[pfsb] sword forms by the lake

[lightamidchaos]

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.

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[acrookedpath]

Above him, there's a soft sigh.

Wei Wuxian's feet come into the periphery of Lan Zhan's vision; then the rest of him, as he lowers himself to his knees. He covers one of Lan Zhan's hands with his own.

"I promised I would take good care of you," he murmurs, gentle. "Will you let me?"

[lightamidchaos]

He is shaking, he realizes, as he turns his hand and closes it around Wei Ying's, holding on a little too tightly.

He does not want Wei Ying to hate his brother. He does not want Wei Ying to hate Gusu Lan, at least not any more than he already might.

There was a time when he had wanted -- when he had hoped--

(Brother.

What is it, Wangji?

I want to bring a man back with me to Cloud Recesses.)

He is desperately, desperately afraid that this will make things worse, and he does not know how to keep it from happening without hurting Wei Ying, which he refuses to do.

He swallows once, hard, and finally looks up at him, unaware of how clearly his worry shows in his eyes, even as he nods.

[acrookedpath]

Lan Zhan looks so scared.

The chill is back, seeping from the awful pit in his gut through every vein of his limbs. He hears the clear echo of the doctor's voice: some of these older ones have split.

"I will be quick," he whispers, and touches his lips to Lan Zhan's. "I will be gentle. Thank you, Lan Zhan."

Squeezing his hand, he moves behind Lan Zhan to help him lower his robes.

[lightamidchaos]

For an instant, he does not think that he will be able to bring himself to do it. Certainly, this is not how he had ever envisioned Wei Ying seeing his body.

But better to get it over with now, he realizes, than for Wei Ying to discover this under other circumstances. If there is anger, well, they will deal with it. And if Wei Ying is repulsed by the scars, then--

--no. He will not let himself think like that. He will not.

He unfastens his belt, and the ties of all four layers of his robes, then shrugs them all from his shoulders with Wei Ying's help, letting them fall down his back to pool at his waist. As he does, he closes his eyes, and waits.

Three hundred blows with the bastinado would have been enough and more than enough, to break skin and bruise muscle, to crack bone and damage the body. But the punishment had been intended to mark him forever, that he might always remember the crimes committed against Gusu Lan, and so many of those blows had been struck with the discipline whip instead, in order that they might cut to the bone, tearing flesh and leaving deep scars.

He had very nearly died from the wounds and the infection that followed, weakened and grieving as he had been.

[acrookedpath]

He has tried to brace himself for whatever he might see, certain from Lan Zhan's fear that it will be terrible.

It is not enough.

Wei Wuxian sucks in a harsh gasp as the cloth falls away from Lan Zhan's shoulders. His back -- his entire back looks as if it were clawed to pieces by a demon. Deep divots crack the smooth, strong muscle of his shoulders, and somehow there are welts layered atop that to split even those marks in two. Silently, he begs it will only be confined to his upper back, even as they lower the robes further and he sees the marks extend all the way to his waist.

Oh, he thinks he breathes, the word hardly audible.

There is a faint black film at the corners of his vision. He shuts his eyes, trying to will it away. This is not the time. Right now, he does not need to let his thoughts extend beyond this task: find the wounds that have broken open (easy enough), uncap the little tube of medicine, smooth it onto Lan Zhan's back.

His hands shake as he lays them lightly, so lightly, over the open wounds. This is not how he imagined running his fingers over Lan Zhan's bare skin.

[lightamidchaos]

His mouth is dry. He swallows, once, then again, trying to regain enough moisture to speak.

"Wei Ying. You will not hurt me."

Very, very quietly.

[acrookedpath]

He clings so hard to the thread of his composure that he cannot answer Lan Zhan. If he does, everything else will slip, and he will lose himself to the black cloud that threatens to boil over.

It is a simple task. Squeeze out a little dollop of the ointment. Find a spot on his back that needs treating. Spread the ointment over it. There aren't very many, and soon, as if from a great distance, he realizes he's done. He stares blankly at the dense field of crisscrossing scars that rake Lan Zhan's back.

His skin is more marked than not, he thinks.

Was it for the same reason you were in seclusion?

With the same fragile care, he recaps the ointment. Sets it aside. Wipes his fingertips on the hem of his robes, to clear away any residual salve.

Then he scoots as close to Lan Zhan as he dares and wraps his arms around his waist, light as a butterfly's landing, before lowering his head to his shoulder.

[lightamidchaos]

His breath rushes out at the gentle touch. Carefully, so as to disturb him as little as possible, Lan Wangji turns in the circle of Wei Ying's arms to put his own arms around him and bring him nearer.

He draws Wei Ying to him, pulling him gently around to settle him in his lap, Wei Ying's head still on his shoulder. He holds him close as he lowers his face to Wei Ying's hair, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth, allowing himself to take comfort even as he tries to give it, as well.

[acrookedpath]

In his mind, the black cloud unfurls above Cloud Recesses, blotting out the sun.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, in the thin hope Lan Zhan will not counter it with you do not have to apologize or this is not your fault.

His fingers tremble over a thick raised line running parallel to Lan Zhan's spine.

[lightamidchaos]

"I know."

Softly, so softly. He wants to tell Wei Ying not to apologize, again, wants to remind him that he himself should have done more.

But right now, in this moment, when the man in his arms is still stunned with what he has just learned, he knows it will not help.

"I know," he says again, instead, and kisses his hair.

He can barely feel the light sensation of Wei Ying's fingers on his back.

"You will not hurt me. If you touch."

[acrookedpath]

He can so clearly imagine the look on Lan Qiren's face as a plume of smoke wraps around his throat. The way he would crumple, like a puppet with its strings cut, the instant his neck snapped.

There's an odd blankness to the daydream, though: destruction without the heat of fury, pain without the righteous surge of justice done. Even as the thought consumes him, he watches it with little more than a detached curiosity.

He nods against Lan Zhan's shoulder. Despite the reassurance, he cannot make himself be anything but cautious as he flattens his hand against Lan Zhan's skin, the ridges of the myriad scars pressing against his palm.

[lightamidchaos]

"I do not know what to say," he whispers. "What will help to hear."

"They are healing well. Almost fully so, now."

Until recently, anyway.

[acrookedpath]

"How long ago?"

His voice sounds vague, a little blurry, to his own ears. He has to strain to hear it.

[lightamidchaos]

"Almost three years."

[acrookedpath]

He'd been half-expecting that answer, and it still lands like a punch to the chest, cracking apart the buffer of shock and sending all the air from him.

His arms tighten convulsively on Lan Zhan before he can stop himself. When he shuts his eyes tight in the same spasm of movement, sudden tears trickle down his face.

[lightamidchaos]

Wei Ying jerks slightly in shock, and he holds him as close as he can, trying to shelter him in his arms the way he could not with words, not with this.

He realizes Wei Ying is crying when he feels the dampness of tears against his skin, and draws in a ragged breath.

"Wei Ying," he whispers. "Wei Ying."

[acrookedpath]

So many words crowd up his throat that he cannot say a single thing.

How can you still be trying to comfort me?

You keep saying you'll be fine when they almost killed you.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

The black cloud keeps unfurling, and he cannot see Cloud Recesses at all. He can hardly feel Lan Zhan's arms around him anymore.

[lightamidchaos]

He shifts slightly, keeping Wei Ying close in the circle of one arm as he frees his other hand. He curves his fingers against Wei Ying's cheek, and uses his thumb to wipe away some of the tears.

"Wei Ying," he whispers again, and bends his head to kiss his lips, a gentle benison. "I am here. I am here now, with you."

[acrookedpath]

Wei Ying.

He sucks in a shuddering breath. The black cloud retreats; his eyes open, unseeing for a fractional moment before they focus on Lan Zhan.

I am here.

Lan Zhan is not dead. He is hurt, but healing. He is here.

Shakily, he covers Lan Zhan's hand where it rests on his cheek. He tries to nod, then turns his head enough to kiss Lan Zhan's palm, a few fresh tears escaping his eyes.

"You will be all right," he whispers.

[lightamidchaos]

"I will," he promises, searching the other man's expression.

"I am. It looks worse than it is, now. It is almost completely healed."

[acrookedpath]

Almost completely healed, and it still looks like that. Lan Zhan will never be free of the desecration they forced on him for daring to stand at Wei Wuxian's side.

"And you are still lovely." No louder. "My Lan Zhan. No matter what they have done to you."

[lightamidchaos]

His ears flush a light pink.

"My Wei Ying."

He strokes his thumb over Wei Ying's cheek again, then says, a little too casually,

"I knew someone once who told me that a man should have some scars."

[acrookedpath]

Wei Wuxian sputters out a watery laugh -- fresh tears well bright in his eyes -- and wraps his arms back around Lan Zhan, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

[lightamidchaos]

He hums a low, pleased sound, and kisses Wei Ying's temple.

[acrookedpath]

The sounds he make wobble in the awkward, horrible space between sobs and laughter. Lan Zhan has said Wei Wuxian will not hurt him, but he still cannot make himself cling too tightly. At least he knows where it is safe to put his arms, more or less: he has mapped the fresh bruises and wounds well enough.

"I love you." He winds one hand into Lan Zhan's hair. "We are here."