#sincerely if they spend all that time in recess just holding hands and flirting and OF COURSE it matters but not Like That

[rusted-phone-calls]

She's worrying wayy too much

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Winter Solstice Gift for ksgsworld

Happy Solstice, dear @ksgsworld! I hope this fic brings a smile to your face!

Read On AO3

*****

a single fire bright

Wei Wuxian stretches his fingers in the sunlight, seeking warmth and finding little. He’s redirected the resentful energy towards the borders of his territory, letting the sun reach down to the cluster of huts and grace them with its touch, but it’s not like—

Well, how can it be like Yunmeng? There, the sun shattered into a thousand sparks over the flowing river, its warmth abundant to the point of suffocating, settling on his skin, insidious like a lie.

The sun tries to reach Burial Mounds; he can’t fault it. But a gloom remains in the air, obstinate like the cranky old neighbour who won’t move his wagon from outside your front door. The gloom clings to the tree leaves, lingers in the corners of Wei Wuxian’s cave, hangs over the village like ghostly black lanterns.

Wei Wuxian is accustomed to the darkness now; they’re old allies and companions. He’s made a home for it inside him, let it curl into the hollow of his missing core. Still, his dreams are haunted by light and warmth and the endless dazzling sky.

Which is why he’s certain what he sees right now is an illusion.

Lan Zhan strides through the woods towards him, calm and purposeful, ethereal in palest blue. The Bearer of Light, bright as the full moon, dispels the perpetual gloom of the trees. Wei Wuxian doesn’t get up when Lan Zhan approaches. He thinks: this is a hallucination. I’ve been thinking of him too much ever since he came to visit.

‘Rich gege!’

A-Yuan’s shout shakes Wei Wuxian out of his stupor. He realises his jaw is open; he shuts it. He sets aside the Compass of Evil he’d been tinkering with and rises, willing his pulse to quieten. It is a riot in his ears, his stupid heart.

‘Back again, Lan Zhan?’ Wei Wuxian adopts a casual stance. ‘Missed me?’

A-Yuan has wrapped himself around Lan Zhan’s thigh, and for a brief, maddening moment Wei Wuxian longs to do the same. To wrap himself around Lan Zhan and trust he’ll fix everything. But the world doesn’t work that way.

‘Please forgive me for coming uninvited.’ Lan Zhan bows his head and Wei Wuxian wants to laugh. As if Lan Zhan could ever be an imposition.

‘Did you bring me a gift, gege?’ A-Yuan gazes up with hope from around Lan Zhan’s skirts.

‘A-Yuan!’ Wei Wuxian grabs the boy by the hand. ‘We don’t request gifts.’

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem offended. Instead, he pulls something out of his robes. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

He sets a wooden spinning top on the ground and demonstrates. A-Yuan is predictably enamoured with it.

‘Go show Granny,’ Wei Wuxian tells him. ‘Thank Hanguang-Jun first.’

A-Yuan bows, his clumsy posture accompanied by a huge grin. Lan Zhan’s eyes are soft as he watches the boy scamper to the steps of his hut where Granny is darning socks, muttering excitedly and waving his fat little fist.

Wei Wuxian has no idea why Lan Zhan is here, a week since he ran into him accidentally in Yiling. Surely it isn’t just to bring a spinning top to A-Yuan. ‘Last time we were inhospitable. But we have bought some tea since. It’s not the quality you’re used to, Lan Zhan, but would you like to have some with me?’

Lan Zhan nods.

The arrival of Lan Zhan brings stares and whispers, but soon the Wens go back to their business. Wen Ning fetches tea and sets it on the stone table inside the cave. The tea is stale; it’s all they can afford. Wei Wuxian hates the idea of offering it to Lan Zhan, who should have the best of everything, but he does so anyway because he wants to make Lan Zhan stay with him a little longer.

‘It was very kind of you to bring something for A-Yuan.’

‘Not only for A-Yuan.’ Lan Zhan removes a white pouch from his robes. ‘Seeds for cabbages. You can plant them on the southern side of the mountain; they need only a little care to flourish.’ Wei Wuxian doesn’t reach out for the packet and Lan Zhan puts it on the table.

‘Lan Zhan, we don’t need charity.’ Not entirely true; they’re clearly struggling. Wei Wuxian would never stop A-Yuan from having all the toys his heart desires, but he can’t bear the thought of being the target of Lan Zhan’s pity. It rankles.

‘It isn’t charity.’

‘What then? You had some cabbage seeds lying around?’

‘Indeed. Cloud Recesses bought more than we needed. These are spare.’

‘I thought lying was forbidden for Lan disciples.’

‘I’m not lying.’ Lan Zhan’s gaze doesn’t waver, though it gets sharper. ‘This is a good use for seeds that would otherwise go to waste.’

Wei Wuxian can’t bring himself to protest more. He doesn’t touch the pouch, as if ignoring it will make it disappear, and serves some more awful tea. He chatters about potatoes and their merits, the first inane topic that his mind landed on, and gazes at Lan Zhan as much as he can get away with. It’s never enough.

The visit is short. When they part at the borders of Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian’s heart feels heavier than the last time, his insides hollower than usual. There’s no accompanying A-Yuan for him to have to pretend; he can let himself ache. Alone, in the murky borders of his territory, he watches as Lan Zhan’s luminous figure disappears down the hill, leaving Wei Wuxian in the dark.

A week later, Lan Zhan is back. This time with some Lan cloth.

‘For A-Yuan. It should be enough for a set of robes, perhaps two.’

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms, his delight in seeing Lan Zhan dissipating. ‘Was this spare, too?’

‘This is ruined.’ Lan Zhan unfolds the parcel to expose the fabric. ‘Our juniors must wear the purest white, but something went wrong with this bolt.’ Holding it to the light, Wei Wuxian can see the problem: a pink tinge taints the cloth, a shade soft as a maiden’s blush, but unacceptable for the unyielding standards of GusuLan.

‘Lan Zhan.’ Wei Wuxian sighs. ‘A-Yuan spends all his time rolling in the dirt.’ He refrains from saying he’s usually the one rolling the boy in it. ‘He’ll ruin his clothes in a day.’

‘It’s Lan fabric.’

‘So?’

‘It has incantations stitched inside to repel dirt.’

‘That explains a lot,’ Wei Wuxian murmurs, glancing surreptitiously at Lan Zhan’s figure. He’s impeccable as always, tall and beautiful and unwavering. The envy of the cultivation world. And he’s here, with Wei Wuxian — and Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to feel about this.

He strokes the fabric to distract himself from his raucous heart. It’s exquisite; soft to the touch but thick enough for winter. The pink tinge is subtle — almost imperceptible unless you know to look for it. The edges are embroidered with incantations to keep warmth, to repel dirt, to protect against low level magical attacks.

‘Only these?’ Wei Wuxian jokes. “And here I was thinking it must also have enchantments for handsomeness.’

A small frown indicates Lan Zhan finds the comment impertinent, but the tips of his ears go red.

What is Wei Wuxian thinking, flirting with Lan Zhan? The last thing he wants is to see him stride out of Burial Mounds in a huff. There’s nothing keeping Lan Zhan here now that he completed his noble deed, but Wei Wuxian can’t bear to say goodbye to him yet. ‘I was about to have lunch, Lan Zhan. Join me?’

Plain rice and turnip soup. Wei Wuxian is a little embarrassed, but Lan Zhan gives no indication he finds the meal beneath him. A breeze flows through the cave entrance, carrying the distant voices of the others and the smell of turned soil. Lan Zhan’s amber gaze sweeps the cave, lingering on the mess Wei Wuxian has left from his inventions.

‘Are you checking up on me?’ Wei Wuxian glances at him as he serves soup. ‘I told you I can control it.’

‘I’m not here for that.’ He doesn’t say he believes Wei Wuxian, because Lan Zhan never lies.

He eats quietly, proper and elegant, and listens attentively to Wei Wuxian run his mouth. The Wens, the daily toil in the fields, his inventions. When he speaks of A-Yuan, Lan Zhan’s eyes light up in a way that Wei Wuxian is beginning to recognise. He’s taken to the boy, that much is clear.

‘You like A-Yuan.’ Wei Wuxian leaves his question unspoken: why? Why this boy? There’s no shortage of toddlers in GusuLan.

Perhaps Lan Zhan can read his mind. Perhaps he’s replying to something else. ‘A-Yuan is important to you.’

The soup has gone cold. Wei Wuxian sets down his spoon; his hand trembles only a little. Being the only child, A-Yuan is spoiled by everyone in their community, but he is important to Wei Wuxian, in a way he hadn’t anticipated. A-Yuan is a source of incalculable joy and worry and love. Some nights the kid likes to cuddle with Wei Wuxian and listen to stories about Yunmeng. Other nights, when the resentful energy gets too much, when the spirits inside Wei Wuxian threaten to tear him open, he’s the one who finds solace at the foot of A-Yuan’s bed, listening to the boy’s soft snores as the midnight winds howl.

‘You’re so perceptive.’ Wei Wuxian means to make a joke of it, but Lan Zhan is nothing if not earnest and perfectly sincere.

‘Your expression changes when you speak of him. Your voice, too.’

Ah — to be seen so clearly. What a gift. Wei Wuxian feels lighter than he has in ages; as if he could float in the sky, a lantern filled with a burning candle. Lan Zhan in his cave is the moon appearing from behind black clouds. He makes everything more tolerable.

‘Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.’ His name tastes sweeter than the food. Wei Wuxian needs to change the subject, or he’ll do something stupid like hold him and not let go. ‘Guess who came to see me in Yiling a few days ago?’ Wei Wuxian describes how beautiful his senior sister looked in her wedding dress, the lotus soup they shared, Jiang Cheng teasing him like old times. He doesn’t mention the courtesy name he suggested for his nephew. Let it be a surprise.

Lan Zhan eats, and listens, and for a brief, shining moment, Wei Wuxian is happy.

He’s back from selling turnips one afternoon and there Lan Zhan is, clad in sky blue, sitting with A -Yuan at a makeshift table in the centre of the courtyard. A-Yuan holds a brush, looking cute in his pink Lan robes, biting his lower lip as he bends over the paper in front of him. Wei Wuxian pauses over them, and Lan Zhan answers the unspoken question. ‘It’s a good time for A-Yuan to learn to write his first characters.’

Wei Wuxian leaves them be. He seeks out Wen Qing to give her the silver taels from the sale (‘See who’s visited again?’ she asks in a too-casual tone), then he watches the student and teacher as he carries out a few repairs.

‘Do not slouch.’ Lan Zhan touches A-Yuan’s back with a finger, and the boy straightens. His posture is perfect; Lan Zhan has exacting standards.

Wei Wuxian used to taunt Lan Zhan, how he was too scholarly and rigid and dull — Heavens, Wei Wuxian was annoying — but he can’t imagine a better role model for A-Yuan. That Hanguang-Jun himself is teaching this Wen boy — this is a gift beyond reckoning.

A-Yuan would do very well to grow up to resemble Lan Zhan.

When the lesson finishes, A-Yuan bounces towards him, waving the paper where he wrote his first character.

‘Xian-gege, look!’ His fingers are ink-stained, he’s beaming with pride, and Wei Wuxian’s heart breaks. He’d like to give A-Yuan the world, but the only thing he can offer him is Burial Mounds.

Ah, no use in feeling morose. Smiling widely, Wei Wuxian crouches in front of the boy, his hands on his shoulders. ‘You’re very hard-working, A-Yuan. Did you thank Hanguang-Jun for the lesson?’

A-Yuan bows to Lan Zhan, his form better this time, and trots off to show his achievement to the aunties, who coo around him, exclaiming how elegant his handwriting is. A-Yuan preens.

‘You’re setting a dangerous example, Lan Zhan.’ Wei Wuxian pouts. ‘Food, toys, clothing… Now he’ll expect lessons.’ He tsks exaggeratedly. ‘Can you imagine me teaching him?’

‘I can.’ Lan Zhan doesn’t look like he’s joking. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure Lan Zhan can joke.

‘Ah, Lan Zhan…’ Wei Wuxian strolls towards his cave. ‘Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. You either have no faith in me or you have too much of it.’

Lan Zhan follows Wei Wuxian into the dim, echoing space. He’s given no indication he wants or intends to leave soon. Nothing’s keeping him in Burial Mounds, except — except that something is.

And maybe, a hidden part of Wei Wuxian whispers, maybe it’s not A-Yuan.

‘Wei Ying.’

Wei Wuxian turns to face him.

‘I have faith in you,’ Lan Zhan explains. When Wei Wuxian raises a disbelieving eyebrow, he adds, ‘I have no faith in crafty tricks.’

A few simple words that illuminate the gulf that separates them: esteemed Lan disciple and hated fugitive. Powerful cultivator and man without a golden core. An insurmountable gap that Wei Wuxian likes to forget exists sometimes — he likes to imagine they’re still friends. Still equals.

‘I’m doing well so far, aren’t I?’ he throws at Lan Zhan. Anger stirs, murky and dark, tasting of bile. What he can and can’t control is his business. ‘I have borders that can’t be breached, I’m growing lotuses on a mountain, and the fiercest corpse in the land is in my kitchen, turning out to be some cook.’

‘Wei Ying—’

‘Please don’t ask me to come to Gusu with you.’

Lan Zhan says nothing.

‘Let’s not have this argument again.’ Wei Wuxian deflates. ‘Let’s eat. Will you stay?’

Lan Zhan stays. He takes a seat across from Wei Wuxian, his impassive expression betraying none of his thoughts. The turmoil inside Wei Wuxian is probably spilled all over his face.

The cave is dry and cool, redolent of melting wax from the candles scattered on rocks and ledges. The darkness smothers the space around the flickering flames, pressing thick against the light. Discarded talismans litter the dusty floor. This is where Wei Wuxian sleeps, where he invents, where he eats, where he remembers. And yet it only feels like home when Lan Zhan is in it.

‘So much of our history has taken place in caves,’ Wei Wuxian muses. ‘Want to guess which cave we’ll meet in next? Perhaps we’ll find another monster to kill.’

Wen Ning appears in the entrance, carrying a tray. He sets down the plates: rice, turnips, and something rather astonishing.

‘What’s this?’ Wei Wuxian prods the juicy chunks of meat with his chopsticks. He’s pretty sure they can’t afford pork.

Wen Ning’s eyes flick to Lan Zhan. ‘Hanguang-Jun brought ten Jins of pork earlier.’ He takes in Wei Wuxian’s narrowed eyes and Lan Zhan’s calm but obstinate demeanour and makes the wise decision to flee.

‘Don’t tell me you had a spare pig lying about, Lan Zhan. Isn’t the Lan Sect vegetarian?’

Lan Zhan doesn’t pretend this is anything other than charity. ‘A-Yuan has lost weight.’

‘Aiya, he’s a growing boy. He eats more than all of us combined.’

Lan Zhan’s eyes are on his bowl. ‘You have lost weight, too.’

Oh, it’s not fair for Lan Zhan to disarm him like that.

A lump chokes Wei Wuxian’s words in his throat. Shijie was the one who made sure he and Jiang Cheng ate their fill. Shijie was the one who bought the best treats for him. Shijie was the one who stuffed buns and pies into Wei Wuxian’s palm when she judged he looked peaky.

Wei Wuxian had never dreamed anyone else would worry if he ate enough. Something warm and golden spreads under his skin. His hollow parts, the empty, shivery spaces inside him, are lit up by the unrelenting force that is Lan Zhan’s care.

He’s not sure what to do with it, this precious attention. He fears he’ll break it like he’s broken everything else, so he aims for a joke. Deflect, Wei Wuxian. Shaken and trying not to show it, he moves without thinking and curls his fingers around Lan Zhan’s wrist as he is reaching for the teapot.

‘I’m a growing boy too.’

His teasing is half-hearted. The other half of his heart is in his throat.

They’ve touched before, many times. Wei Wuxian has grabbed Lan Zhan by the arm; he’s bumped shoulders with him; he’s been held against him after the killing of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and yet this — this feels different. Reckless.

Perhaps it’s because this time he’s touching skin. His fingers are light on Lan Zhan’s wrist, soft as newly fallen snow, reverent. The desire to slide them higher is overwhelming. He can’t think of anything he wants more than to stroke the skin under Lan Zhan’s sleeve, reach higher: the inside of his elbow. The firm biceps. The curve of the shoulder, the dip of the neck, the hollow between his collarbones. Wei Wuxian’s mouth is dry, his heart throbbing against his ribs, aching with how much he wants this.

But Lan Zhan stiffens and withdraws his arm. His face closes off, unreadable. He doesn’t chastise Wei Wuxian or storm out, but he looks uncomfortable, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t press it more.

Weeks pass, and no sign of Lan Zhan. Well done, Wei Ying, he congratulates himself on long, bitter nights. You’ve managed to send away yet another person who cared for you. He’s ruined even this small thing, this gift he had: Lan Zhan’s visits.

At night, A-Yuan snuggles next to him in bed. His cheeks are rounder now, pink. Because of Lan Zhan.

‘Why doesn’t Rich Gege stay with us?’ the boy asks.

Wei Wuxian can’t imagine Lan Zhan living in Burial Mounds, dirty with soil, suffering from hunger and mosquito bites like the rest of them. He doesn’t want this for Lan Zhan. He wants him to continue being the Bearer of Light, the shining example against which no other cultivators measure up.

‘He has duties with his Sect,’ he tells A-Yuan, which isn’t untruthful. ‘Besides, if he lived here, he’d stop being a rich gege. No more toys for A-Yuan.’ He flicks the boy’s nose and gestures at the new wooden butterflies Lan Zhan brought in his last visit. A-Yuan giggles and agrees that it’s best for Rich Gege to stay Rich Gege.

‘Only, I miss him,’ the child says. He spreads under the thin blanket, his eyes shutting, voice slurring with sleep. ‘Not because of the toys. I think he’s nice.’

It’s easy not to miss someone when you’re busy, Wei Wuxian tells himself. The cabbages are flourishing, the lotuses are growing, A-Yuan is getting taller. There are inventions to perfect, turnips to sell, bursts of resentful energy to quell. No time to spend pining. Best to shove the hurt down with all the other hurts, the other lonelinesses. And if Wei Wuxian’s prone to rambling on about Lan Zhan when he’s had some of Fourth Uncle’s wine, who’s to know besides Wen Qing?

But suppressing things only makes them stronger, so when Lan Zhan emerges from the woods one crisp, cold afternoon, the force of Wei Wuxian’s desire kicks him in the chest like a mule.

‘Lan Zhan!’ he runs out to greet him when he gets a semblance of control over himself. ‘A-Yuan will be sorry he missed you. Third Uncle took him fishing in the stream.’

A faint ripple in Lan Zhan’s expression is the only indication of his disappointment.

It won’t do to have Lan Zhan sad. ‘May this one show you the changes since your last visit?’ He accompanies his formal tone with a playful grin, and something deep inside him brightens at the way Lan Zhan’s expression lifts.

The lotuses receive the biggest praise (‘Elegant.’). Lan Zhan’s greeted by the aunties and uncles like an old friend. He’s their only guest, one who’s come to see them repeatedly, one who’s partaken of their stale tea and homegrown turnips. It’s a relief to know that there is one person who hasn’t abandoned them.

I won’t ruin it this time. Wei Wuxian has promised many things to many people, but he wants to keep this vow. So, he maintains a respectful distance, teasing Lan Zhan with words and smiles but not bumps or touches. Just because he’s been having thoughts about Lan Zhan, thoughts that arise in the dark and should remain there, it doesn’t mean that Hanguang-Jun has to suffer Wei Wuxian’s clumsy attraction.

Hanguang-Jun brightens every room he’s in. The Yiling Patriarch is meant for the night.

After the tour, they end up in the cave, where Wei Wuxian explains his idea for a spirit trap. A lure. He leads Lan Zhan to a mound of musty scraps of fabric he found cheap at the market. They stand over the pile, examining the talismans Wei Wuxian has been drawing on the scraps.

‘A formation of flags,’ he says, excited that for once his audience can follow his reasoning. It’s not the same talking about this to A-Yuan and Granny. ‘With the right talismans and the right positioning, I believe it could work.’

‘This could be executed by juniors too.’

‘Yes! But the strength of the cultivator will increase the formation’s luring power.’

They turn the idea between them like a pebble, smoothing its edges. The wind has picked up, whistling through the cave entrance, bringing a shiver to Wei Wuxian’s back. The candles gutter, throwing long shapes on the rocky walls. Lan Zhan is beautiful in the candlelight. The memory of his skin has burned through Wei Wuxian’s mind night after night, a single fire bright in the darkness.

‘I have brought something for A-Yuan.’ Wei Wuxian drags his attention to the present as Lan Zhan slips his hand inside his robes. ‘Would you be kind enough to give it to him?’

‘What is it this time?’ Wei Wuxian smiles. ‘Another toy? A book? A Lan ribb—’

It’s none of these: in Lan Zhan’s palm rests a gleaming bamboo flute suitable for a child, with a tassel in the Wen colours. ‘You could teach him to play. Children pick up music very easily.’

Wei Wuxian’s lungs struggle for air. ‘Are you not afraid he’ll become like the despicable Yiling Laozu?’

Lan Zhan says, ‘I do not see Yiling Laozu as such.’

‘Lan Zhan, you’re—’ You’re impossible. You’re too much. You’re making me want to break the promise to myself.

He reaches for the flute, careful to avoid touching Lan Zhan.

The flute is a beautifully crafted thing. Wei Wuxian strokes the smooth surface, picturing himself with A-Yuan, lessons out in the courtyard, the music piercing the gloom, summoning the light.

Hope is a dangerous thing. To dream of a future where the darkness might be held at bay by something so simple as a child learning music.

Wei Wuxian’s chest is tight. Everything feels too heavy, too large, too fragile.

‘Wei Ying.’ A note of concern slips into Lan Zhan’s voice.

Wei Wuxian raises his eyes and instinctively steps back. Lan Zhan has moved close to him. Rarely does Wei Wuxian stay speechless; no wonder Lan Zhan is worried. But standing close enough to touch — to touch — is also dangerous.

‘I’m fine.’ Wei Wuxian increases their distance. ‘I’m— er— planning what song to teach A-Yuan first.’ He half-remembers a song Lan Zhan sang for him once — what was the name of it again?

‘Wei Ying.’ Lan Zhan frowns. The candlelight catches on his silver hairpiece, sharp like starlight. He glances at Wei Wuxian, who hovers by the flat rock where he keeps his notes on the consciousness of fierce corpses. Lan Zhan takes in the distance that separates them and deliberately steps closer.

Wei Wuxian retreats further. To his horror and unspeakable delight, Lan Zhan follows.

‘Wei Ying.’ Lan Zhan has walked Wei Wuxian backwards until he’s reached the wall. The chill of the stone seeps through Wei Wuxian’s robes.

He offers a shaky laugh. ‘Yeah, I’m not avoiding you, Lan Zhan. No, no. I—’ I’m trying not to jump your bones. You’re heartbreakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly kind and all I can think of is the shape of your mouth when you call my name. He purses his lips not to let anything stupid like that come out.

Lan Zhan meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He’s radiant, even in this dim space. Blue and ivory like the spring sky, silver like moonlight, Lan Zhan doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong in this former graveyard, in a cave with Wei Wuxian’s mad inventions and threadbare blankets and his yearning, foolish, overreaching heart.

‘Wei Ying.’ A pause, delicate. Shy? ‘I didn’t mind.’

Wei Wuxian’s brain tries to make sense of this while Lan Zhan stands a breath away from him. A flush spreads on Lan Zhan’s ears; his fists are curled and his shoulders stiff — but he remains still, his gaze intent.

‘It’s been weeks.’ Wei Wuxian tries not to make it an accusation.

Lan Zhan bows his head in— apology? Regret? ‘I had—’ He pauses. ‘Forgive me. I needed— time.’ He meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes again, his amber gaze intent. ‘But I didn’t mind.’

Lan Zhan... he’s asking for something.

‘You didn’t mind that I touched you?’ Hope — oh that dangerous, dangerous thing — unfurls in Wei Wuxian.

‘Mn.’ Lan Zhan’s ears are bright pink now.

Wei Wuxian swallows. This is surely a hallucination.

But he can smell the sandalwood emanating from Lan Zhan’s clothes, the fresh scent of his hair. He can see the elegant column of his throat, backlit by the guttering candles; a play of light and shadow on Lan Zhan’s neck. The wind whistles around the cave, and Wei Wuxian speaks.

‘Would you mind if I did this?’ He raises his hand — attempt the impossible — and trails his fingertips along Lan Zhan’s neck. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. He’s sure his heart is going to jump out of his chest: another space left hollow inside him. Another place for Lan Zhan to fill.

Wei Wuxian strokes the jade-like skin, carefully, eyes fixed on Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan’s eyes flutter; a trembling of his eyelashes. When Wei Wuxian removes his hand, a frustrated sound escapes Lan Zhan’s mouth.

‘More?’ Wei Wuxian’s tempted to be playful, to lighten the weight of what is happening, but Lan Zhan’s gaze is the most serious it’s ever been. Wei Wuxian slides his hand in Lan Zhan’s, palm to palm, heart line to heart line. Drags him closer. Stills for a breath, like before a plunge, and speaks against Lan Zhan’s mouth, each word a brush of lips. ‘How about this then?’

Lan Zhan lets out a small, desperate whimper. It travels through Wei Wuxian’s mouth and bounces inside him: longing meeting longing, desire matching desire. He lets himself move then, truly move, wraps himself around Lan Zhan like he wanted to, lets himself be pressed against the stone, lets himself be kissed and touched — and loved.

* * *

Wei Wuxian stretches his fingers in the moonlight, the chilly night nuzzling against his skin. Winter is approaching swiftly, the peaks around them dusted with snow. The Wens’ first spring in Burial Mounds has come and gone, summer and then autumn; the seasons rolling one after the other, unhurried like Lan Zhan’s hands on Wei Wuxian’s skin on the nights he visits.

Something warm falls on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders. A voice in his ear, as welcome as spring rain. ‘It’s cold.’

Hands — hands he knows intimately — smooth Wei Wuxian’s hair over the warm robes. Lan Zhan, looking after him, as he always does. Wei Wuxian turns to gaze at his beloved. Lan Zhan’s hair is down, his expression unguarded. There are bruises on Wei Wuxian’s neck that match the shape of Lan Zhan’s lips.

He slides his hand in Lan Zhan’s, and Lan Zhan’s expression lights up as it always does when they touch. He pulls Wei Wuxian gently inside. ‘It’s cold. Come back to bed.’

Wei Wuxian smiles, and does.

[roomalthoughts]

11.01.2018: childhood memories

When I was younger I saw my daddy cry And curse at the wind He broke his own heart And I watched As he tried to reassemble it

And my momma swore That she would never let herself forget And that was the day that I promised I'd never sing of love If it does not exist, but darlin'

You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception

Maybe I know, somewhere Deep in my soul That love never lasts And we've got to find other ways To make it alone But keep a straight face

And I've always lived like this Keeping a comfortable, distance And up until now I had sworn to myself that I'm content With lonelinessBecause none of it was ever worth the risk

But, you are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception

I've got a tight grip on reality But I can't let go of what's in front of me here I know your leaving in the morning, when you wake up Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream, oh

You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception

You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception You are, the only exception

And I'm on my way to believing Oh, and I'm on my way to believing.

-The Only Exception // Paramore 

As I would dance in the rain with my friends when I was a young child during recess time, I thought the world was filled with peace, sincerity, patience, kindness, roses and unicorns...but most importantly, love. I always yearned to be cuddled up with and be given goodnight kisses on the cheek every night I went to bed by my mother...but only got scolded for being a bad child. I would get beatings from my dad instead of hugs. 

I would be terrified at home instead of being comfortable and letting my imagination rule my world. I would be accused of being too childish for playing teacher and pretending that I was reading a book to my stuffed animals (I literally sat them across my bed and had names for them). I would get called crazy for thinking that I could change the world one way or another. I would get called a dreamer for thinking that I could be a superhero for those in need. I would get called a loser because I wanted to be everyone’s friend. 

I would get mocked at because I stutter and mumble when I talk. I was called many names growing up because I was an awkward child and eventually got braces along with glasses. I was incredibly shy around my peers because I knew I would never fit in. I was too naive and too much of a dreamy person to be involved in their drama. I wanted to be accepted for who I was...but I learned the hard way that I was born to stand out. 

I wish I could have told myself that there was no shame for being too different. It was okay to be incredibly shy around people that I had a crush on. It was okay to like both boys and girls. There was no need to hide who I truly was instead of wearing a mask and faking it until I made it through. It was okay to wear my rose-colored glasses a little longer than usual...because if that it was made me happy, instead of being depressed, then so be it. 

It was okay to believe that love was all about roses and going on long walks, then that is okay. It was okay to not be in relationships after relationships in high school because I wasn’t comfortable enough. I wasn’t comfortable holding hands or kissing people (although I kissed quite a few when I was in high school, some were repeat customers). It was okay to be comfortable with being alone and not being so bitter about my peers having boyfriends/girlfriends. 

It was okay to be who I am. 

Before I went through my first, serious heartbreak, I thought love was so pure and sincere...however, as I stated before, what I went through wasn’t love. Love wouldn’t tear me down and change me into who I am now. Did it help me become wiser and open my eyes more about what love truly is all about? Yes. Yes it did indeed. I have learned that it is okay to spend time alone and meet new people.

Granted, I have gone out on a few dates last year with a few people, but nothing serious happened between them and I. Did I keep it lowkey until now? Yes. I didn’t want anyone knowing about my business. I wanted to keep it to myself and the other person (and two others) because it was something we agreed on. Was I ashamed of being with them? No. I just didn’t want to talk about it. A handful of people who are close to me knew one of them but that’s because it was just kind of a hanging out/getting to know each other type of a thing. Did we make out? Yeah, but that is because I was lonely at the time and I wanted to feel that intimate touch once again. 

I have learned to never do that ever again. Not only did I break a few hearts, but I realized the damage that I have caused. I broke their trust and to this day, I feel incredibly guilty for doing so. I was pissed at myself for taking advantage of their love. I played the game that I got played on...and that wasn’t right on my part. 

And I still hate myself to this day for doing that...but it is a lesson that I had to learn one way or another. I cannot change the past. I can change the future. 

I learned many lessons that dealt with love and relationships. As a child, I thought I had it easy. I thought that I would find my person and get married. I thought it was easy peasy lemon queasy. Yeah right. I went through a lot of heartbreaks and in every heartbreak, I have learned more about myself and what I want in a relationship. Do I really care if it is a guy or girl? No, not really. I would be content either way. I am never open about my sexuality because my family on both parents’ side are incredibly judgmental and think that it is wrong and disgusting. 

I’ve always been a weird child when it came to that. My mother told me that I would just flat out flirt with anyone that came across. It didn’t matter the gender, I would just smile and just fire up a flirt storm. I don’t mean to be that way, that’s just how I am. I am not flamboyant about it either because I’m scared of being judged. Does it feel freeing talking about it on social media? In some ways, I do. 

Hopefully, one day, I can be who I am without the fear of judgment.