[ it had troubled him. it had troubled him when that boy had told him. it troubles him still, in the cool light of the stairwell, the grey of wei wuxian's eyes gone flat and dim and still. and yet, lan wangji's voice is caught up in his throat. the words cage themselves behind his teeth, his expression both quiet and considering as he listens to wei wuxian confess his thoughts to him. he holds each word apart, examines them together.
he sees, as he had seen in tortoise cave so many years ago. he sees and holds it steady, the fledging of uncertainty. he props it against himself, as he had so carried wei wuxian upon his back— as wei wuxian had so once carried him. wei wuxian, his memory in pieces, does not recall much at all. it is only in that moment, before he was brought here, did wei wuxian gather together the profundity of that moment. it was only just then, his blood upon lan wangji's cheek, that he could tell lan wangji with certainty: just like this. i really have carried you before.
and it had been so, that he had carried with him lan wangji's heart ever since. since before even then. since before even that, that moment he'd glanced wei wuxian from the library pavilion. that first time and that last time and now, in this place, wei wuxian perched like a dark bird upon the stairway's guarding ornament. ( here, with all contained. here, where lan wangji's reach him for more than just a moment. here, where no matter how lan wangji stands beside him, he does not condemn lan wangji's presence in all his wild grief. )
and still, these little movements are caught. they are bottled in his understanding, his light eyes skimming to the place that wei wuxian holds chenqing. it has always been a beautiful thing. it had always been more beautiful in the hands that held it, that played it sharp and shrill and stirring hatreds. and yet, lan wangji had listened even then. he had listened, as wei wuxian freed his long hair, as he had grown tired and gaunt and pale.
he had listened.
and now, he nods. ]
These are possibilities, [ he says, catching the edge of wei wuxian's thoughts. he rests there only briefly, before he looses them. this is to be discussed, he knows, at length later. it is to be discussed when the dream is not as fresh, when the ceaseless questions are not piled against the core of wei wuxian's confusion, his anxiety. these emotions still curl beneath lan wangji's skin, become a part of his. ] We must be careful.
[ it is all he says, until the hand is extended to him. until, like always, wei wuxian angles after the softest parts of him. and yet, what is lan wangji, but obedient? these whims, after thirteen years of calling—
the odd bright of lan wangji's eyes is a tumult, as they raise to meet wei wuxian's again. it is a quiet acceptance, an uncertainty, a deeper sense of wanting ( needing ). it is many things and it is these words that find him after a longer moment. it is these words that come to rest upon his tongue. he speaks them, when he knows his voice is steady. ]
Come down, [ he implores, more than he commands. his heart thrums against his ribs, the same and painful notes he had lived with all these years. can you hear it? he'd always wondered. and yet, his hand is placed gently in wei wuxian's own. it rests there, the warmth of wei wuxian ebbing into him.
the blue light within him glows dimly, at first. it flares, as though a sudden impulse. no matter how calm lan wangji is, it becomes evident that lan wangji is calm for him. it is evident that he houses in him worry, that the ache that gilds it belongs solely to him, to wei wuxian. and yet, it is not in wholly unpleasant. it is only that same devotion. it is only that same desire to help him shoulder all that faces him. it is only that same, persistent emotion.
and it is brighter than anything, as he offers to guide wei wuxian down to him. ]
no subject
he sees, as he had seen in tortoise cave so many years ago. he sees and holds it steady, the fledging of uncertainty. he props it against himself, as he had so carried wei wuxian upon his back— as wei wuxian had so once carried him. wei wuxian, his memory in pieces, does not recall much at all. it is only in that moment, before he was brought here, did wei wuxian gather together the profundity of that moment. it was only just then, his blood upon lan wangji's cheek, that he could tell lan wangji with certainty: just like this. i really have carried you before.
and it had been so, that he had carried with him lan wangji's heart ever since. since before even then. since before even that, that moment he'd glanced wei wuxian from the library pavilion. that first time and that last time and now, in this place, wei wuxian perched like a dark bird upon the stairway's guarding ornament. ( here, with all contained. here, where lan wangji's reach him for more than just a moment. here, where no matter how lan wangji stands beside him, he does not condemn lan wangji's presence in all his wild grief. )
and still, these little movements are caught. they are bottled in his understanding, his light eyes skimming to the place that wei wuxian holds chenqing. it has always been a beautiful thing. it had always been more beautiful in the hands that held it, that played it sharp and shrill and stirring hatreds. and yet, lan wangji had listened even then. he had listened, as wei wuxian freed his long hair, as he had grown tired and gaunt and pale.
he had listened.
and now, he nods. ]
These are possibilities, [ he says, catching the edge of wei wuxian's thoughts. he rests there only briefly, before he looses them. this is to be discussed, he knows, at length later. it is to be discussed when the dream is not as fresh, when the ceaseless questions are not piled against the core of wei wuxian's confusion, his anxiety. these emotions still curl beneath lan wangji's skin, become a part of his. ] We must be careful.
[ it is all he says, until the hand is extended to him. until, like always, wei wuxian angles after the softest parts of him. and yet, what is lan wangji, but obedient? these whims, after thirteen years of calling—
the odd bright of lan wangji's eyes is a tumult, as they raise to meet wei wuxian's again. it is a quiet acceptance, an uncertainty, a deeper sense of wanting ( needing ). it is many things and it is these words that find him after a longer moment. it is these words that come to rest upon his tongue. he speaks them, when he knows his voice is steady. ]
Come down, [ he implores, more than he commands. his heart thrums against his ribs, the same and painful notes he had lived with all these years. can you hear it? he'd always wondered. and yet, his hand is placed gently in wei wuxian's own. it rests there, the warmth of wei wuxian ebbing into him.
the blue light within him glows dimly, at first. it flares, as though a sudden impulse. no matter how calm lan wangji is, it becomes evident that lan wangji is calm for him. it is evident that he houses in him worry, that the ache that gilds it belongs solely to him, to wei wuxian. and yet, it is not in wholly unpleasant. it is only that same devotion. it is only that same desire to help him shoulder all that faces him. it is only that same, persistent emotion.
and it is brighter than anything, as he offers to guide wei wuxian down to him. ]