CLOSED.

[laozu]

WHO: Ancient China Wuxia Crew ( Wei Wuxian laozu, Lan Wangji wangxian & Jiang Cheng sandu )
WHERE: Various locations.
WHEN: Various times.
WHAT: A catch-all log for literally everything so we don't spam.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Sexual content, discussions of suicide/suicidal ideation, physical violence, difficulties in communication, etc.

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[wangxian]

[ they all have suffered much.

in their own manners, in their own ways— they have all suffered just the same the brush of separation, the attenuation, the cycling of sun and stars. they had all been bereft of someone, of something. they had all ached, measurable and not. and they had all coped or they had all not. and still, on some days, the absence is a residual pain. it is a lingering thing, as a wound that closes in no perfect way. for what is, is and what was, was. there is no undoing what has been done, but lan wangji knows that of the choices that had been bestowed, he would choose no other way. he would choose no other way, so long as there was wei wuxian. so long as there was, now and too, jiang cheng.

for who was lan wangji without the way that they have shaped him? who was he, without the way he too has molded them? and beside them, as he is, it is not something he dare think on as he climbs the stairs of their apartment. it is not something he wishes to consider as he sees them, as he finds them as he always does, the soft cut of evening casting faint and orange against the dark of their hair. tangled up in each other as they are, wei wuxian’s palm pressed to jiang cheng’s lips, lan wangji’s chest at once fills up and tightens. it at once twists with the want to frame them in his arms, to see them as they are— singular and together, the mottled edge of their own sorrows clearing. he sees them, as they once were in the cloud recesses. he sees them, as his mouth does not turn up at the corners, but the way he calls their names after a longer moment warms. ]

Wei Ying, [ he starts, one hand upon the stairwell’s railing. beneath the shadow of the entry, the last of this day’s light dapples gold across his body. it shifts, as he does. and he breathes out, breathes in and considers for a moment if should step out to join them, to do more than greet them. ] Jiang Cheng.

[ he need not ask if they need more time for conversation.

the question is held in the way his lashes lower, in the paleness of his eyes. ]

[laozu]

[ please, he begs silently, of no one in particular: please, give me this moment for one heartbeat longer. ]

I'm not babying you. I just want you near.

[ he does not force jiang cheng's head to take his lap, but the posture he settles into remains open and inviting. his hands remains tangled in his, his feelings soft and shivering against jiang cheng's own. the insecurity he feels from jiang cheng is matched only by the mournfulness of his own; they are still so injured and weak, their wounds caused by one another and reopened again and again by one another. it is sheer determination not to fail that keeps him at jiang cheng's side. he doesn't want to leave him again, knowing that he has. it tears his heart apart, to think that he's caused such pain inside of these two men.

the second of whom arrives, beautiful and dark-haired against the evening sky. ]

Lan Zhan, welcome home. You should come closer and let us greet you properly. I think we all have... much to speak about, especially while we have the time to catch up after all that has happened. Before the next crisis spins us around and leaves us breathless and timeless.

[sandu]

I am near.

[ so he speaks - with the skin between his brows creased, with barbed tones and edged words, all at once multifaceted, fractals of broken emotions trickling through the touch of their hands, their fingers that lay tangled between them. wei wuxian knows - he has always known - that jiang cheng is someone who feels too much and expresses too little, like a body of water that has been restricted its flow, a heart that had to harden itself against all that was there to offer in the world. it is angry, it is annoyance, it is resignation.

at the same time, it is a promise, it is a reassurance, it is something warm and hopeful that blooms in his chest. he is near. he is here.

and now, so is lan zhan.

he does not do much - he stands near, at a distance, silhouetted against the red and orange and pale blue of the darkening sky and he calls to them, and jiang cheng lifts his eyes to him at the same moment as wei wuxian - their paired attentions, their grey eyes shifting to focus instead on the third of their group.

jiang cheng stays silent as wei wuxian calls to him - the silence is in itself in agreement, in assent, but he is just yet unwilling to free himself of the warmth of the other's hands upon him.

but it is only for another moment. he shifts his weights, pulls his hands back and away, moving back to create space between them for lan wangji to sit. ]

[wangxian]

[ he does not place blame on jiang cheng.

once and so many times, to remain at wei wuxian's side was all that lan wangji would want. to hold his hand, to feel the warmth and weight against his palm— lan wangji knows, what it is to desire. he knows what it is to yearn for, he knows that jiang cheng too has felt this in moods lan wangji once could not identify, but sees now in this light. jiang cheng, who too is beautiful like wei wuxian, defers to what it is the latter wants. he defers, in ways both similar and different from lan wangji, different and similar as jiang cheng sinks back from his arms.

he knows, that they too have many things to speak on. lan wangji knows he holds many things within his heart, as much as jiang cheng and wei wuxian. he knows, but these are secrets he has kept silent on. he does not reveal them, because he does not know the language— he does not feel as though these are weights they shoulder shoulder, the past a closed door.

and lan wangji, lan wangji had learned there is an undercurrent to accepting the turn over of "sorry," of "thank you," of "goodbye." he does not want any, and lan wangji has learned not to lie.

but, he wants this. he wants and his chest unfurls as though sun over mountains, the first stretch of pale things that bloom in the light. he wants to remain at their sides. and before either can retract or change their mind, he comes to them. quiet as he often is, silent as he might be— he settles down between them, his posture neat and practiced. he glances in-between them, his hands resting ( for a moment ) uneasy upon his thighs.

and then, he turns his wrists. he offers his palms to theirs, if they wish. he offers himself entire, but he knows there is nothing to fear from this. there is nothing to worry for, should they remain linked and entire. ]