[ melancholy, wei wuxian tells him. sorry, he says.
all of this time, he too had missed a'yuan and lan wangji had known it. and lan wangji, he too had missed him. he too had worried for him. he too had within the heart the anxieties one might for any that they loved, but what more could lan wangji have done to spare wei wuxian this? what more might he have done, to assure him that lan sizhui was cared for when now, now— ]
Between us, there is no need for sorry, [ and for all that he is quiet as he says this, it is fierce. it is fierce, in ways both certain and both sure. for what does wei wuxian have to apologize for? for what sorrows were too much for lan wangji to too bear? he would think that such a feeling too would be reflected in him. were he in wei wuxian's position, would he not too wish to find his way back again? to hold him, a'yuan? ( he had been so easy, so easy to love. it had been so simple for him, for lan wangji, to gather him in his arms. and like that, he thinks, like that he had taken the boy back with him. sick as he was, sick too with grief that lan wangji was— he had done all that he could, to let a'yuan know that he was loved. that he was loved, as much by him as he was by wei wuxian. )
and yet, he hears the vicious thrum in him, in wei wuxian. he hears it, as lan wangji hears his. he is still wei wuxian's. he is still lan wangji's. he is theirs. he is theirs, as the disciples that followed in their footsteps. theirs, as the children that folded all about them as the rabbits at the back of their green mountains. and he is—
once, lan wangji had been certain. once, he had been assured lan sizhui was safe within the cloud recesses. once, he knew that lan xichen would care for him ( as he did, as he so often did back then ). lan xichen, who knew of how much lan wangji had loved him, wei wuxian, before any other did. lan xichen, who too knew of the last remnant of the wen. ( mine, he had told him. mine, he had snarled. mine. ) and though he knew his uncle had come to accept lan sizhui regardless, it was not with him that he would thrive. lan sizhui, clever and brilliant and good as he could be understood that he was free.
he was free, to follow what he knew to be as justice.
and still, it is that question. it is that question that still sits. and for lan wangji, he sees wei wuxian in the little actions lan sizhui commits. he sees wei wuxian in his passions, in his curiosities. he sees wei wuxian in everything, but his memories are as wei wuxian's. scattered, piecemeal— ashed. but, how is it that he could tell him, wei wuxian, that he is not in whole remembered, as much as his love was?
how could lan wangji admit, that it was he who had kept rites for him year after year? rites, in ways wei wuxian had not yet come to understand? and still, it is a quiet that settles in him. it is his approval for that child, for how he was raised that sits separate from this.
( wanted to raise him with you ). ]
Sizhui, [ he starts again, one arm unwinding. he does not ease away his grip, as much as it is he shadows the path that wei wuxian has taken with his. he curves the span of his fingers about the shell and shield that wei wuxian builds about himself and steadies it. for what more might he do, than to take burden where he might from wei wuxian? ] He too learned from you.
[ he had, as lan wangji had. and he continues to, as he keeps wei wuxian steady against all that might be and could be and is. ]
He too would be gladdened to hold you.
[ as would he, lan wangji. and it is a muted thing, that swarms beneath the skin. it is an itch, to smooth the dark of his hair as he once and always did.
a'yuan, as gentle as he had always been. a little shadow, who held close to lan wangji's leg. a vibrant and beautiful thing, who warmed all that had encountered him. yes, for all that lan wangji taught him what he knew— lan sizhui was wei wuxian's first. and that, that had made him reach for others he had cherished without shame of it. ]
no subject
all of this time, he too had missed a'yuan and lan wangji had known it. and lan wangji, he too had missed him. he too had worried for him. he too had within the heart the anxieties one might for any that they loved, but what more could lan wangji have done to spare wei wuxian this? what more might he have done, to assure him that lan sizhui was cared for when now, now— ]
Between us, there is no need for sorry, [ and for all that he is quiet as he says this, it is fierce. it is fierce, in ways both certain and both sure. for what does wei wuxian have to apologize for? for what sorrows were too much for lan wangji to too bear? he would think that such a feeling too would be reflected in him. were he in wei wuxian's position, would he not too wish to find his way back again? to hold him, a'yuan? ( he had been so easy, so easy to love. it had been so simple for him, for lan wangji, to gather him in his arms. and like that, he thinks, like that he had taken the boy back with him. sick as he was, sick too with grief that lan wangji was— he had done all that he could, to let a'yuan know that he was loved. that he was loved, as much by him as he was by wei wuxian. )
and yet, he hears the vicious thrum in him, in wei wuxian. he hears it, as lan wangji hears his. he is still wei wuxian's. he is still lan wangji's. he is theirs. he is theirs, as the disciples that followed in their footsteps. theirs, as the children that folded all about them as the rabbits at the back of their green mountains. and he is—
once, lan wangji had been certain. once, he had been assured lan sizhui was safe within the cloud recesses. once, he knew that lan xichen would care for him ( as he did, as he so often did back then ). lan xichen, who knew of how much lan wangji had loved him, wei wuxian, before any other did. lan xichen, who too knew of the last remnant of the wen. ( mine, he had told him. mine, he had snarled. mine. ) and though he knew his uncle had come to accept lan sizhui regardless, it was not with him that he would thrive. lan sizhui, clever and brilliant and good as he could be understood that he was free.
he was free, to follow what he knew to be as justice.
and still, it is that question. it is that question that still sits. and for lan wangji, he sees wei wuxian in the little actions lan sizhui commits. he sees wei wuxian in his passions, in his curiosities. he sees wei wuxian in everything, but his memories are as wei wuxian's. scattered, piecemeal— ashed. but, how is it that he could tell him, wei wuxian, that he is not in whole remembered, as much as his love was?
how could lan wangji admit, that it was he who had kept rites for him year after year? rites, in ways wei wuxian had not yet come to understand? and still, it is a quiet that settles in him. it is his approval for that child, for how he was raised that sits separate from this.
( wanted to raise him with you ). ]
Sizhui, [ he starts again, one arm unwinding. he does not ease away his grip, as much as it is he shadows the path that wei wuxian has taken with his. he curves the span of his fingers about the shell and shield that wei wuxian builds about himself and steadies it. for what more might he do, than to take burden where he might from wei wuxian? ] He too learned from you.
[ he had, as lan wangji had. and he continues to, as he keeps wei wuxian steady against all that might be and could be and is. ]
He too would be gladdened to hold you.
[ as would he, lan wangji. and it is a muted thing, that swarms beneath the skin. it is an itch, to smooth the dark of his hair as he once and always did.
a'yuan, as gentle as he had always been. a little shadow, who held close to lan wangji's leg. a vibrant and beautiful thing, who warmed all that had encountered him. yes, for all that lan wangji taught him what he knew— lan sizhui was wei wuxian's first. and that, that had made him reach for others he had cherished without shame of it. ]