Lan Wangji (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lightamidchaos) wrote2020-10-16 08:50 pm
lightamidchaos) wrote2020-10-16 08:50 pm
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[pfsb] sword forms by the lake
It is late afternoon by the time he makes his way outside.
Lan Wangji is well aware that Wei Ying would probably very much prefer him to be resting again at present, and in truth he likely should be, especially given what had just come to pass in the library not long before.
But. But. It has been three days, and he needs to know how much strength he can regain, how quickly, before he returns to Cold Pond Cave and faces his brother, tomorrow.
(He is fairly certain Shufu did not intend the injuries to be quite as severe this time, either. Fairly certain.)
Bichen flashes into his hand, gleaming along the blade with a faint, icy blue-white shine. Lan Wangji draws a deep breath, and begins to move through each of the Lan sword forms in a slow motion routine, his concentration absolute.
Lan Wangji is well aware that Wei Ying would probably very much prefer him to be resting again at present, and in truth he likely should be, especially given what had just come to pass in the library not long before.
But. But. It has been three days, and he needs to know how much strength he can regain, how quickly, before he returns to Cold Pond Cave and faces his brother, tomorrow.
(He is fairly certain Shufu did not intend the injuries to be quite as severe this time, either. Fairly certain.)
Bichen flashes into his hand, gleaming along the blade with a faint, icy blue-white shine. Lan Wangji draws a deep breath, and begins to move through each of the Lan sword forms in a slow motion routine, his concentration absolute.
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"Lan Zhan," and that's all Wei Wuxian gets out before he thuds his head onto Lan Zhan's shoulder, laughing, already blushing so ferociously that Lan Zhan can likely feel it on his bare skin.
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He lifts his head, squares his shoulders, grins as bright as the sunlight upon their bed. "Right. Your hairpiece," he says. He swipes a finger against a lock of Lan Zhan's hair to tuck it behind his ear; trails the same fingertip across his forehead ribbon as his grin softens. "It cannot have gone far."
And indeed it hasn't: when he swings himself partway out of bed to rummage through their discarded clothes, he yelps as he closes his hand around a pointy piece of metal buried in Lan Zhan's inner robes. Wei Wuxian shakes the hairpiece free and returns to Lan Zhan's back to begin sweeping his hair in place.
"I am not as good at this as my own hair," he admits as he tries to remember the intricate twists and turns Lan Zhan employs to secure his hair. "But I will do my best."
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He sounds unconcerned, the reason for which becomes immediately apparent as he adds,
"Anything you do will be perfect, because it will be how you have made me look."
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He kisses the back of Lan Zhan's neck.
"But yes. I will have many days of our future to practice. Months. Years." His fingers deftly guide one section of his hair in place, then another. "Soon I will be able to do it in my sleep. You will wake at mao hour and I will be dreaming next to you, fiddling with your hair."
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To him, it sounds exactly as it should be.
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There! He thinks that's the right of it. He tucks the hairpiece in place and secures it with its pin.
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"If Wei Ying braids my hair, then I will wear braids," he says. "But for now, I will fetch tea, and breakfast."
He gets up and collects his robes and trousers from where they lie fallen, shaking them out and starting to dress.
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(The knowledge that it is a view he can see at all -- and will continue to see, as long as he wishes -- fizzes joyfully through his blood.)
"Do not be long," he chirps as he reclines on the bed, tucking his hands behind his head.
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"Shameless."
The single word is unimaginably fond.
"But I will not take long."
He leans down for a quick farewell kiss, then heads downstairs to retrieve tea and breakfast, as promised.
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...He probably ought to see his way toward putting on trousers as well. And his inner robes, at least.
Eventually.
This still doesn't feel wholly real. Not in a bad way; in the way of a pleasant dream, buoying him out of the darkness of too many nightmares. Part of him hears forever and wonders how long that can truly last, when he knows it is only a matter of time before the nightmares return.
But he will enjoy the reprieve. If it does not last forever -- at least he can hope it lasts for a good long while.
By the time Lan Zhan returns, Wei Wuxian is tying his inner robes in place, shaking his loose hair free of the collar.
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Today it is a small plate of the fruit that Wei Ying had liked so much before, along with congee and steamed buns, as well as the ever-present chili oil.
He arranges their places, then pours tea, first for Wei Ying, then for himself.
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Interestingly, he does not stir quite as much chili oil into his congee as he has in the past. In fact, it is downright bland compared to how he usually eats it: three or four spoonfuls, not even a quarter of the jar. In between sips of tea, he decimates one of the steamed buns and makes off with a good chunk of the fruit.
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The concern is still in his glance when he looks up at Wei Ying.
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"Lan Zhan?"
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A sheepish grin.
"I, ah -- only assumed there would be more kissing later. I am happy to scorch my mouth as much as I please, but do not want to scorch yours as well."
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"Rest assured," he says, finally, his voice huskier than before, "there will be more kissing. Every day."
A beat of silence. His gaze is intent, now, lingering on Wei Ying's lips.
"Also rest assured that what you eat will not stop me from kissing you. Make your food how you like it, Wei Ying. And I will thoroughly enjoy kissing you, all the same."
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Lightly: "I am glad. And I am sure we can find ways to soothe the pain if it becomes too much."
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He picks up the bottle of chili oil and sets it in front of Wei Ying, very deliberately.
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As if it would ever take much insisting to make Wei Wuxian add more spice to his food!
With no more hesitation -- and abandoning the spoon altogether -- he opens the chili oil and dumps most of it into his congee.
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Satisfied, he returns to his own breakfast.
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Perhaps you should simply ask Lan Zhan next time instead of assuming, murmurs a wryly amused voice in the back corner of his mind.
The meal fades into a comfortable, companionable quiet. Wei Wuxian tries to eat slower, as if he could stretch the deadline of Lan Zhan's departure a little longer.
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(Silence during meals. He does not think to break it, at least not without reason.)
Camellia oil. Incense, for the burner he brought up the other night. A better stock of tea. He sorts through the list of things, considering what else to add to it.
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I will miss you.
I wish you didn't have to go.
I love you.
It is as if the last day erased all of the three days preceding. If he wants to do something besides pace the floor waiting for Lan Zhan to return, perhaps he ought to re-read his notes and organize them a little better. Or he could give up and abandon thinking altogether for the day: go for a swim, visit the archery range he thought he spotted some weeks ago.
"It has been some time since we explored the forest," he says. "We do not have to hunt, but if you'd like to walk there tonight...?"
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