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As snow rains down from the sky, Wei Ying feels adrift, lost within an endless sea of white. As if he is a singular snowflake, shining so prettily only to melt when cradled in the soils warm hands.
How he aches, his heart quiet as the fields in front of him. The silence he now clocks himself in roars in his ears, ringing where gleeful shouts and teasing should be. Where it needs to be -
His hands shiver.
He raises his hands up to see bitten nails torn to shredded nubs, small scratches here and there. Ink dyes the tips of his fingers an inky black, trailing to chilled skin.
Gods.
Gods .
How pathetic he has become, he covers his face with his hands, to not be able to leave this porch. His feet feel stuck to the hardwood beneath him, shackles of grief taunting him forevermore. He can almost hear him, calling his name with a crinkling smile, familiar eyes glinting in happiness.
A sob escaped him.
He presses harder into his hands, chest shaking. Tears escape his eyes, one after another. Trailing down, down, down till they hit the wood.
His chest feels tight, like it was folding inward, a dying fire trying its best to not let the embers burn out and die. He tries to breathe deeply, like how Lan- Daifu taught him.
Slow and steady.
In and out
The weight of the last few days, weeks, months-years?-press down on him.
Maybe he is a screw-up...
Maybe he is but only a troublesome brat, too much effort to be bothered with. Maybe Yu-furen was rig -
The creak of the floorboards barely register to Wei Ying, the spinning of his mind too loud for even him. He didn’t look up, for he knew who it was. The only one who’d dare approach him when he is, when he is, when he is-
A warmth engulfed him, heavy arms dragging to a solid front, hugging him from both sides of his body.
“Wei Ying,” his beloved-his husband -his Lan Wangji says to him, arms burrowing him impossibly closer to his body. (If only that was possible, Wei Wuxian thought bitterly).
He squeezed his eyes shut further. Not now. Please, not now. But the words couldn’t- wouldn’t escape his lips..
So for a moment, there was silence. Neither could get the right words out, they-he didn’t need too. It was enough for Lan Wangji to be there. It was enough-as the quiet was full of love, stubborn stubborn love, patience and a refusal to leave Wei Ying to his grieve by himself.
“You left our bed, Wei Ying,” he said, his tone gentle.
Wei Ying still feels his head spin, whenever Lan Wangji says our bed, our home, ourourour. He…still doesn’t feel like he deserves it, stuck in the inky darkness of death.
As if hearing his morbid thoughts, Lan Wangji tightens his arms around him, covering him with sleep-warm sleeves. His dark hair slips from his braid. This simple action grounds him, bringing him back to his skin, as frozen and desolate as it is.
“I can’t-” he finally whispered, his hoarse voice cracking, “I still feel as if he will appear right in front of me, talk to us about something or the other.”
He looks up at his beloved, sooty eyelashes glinting in white. His beloved's eye mirrors his grief, a darkened shade of molten gold.
“Lan Zhan…” he murmurs quietly, hiding his face in the nook of Lan Wangji’s neck.
“You do not have to say it all tonight, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers tenderly. “Or tomorrow. You just have to let me help carry the weight. Please, Wei Ying. Let me.”
His resolve crumbled further, and the tears came back in a wave. Lan Wangji shifted, tightening his arms around him as his head fell against his chest. He sobbed into his robes, his hand gripping his sleeves like he was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely.
“I’m such a fucking mess, Lan Zhan,” he cried, his voice muffled. “I can’t even move from this spot without breaking down, gods I’m a mess.”
“No, Wei Ying. Never a mess, only grieving,” Lan Wangji said firmly, his voice a low but steady rumble that soothes Wei Ying. “You are human, beloved. Humans break but not alone, never alone. Never forget Wei Ying,” he kisses his forehead, warm breath leaving behind a burning imprint that burrows down in the depths of Wei Ying’s soul. “I am here, forever and always.”
Forever and always.
Ah, this stubborn stubborn man.
The warmth of his embrace finally softened the sharp edges of his thoughts. Lan Wangji began to rock him gently, his hand stroking his back in slow, soothing circles.
In the end, he says nothing. For what good would words do? When Wei Ying knows that this man, his husband , will forever be next to him.
Words won’t fix what happened, but they do remind him of what else is important to him. That he should still try, move on, and live.
Because-
Because that’s what his- their -son would have wanted of them.
Even in his final moments, all A-Yuan wanted of them is to smile and to remember to take care of each other. As if he didn’t take a piece of them when he passed away, an empty place that can not be filled ever again.
Their son should have been cradled in their arms, laughing and warm and alive alive alive.
And yet.
Instead, he is cradled in the depths of the soil, planted under the shade of his favorite tree in the bunny field. Surrounded always by loved ones.
Wei Ying took a shuddering breath, and looked at the white field ahead of them.
“It was hard for us to meet, but parting is harder still, “ Wei Ying started, breath fogging up. “The east wind is fragile, yet still the flowers fall. The silkworm finishes spinning at death-”
“-Only ‘til the candle turns to ashes does its tears dry,” Lan Wangji completed, burning eyes soft as he looks at Wei Ying.
“We will figure it out, Wei Ying, even if it takes a year or a hundred years,” his husband says.
“Even if it took a hundred years?” Wei Ying asked, looking at his beloved.
“Mn.” Lan Wangji says, his lips curving into a sweet smile.
Wei Ying rests his head on his husband's chest and closes his eyes.
One day, he will fully accept his words.
One day, when their son greets them and calls out to them.
Baba!
A-die!
One day.