[ you are both idiots, jiang cheng tells them. and he knows, he knows what it is that jiang cheng means. he knows, because lan wangji has always been a fool. he has always done what was correct and right and true to what it was he knew, no matter the perception of those who thought they knew it better, those who could not choose as he did without even stricter consequence.
lan wangji had always been a fool. and it is no less true, as he keeps them in his arms. it is no less true, dirt upon their skins and grasses crumpled underfoot. it is no less true, than the moment lan wangji had realized he was in love with either in the first place.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. you too, he tells jiang cheng. and slowly, lan wangji warms against the shapes of them. slowly, lan wangji knows that they cannot remain as this, curled against the earth, curled against each other, but lan wangji knows that in this moment he is selfish in his wants. he is selfish, thinking if it could last for just a while longer—
and still, it comes slow. across the pale of their blued bond, it is the shape and bend of the magnolias that flood them. it is the cut of latticed windows, the crest of clouds. it is spring again in the mountains, and the lan wangji of fifteen hears them, wei wuxian and jiang cheng. he sees them, as he settles his brush against the whiter tooth of paper. and all at once, lan wangji is not the same. and all at once, lan wangji is never the same again.
jiang cheng speaks of lan wangji as he passes with his shixiong. he is a young thing, a thing yet untainted by war and by anguish. he does not yet understand what it is to lose another. he does not yet understand, but wei wuxian does. he does, and the wei wuxian of lan wangji's memory is beautiful and framed. and when wei wuxian tilts to him the full of his bright smile, unabashed and unashamed, lan wangji does not yet know the feeling that curls within his chest both tight and hot is love. he does not understand it, even as the lan wangji of then tears his eyes away.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. and somehow, the corners of lan wangji's mouth twists into something softer, stranger. against wei wuxian's throat, the impression of what could be a smile carries within it a sweeter bitterness for all that cannot be and will not ever be again. and yet—
lan wangji's hold upon them tightens, in degrees both comforting and subtle. he knows that wei wuxian speaks for them all, speaks for what jiang cheng refuses to and lan wangji cannot.
and still, lan wangji tries his tongue. impresses not upon them depth of his affections, but rather offers them. for you, it suggests. if you will have it. ]
Wei Ying, [ he breathes, and the sound warms him from the inside out. ] You too.
no subject
lan wangji had always been a fool. and it is no less true, as he keeps them in his arms. it is no less true, dirt upon their skins and grasses crumpled underfoot. it is no less true, than the moment lan wangji had realized he was in love with either in the first place.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. you too, he tells jiang cheng. and slowly, lan wangji warms against the shapes of them. slowly, lan wangji knows that they cannot remain as this, curled against the earth, curled against each other, but lan wangji knows that in this moment he is selfish in his wants. he is selfish, thinking if it could last for just a while longer—
and still, it comes slow. across the pale of their blued bond, it is the shape and bend of the magnolias that flood them. it is the cut of latticed windows, the crest of clouds. it is spring again in the mountains, and the lan wangji of fifteen hears them, wei wuxian and jiang cheng. he sees them, as he settles his brush against the whiter tooth of paper. and all at once, lan wangji is not the same. and all at once, lan wangji is never the same again.
jiang cheng speaks of lan wangji as he passes with his shixiong. he is a young thing, a thing yet untainted by war and by anguish. he does not yet understand what it is to lose another. he does not yet understand, but wei wuxian does. he does, and the wei wuxian of lan wangji's memory is beautiful and framed. and when wei wuxian tilts to him the full of his bright smile, unabashed and unashamed, lan wangji does not yet know the feeling that curls within his chest both tight and hot is love. he does not understand it, even as the lan wangji of then tears his eyes away.
you have us, wei wuxian tells him. and somehow, the corners of lan wangji's mouth twists into something softer, stranger. against wei wuxian's throat, the impression of what could be a smile carries within it a sweeter bitterness for all that cannot be and will not ever be again. and yet—
lan wangji's hold upon them tightens, in degrees both comforting and subtle. he knows that wei wuxian speaks for them all, speaks for what jiang cheng refuses to and lan wangji cannot.
and still, lan wangji tries his tongue. impresses not upon them depth of his affections, but rather offers them. for you, it suggests. if you will have it. ]
Wei Ying, [ he breathes, and the sound warms him from the inside out. ] You too.
[ you have us. ]