( In the end, they dally, their needling, their prickling, their bites simmering to peaceful, mitigated co-existence. Lan Wangji asks few questions: what a-Yuan requests, he secures. What Wei Ying's gaze courts, in kind. They spend their first whole day orbiting the staples of Cloud Recesses, reacquainting its new entrant and briefly hosted errant son to the places of feeding, cleansing, education and meditation. After, a-Yuan enjoys watching the light training of elder disciples.
And, by midday, the favored activity: introducing the child into the horde of fellow infants swarming a classroom, shepherded in during the wimter chill. They delight him: his exotic features, his accent, the scant few tells of another province. And does he know new games? He must know new games.
In the end, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying are stranded by the doorway, peering in as the ducklings rearrange their world order, in a storm of play formations their minder valiantly tries to propose should only be assumed after the day's lesson. And Lan Wangji murmurs, aside: )
[Wei Wuxian feels good after a night's sleep, for once in a long time. Perhaps sleeping next to someone who is safe helped. Of course, Cloud Recesses is safe, but he never had this deep of sleep even in the past when he was a guest disciple. Safe, with his husband, content with their well-fed child. Everything else is secondary, even if he did enjoy the day carrying A-Yuan on his hip. Even if the meditation does nothing for him, because gathering qi is pointless when there's nothing to store it in.
Still, safe, happy. He's simple in that regard.
He grins at his husband's soft comment.]
And should concede now, really. Children do what they want to do, and should be allowed to as long as they're watched properly. [Honestly, what kind of harm would a group of tiny children who have just learned how to properly hold their chopsticks get up to? At most a fight would probably be something like patting each other on the face, and that's not likely to end in tears because their hands are still soft and pudgy.]
Look at them! They're so cute! Who would say no to those little faces?
[Except for Wei Wuxian who has no money purse, that is.]
( ...Uncle, and gladly. He knows, as they both know, that Lan Qiren would never shy from disciplining the young and the unwilling. Lan Wangji and Zewu-Jun have seldom tested his tolerance, but it runs perhaps thinner than might be otherwise presumed.
Still, he is not present here. Even he knows better than to intervene with and against small children. If anything, they are given a great, wide berth, permitted to go about their business of minimal education and maximal entertainment. No matter. Life is long enough to relinquish leisure.
As Wei Ying eases, Lan Wangji tips into him, falling short of immodest touch. )
Mm. No need to hover like a pair of sticky parents. [Because that way leads to them becoming tigers, and poor A-Yuan doesn't deserve that.
Wei Wuxian reaches out and tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeve.]
Let's go give ourselves a rest in your home, hm?
[Except what Wei Wuxian has planned is anything but restful. He can feel his heart beating in his ears because he's about to divulge a secret that should never be known outside of a scant few. He would have taken it to his grave. But this situation with Lan Zhan has forced his hand, what they have planned soon may crumble because of it.
And if one of Zewu-jun's stipulations is to have Wei Wuxian purified, it's sure to come out then, and he needs, needs Lan Zhan to stand in solidarity with him for whatever the fallout of that will be.]
( He corrects emptily, because Wei Ying's cooperation cannot be forced, if he feels no bond toward Lan Wangji's quarters yet. But they are his, all the same. There is a right that only the spouse of Hanguang-Jun may exercise, a private ownership.
Still, at least Wei Ying feels at ease enough to draw them to the house. Feels convincingly safe.
Lan Wangji leads the way, careful to nod to a-Yuan as they evacuate the premises, only for the boy to neglect them in favor of his fresh companions. A fine choice. No one may begrudge him.
No more than, walking side by side down the roads scantly shovelled by junior cultivators, Lan Wangji can speak against Wei Ying's strangely distant mien, as they traverse the snowy mounds. So be it. )
Will you take rest? I may call your midday meal brought.
[He tucks his hands behind has back as they walk, his overcoat thicker and heavier than his preferred one-- though Wei Wuxian imagined that people would be fleeing at the sight of it, the figure he cuts with it on, and the deep reds contrasting with the greys. Hence why he has something lighter in color, a stately grey on top of black.
He doesn't look like the Yiling Patriarch, and that's better. No one to disrupt his time with the family he's trying to grow.
Speaking of time with family...]
I don't want anyone to disturb us either.
[In any other situation, those words would be seen as salacious. But Wei Wuxian is looking straight at Lan Zhan, pleading with his eyes for his husband to go along with it.]
( ...their quarters, with no disturbance. Ah. But are they not perhaps galloping to a better-delayed inevitable? They have hardly conversed over expectations, for all Wei Ying has been generous with his affections. As for his wants, his needs, his rights -
As for the... bedplay configurations of two men who join their passions -
As for Lan Wangji's profound inexperience in such things -
...no. Wei Ying searches him with the gaze of a wounded animal, beseeching. If Lan Wangji refuses him yet again, he may yet weep. They will both despair of him. )
Is it... ( How hesitant, how small his voice. ) Not perhaps hasty?
Not hasty? Lan Zhan! [His voice is almost a whine, not a thought spared as to what exactly is on his husband's mind or why he's asking that specifically. Hence, he rambles to mask how anxious he is.
How scared he is.] It is, you know?
But I don't think there's any better time than now. I would have taken it to my grave, but... you're my husband. You should know.
I'm no good at relationships, but at the very least I remember some things that my parents did to keep them happy, and that's talking often.
( ...then, not only intimacy, but a related matter that gives Wei Ying such considerable anxiety. Perhaps he has erred on the side of wantonness. Perhaps his jests of Yuan being his child were not mere humor. Could it be that a beautiful woman has joined this beautiful man's bed and created this child of equal beauty?
...strange, how he had once thought jealousy at the mere proposition might erode him. Now, he only steels himself and nods, prepared, if not enthusiastic, to hear out his husband's sins. Come what may, they will survive this. They must survive this, for they are wedded, and their choices are scarce.
Only a few other settlements now, before they may reach Lan Wangji's timid house in the outskirts. A little longer, still. )
Speech often fails me. But may hear.
happy birthday lwj... here's drama as his bday gift
[Wei Wuxian shoots him a smile full of gratitude, even if he's still nervous, making his face cold, leeching what little color remains in it. Who is he trying to put at ease, Lan Zhan or himself? Himself, of course, trying to remind himself that Lan Zhan is supportive. Loves him.
But at the same time, he can't help but think that this may break them, with the emphasis all cultivators put on their golden cores. How it's a mark of mastery, what elevates them from commoners. Last night, Lan Zhan himself put a lot of importance on it, even if the bearer is just a small boy who deserves to play and be free outside of a classroom and turning his soft, sweet hands rough and calloused from sword forms.
Inside the Jingshi, he barely removes his boots before sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs with his hands on his knees as if getting ready to meditate.]
Here. I'll show you why I didn't bother meditating properly earlier. [And it's not because he no longer cares for orthodox cultivation.
He holds out his wrist, pulling his sleeve back from it so that Lan Zhan can feel his pulse, and the meridians beside it.]
( There is an abruptness, an animal hurt to Wei Ying that doesn't align. Their morning, their midday have all gone satisfactorily, subject to neither scrutiny, not quarrel. If something occurred to darken Wei Ying's temper, it cannot have been today, now.
Still, Lan Wangji cannot hope to riddle every aspect of his husband's temper. Here, now, he is resolute to illustrate whatever it is that has once more divided them. Sunken on the floor, frail enough to appear as if no better than the child they've briefly abandoned.
Lan Wangji goes with him, gaze owlish when he watches Wei Ying's exposed wrist, his arm. No gash, no signs of bruising, no great, foul, visible battery. Then...? Poison? )
[Wei Wuxian's wrist is uninjured, but that can easily change. Pale skin, near transparent in the way it shows his veins and arteries, ligaments protruding starkly with each movement.]
Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan. There's no injury, and for that we should be grateful. [Otherwise, the hand wouldn't be visible, just a mass of bandages. Or even no hand at all.]
( His qi throughout meditation. Perhaps a lack of consistency, given Wei Ying's dismissal of the forms. Some manner of neglect or the other. Lan Wangji's frown is tender, ambivalent — but he concedes, reaching out to position his fingertips and opening himself, his awareness to the course of Wei Ying's flows.
...only to find, strangely, nothing that answers him. Could Lan Wangji's own emotional volatility be so strong that he cannot retain his composure to sense out Wei Ying's qi? Could Wei Ying's sickness have so frailed him?
He tries again, and again, and then once more. Concedes, finally, gaze limpid and wary when he turns it up. )
...forgive me. I fail you. Cannot sense your qi. ( But then, it strikes him: ) A trick?
[Wei Wuxian smiles at him, eyes opening, but there's no joy in it whatsoever. He just looks... tired. Finally, Lan Zhan is coming to understand his situation. He should feel like a weight has been lifted off of him, right?
Perhaps... not? He's not sure what to feel.]
Not a trick, Lan Zhan. You can't feel my qi because my meridians dried up a long time ago, nothing has been feeding them for a while.
( Not a trick. Dried-up meridians. Nothing feeding them for some time.
And flashing back, ruptured fragments of violent, lightning-fast memory: Wei Ying, smiling. Plunging from the clouds on his sword. Demonstrating the rapid ruthlessness of Suibian.
Wei Ying, lost to the Wen. Emerging in plumes and dark fire. Succumbed in the claws of his new demonic cultivation. Relinquishing his sword, their path.
Wei Ying, now: empties, where Lan Wangji's hand still lingers, touch uncertain, on a wrist all bones and taut skin. Wangji's mouth, dry. Gaze emptied.
[Finally, he understands, and he sags, sighing deeply and clutching Lan Zhan's hand. For strength, for comfort, what little he can take at this moment. It's not easy to talk about, and he certainly can't mention Jiang Cheng's involvement in this.
Just the thought of lying to Lan Zhan makes him want to rip his hair out, though. So he has to be careful about how he goes about this.]
I told you. Sunshot was not kind, and the days leading up to it were just the same.
[Before he resurfaced, certain people were still alive. Certain Wens.]
But this is open, bare-faced cruelty. Ugliness past measure or control. He watches Wei Ying and sees the shape of his hurt, grasps the private horror of its implications. Knows, in ways sullen but profound, whaf a depleted core spells for a cultivator.
What is left of his recourses.
For a long, pained moment, nothing. Only his gaze washing his hands, only the ruin of his questions. Breathe. He can't; breathe.
He looks up, wet-eyed but firm. This is not his hour. This is not his agony. )
[He's insisting-- is he truly going to force Wei Wuxian to say it? Is Wei Wuxian going to have to lie just to protect his shidi?
But lying to Lan Zhan? He doesn't think he can do it.
He claws at Lan Zhan's arm, fingers digging into his sleeve, frantic at his desperation.]
Don't tell anyone. I will tell you-- but no one else, and you shouldn't either. This is between me, you, and one other person. I don't know if I can tell you who else was involved, because they're too vulnerable right now. But I will tell you what happened. All right? [His eyes are pleading, promise?
( Don't tell anyone. And Wei Ying's hands broken and frantic, and his eyes stormed, and the push and the pull that assails Lan Wangji, part and whole.
He must be kinder to this man hereon, it strikes him. He must give him tenderness and care. Wei Ying cannot bear it otherwise. He has no core. He has no core.
And Lan Wangji slowly peels Wei Ying's hands loose off his sleeves, catches them and draws them up to have, to hold, to kiss after. Slowly. Carefully. Hereon, only slowly and carefully. )
[Perhaps Lan Zhan doesn't know how much his actions comfort his husband in this moment. Wei Wuxian is frantic in his desperation, and the firm grip on his hands is what he needs. He clings back, needing this one offer of stability.
Even if his meridians are no longer responsive, his pulse just beats rapidly, like the fluttering wings of a little bird that must work hard to keep itself in flight.]
Wen Zhuliu. [A good enough start, even if he spits the name with venom.] He melted the core of someone who he should not have touched, all because Wen Chao wanted him to.
[There's a reason why he was so vicious to Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu, years ago.]
I could live without mine, so I willingly gave it up. They didn't ask for it, but they would have died without it. I found a doctor who was willing to transfer my core.
After... After. Wen Chao found me and threw me into the Burial Mounds. [And the rest, Lan Zhan knows.]
( Wen Zhuliu. He who melts cores, who ruins men. Dog of the Wen. Lan Wangji's eyes shutter, the righteous shiver that courses him a force uncontainable. His fingers delay, squeezing Wei Ying's belatedly.
Then, finally, wretchedly, he opens his eyes again, Wei Ying consuming the majority of his focus. No. His husband already undergoes the toll of his confession. Lan Wangji cannot subject him to worse, on count of his own cowardice.
Wen Zhuliu, a third party, the Burial Mounds. He understands, he thinks. )
[Wei Wuxian freezes when he's asked that question.
Stupid him, he never actually extracted a promise out of Lan Zhan not to ask who they were, did he? Stupid, stupid, he wants to slap his mouth for being careless.]
Don't tell anyone. [Repeating himself.] And don't... don't blame them for anything.
The one I gave my core to doesn't know. Just... let him live his life in peace. Please?
( Don't tell anyone. Then, a matter of sentiment. A core not stolen, but freely given. Or perhaps wrested by someone so beloved that even a transgression would be seen as a regrettable sacrifice.
Lan Wangji's gaze lingers long, plaintive. Over Wei Ying's mouth, the stern line of his eyes, his unfailing beauty. Sweetheart. Oh, his sweetheart. Though Wei Ying may never wish to wear the name, he is that, unfailingly. )
...Wen Qionglin? ( It would explain the mysterious origin of his resurgence. )
He helped. Not the doctor, but he was the assistant. [But because Lan Zhan is so close to the truth and Wei Wuxian has already admitted to some of it already... There's nothing else he can do about this situation.
Tentatively, he sinks further into Lan Zhan's hold, as if unsure how further closeness would be received.]
It was Jiang Cheng. Wen Qing was the doctor. We-- we never told him, I tricked him into thinking that he would be getting a new core from my grandmaster, Baoshan Sanren, and swore both the siblings to secrecy.
[Then he looks up at Lan Zhan's face. Even if his eyes are still terrified, the set of his jaw is hard.]
( ...Jiang Cheng. Jiang Wanyin. This fool, this beautiful fool, ever ready to sacrifice for his brother, for both his siblings. For a family that never treated him justly, led by a matriarch that wished him burned off the register.
Lan Wangji's mouth hangs stiff, open. He wants to speak his objections. Wants to scream.
Startles himself, instead, when wet dances heavy down his cheeks, and he's only a burst if parting energy, driven forward to clutch the sides of Wei Ying's collars, to bring their mouths together, clumsy. A kiss born not of ardor, but the base animal need to comfort in the only way in which a man bereft of the right words ever can.
He loves him, strong. Loves Wei Ying, lessened. His heart breaks. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And, by midday, the favored activity: introducing the child into the horde of fellow infants swarming a classroom, shepherded in during the wimter chill. They delight him: his exotic features, his accent, the scant few tells of another province. And does he know new games? He must know new games.
In the end, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying are stranded by the doorway, peering in as the ducklings rearrange their world order, in a storm of play formations their minder valiantly tries to propose should only be assumed after the day's lesson. And Lan Wangji murmurs, aside: )
Teacher Li fights a failed battle.
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Still, safe, happy. He's simple in that regard.
He grins at his husband's soft comment.]
And should concede now, really. Children do what they want to do, and should be allowed to as long as they're watched properly. [Honestly, what kind of harm would a group of tiny children who have just learned how to properly hold their chopsticks get up to? At most a fight would probably be something like patting each other on the face, and that's not likely to end in tears because their hands are still soft and pudgy.]
Look at them! They're so cute! Who would say no to those little faces?
[Except for Wei Wuxian who has no money purse, that is.]
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Still, he is not present here. Even he knows better than to intervene with and against small children. If anything, they are given a great, wide berth, permitted to go about their business of minimal education and maximal entertainment. No matter. Life is long enough to relinquish leisure.
As Wei Ying eases, Lan Wangji tips into him, falling short of immodest touch. )
Shall we leave him to his pleasure?
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Wei Wuxian reaches out and tugs on Lan Zhan's sleeve.]
Let's go give ourselves a rest in your home, hm?
[Except what Wei Wuxian has planned is anything but restful. He can feel his heart beating in his ears because he's about to divulge a secret that should never be known outside of a scant few. He would have taken it to his grave. But this situation with Lan Zhan has forced his hand, what they have planned soon may crumble because of it.
And if one of Zewu-jun's stipulations is to have Wei Wuxian purified, it's sure to come out then, and he needs, needs Lan Zhan to stand in solidarity with him for whatever the fallout of that will be.]
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( He corrects emptily, because Wei Ying's cooperation cannot be forced, if he feels no bond toward Lan Wangji's quarters yet. But they are his, all the same. There is a right that only the spouse of Hanguang-Jun may exercise, a private ownership.
Still, at least Wei Ying feels at ease enough to draw them to the house. Feels convincingly safe.
Lan Wangji leads the way, careful to nod to a-Yuan as they evacuate the premises, only for the boy to neglect them in favor of his fresh companions. A fine choice. No one may begrudge him.
No more than, walking side by side down the roads scantly shovelled by junior cultivators, Lan Wangji can speak against Wei Ying's strangely distant mien, as they traverse the snowy mounds. So be it. )
Will you take rest? I may call your midday meal brought.
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[He tucks his hands behind has back as they walk, his overcoat thicker and heavier than his preferred one-- though Wei Wuxian imagined that people would be fleeing at the sight of it, the figure he cuts with it on, and the deep reds contrasting with the greys. Hence why he has something lighter in color, a stately grey on top of black.
He doesn't look like the Yiling Patriarch, and that's better. No one to disrupt his time with the family he's trying to grow.
Speaking of time with family...]
I don't want anyone to disturb us either.
[In any other situation, those words would be seen as salacious. But Wei Wuxian is looking straight at Lan Zhan, pleading with his eyes for his husband to go along with it.]
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As for the... bedplay configurations of two men who join their passions -
As for Lan Wangji's profound inexperience in such things -
...no. Wei Ying searches him with the gaze of a wounded animal, beseeching. If Lan Wangji refuses him yet again, he may yet weep. They will both despair of him. )
Is it... ( How hesitant, how small his voice. ) Not perhaps hasty?
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How scared he is.] It is, you know?
But I don't think there's any better time than now. I would have taken it to my grave, but... you're my husband. You should know.
I'm no good at relationships, but at the very least I remember some things that my parents did to keep them happy, and that's talking often.
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...strange, how he had once thought jealousy at the mere proposition might erode him. Now, he only steels himself and nods, prepared, if not enthusiastic, to hear out his husband's sins. Come what may, they will survive this. They must survive this, for they are wedded, and their choices are scarce.
Only a few other settlements now, before they may reach Lan Wangji's timid house in the outskirts. A little longer, still. )
Speech often fails me. But may hear.
happy birthday lwj... here's drama as his bday gift
But at the same time, he can't help but think that this may break them, with the emphasis all cultivators put on their golden cores. How it's a mark of mastery, what elevates them from commoners. Last night, Lan Zhan himself put a lot of importance on it, even if the bearer is just a small boy who deserves to play and be free outside of a classroom and turning his soft, sweet hands rough and calloused from sword forms.
Inside the Jingshi, he barely removes his boots before sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs with his hands on his knees as if getting ready to meditate.]
Here. I'll show you why I didn't bother meditating properly earlier. [And it's not because he no longer cares for orthodox cultivation.
He holds out his wrist, pulling his sleeve back from it so that Lan Zhan can feel his pulse, and the meridians beside it.]
happy birthday, lan wangji!
Still, Lan Wangji cannot hope to riddle every aspect of his husband's temper. Here, now, he is resolute to illustrate whatever it is that has once more divided them. Sunken on the floor, frail enough to appear as if no better than the child they've briefly abandoned.
Lan Wangji goes with him, gaze owlish when he watches Wei Ying's exposed wrist, his arm. No gash, no signs of bruising, no great, foul, visible battery. Then...? Poison? )
You injured your arm?
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Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan. There's no injury, and for that we should be grateful. [Otherwise, the hand wouldn't be visible, just a mass of bandages. Or even no hand at all.]
Rather, I want you to track my qi as I meditate.
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...only to find, strangely, nothing that answers him. Could Lan Wangji's own emotional volatility be so strong that he cannot retain his composure to sense out Wei Ying's qi? Could Wei Ying's sickness have so frailed him?
He tries again, and again, and then once more. Concedes, finally, gaze limpid and wary when he turns it up. )
...forgive me. I fail you. Cannot sense your qi. ( But then, it strikes him: ) A trick?
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Perhaps... not? He's not sure what to feel.]
Not a trick, Lan Zhan. You can't feel my qi because my meridians dried up a long time ago, nothing has been feeding them for a while.
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And flashing back, ruptured fragments of violent, lightning-fast memory: Wei Ying, smiling. Plunging from the clouds on his sword. Demonstrating the rapid ruthlessness of Suibian.
Wei Ying, lost to the Wen. Emerging in plumes and dark fire. Succumbed in the claws of his new demonic cultivation. Relinquishing his sword, their path.
Wei Ying, now: empties, where Lan Wangji's hand still lingers, touch uncertain, on a wrist all bones and taut skin. Wangji's mouth, dry. Gaze emptied.
Not a trick. )
...Wei Ying. Wei Ying, how?
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Just the thought of lying to Lan Zhan makes him want to rip his hair out, though. So he has to be careful about how he goes about this.]
I told you. Sunshot was not kind, and the days leading up to it were just the same.
[Before he resurfaced, certain people were still alive. Certain Wens.]
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But this is open, bare-faced cruelty. Ugliness past measure or control. He watches Wei Ying and sees the shape of his hurt, grasps the private horror of its implications. Knows, in ways sullen but profound, whaf a depleted core spells for a cultivator.
What is left of his recourses.
For a long, pained moment, nothing. Only his gaze washing his hands, only the ruin of his questions. Breathe. He can't; breathe.
He looks up, wet-eyed but firm. This is not his hour. This is not his agony. )
...how?
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But lying to Lan Zhan? He doesn't think he can do it.
He claws at Lan Zhan's arm, fingers digging into his sleeve, frantic at his desperation.]
Don't tell anyone. I will tell you-- but no one else, and you shouldn't either. This is between me, you, and one other person. I don't know if I can tell you who else was involved, because they're too vulnerable right now. But I will tell you what happened. All right? [His eyes are pleading, promise?
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He must be kinder to this man hereon, it strikes him. He must give him tenderness and care. Wei Ying cannot bear it otherwise. He has no core. He has no core.
And Lan Wangji slowly peels Wei Ying's hands loose off his sleeves, catches them and draws them up to have, to hold, to kiss after. Slowly. Carefully. Hereon, only slowly and carefully. )
Tell me everything.
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Even if his meridians are no longer responsive, his pulse just beats rapidly, like the fluttering wings of a little bird that must work hard to keep itself in flight.]
Wen Zhuliu. [A good enough start, even if he spits the name with venom.] He melted the core of someone who he should not have touched, all because Wen Chao wanted him to.
[There's a reason why he was so vicious to Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu, years ago.]
I could live without mine, so I willingly gave it up. They didn't ask for it, but they would have died without it. I found a doctor who was willing to transfer my core.
After... After. Wen Chao found me and threw me into the Burial Mounds. [And the rest, Lan Zhan knows.]
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Then, finally, wretchedly, he opens his eyes again, Wei Ying consuming the majority of his focus. No. His husband already undergoes the toll of his confession. Lan Wangji cannot subject him to worse, on count of his own cowardice.
Wen Zhuliu, a third party, the Burial Mounds. He understands, he thinks. )
Who were the victim and doctor?
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Stupid him, he never actually extracted a promise out of Lan Zhan not to ask who they were, did he? Stupid, stupid, he wants to slap his mouth for being careless.]
Don't tell anyone. [Repeating himself.] And don't... don't blame them for anything.
The one I gave my core to doesn't know. Just... let him live his life in peace. Please?
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Lan Wangji's gaze lingers long, plaintive. Over Wei Ying's mouth, the stern line of his eyes, his unfailing beauty. Sweetheart. Oh, his sweetheart. Though Wei Ying may never wish to wear the name, he is that, unfailingly. )
...Wen Qionglin? ( It would explain the mysterious origin of his resurgence. )
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He helped. Not the doctor, but he was the assistant. [But because Lan Zhan is so close to the truth and Wei Wuxian has already admitted to some of it already... There's nothing else he can do about this situation.
Tentatively, he sinks further into Lan Zhan's hold, as if unsure how further closeness would be received.]
It was Jiang Cheng. Wen Qing was the doctor. We-- we never told him, I tricked him into thinking that he would be getting a new core from my grandmaster, Baoshan Sanren, and swore both the siblings to secrecy.
[Then he looks up at Lan Zhan's face. Even if his eyes are still terrified, the set of his jaw is hard.]
Don't tell him. He can never know.
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Lan Wangji's mouth hangs stiff, open. He wants to speak his objections. Wants to scream.
Startles himself, instead, when wet dances heavy down his cheeks, and he's only a burst if parting energy, driven forward to clutch the sides of Wei Ying's collars, to bring their mouths together, clumsy. A kiss born not of ardor, but the base animal need to comfort in the only way in which a man bereft of the right words ever can.
He loves him, strong. Loves Wei Ying, lessened. His heart breaks. )
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