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Looking back, Wei Wuxian could see clearly where everything went wrong. There were signs, things they had missed. Later, he would lay awake for hours, thinking about it. Thinking about what he could have done differently. Thinking about the mistakes. Thinking about how much worse things could have been.
“Almost there, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said as his husband dragged along behind him, scuffing his feet petulantly in the dirt. “Just a little further now, and then you can see your gege.”
Lan Zhan puffed out his cheeks, his brow furrowed in a stern pout, but nodded all the same. Wei Wuxian sighed in relief. The last two hours had been grueling. After determining that Lan Zhan was in no state to fly back to Gusu, they had set out on foot to make the long hike back. It was only through careful wheedling and promises that encompassed everything from seeing his brother, to being showered in sweets, to getting to play with hundreds of bunnies that he’d been able to convince Lan Zhan to come with him at all.
They continued along, and by the time the white gates of Cloud Recesses appeared in the distance, flanked by a pair of disciples bedecked in their pristine blue robes and their stern Lan expressions, Wei Wuxian had never been happier to be returning to Gusu.
“Come on, Lan Zhan,” he said, reaching back and taking his hand to tug him forward. “We’re home.”
It had been a normal nighthunt, like any other. Boring, almost. Wei Wuxian found himself longing for something a little juicier. The town had begged them to come help, explaining that something was happening to their minds . When they’d arrived, the townsfolk had explained that, nearly every week, one of their own would return from hunting in terrible distress, apparently consumed by regret, and nothing they did could break them out of it.
It wasn’t that it wasn’t a serious concern. It was just that, as far as nighthunts go, this one seemed fairly straightforward. Wei Wuxian had assured them that they would handle it, and had set out with Lan Wangji, distractedly chattering away about the excellent meal they’d had earlier that day. They had done this hundreds of times after all.
This was their first mistake.
“Whoa, she’s powerful,” Wei Wuxian said, throwing another talisman as the ghost let out a powerful shriek that split the trunk of the tree he had ducked behind. “What do you reckon? Rest?”
Lan Wangji nodded, Wangji already in his hands, and Wei Wuxian did his best to provide cover, dropping a circle of talismans around them, which erupted in a semi-shield of light to keep her at bay.
“My baby!” the ghost cried, tossing fistfuls of her torn hair at them, the ground cracking into ice where it fell. “Give her to me!”
Lan Wangji began to play. The chords of rest lapped gently outward, like breezy ripples across a pool of water. Wei Wuxian watched as they washed over her, her arms dropping slightly, the wild fire of her eyes cooling.
“We don’t have her,” Wei Wuxian said. His eyes swept over the ghost, over her robes, old-fashioned and dripping wet, over her finger gashes that scratched from her eyes to her neck. How long had she been here, her heart breaking over a lost child? Decades, probably. The resentment clung to her, to the lake, poured into the sharpness of the stones and the twisting branches of the trees. The land was poisoned with regret. “She’s gone,” he said. “But it’s okay. She’s moved on. You can, too. You can--”
The second mistake. She wailed, the grip of the song broken, and lunged at Wei Wuxian straight through the wall of talismans.
“Wei Ying!”
His fingers closed on a talisman in his robes, firing it off just as the ghost’s hand clenched around his wrist, her mouth stretched to tearing as a scream ripped from her throat, a black swell of sound crashing into the wall of the shield talisman as it wrenched off course under the strength of her grip.
The third mistake. The worst mistake.
The edge of the curse brushed the end of Wei Wuxian’s hair. He was in a boat as zidian crackled around him, screaming as the water pulled them further and further from Lotus Pier -- he was in a field of the dead, watching as Wen Qing wailed over the body of her brother -- he was back at Nightless City, jiejie in his arms -- he was falling -- he was --
-- the grip on his wrist broke. He blinked once, finding himself back in the woods. The ghost has released him, and was moving towards something large and white on the forest floor beside him. “No!” Wei Wuxian cried. He whipped his flute from his belt and, without further hesitation, blew a sharp, long, cacophonous note.
She stopped, dropping to her knees, hands clasped over her ears. “My baby!” she screamed, reaching with one clawed hand towards where Lan Wangji had fallen. Wei Wuxian blew again, louder, desperation turned to sound -- and the spirit shattered, black shards of resentment dissolving into mist.
“Lan Zhan!” he yelled, rushing forward to where he had fallen. “Lan Zhan, are you -- ?”
He paused. Something was wrong. Lan Zhan was moving, was definitely breathing, which was good, but --
He reached out and gently moved a trembling arm from Lan Zhan’s face. There was a black scorch mark across the chest of his robes, where the curse hit him. Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath, the dread immediate. Lan Zhan blinked up at him, eyes glistening, face wet with tears, and glared. “Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian reached out for him. “Are you hurt? Let me see--”
But as soon as he moved to touch him, Lan Zhan jerked away, his glare intensifying. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted.
“Lan Zhan? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened? Look at me,” he reached out again, holding up a hand with three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
But Lan Zhan just turned his head away, lips pressed into a tight line, tears continuing to streak down his cheeks..
“Come on,” Wei Wuxian pleaded. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”
At ‘sweetheart’, Lan Zhan turned back to Wei Wuxian, his shoulders shaking, his lip still quivering. He met Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and all at once his face broke open -- silent tears turned into heart-shattering sobs. “Want dada!”
There was a knock on the door. Wei Wuxian hurried to open it, but it wasn’t the doctor he’d been expecting. “Wei-qianbei,” Lan Sizhui bowed, a little stiffly, a little urgently. “What’s happened? Lan Jingyi said he saw you and Hanguang-jun return, but that he seemed --”
He faltered as his eyes swept past Wei Wuxian and landed on Lan Zhan, who was laying on his back in the middle of the room, his hands balled up into fists, banging his head steadily into the floor.
Wei Wuxian sighed. “Everything’s fine, Sizhui,” he said, unconvincingly. “Can you just come back a little later? We’re just waiting on the doctor to check him over. It’s just --”
Before Wei Wuxian could think of any explanation that might ease Lan Sizhui’s worry, though, Lan Zhan interrupted. “Candy,” he said suddenly, sitting upright and looking suspiciously at Wei Wuxian. “You promised.”
Lan Sizhui’s eyes widened.
“I did,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “You’ve been very good, a-Zhan. You’ll get your candy, but first the doctor needs to --”
“Don’t need a doctor,” Lan Zhan said, dropping back to the floor, his head clunking loudy against the wood. “Need dada.”
“Oh,” Lan Sizhui said. “Should I -- do you think, Zewu-jun --?”
“Not yet,” Wei Wuxian said. “Hopefully we can figure out the curse and won’t have to bother him at all.”
Lan Zhan clearly disagreed, as he began to chant “dada-dada-dada-dada” at the ceiling.
--------
Lan Wangji leapt forward as the ghost broke free from Rest and lunged for Wei Wuxian. He saw Wei Wuxian produce a talisman from his robes, saw as it flared up in red fire, saw the ghost’s curse ricochet off the side of the invisible shield. He had a moment of relief and pride at his husband’s cleverness, just before the curse collided with his chest.
When Lan Wangji opened his eyes, he was no longer in the clearing in the woods.
He stared up at the ceiling overhead, the twining flowers carved into the beams, candlelight glinting off the white lacquer so that it looked as though they were moving, coiling and uncoiling with serpentine grace. He sat up, and the sweet, herbaceous scent of flowers and tea wafted over him, accompanied by a powerful wave of memory.
He looked down at himself, and was almost unsurprised to see the smallness of his hands. “A-Zhan? Are you awake? What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did you have a bad dream?”
Lan Wangji turned toward the voice, his heart filling and splitting all at once. His mother walked over to him from the doorway, her face soft in the late evening light. She knelt in front of him, her eyes searching his with gentle concern. He held his breath. “Don’t be scared, little bunny,” she said, smiling as she caressed a thumb over his cheek and pinched lightly. “Come on. You can sleep in my bed tonight.”
“Mama?”
Beside him in the bed, a small figure -- larger than Lan Wangji, but still undeniably small -- turned toward them. Lan Huan rubbed his eyes and blinked through the sleep that had already gathered over them. Lan Wangji’s heart gave another painful clatter against his ribcage. “Is a-Zhan okay?” he asked, reaching a hand out for him.
Lan Wangji reached back, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Lan Huan’s eyebrows knit together as he squeezed back. “Just a bad dream,” Mother said, smoothing a hand through Lan Wangji’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”
Lan Huan nodded, gave Lan Wangji a small smile, and rolled back over to sleep.
“Let’s go, sweetheart,” Mother said, lifting Lan Wangji from the bed to sit on her hip. His arms came up automatically to hug around her neck, his face buried into her shoulder. He was small, but he was undeniably too big for this. He clung tighter as she carried him off to her bed.
Morning found Lan Wangji curled up in a familiar, yet distant sensation of softness, enveloped by a warm longing that lacked any sharp edges. He snuggled in closer, the gentle scent of gentian flowers tickling his nose.
“Awake already?” Mother said, rolling toward him and trapping him with one arm in a tight hug. “You’re such a good little Lan. But it’s too early, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
Lan Wangji closed his eyes, but did not sleep, as he took stock of the situation.
His mother was alive. Lan Huan was a child -- maybe 10 years old. Lan Wangji himself was a child. He moved a hand to his chest, and felt a strange chill there over his heart where the curse had hit him. He thought about the stories the townsfolk had told, the afflicted that they had visited. None of them had cursemarks, but they had all been plagued by regret, unable to escape the cycle of their own thoughts. Regrets for things unspoken, for loved ones lost, for misspoken words or untaken actions. He thought about the way the spirit had cried out for her child with pain that had rooted into the very earth.
He felt his mother stir next to him. What did Lan Wangji regret?
“Muqin,” he said, a searing heat burning along the cracks in his heart. He pressed the melted edges together. “I miss you.”
Lan Wangji sat across the table from his mother and sipped his tea. The bitter flavor of the leaves burst over his tongue, causing him to scrunch his nose in distaste. She laughed, took the cup from his hands and, winking at him, stirred in a bit of sugar before passing it back.
Beside him, Lan Huan took a deliberate sip of his own unsweetened tea ,meeting their mother’s eyes with a conspiratorial smile. Lan Wangji had forgotten this. The way his mother used to sneak him sweets, the way his brother had watched the rule breaking with the satisfaction of a shared secret.
Lan Wangji wondered what else he had forgotten. He drank his sweet tea.
He was child.
He was not.
He was with his mother. She was alive.
She was not.
Lan Wangji did not know how long he had. Wei Ying would bring him back, eventually, of course. He knew his husband, knew that he would stop at nothing to get him home. He trusted that Wei Ying would figure it out.
In the meantime, he was here.
This time, he would remember.
--------
“Where is he?” Lan Qiren asked, sweeping into the room past Wei Wuxian as soon as the door opened.
“Xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian said, hurrying after him. “He’s just this way, but he’s --”
“Shushu!”
Without further warning, Lan Zhan barreled into Lan Qiren at full speed, knocking the man cleanly off his feet. They hit the floor together with a wall-shaking thud, Lan Qiren gasping as the breath was knocked out of him.
“A-Zhan, careful!” Wei Wuxian yelped, rushing forward to try to remove Lan Zhan from his sputtering uncle.
Lan Zhan clung tighter to Lan Qiren's robes, burrowing his face into them. “Shushu, where’s Huan-ge?”
Wei Wuxian pulled at him harder, finally managing to dislodge Lan Zhan just enough so Lan Qiren could sit up a little, rubbing his chest as he tried to coax his lungs into breathing again. “Wangji -- a-Zhan,” Lan Qiren corrected himself quickly at a vociferous shake of Wei Wuxian’s head. He fixed Wei Wuxian with a stern look. “What happened?”
“Curse,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Not a dangerous one!” he added at Lan Qiren’s concerned expression. “I’m still figuring out the details, but he seems to think he’s a child? He doesn’t know me, and he keeps asking for Lan Xichen. I’m working on it. I just … I need some time. And fewer distractions.”
“I see,” Lan Qiren said, as Lan Zhan tugged on his hand impatiently. “I will assign some disciples to assist you in your work. I -- I can take care of a-Zhan.”
“Thank you, Xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian said with relief. “I’ve got it handled. Don’t worry.”
“Come, a-Zhan,” Lan Qiren said, hoisting himself to his feet, not dropping Lan Zhan’s hand. “We must let your friend work.”
Lan Zhan shuffled half behind Lan Qiren, ducking to peer around his shoulder suspiciously at Wei Wuxian. “Not my friend,” he muttered, and followed his uncle out of the jingshi.
Wei Wuxian watched them go, closing the door carefully behind them. He waited a few minutes, until he could be certain they were out of earshot, before he dropped to the floor and started to laugh in big, hysterical gulps. It was terrible. It was horrible. It was … amazing.
Lan Zhan was a brat .
“Lan Zhan. Do not be picky with food,” Lan Qiren scolded.
Lan Zhan frowned down at his bowl of wilted greens, refusal etched into every line of his body. “Speaking while eating is forbidden,” he grumbled, hands fisted tightly at his sides.
Wei Wuxian choked on his mouthful of food. Lan Qiren scowled across the table at him as he hastily took a gulp of water, hiding his laugh in the process.
“A-Zhan,” he said when he could breathe again, “if you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll never grow up to be a big and strong cultivator. Don’t you want to be big and strong like your Wei-ge?”
Lan Zhan looked him over skeptically. Wei Wuxian forced himself to look serious, as every seam fit to burst with laughter. Lan Zhan picked up a tiny bit of green with his fingers and tentatively touched his tongue to it, before rearing back like an offended cat and dropping it on the table. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help it. The laughter burst out of him, ringing through the jingshi. “Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren smacked the table with the flat of his hand. Wei Wuxian clutched at his sides harder, unable to stop himself. Lan Zhan was watching him with wide, startled eyes. He shuffled over to Lan Qiren tugging at his sleeve.
“What is it, a-Zhan?” Lan Qiren asked in exasperation, clearly giving up on maintaining any semblance of order.
“Shushu,” Lan Zhan’s voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, “he sounds like muqin.”
Wei Wuxian’s laughter caught in his throat.
Silence rang with the suddenness and force of thunder.
“Eat your food, a-Zhan,” Lan Qiren said, “and then we can go see Lan Huan.”
--------
“Lan-er-gongzi, you must come with us,” the disciple pleaded, throwing a desperate look over her shoulder at her companion, who nodded vigorously in agreement. “You have lessons. You cannot skip, you will be in trouble.”
“No,” Lan Wangji said, lifting his head high to look down at them, despite the fact that he was at least two feet shorter than them.
“Lan Xiuli, Lan Ziying, why don’t you head back?” Mother said, smoothing her hand over Lan Wangji’s hair. “You’ll miss your own lessons. Please don’t trouble yourselves.”
The pair exchanged a look, before bowing an apology and hurrying away.
“A-Zhan, you really will get in trouble,” Lan Huan said as he watched the disciples retreat.
“I will stay with mama,” Lan Wangji said, reaching up and taking her hand.
Lan Huan looked like he wanted to protest, but at his mother’s smile, he closed his mouth and swallowed. “Okay,” he said, walking over to her other side and taking her free hand. “I will stay too.”
They sat in the back garden of the gentian house, the sweet flower smell leaving deep grooves in Lan Wangji’s memory as he let the sensation pour in, taking careful stock of it all. Of the way the sun glowed through the blue petals like stars, of the way the insect sounds rang like music across the bleached stone path. Of the way Lan Huan stooped to weed the flowerbeds, eager to help, longing for purpose. And mostly, mostly, of his mother’s hands in his hair as Lan Wangji sat between her knees. Mostly, mostly of the way laughter was written into her every breath, as though the wind was whispering jokes that only she could hear.
But mostly. Mostly, he saw the chains behind her eyes. The pitiful restraint of a trapped animal in an unlocked cage. Free to walk out, but unable to leave.
“All done, little bunny,” she said, dropping a kiss to the crown of his head. “Let mama see you.”
Lan Wangji turned and looked up at her. She smiled and brushed an errant lock of hair behind his ear. “Very pretty,” she said. Her eyebrows squeezed together and she tilted her head to the side. “But wait. What’s this?”
Lan Huan stopped his weeding and walked over, peering curiously at Lan Wangji. “A-Zhan!” Mother said, mischief glinting in her eyes despite her stern tone. “What are these?”
She reached out and grabbed his cheeks with both hands, squishing his face between her palms until his lips puffed out like a fish. “Have you been having more than three bowls, little bunny?”
Lan Wangji shook his head. Over her shoulder, Lan Huan’s chin trembled with the effort to contain a laugh.
“No?” Mother said. She opened her eyes wider in shock. “There’s only one explanation, then!” She turned and looked back at Lan Huan and somberly declared, “A-Huan, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think your didi is turning into a real bunny.”
A peal of startled laughter erupted from Lan Huan. He slapped a hand over his mouth quickly to stifle the sound, but it was too late. Mother joined in, squishing Lan Wangji’s cheeks more to Lan Huan’s delight.
Lan Wangji felt their laughter like a warm bath of light -- as though they were removed from the cold silent stones of Cloud Recesses, far away in their own private world where things like joy spilled out in foolish excess to illuminate the darkness, driving it away, rooting it out of the dark corners of the heart.
“Mama, a-Zhan is smiling!”
Mother lessened her grip on his face and stared down at him, a strange expression swimming in her eyes. “Little bunny,” she said quietly and tapped his nose with a delicate finger. “What are you so happy about?”
--------
A tall elegant figure swept down the path toward the practice field where Wei Wuxian was refining a stack of talismans, having determined he needed the extra space. He couldn’t guarantee that there wouldn’t be an explosion, and it seemed better to be safe than sorry. Lan Qiren had been called away to attend to lessons, so Lan Zhan currently sat under a tree, holding out handfuls of grass to a pair of interested bunnies, who had long since learned to trust Lan Wangji. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi sat with him, occasionally swapping bemused looks over his head as Lan Zhan whispered to the rabbits, ignoring his human companions.
“Zewu-jun!” Wei Wuxian called, stamping out a few smoking rings before running over to him. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi’s heads whipped up in surprise. Wei Wuxian ignored them and headed off his brother-in-law. “You’re out of seclusion,” he said, more of a question than a statement.
Zewu-jun nodded and looked at where Lan Zhan sat in the shade. “I was told Wangji had been cursed. That he was calling for me.” His voice sounded strained, a rough texture around the edges like a cut ribbon with threads coming loose. As though, if Wei Ying took the end and pulled, he could unravel the whole man into a pile of string.
“He was. He has been,” Wei Wuxian answered. “You should know. He seems to think he’s a child. A young child -- maybe four? Or five? It’s possible -- he might not recognize you.”
Lan Xichen merely nodded again. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“I’ll get him back,” Wei Wuxian said, not sure which of them he was reassuring. “I’m close now. If I could just stop them from catching fire --”
“That would be best,” Lan Xichen said, a smile creeping into his voice. He reached out and placed his hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. “You’ll get him back,” Lan Xichen said, his voice warm and steady now. “I trust you.”
Wei Wuxian gaped at him, for once uncertain what to say. Luckily, he was spared from finding the words when Lan Zhan suddenly appeared between them, the beginnings of a pout in his lip. “Wei-qianbei,” he addressed Wei Wuxian stiffly. “Come.”
He grabbed Wei Wuxian’s hand and, with the strength of the greatest cultivator of the generation, and one who clearly didn’t know his own power, dragged him away from Lan Xichen toward the tree where a small fleet of rabbits where nosing at the grass. “Sit,” Lan Wangji said, pushing down on Wei Wuxian’s shoulders so he flopped to the ground -- hard.
“Ah, gentle, a-Zhan!” he yelped, the bunnies scattering away in alarm.
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen said, approaching slowly. “Wei-qianbei needs to work. Why don’t you show me the bunnies instead?”
Lan Zhan frowned at Lan Xichen dubiously. “I do have to work, a-Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said gently. “But I can play with you afterward. How does that sound?”
Lan Zhan crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to look at either of them. Lan Jingyi was so red now from the effort of not laughing that Wei Wuxian was worried his head might pop. “Come, a-Zhan,” Lan Xichen said, kneeling down and reaching out to one of the white rabbits, which hopped forward to sniff his hand, “why don’t you tell me their names?”
With a final look at Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan huffed and walked over to his brother. “That one’s White Bunny,” he said.
Wei Wuxian took his cue, climbing back to his feet to start work again.
“That’s a very good name,” he heard Lan Xichen say. “Are you having fun, a-Zhan? Is everyone being nice to you?”
A beat of silence, and then, in a voice so small it was almost silent, “Wei-qianbei has a pretty laugh.”
--------
Dinner was silent. Mother always insisted that the gentian house didn’t count as Cloud Recesses -- that the rules didn’t apply there. She’d spend meal times wheedling them into conversation, passing sweets with a wink before they’d eaten their vegetables, pulling faces over the bitter greens that never fail to elicit a muffled laugh from Lan Huan.
Tonight, Mother didn’t speak, watching the door with apprehension. Lan Huan pushed his food around his bowl, a defeated sag to his shoulders, his eyes darting up to their mother, and away again, with longing that ached in Lan Wangji’s bones.
Lan Wangji didn’t eat. He couldn’t stomach the food. Soon, his uncle would come. Lan Qiren would fetch them, would scold them for causing trouble. Would take them away. Lan Huan would go, without complaint, with the root of sadness burrowing deep -- too deep to weed, no how many times he plucked it out.
Mother pushed her bowl away with a huff. “Come here,” she said throwing her arms out wide for them. Lan Huan wasted no time, immediately cuddling into her side, his face buried in her shoulder, even younger than his years.
Lan Wangji looked at them. He knew they both loved their mother, but he had never seen before the way his brother missed her. The way he missed her before she was even gone.
“A-Zhan,” his mother said, a plea in her voice.
Lan Zhan scooted over to her. She pulled him into her lap, holding him close to her chest. “Why so sad, my little bunnies?” she laughed. “The food isn’t that bad!”
Lan Huan hiccuped. Mother shushed him quietly. “None of that,” she said. “No crying in Mother’s House!”
“Is that a rule?” Lan Huan asked a little wetly, but there’s a smile in his voice again.
“A-Huan!” his mother said, scandalized. “You know there are no rules in Mother’s House!”
He laughed at that, and the sad spell was broken. Mother chuckled, squeezing them both tight to her sides, and started to sing.
“Good little bunnies, open the door, let me in!
No, we won’t open it when mother is gone.
We won’t open it for anyone!
Little good bunnies, I am back, let me in.
Of course we will open,
Now that mother is home.”
--------
Lan Zhan slumped against Lan Xichen beneath the tree, a small rabbit in his lap as he stroked between its ears, humming quietly.
Wei Wuxian walked up to them, the completed talisman in his hand. “Is it ready?” Lan Xichen asked, blinking up at him.
Wei Wuxian nodded. “It’s ready.”
“A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen said, sitting up so that Lan Zhan’s head fell from his shoulder. Lan Zhan grumbled, grabbing at his brother’s sleeve to try to pull him back in. “A-Zhan,” Lan Xichen repeated, taking his hand. “Wei-qianbei needs to talk to you. Can you pay attention for me?”
Lan Zhan looked up at Wei Wuxian, then turned his face sharply away again. “Please a-Zhan,” Lan Xichen said again, fondly exasperated. “For me?”
Lan Zhan huffed -- dramatically, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion -- and looked back at him. “There you go!” Wei Wuxian said, smiling broadly. “A-Zhan, I know this has all been very strange, hasn’t it? But I have a way for you to go home. Do you want that? Would you like to go home?”
Lan Zhan considered for a long moment, before he nodded, then stopped, looking to Lan Xichen for confirmation. Lan Xichen smiled. Lan Zhan looked down at the rabbit sleeping in his lap. “Can I bring Tiny Bunny to muqin?”
Lan Xichen froze. Wei Wuxian was grateful that Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi had left for their evening meal already and to prepare for bed. For the first time, he found himself feeling thankful for the Cloud Recesses’ strict schedule. “Tiny Bunny has to stay here,” Wei Wuxian said gently. “This is his home.”
Lan Zhan pouted gloriously. Wei Wuxian longed to reach out and pinch his cheeks. When would he ever see this expression on his husband’s face again?
“You can tell muqin about Tiny Bunny,” Lan Xichen reassured him. “She would love to hear about him.
“...okay,” Lan Zhan said. He looked down at the rabbit in his lap. “Good little bunny,” he said in a singsong tone.
Lan Xichen made a small, startled sound before wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan, surprising them both. “Be strong, a-Zhan,” he said. “Your brother loves you. Remember that.”
Lan Zhan twisted uncomfortably out of the hug, the rabbit waking and hopping from his lap in apparent offense.
“This way,” Wei Wuxian, took his hand and led him to where he’d drawn a partial array in the clearing. “Just stand there, okay? And hold this.” He passed a talisman to him. “Hold it close to your chest, okay?”
Lan Zhan nodded. “Good,” Wei Wuxian smiled. “It was good to meet you, a-Zhan.”
--------
Lan Wangji and Wei Ying moved around the jingshi, perfectly in sync as they prepared for bed, their movements like a well-choreographed dance after their years together.
Lan Wangji folded his outer robes, carefully laying them in the wardrobe, when Wei Ying cleared his throat. “Were you with her?”
Lan Wangji stopped for a moment, before finishing his task and turning to his husband. Wei Ying watched him with eager eyes. “Yes,” Lan Wangji answered. He did not ask how Wei Ying knew. Wei Ying was the most brilliant person Lan Wangji had ever met. Would ever meet. Of course Wei Ying knew.
Wei Ying walked up to him, hand landing lightly over the scar on his bare chest. “What was she like?”
Lan Wangji considered. What was she like? She was like everything he remembered, and nothing he remembered. Warm and kind and effervescent and small and broken and lonely. He looped his arms around Wei Ying’s shoulders, pulling him in to nuzzle into his hair. “She was like you.”
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squeaked in protest, pulling back to smack his hand against his chest. “What a thing to say about your mother!”
“She was beautiful,” Lan Wangji said. “And kind. And good.”
Wei Ying groaned, but allowed himself to be pulled in again. They stood like that for a long moment, before he spoke again. “What’s worrying you?”
Lan Wangji hummed, swaying them both a little. He stepped back, breaking their embrace. Wei Ying whined in protest. Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed, still holding Wei Ying’s hand. “Wei Ying,” he said, “are you happy here?”
Wei Ying stared down at him. Candlelight swayed like the delicate waves of low tide over his face, lapping light and shadow over the gentle hollows of his cheeks, over the gray of his eyes, over the softly parted pillow of his mouth.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, stepping between Lan Wangji’s legs and sinking down to his knees. “I’m happy wherever you are.”
He kissed him. Lan Wangji cupped his face between his hands like sweet, clean water that he had to drink quickly before it spilled out from the crease of his palms.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered into his lips, reaching up to clasp his hand. “You’ve got me.”
“I’ve got you,” Lan Wangji said, and kissed him again.