Lan Wangji (
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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"Ah, maybe you can hear me after all," he whispers. "Sleep, Lan Zhan. I am only talking nonsense. I should sing instead so you do not think you have to pay attention to me."
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He hears his name: Lan Zhan.
He hears another word as well: sing.
Softly, without opening his eyes, he begins to hum their song.
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He grows quiet. The familiar melody stirs the softest vibration where he rests against Lan Zhan, a hum that wraps around his heart, and he closes his eyes as he listens.
On the ascending line midway through the first verse, he begins a quiet, thoughtless harmony.
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Slowly, he floats closer to full awareness, and as he does he realizes that Wei Ying is still curled in his arms, and is humming along with him.
As they reach the end of the song together, he opens his eyes and turns his head slightly to smile down at Wei Ying.
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"Don't mind me," he murmurs, stretching just enough to plant a kiss on Lan Zhan's cheek. "Keep sleeping. I will keep singing."
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It comes out a little husky with sleep.
"But then I would not hear you."
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He returns his head to Lan Zhan's chest, idly sweeping his thumb back and forth above his heart.
"And whenever else you wish."
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"Mark your words."
He turns his face into Wei Ying's hair and lets himself relax.
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He settles more comfortably against Lan Zhan. While he cannot really draw him any closer, he tightens his hold a fraction as if he could.
Softly, he picks up the melody of their song again.
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He starts to drift again, listening to the familiar melody, which he himself had composed for them years before and sung for Wei Ying the first time in the Xuanwu's cave in Muxi Mountain.
As the last verse begins, he doesn't realize that he's started to murmur the words under his breath.
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But they perfectly follow the melody Lan Zhan first sang to him so many years ago.
He wrote lyrics, too.
Much more awake than he was a moment ago, Wei Wuxian draws the song to a close, then gently prods Lan Zhan in the chest. "Lan Zhan. Are those lyrics? You wrote even more?"
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"Mn?"
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He smothers a fond laugh. "Nothing," he says, and kisses the spot he just poked. "Sleep. It is fine."
He'll ask again in the morning.
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"Wei Ying. What is it?"
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He reaches up and draws his fingers through the other man's hair, petting him.
"It is fine."
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Well, now his mind is rapidly devolving to the pleasant blank expanse of before. (Amazing how it takes so little.) He goes boneless against Lan Zhan, leaning into the touch.
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"I will comb Wei Ying's hair," he murmurs. "If he wishes."
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"So soon?" he asks with the smallest laugh, and wants to smack himself the instant he says it.
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After a moment, he draws his fingers through Wei Ying's hair again, and continues to do so, as slow and steady as before.
He says nothing.
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He pulls away from him, but only so he can brace his hands on either side of Lan Zhan's shoulders, his hair falling in a curtain around them. His wrist flexes against the ribbon tied snug around it; he feels sick, as if the words expelled some horrible acid as they left his mouth.
"No, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was a terrible thing to say, I don't know why I said it, I -- "
(It was just -- everything seemed far too real, far too close for an instant, and before he could stop himself he had to -- )
He cards his fingers through the hair just above Lan Zhan's temple. Tries to anchor himself: we are here. "I'm sorry," he whispers.
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“Wei Ying.”
Although that is all he says, the tone of his voice somehow conveys acknowledgement, understanding — and forgiveness.
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“And I love you. For who you are. As you are. There is no better. You are my Wei Ying.”
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"And you are my Lan Zhan." He quirks a smile. "Who is welcome to comb my hair in the morning, when we are forced to be presentable to the world again."
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