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( on the screen, the upper body of a regal-looking man, clad in white and pale blues, a ribbon around his head. on his shoulders, cocks, particularly fat and of the feathery kind, ominously staring into your soul. there’s a few cuts on the man’s cheek, bleeding dots on his neck—despite the additional rooster suddenly crowning his head, lan wangji looks impressively unperturbed, but if you squint, you might catch the light flare of his nostrils every time he breathes in, or the faint twitch in his left eye. low clucking sounds indicate there might be more, one stray feather gracefully spat out the moment he parts his lips on a measured sigh.

look at all those chickens. at least a dozen as the camera zooms in and out, and then the video ends, a text message instead. )

If these are yours, please come and fetch them. So long as you do not loiter, they will remain unharmed. My name is Lan Wangji. You will find me by an old mill, near the mountain.

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( wei ying definitely hasn't been pacing. if anyone asks, lan zhan is not to know of the pacing. or the mildly panicked state in which he arrived at gilia's door (his own former door, really) for that matter, but he trusts her discretion. he has also most certainly declined her offer to be present for moral support, because this isn't that sort of reunion. he isn't afraid of lan zhan. he just isn't entirely sure how to face him, which gilia's presence would have changed precisely none of.

nor does that stop him from answering the door (a bit too quickly, perhaps), mouth opening to offer a spectacularly nonchalant greeting -

but then he sees him, and all of the words catch hard in his throat. he looks older now, so much older - not that most would be able to tell, young as he still looks overall. but wei ying can tell. he can read it in every line of lan zhan's face, not even age so much as just... too many years. tired years, aching years. it draws wei ying to the acute awareness that while he knows now how long it has been (for lan zhan, at least) since he had died, he doesn't yet know how long it has been since he apparently came back.

it occurs to him now, multiple seconds belated, that he's still not even greeted the man - so wei ying exhales a sheepish laugh-breath, stepping back to open the door a bit wider in offering. ) Ah, Lan Zhan - come in, come in. It's nothing like your Cloud Recesses but it's certainly better than my cave. ( an obvious statement, sure, but he's mostly just filling the moment's silence while he finds his footing here in lan zhan's presence again after-... well. after the last time he saw him, we'll put it like that.

the door is soon closed, and wei ying drifts a couple of steps toward the stairs, a hand reaching out thoughtlessly as if to grab the man's sleeve and tug him along but he seems to think better of that and abandons the gesture halfway. the hand instead lifts to scratch at his neck a little, and he says, ) I thought we could talk in Sizhui's room, it's a bit more out-of-the-way. ( 'in sizhui's room' gets a nod toward the stairs in gesture. )

( a second or a lifetime. he doesn’t know how long he stares, lost and found in the door threshold, a reunion he’s imagined a thousand times. this face. dark long lashes and a smile abused, and lan wangji’s fingers twitch, but wei wuxian doesn’t reach out. lan zhan, let me go. the plea of a man who had nothing left to live for, still fresh, and lan wangji’s gaze finally wavers down, a familiar ache stiffening his empty hand. )

Mn. ( there’s a gap between them now, not quite like the sixteen years he lived without him. a modicum of despair seems to cloak his presence, fresh from death, and lan wangji tries to ignore the dryness in his throat as he walks up the stairs, the palpable growth in his chest. sizhui. he wants to ask whether he knows. he wants to ask so many things and doesn’t know where to start, how, reluctant to burden him, even more than he was when he let him go again, two years ago.

so he doesn’t ask, not yet. like him, he relearns his footing in wei wuxian’s vicinity, bichen resting sheathed on the floor, guqin on sizhui’s bed. and it’s where he sits, nervous beyond reason, palms stiff on his knees as he finds the strength to look back up. his breath catches in the back of his throat, the only sign the soft parting of his lips. ) Wei Ying. ( the sting of his name, an odd pressure behind his eyes. ) Has no one told you anything?

( the- the wrongness, it's utterly palpable as soon as lan zhan steps inside the front door, and wei ying finds himself adrift. there was once a time when he could understand a given wrongness between them, could read every ounce of it in the set of the muscles around lan zhan's eyes and in that which he did with his fingers just under the hem of his sleeves, but those things both very much still exist and wei ying finds he can no longer read them. there's a wound, that much he knows, but he can't even tell if seeing him heals it or festers it and he hates that. a desperate frustration washes through him, but he swallows it down as quickly as it's come. they've reached sizhui's door now (his own door, as of late), and such frustration isn't invited to join them inside.

the unease, however, can't quite be denied so easily. it takes every ounce of his diligent affect to seem relatively idle in his pacing as lan zhan sits for a moment in silence. then his name - and oh, that's so much worse in person, that very 'wei ying'. it reminds him of the last 'wei ying' (desperation, echoing down with him as he fell) and the one before that (pleading tensely for him to come away from that very cliff). this one too is pained in a different and much less comprehensible way, which is perhaps the only reason he can stomach it. he isn't certain he could handle kind, gentle 'wei ying's at the moment.

then, 'has no one told you anything?' wei wuxian's pacing slows to a stop, lips pressing together. ) I haven't asked. ( a flicker of his brow, and - ) In this place, time-... it's messy. For months, all I recalled was the Burial Mounds with the Wens - and Jiang Cheng was furious with me for something that hadn't yet happened for me but had for him, something he couldn't forgive, but what was the point of knowing something like that if I couldn't change it? ( at the very least, it made sense at the time. and even when he had found out a bit of it and tried to do something about it, that had been for nothing just like everything else he's tried to do.

a beat, then a quiet laugh-breath, a fond little smile lingering on his lips. ) Sizhui's terrible at keeping secrets, you know. Lan Yuan. I don't know where he gets it, I'm fantastic at it and you're perhaps even better.

( he hasn’t asked, but what is there to ask, if he doesn’t know? if he doesn’t want to know. pain lingers, here. a mess, he says, and lan wangji’s surmised as much, from his recent conversations with fellow prisoners. maybe it’s better not to know. not to tell, allow time for old wounds to scab over, but old and new bleed the same and lan wangji wavers in-between worlds, stuck in the caprices of time.

wei wuxian’s deflection distracts. he speaks of death, but then he speaks of life, and lan wangji’s mouth stretches half-amused, half-wistful, gaze lowering as he reminisces. it’s a shame that wei wuxian should be robbed of such pleasant memories. sizhui. his newfound freedom. he knows, but he doesn’t remember, and lan wangji is brought back to square one. he waited before, a secret he kept until the very end, allowing for the storm to subside, for wei wuxian to make peace with his past. but it’s where he dwells now, and it’s difficult to gauge, what should be said and what shouldn’t, when a similar ache colors his gaze weary.

lan wangji’s stalls downward, smile fading as it gradually drifts back up. there is another secret he’s kept. one he was more of a mind to divulge, maybe, whenever they met again. but they have met, and wei wuxian belongs to a time long gone. he swallows. there’s faint fondness in his eyes still, wei wuxian’s barely-there laugh stinging in places he had nearly forgotten. ) A relief, that you both had each other. ( despite the atrocities of this world, not so different from theirs--only crueller, perhaps. a sigh touches his lips, inaudible. ) Wei Ying. ( again. ) My… disagreement with Jiang Wanyin. ( for lack of a better word. ) How much have you read?

( though he's not quite looking at lan zhan (such a thing is a bit trickier at the moment), even so small a shift at the corner of the man's lips is enough to draw wei ying's attention. is that a smile? truly? is that all he's had to do to get this man to smile all this time? give him a child to raise and then sass him about it?

his bemusement fades quickly to the seeds of a more proper smile, but lan zhan's own smile fades away before long, and instead their gazes meet for the first time since wei ying first opened the door to let him in. and part of him wants to smile anyway, simply because this is lan zhan at all, but he doesn't think this works quite like that anymore - even if he doesn't yet know how it does work. he hates that he doesn't. he hates not knowing things.

there's his name one more time, scalding inside his chest like a too-hot gulp of tea, and he can't yet figure out whether it's the good or the bad in him that these 'wei ying's are burning away. whether it's the hollow throbbing ache of that which he's done, or what little resolve he's pulled together to come back here to this lake and face it all.

'how much have you read?' ) All of it. ( something about guanyin temple, and how wei ying was some sort of scapegoat. and- ) Eighteen years, ( he echoes, a shadow of a grin finally spreading across his face as his brow knits in something like humor. but whatever teasing has come to mind, he seems to think better of, expression wiping mostly serious again. ) And how long since I've, ah - returned? ( and how, even? he can't even fathom it. )

( sizhui taught and gave him more than he deserves, but ultimately, it’s loss that shaped lan wangji. spending too long ignoring wei wuxian, denying himself. precious minutes, hours, days, which he lamented every second of too many years lived without him. eternity, when your heart’s lost its rhythm, is worse than death, and this lan wangji has already vowed to go the extra mile in order to avoid failing him again.

the smile is a direct result of that, less restraint, more indulgence. but this isn’t the wei wuxian he left atop the mountain, and the realization is more jarring than it should be. it’s frightening, if nothing else, but the hints of amusement in wei wuxian’s gaze manage to quell a modicum of his unease. tension abates. the knot in his chest, looser. but he remains prudent, choosing his words carefully as he quietly nods in acknowledgement, a soft breath on his lips. )

The night of your passing. Do you remember? ( eyes momentarily drift down as he reminisces, his speech gentle and even. ) Notes, distorted. The same you might have heard once before. ( he doesn’t mention jin zixuan, or jin zixun. if it does ring a bell, he’ll know, and lan wangji blinks, slowly looking back up. ) Your predicament, used against you. ( his golden core, or lack thereof. but he doesn’t mention that, either, a secret for wei wuxian to tell him of his own volition, if he ever does. instead his gaze marginally softens, vaguely earnest, a little wistful. ) Wei Ying. You are many things, but villainy has never suited you.

( his own question is skipped over in favor of lan zhan's, but that's fine. he's not the one who knows what has occurred since his death, so he's not the one who knows best which parts are most important to speak of.

the night of his passing - of course he remembers. vividly, sometimes (in the dead of night, painted across the canvas of darkness) as if he once again lives it. but - 'notes, distorted. the same you might have heard once before.' wei ying stills now, expression caught in the earliest stage of confusion but never quite progressing further. another flute. he thought he'd heard another flute, thought none of the killing or puppetry were his own - but that wasn't true, was it? he just hadn't wanted to accept that some things are truly his fault, even after he's dropped himself from a cliff for them. in the days since he returned, he has settled firmly on the rational notion (confirmed by jiang cheng, who was actually there to witness it, who was in his right mind at the time) that what became a massacre was indeed his own doing. that shijie was indeed his own doing, in a way that he can't just slip his way out of.

but he never mentioned such a thing to lan zhan. not once in that entire mess did he say it, yet here that very man is, echoing back to him precisely what he thought he'd heard.

his breath slips out of him in a rush, knees wavering slightly in a near-threat to give out, and it's this which convinces him to take the couple of steps to where lan zhan sits and to sink down beside him. 'wei ying.' another, and gods, he can't handle another right now. he lies back on his back now, hands lifting to comb fingers back through his loosely-tied hair, palms pressing to his temples. )

You heard it? ( though his tone is carefully level, there's something almost haunted echoing underneath. ) Another flute. I thought-... ( he can't even put to words what he thought. that he'd finally cracked, perhaps, however well he's recovered so far since reviving. ) I didn't imagine it?

Edited 2020-10-26 03:57 (UTC)

( he heard something... but in the cacophony of death and rancor, where the rhythm of his own heart beat dissonant, catching anything but the pain wei wuxian exuded proved nearly impossible. guard lowered, robes bloodied, he remembers his own despair, the crushing sense of helplessness icing his lungs over, its remnants causing a stutter in his breath now as wei wuxian lies down beside him, overwhelmed.

he shakes his head. he’s not crazy, and the shock and relief on his face sting and soothe all at once. fingers curl tighter on his thigh, nails slightly digging in. ) It was confirmed two years ago, a few months after you returned to… ( …me. lan wangji’s voice rarely falters. it doesn’t trail off or miss the mark--when he thinks it might, he says nothing--but here he catches himself off-guard and doesn’t finish his sentence, an odd wave of unwelcome grief crashing over him.

his gaze drops. it’s hard to tell how he feels and he hates wobbling through the maze of his emotions, walking on eggshells with a heart so heavy he might as well be stepping on broken glass. a sigh escapes his lips. his eyes close, just briefly, and then he forces himself to look at him, a little lost but always earnest. ) Forgive me. ( for stalling too long, before. for asking the wrong questions, and none at all. for being here, even, and forcing him to relive fresh and painful memories again, no matter how reassuring. for feeling inadequate, in a world where realities differ and mingle. for his ardent love and selfish desires, when wei wuxian’s freedom is yet again compromised.

it’s a loaded apology shrouded in silence, and his mouth softened slightly, nowhere near a smile but a gentler line, almost bashful. ) Any question you might have, I will answer.

Edited 2020-10-27 23:24 (UTC)

( it was confirmed. confirmed how? does it matter how? if it was confirmed by lan zhan's standards, the distant gods may as well have marched down and confirmed it themselves, as far as wei ying's concerned. but what does that mean? he started it all, he did, so how much really was his fault? some of it had to be. but he never meant to kill anyone. he never told it to do that. if anything, they were supposed to finally get around to killing him. but the killing and the puppeting, it all started around the time he thought he heard an answering melody, a twisted echo of his own notes winding amongst the soldiers and spirits even well after he had lowered his flute. he -

'forgive me.' wei wuxian blinks, remembering himself, remembering lan zhan. his head rolls just enough to one side to meet the man's gaze in question. it only now sinks in what else was said, 'a few months after you returned to...' and he hadn't expected lan zhan would be quite so troubled by his death that he can't even say 'returned to life', but here they are. here they are, side by side, neither at war with the world nor with imminent separation - how long has it been since they've had that? over a year and a half now, for wei ying. long enough that he had spent much of his time here assuming lan zhan in his busy life had likely put wei wuxian out of mind in his lengthy absence, confidants or no. but it has been eighteen years, and still a part of lan zhan mourns.

what a fool wei ying has been.

he watches lan zhan in silence for another few moments - assesses, studies the bittersweet set to his eyes and the hint of concession in his smile. as if some fragment of him worries wei ying will disappear again.

as if wei ying already has. )

I've left you again, haven't I? ( of course he would. of course he fucking would. that's precisely what he would do. ) If I have, then I'm the one who should be asking forgiveness. ( a brief knit of his brow, ) Unless you've asked me to go.

( some of it was, maybe. to an extent. if altruism and forbearance could be faulted, anyway. but it’s his self-loathing that lan wangji would condemn, if he had to blame anything, and doubled with his own inaction, perhaps they’re just as guilty as the real culprit. but he didn’t watch him become a pariah to suffer the same mistakes again, and if passivity leads to disastrous consequences, taking a stand could save a life.

maybe it’s one of the reasons why he apologizes. still, even now, especially now, wei wuxian’s mindset nowhere near the newfound peace he’d acquired when they went their separate ways. but it backfires, and lan wangji’s eyes momentarily widen, a barely-there shake of his head. he wouldn’t ask him to leave, but he couldn’t ask him to stay, either, no matter how desperately he wanted to remain by his side, reluctant to burden him.

so no. no. and no, and a light crease forms between his brows, wei wuxian’s scrutiny poking between his ribs, where the remnants of a dormant pain are still tender. ) You were absolved. ( mostly. ) And you were owed. You still are. ( his freedom, his peace. a life robbed and endless apologies. all over again. but staying behind was more than a way for lan wangji to keep a clear conscience, a shield for him, however far, to stop gossip in its tracks before it could bloom into anything harmful.

which is why... ) I took on the role of Chief Cultivator as you roamed. ( but reshaping the world on a metaphorical throne, when you loathe politics, is a tedious task. he blinks, a candid air about him as he quietly inhales, a sidelong glance. ) I was looking for you, before I awakened here.

( he wasn't owed. maybe he wasn't at fault for the worst of it, but he was the catalyst. the best he could ever expect from the mess he's made of his life is to perhaps one day break even.

absolved, though? he could perhaps make his peace with 'absolved', given a bit of time to adjust to it... and a bit of time to try to earn the same from jiang cheng. it will never sit quite right unless he does. whether or not the massacre was his own doing, that was hardly the only way in which he wronged the man he once called 'brother'.

none of which, for the record, explains for a second why he would have abandoned lan zhan to roam the countryside. he stands by the assessment that there is no reason, that it's just the precise stupid thing he'd make himself do. to get out from underfoot, maybe, if the next bit is true - 'i took on the role of chief cultivator as you roamed.' wei ying sits in that concept for a moment, trying to wrap his head around it. the chief cultivator deals with so much ridiculous nonsense, all of the politics and trivial complaints that neither of them have ever had time for. he can't imagine lan zhan enduring it, yet the man wouldn't lie to him. it will occur to him to wonder, reflecting back on that revelation, what the hell happened to all the jins - but right now, they're the last thing on his mind.

because what comes next is a sideways glance, a confession. lan zhan was looking for him. despite himself, wei ying exhales a quiet grin, pushing up onto his elbows and then his palms. ) Sure enough, you've found me, ( he says with a shadow of a lingering grin, eyes flickering up for a moment to meet lan zhan's before dropping again to the side. ) I can't think of anyone else who could have hunted me all the way here. ( perhaps not the wei ying he had hoped to find, but a wei ying nonetheless. a wei ying who is stationary, not off roaming the countryside.

but that only makes him realize, ) Ah, have you picked out a cabin yet? You can have this room for a bit if you haven't, Sizhui and I can sleep on the couches just fine, but you'll probably want one of your own before terribly long just to keep the juniors out of your hair.

( he does understand jiang wanyin’s grievances. loss is an ugly thing, and grief paints the heart darker. lan wangji knows anger, too. he’s felt it multiple times--towards himself, his own clan, the precepts of their world. but it’s hard to forgive jiang wanyin’s, when he remembers the rancor in his eyes as wei ying fell to his death, the same man who risked dying much sooner, only to preserve his sensibilities and reputation. and wei ying did die, abused and framed, while his brother cultivated his spite with a core borrowed. he’s reminded here, brought back to a past that stings just as much as it did almost two decades ago, and his own resentment simmers beneath his skin.

it’s a vicious cycle. hanguang-jun is just as flawed as any of them, an unjust title, when his light has always been held in wei wuxian’s gaze. ultimately, who did what when, first, it doesn’t matter. outcomes do, choices, and taking responsibility. mistakes shouldn’t be repeated, and wei ying has suffered quite enough. as did jiang wanyin. as did so many of them. pain dogs them, yet he finds selfish relief in the curve of his long lost friend’s mouth, his own softening lopsided. he did find him. his tentative plans may be thwarted, but it doesn’t matter, so long as wei wuxian keeps smiling.

it’s the suggestion that comes next that gives his own pause, remembering sizhui’s offer to give up his room so that he could stay with wei wuxian. it feels too soon. too much, which lan wangji feels like he might be, his unbreakable restraint now slightly cracked. his yearning, overwhelming. and so he swallows, throat a little dry as he nods silent thanks, solemn as ever. ) No need to disrupt your living arrangements. ( for his sake. he doesn’t say it, but it’s implied, in the brief bow of his head and the momentary apologetic twitch of his lips. ) Tonight, I will claim my own.

( you see, perhaps that's why wei ying can forgive and lan zhan struggles to do so. he saw no rancor in jiang cheng's eyes that day. only devastation.

but it hardly matters right this minute. not between the two of them, with wei ying smiling and lan zhan's mouth softening at the edges as well. between that and the nod, wei ying expects the next words from his mouth to be an acceptance, but it isn't so. instead, a courtesy wei ying never asked for or wanted, and a plan to depart again to find somewhere else to be when he's hardly just arrived.

wei ying's face probably falls a bit - he's learned by now that he's never quite as subtle about such things as he tries to be, not with lan zhan. in fact, he realizes he's actually opened his mouth to protest, to assure, to- something, but it closes again. if lan zhan wanted to stay, he would stay. so instead comes a nod of his own, acceptance, and a renewed smile that rings just slightly hollow. ) You get to break that news to A-Yuan. He's probably readying his couch as we speak.

( it’s not for lack of wanting. it’s just the opposite, because lan wangji does want, more than he should, more than he’s ever allowed himself to, and it’s a danger to the fragile equilibrium wei ying has found here, still cloaked in the remnants of death. and not just the death lan wangji remembers, apparently.

the way his expression shifts gives him the kind of hope he can’t afford to cling to. for sizhui, i’ll stay, and lan wangji doesn’t lie, but that is a lie in itself, and the biggest one he’s ever told was to himself as well. it’d be a good time to curse, if lan wangji ever did. instead he frowns thin-lipped, stuck between selfishness and false reassurances, but at the end of the day, hanguang-jun is just a man--exhausted, war-torn, the battlefield between his ribs still overlaid with old corpses. )

His... couch. ( repeated for good measure as he recalls the strange piece of furniture he distantly noticed when he arrived, and then he gives a resigned sigh, almost mad at himself for surrendering so quickly. ) Keep your room. The couch is sufficient. ( for him. truth be told, the last thing he wants right now is to be apart from either of them, and if his presence reassures, he’ll refuse to be treated as anything more than a guest. )

( the sigh speaks of concession, of a victory wei ying hadn't actually expected. since when does lan zhan concede so easily? he must truly be soft for young a-yuan, more so than wei ying has ever seen. he can't blame him, of course - sizhui is ridiculously endearing, enough so that wei ying quite literally had to shove him into the lake just to deal with it. and that was before he even knew the boy was a-yuan. if anyone could soften lan zhan's heart, it would absolutely be him.

which is fine. staying for sizhui is most certainly still staying, and a relief sweeps through him just barely disproportionate enough to feel properly foolish, and he's grinning a bit even before he processes the words - 'keep your room. the couch is sufficient.' and he shakes his head, standing up from the bed now as if being the first to do so means lan zhan is stuck with it. ) Lan Zhan, ( it's a cross between scolding and pouting, though the words that follow are much more Important And Serious. )

If you get the bed, we'll take the couches and sleep perfectly well - but if you get a couch, one of us will have to sleep on the living room floor, and that? Well, that's just no good. You won't make the boy sleep on the floor, will you? ( nevermind that wei ying would actually be the one sleeping on the floor.

meanwhile he's definitely drifting a bit as he speaks to stand between lan zhan and the door, as if doing so will solidify his argument by virtue of technically being closer to said couches. )

Edited 2020-11-11 13:02 (UTC)

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pretend this came sooner