he has loved wei wuxian, since before he knew his name. he has loved him, through all wei wuxian's teases. he has loved him, though wei wuxian broke against the rules that lan wangji once so rigidly followed. and lan wangji still recalls the scent of wine clinging to their skin back then, as wei wuxian shoved them both over the cloud recesses's high, white walls. he still remembers the crush of wet grass, the way wei wuxian had pinned him. he still remembers, in all his anger, thinking of what it would have been like to pull him down and kiss him.
and for each way wei wuxian's unvoiced affections and unvoiced emotions flit between as music, like the whitened skins of magnolias and lilies too— lan wangji's roots them. he tends to them, careful to let them have their room. he is careful to nurture them, among his own love that has sustained itself within him long before wei wuxian himself had come to this realization. it is patient, like hands that soothe along the curve of spines— against the dark of hair.
and—
pain and answering concern breeches the edges of lan wangji's awareness. as wei wuxian pulls back, he steadies him upon his hips. between them both, the thinner rise and fall of breath seems an afterthought as lan wangji realizes what it is that sweeps between them now. he focuses on wei wuxian's words, his dark brows knit almost indiscernibly, until he finally finds means to speak again. ]
Wei Ying. [ his hands, his voice— both are gentle. within the warmth of his palms, he cradles wei wuxian's injured fingers. he stabilizes them, knowing he cannot heal them as he once did. he feeds words across the breaks in bandaging, where the skin is mottled and dark: be careful, take care. ]
When you are well, [ lan wangji tells him, a promise and assurance. when you are comfortable, he tells as well. beneath the current of his affections, the words carry through. clear and warmed, for has lan wangji not always wanted this too? has he not always wished to provide wei wuxian all he could afford? has he not always wished to hold wei wuxian within his arms, support him as wei wuxian has so supported lan wangji? I have always trusted you, lan wangji had told him once.
and it is true. he trusts him, even as wei wuxian's emotions grow confused and muddied and dark. he trusts him, because wei wuxian has always attempted to do what he could for those who were weaker than he. he had always attempted to do impossible and improbable things. he had chosen, in many ways, what lan wangji himself would have chosen were he in his place.
and was not true, that lan wangji could not leave wei wuxian as wei wuxian could not leave those in yiling? was it not true, that lan wangji too could not leave a-yuan? was it not true? and still, he holds wei wuxian's hand between his own.
I am here, lan wangji says, his fingers as though a shield about wei wuxian's own. I am here.
he is here, as he has always been. he is here, even as the urge to sob passes from wei wuxian to lan wangji. he is here, even as the tears that had threatened once to break across the skin brush closer still showing form. he is here, as he presses their hands gently to where it is his heart beats. it is a nervous thing, a hungry thing— a thing that loves. and it loves him, wei wuxian. it holds him, it holds so much of him, that lan wangji cannot recall what it was to have never known him.
and like this, he tells wei wuxian again: I am here. he tells him it, as he knows where it is wei wuxian's focus sits. upon the brand, upon the mark death has left against his skin. he knows it.
he will not leave again, as long as lan wangji holds say it in. ]
no subject
he has loved wei wuxian, since before he knew his name. he has loved him, through all wei wuxian's teases. he has loved him, though wei wuxian broke against the rules that lan wangji once so rigidly followed. and lan wangji still recalls the scent of wine clinging to their skin back then, as wei wuxian shoved them both over the cloud recesses's high, white walls. he still remembers the crush of wet grass, the way wei wuxian had pinned him. he still remembers, in all his anger, thinking of what it would have been like to pull him down and kiss him.
and for each way wei wuxian's unvoiced affections and unvoiced emotions flit between as music, like the whitened skins of magnolias and lilies too— lan wangji's roots them. he tends to them, careful to let them have their room. he is careful to nurture them, among his own love that has sustained itself within him long before wei wuxian himself had come to this realization. it is patient, like hands that soothe along the curve of spines— against the dark of hair.
and—
pain and answering concern breeches the edges of lan wangji's awareness. as wei wuxian pulls back, he steadies him upon his hips. between them both, the thinner rise and fall of breath seems an afterthought as lan wangji realizes what it is that sweeps between them now. he focuses on wei wuxian's words, his dark brows knit almost indiscernibly, until he finally finds means to speak again. ]
Wei Ying. [ his hands, his voice— both are gentle. within the warmth of his palms, he cradles wei wuxian's injured fingers. he stabilizes them, knowing he cannot heal them as he once did. he feeds words across the breaks in bandaging, where the skin is mottled and dark: be careful, take care. ]
When you are well, [ lan wangji tells him, a promise and assurance. when you are comfortable, he tells as well. beneath the current of his affections, the words carry through. clear and warmed, for has lan wangji not always wanted this too? has he not always wished to provide wei wuxian all he could afford? has he not always wished to hold wei wuxian within his arms, support him as wei wuxian has so supported lan wangji? I have always trusted you, lan wangji had told him once.
and it is true. he trusts him, even as wei wuxian's emotions grow confused and muddied and dark. he trusts him, because wei wuxian has always attempted to do what he could for those who were weaker than he. he had always attempted to do impossible and improbable things. he had chosen, in many ways, what lan wangji himself would have chosen were he in his place.
and was not true, that lan wangji could not leave wei wuxian as wei wuxian could not leave those in yiling? was it not true, that lan wangji too could not leave a-yuan? was it not true? and still, he holds wei wuxian's hand between his own.
I am here, lan wangji says, his fingers as though a shield about wei wuxian's own. I am here.
he is here, as he has always been. he is here, even as the urge to sob passes from wei wuxian to lan wangji. he is here, even as the tears that had threatened once to break across the skin brush closer still showing form. he is here, as he presses their hands gently to where it is his heart beats. it is a nervous thing, a hungry thing— a thing that loves. and it loves him, wei wuxian. it holds him, it holds so much of him, that lan wangji cannot recall what it was to have never known him.
and like this, he tells wei wuxian again: I am here. he tells him it, as he knows where it is wei wuxian's focus sits. upon the brand, upon the mark death has left against his skin. he knows it.
he will not leave again, as long as lan wangji holds say it in. ]