, the pounding in his head for now softened by the food and Wei Ying’s mere presence, but the length of his love’s fingers reminds him of the horrid noise last night.
“No… popping in bed.”
Wei Ying tilts his head to the side in confusion. It’s very, very cute, and Lan Wangji almost forgets how little he’s slept. He gestures towards Wei Ying’s hands.
“Oh, you mean this?” Wei Ying’s mouth turns into that devastating, mischievous smile just as he twists his thumb with a loud snap.
Lan Wangji closes his eyes to regain some semblance of self-control. He isn’t sure if he wants to kick him out or pin him to the ground and take him right now. Once again he thanks the rules of Gusu for forcing him to learn to keep his voice steady. “Yes. That.”
“Sure. But you can’t play guqin before nine!”
Wei Ying’s finger is wagged in his face and Lan Wangji blinks at it. “Fine.”
“Fine!”
They sit in silence, awkwardly staring at each other, until Wei Ying sputters into laughter.
“Ah, the strange compromises and dealings of domesticity. By the end of the year we won’t be able to touch each other without fulfilling all the right conditions first!”
The thought of not being able to casually touch Wei Ying like he has been feels worse than death. That sentiment must be written all over his face, because Wei Ying jumps in to correct himself.
“I’m joking, Lan Zhan! You can touch me whenever you want, really, I didn’t mean it. Whenev-” Wei Ying’s voice cuts off abruptly when Lan Wangji takes him up on his offer. They don’t talk much more after that.
-
Lan Wangji is carefully, trepidatiously, hopeful when they settle down for bed in the evening. Wei Ying goes to be with him, rather than stay up longer, and is delighted by the new pillows they’ve received. They curl into each other, and Lan Wangji breathes deeply into the crook of Wei Ying’s neck, smelling the oil in his hair, the soap on his skin. The warmth of Wei Ying’s skin under his hands calms the pounding of his head; it feels like the ice that had encased his heart for so long, with only the barest space for his brother and his son, has finally melted completely into the warmth of their bed. It is bliss, to lay there, feeling Wei Ying’s body move with his quiet breaths, and know that he is loved as fiercely as he loves.
But he soon becomes too hot, and maneuvers gently off him. There is some whining, but soon his love is curled on his side across the bed, practically encased in pillows. Lan Wangji breathes in deeply once more, and hopes beyond hope he will actually sleep tonight.
-
Wei Ying’s face appears in perfect detail, impossibly close, ripped by the claws of the puppets he no longer controlled; his left eye missing, torn out of its socket, his throat gashed and pouring blood over his collarbones, a deep cut across his cheekbone dripping fast down his mouth. His fingers are crushed in Lan Wangji’s hand, twisted and broken with the strength of his grip. Wei Ying is saying something, but it’s lost to the pounding of blood in Lan Wangji’s head and the throbbing of his arm as it bleeds and begins to lose feeling.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mouths, his voice gone silent – but the words carved into Lan Wangji’s bones, deep to the marrow. “Let go.”
And he does.
“-Zhan! Lan Zhan!
Lan Wangji startles awake, Wei Ying’s warm, unbroken hand on his shoulder. He’s laying on his right arm; it’s gone numb. His face is wet.
Wei Ying’s face, whole and unblemished, appears when he lights a candle, worry written in every line. “Lan Zhan, are you alright?”
Lan Wangji pulls him back into the bed, buries his face in Wei Ying’s chest, and cries. Really, truly cries, possibly for the first time since Wei Ying’s death, certainly for the first time in years.Wei Ying holds him fiercely, not saying anything.
It feels like hours have passed when Lan Wangji finally stops shaking and can unclench his hands from Wei Ying’s inner robe. He pulls away, and Wei Ying reaches out to take his hand. Lan Wangji tries not to hold it like a lifeline.
“What did you dream of?” Wei Ying asks, soft like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Your death.”
Wei Ying flinches, his mouth twisting. “Do you… do you have that dream often?”
Lan Wangji takes a breath. Lets it out. “Yes. Less often, now.”
Wei Ying says nothing, and tightens his grip on his hand.
“Sometimes, I would wish to have it,” Lan Wangji says suddenly. Wei Ying’s fingers stiffen. Lan Wangji thinks he might be holding his breath.
“So much time had passed,” he whispers, “that I could not remember your face when I was awake. I could only see you in my dreams.”
“Lan Zhan…”
Lan Wangji brings his hand up to Wei Ying’s, tracing its curves with his fingers to memorize it. “I am still in awe that I can see you every day.”
“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan-”
“No-”
“-to have left you with that memory as something to-”
“No, Wei Ying. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But it’s-”
“Only a dream,” Lan Wangji finishes firmly. “I have you.”
Wei Ying smiles, soft and watery. He leans over to press his face in Lan Wangji’s hand and plants a kiss on his palm. “I love you,” Wei Ying whispers.
“I love you,” Lan Wangji says back, squeezing his emotion into Wei Ying’s hand, feeling him squeeze back just as tightly. They lay in silence for a moment, before Wei Ying pulls him to his chest. Lan Wangji lets himself be arranged, Wei Ying’s hand pressing his ear to his heart, his other pulling a leg over his own. Wei Ying sighs, deep and heavy, and they both rise and fall with the movement.
“It seems you’ll never sleep well, Lan Zhan.”
“It does not matter.” He feels the beat of Wei Ying’s heart beneath his cheek, firm and steady. “You are here.”
-
Three months later, Lan Wangji wakes up at five in the morning, feeling well-rested. Wei Ying is curled up on his side of their bed. He’s curled around a pillow with another shoved between his knees, and another at his back, though he has managed to throw one to the floor. His boots are at the door, far from the side of the bed. Bichen is in its scabbard, and Lan Wangji can feel the coolness of the morning and hear the first clear notes of the birds waking up.
Soon, Lan Wangji will get up and meditate, before writing letters until Wei Ying gets out of bed. They will have breakfast and pretend that Lan Wangji’s comments on the sect leaders don’t break the rule against gossiping. Lan Wangji will play guqin – after nine – and leave for his meetings, and Wei Ying will pop all his joints and torment the juniors and steal more books from the library while he’s gone. At the end of the day, they’ll fall into each other again, and again, and maybe a third time too.
For now, Lan Wangji watches the sunlight begin to cross the face of the man he loves, the one he is most compatible with. The day can wait.