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When Wei Wuxian wakes up, he’s snuggled warmly in his bed, buried under a mountain of blankets that weren’t there this morning. A thick green wool knit covers him from his neck down to his toes, and underneath that a silk-lined red comforter that feels luxurious against his skin. A folded blue blanket rests over his abdomen, keeping the baby extra warm and snug. It’s a little wisp of a thing now, more of a spark than a fire, but soon enough he’ll be about to look at himself and see it growing strong inside him.
There are flowers on the bedside table, pale purple blooms framed in golden osmanthus, and a blue silk bag. Beside them is Lan Zhan, running one hand gently over Wei Wuxian’s hair, holding his hand with the other.
“Lan Zhan,” he says gently, testing out his throat. Itma not hoarse or dry, but it’s heavy with sleep; he must have been out a few hours, then. “Ah, Lan Zhan, what time is it? When did I fall asleep?”
“Not too long ago,” Lan Zhan says. “There’s dinner on the table for you. Do you think you can eat?”
He’s been horribly nauseous for two days. It doesn’t bother him, or at least it hasn’t since he first suspected the cause of it. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel more real: proof that his body is really doing this, that he really has taught it how to carry a baby. It bothers Lan Zhan, though, so he’ll do his best to swallow down a bit of plain rice.
“I can try,” Wei Wuxian says, and means it. He’ll to what it takes to smooth the little line between Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Has anyone said anything, since we made the announcement?”
They told Lan Zhan’s brother and uncle over tea, and sent a letter to Jiang Cheng, which is probably still in transit: a little envelope in a storage deck on a riverboat, heavy with promise, with news of a new life. They were going to make more announcements after that, but Wei Wuxian has been so sleepy lately; every little exertion makes him want to crawl into bed. Lan Zhan saw him flagging, and insisted they go home, leaving it to his brother and uncle to tell the rest of the sect.
“Sizhui came by,” Lan Zhan says, curling his fingers to gently scratch at Wei Wuxian’s scalp. “He brought flowers and a gift.”
He thinks of Sizhui coming by with an armful of purple blossoms and a bright smile, while he slept, oblivious. Something like sorrow fills the space behind his eyes, sorrow and a fierce need to see him. “Lan Zhan,” he says pitifully, breathing deeply, determined not to cry. “Lan Zhan, why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were sleeping so deeply,” he says. “We can see him tonight.”
He pouts. Lan Zhan might have a point; he was so exhausted when they got home that he fell right into bed. But it feels unfair. He wants to see Sizhui so badly.
“What’s in the bag?” he asks.
Lan Zhan hands it to him. It’s small enough to fit in his hand, and it makes a noise when it moves like a box of dry rice.
He pulls out a little rattle of light wood, with little white rabbits painted on the faces. Delighted, he gives it a shake, and little golden sparks erupt from it; bright as they are, they leave barely the lightest touch on his skin.
“I showed him!” he says, his anger dissipating. “I showed him how to do that! The talisman must be—” he turns the rattle over, finding it carved into the base where a wooden stopper keeps the little grains of rice inside. “Right here! Look, he carved it right here! Did he make the whole toy himself?”
“He did,” Lan Zhan says.
A toy like this wasn’t made in a few shi; Sizhui must have started it when he found out they were trying. The thought fills him so suddenly, blossoming warm in his chest, in his throat, in his cheeks, behind his eyes, and then hot tears are spilling down his face and they wont stop.
“Ah, look at me,” he says, laughing wetly. “This little thing’s hardly the size of a bean and it already has such a hold over me. What will I cry about next, hmm?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t laugh, just leans in to kiss his cheek, gently sucking the tears from his face. It’s almost unbearably tender, and it elicits a spark in him; unlike the sparks from the rattle, this one burns.
“Maybe Lan Zhan can be the one to make me cry tonight,” he teases, watching the tips of his husband’s ears turn a satisfying deep red. “Get under all these blankets with me, won’t you?”
Dinner will sit neglected on the table for some time yet.