Chapter Text
Peanuts, he thinks, are not as good in his second life as they were in his first.
He strolls through Mo Manor with a paper bag in hand, tossing dry, bland peanuts into the air only to try and catch them with his mouth. He fails more often than not. This body is a stranger’s house, and he’s only just learning how to move it. He wishes he’d stayed dead. Fuck Mo Xuanyu for dragging him back into this world just to do his petty bidding, seriously.
The peanuts certainly aren’t worth living for.
The first meal he shares with Lan Zhan in the Jingshi, after his illustrious return to Gusu, is exactly what he expected.
The chili oil Lan Zhan sets down next to his hand is not.
“Eh? Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian holds the bottle up, tilting it in the light. Thick red oil sloshes against the glass. “What’s this?”
“Chili oil.”
“Actual spice? In Cloud Recesses? How scandalous! Are you sure that’s not against your rules, Lan Er-gege? You know your uncle will have my head if I show up after sixteen years just to start disobeying him again.”
Lan Zhan reaches over the table, carefully sweeping his sleeve out of the way as he places chunks of blanched bok choy and stir-fried tofu into Wei Wuxian’s bowl. “Eat.”
Wei Wuxian does not eat—at least not immediately. Instead, he reaches out to fill Lan Zhan’s bowl, too. It’s only fair! Besides, feeding his zhiji makes something curl close and satisfied in his chest. Once he’s done, he dumps chili oil over his meal and then offers the bottle to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan takes it from him, setting it down on the table with a gentle click.
“Hm?” Wei Wuxian leans his elbows on the table, propping his face in his hands. “You don’t like it?”
“Speech is forbidden when dining,” Lan Zhan says, and then takes a bite of tofu because he is avoidant like that. Wei Wuxian snorts and digs into his own food, but curiosity itches in the back of his mind. Why would Lan Zhan have chili oil in the Jingshi if he doesn’t use it?
“Why do you have chili oil in the Jingshi if you don’t use it?” Wei Wuxian asks, because he’s trying this sexy new thing called communication.
Lan Zhan, somewhat predictably, swallows a mouthful of white rice and does not answer.
“Hmm. Is it for your spouse? Your family? Do you have a family now, Lan Zhan? Surely you must. So that’s it!” Wei Wuxian grins, leaning forward. “You bore the child yourself, were gripped by the thralls of a pregnancy craving, and got the chili oil then! A mystery solved.”
Lan Zhan flicks his eyes pointedly to Wei Wuxian’s half-eaten meal. Wei Wuxian shoves a piece of tofu into his own mouth to appease him, chewing quickly. It burns pleasantly on his tongue.
“But you know,” he says, then swallows, “I haven’t seen any baby Lan Zhans running around. You’ll have to introduce me.”
“I have no children,” Lan Zhan says, after setting his chopsticks down—but his mouth pinches at the corner, and that’s a tell if Wei Wuxian has ever seen one. Suspicious! Very suspicious!
“Oho, is that right?” Wei Wuxian waggles his chopsticks in Lan Zhan’s direction. “I don’t think Lan Zhan is being completely honest with me. Not even a single baby? You’re kidding. The ladies must have been falling all over you. Lan Zhan is simply too handsome to be ignored!”
“No one bore me children,” Lan Zhan says, very carefully, and then adds, “There was no one.”
Wei Wuxian squawks in offense. “What do you mean there was no one? Lan Zhan, you heartbreaker! You mean to tell me no one has snatched you up yet? No one even tried?”
“Many tried.”
“And you turned them all down? Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian stirs his rice. It sticks to the bottom of his bowl, clotted with congealing chili oil. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”
“Finish your food,” Lan Zhan instructs, pouring himself another cup of tea. The steam curls around his knuckles, pale and fragrant.
“If I do, will you tell me why you keep chili oil here?”
“Incessant,” Lan Zhan murmurs, far too soft to be an insult. “Think for yourself.”
Wei Wuxian groans, but he scrapes the last of the rice into his mouth, and he thinks.
Wei Wuxian had expected that, given an entirely new body, his sense of hunger would return. It does not. Either Mo Xuanyu was just as fucked-up as he was (which is entirely possible) or the issue is more psychological than he’d really like to think about (which is...also entirely possible). The trouble is compounded by the fact that Mo Xuanyu’s body was on the brink of starvation when he carelessly stuffed Wei Wuxian into it, and now Wei Wuxian is the one who has to deal with keeping it alive.
Rude, really rude! If he’s got to be stuck in this body, couldn’t Mo Xuanyu at least have gotten it ready for him?
But alas, for the first few months of his second life Wei Wuxian is busy fighting malnutrition and the vast majority of the cultivation world—just like old times. It’s exhausting. He’d like to say to hell with it all, because what’s the cultivation world even worth, anyway? It’s full of a bunch of heartless, conniving, genocidal bastards, and Wei Wuxian wants nothing to do with it. Fuck that shit. Fuck every single one of them.
Except, well.
Except Lan Zhan is part of the cultivation world—and so are the juniors, and Jin Ling and Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng—so it can’t be all awful. Maybe there are still people worth fighting for in this world. Maybe there are still people worth living for.
So Wei Wuxian fights, and lives, and remembers to eat.
Mostly remembers, anyway—but cut him some slack! He has no hunger-sense. He knows he’s supposed to eat three times a day (morning, noon, night) and so he does that, mostly, when he has time. Traveling with Lan Zhan certainly helps, because Lan Zhan never lets him miss a meal.
“Wei Ying,” he’ll always say in that steady no-nonsense voice of his, if they go too long without a food break, “we must eat soon.”
And then they do! It’s a good system.
The trouble doesn’t really start until after— after Guanyin Temple, after Lan Zhan’s confession, after Wei Wuxian returns to Gusu with him. Wei Wuxian suddenly has time to rest, to stay in one place, to think, even, which is really abhorrent. He has too many things he doesn’t want to think about. He tries to keep busy researching, and fiddling with talismans, and going on little night-hunts with Lan Zhan and the juniors whenever he can.
But Lan Zhan’s busy a lot, is the thing, and he’s not always around to keep an eye on Wei Wuxian’s dietary habits. And that’s fine! That’s good! Wei Wuxian is a grown-up mature adult who should be perfectly capable of managing himself.
He is not.
He forgets to eat lunch, most days. It’s easy to remember breakfast, because Lan Zhan leaves some for him in the Jingshi when he leaves for the day. It’s easy to remember dinner, because Wei Wuxian always goes to get some for himself and for Lan Zhan in the evening. It’s not so easy to remember lunch. The middle of the day is always a haze of activities, and Wei Wuxian is never quite sure when to stop, so he just...doesn’t?
It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose—he just forgets. So really—really, Lan Zhan shouldn’t have been so mad when he found out!
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, as he strides into the Jingshi one day. This would not be unusual, except that it’s only late afternoon and Lan Zhan should still be busy keeping the cultivation world intact. Also, his eyes are narrowed and his jaw is tight. He might as well be shouting.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replies, his brow furrowing in concern. His zhiji rarely looks so upset. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”
Lan Zhan stops before him, stiff and straight. He meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes—glaring! He’s glaring at Wei Wuxian! Wow, he hasn’t done that in a while! “I spoke with Lan Jingyi today.”
“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, arching his eyebrows. He knows Lan Jingyi can be a handful, but really, he’s not that bad. “I’m sorry?”
“He told me that you have not been eating.”
Wei Wuxian chuckles. This is not the appropriate response.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan says, a muscle in his jaw spasming. His voice is sharp and hard. Gods, he really is mad about this, isn’t he?
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, draping himself across the table and making grabby hands at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan ignores this. “Er-gege, it isn’t like that. I eat with you every day; you watch me do it, you make my meals!”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders relax, just a fraction. Had he honestly not considered that? Silly man!
“It’s just lunch I forget sometimes, gege,” Wei Wuxian says apologetically, looking up at Lan Zhan.
“Why?”
“Ah, I get so busy. It just doesn’t make sense to stop.”
“You are still recovering from malnutrition. You cannot afford to forgo meals.”
“Well, you know I have a bad memory. I can’t help it.”
“Does your hunger not remind you?”
Wei Wuxian glances away—just a little, just for a moment, but it’s enough. Lan Zhan’s brow knits. He kneels before the table, taking Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hands and interlacing their fingers. Wei Wuxian squeezes, smiling at him; the expression feels stilted and awkward on his face.
“No. I guess it doesn’t.”
“You are not hungry at lunchtime?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head.
“Not ever?” Lan Zhan presses, looking very concerned now.
“I—” Wei Wuxian is struck, suddenly, with the urge to untangle their fingers and leap away from this conversation. Lan Zhan, let me go. It’s an old urge. It lives in his bones. He takes a deep breath, ruthlessly smothers it, and holds on to Lan Zhan. “No. I don’t feel hungry ever.”
Lan Zhan is quiet, for a moment, while he processes that.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t hate the quiet anymore, when he’s with Lan Zhan. He lets it be.
“How long?” Lan Zhan asks, eventually, meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes.
“Since the first time I was in the Burial Mounds.”
Lan Zhan’s grip tightens. “I should have noticed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I should have told you. I just—it’s not really that important. It doesn’t affect anything.”
“You do not eat lunch.”
“Sometimes,” Wei Wuxian emphasizes, because that’s important. “Sometimes I don’t eat lunch. I’ll—I can try to schedule it in every day, if that makes you feel better. I can design an alarm talisman.”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “No need. I will eat with you from now on.”
“Lan Zhan! You can’t do that. You’re busy at lunchtime, and—”
“Never too busy for Wei Ying.”
Wei Wuxian makes a sound a little like a tea kettle, and then flops back onto the floor and drapes an arm over his face. He feels warm all over. Lan Zhan will be the death of him.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, clearly satisfied. “Wei Ying. Let us go and get lunch.”
A thousand protests cram themselves against the backs of Wei Wuxian’s teeth—Lan Zhan shouldn’t take so much time out of his busy schedule; Lan Zhan has better things to do; Wei Wuxian is a distraction and a waste; Wei Wuxian should learn to mind himself.
He swallows every single one of them and reaches for his zhiji again.
“Okay, Lan Zhan. Let’s go get lunch.”
So, Lan Zhan being there helps, but it definitely doesn’t solve all of Wei Wuxian’s problems. Besides, there are still times Lan Zhan can’t be there! This is one of them. Wei Wuxian is out on a night hunt with some of his favorite juniors. They’ve just finished the hardest part of the hunt, and they’re celebrating with a much-deserved feast at a nearby inn.
“—thought it was going to rip Sizhui’s head off!” Lan Jingyi exclaims through a mouthful of hot-and-dry noodles. “But then Sizhui just turned around and bam! That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Lan Sizhui ducks his head sheepishly. “Ah, it was nothing, really.”
“You shouldn’t be so humble,” Wei Wuxian chastises, pulling a bowl of pork ribs towards himself and waving his chopsticks scoldingly at his son. “Jingyi is right. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Wei-qianbei, please.” Lan Sizhui’s cheeks are dusted with pink, now.
“What, really?” Lan Jingyi leans towards Wei Wuxian, his eyes wide. “Wei-qianbei, that can’t be completely true. You’ve seen so much!”
“This is true,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding sagely. “But to see my little a-Yuan all grown up and fighting as well as Hanguang-jun himself—there really can be nothing cooler!”
Lan Sizhui shoves his face into his hands and does not look at either one of them.
Lan Jingyi laughs, nudging Lan Sizhui playfully. As the two of them banter, Wei Wuxian lifts a rib to his mouth and tears the meat off with his teeth—it’s succulent and heavily-seasoned. He swallows readily, then goes back for another bite. This time, his teeth touch the bone. This shouldn’t be an issue. Really, it shouldn’t be!
It is such a fucking issue.
Wei Wuxian recoils instantly, dropping the rib and wiping his mouth as a violent shudder rolls down his back. What the fuck. What the fuck. The feeling of it—bone on teeth, a hard scrape—reverberates in his head and jaw. His stomach churns. When he inhales, he smells dust and dirt and rot.
“Wei-qianbei?” Lan Sizhui asks, his brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”
Wei Wuxian stands up so quickly he bashes his knee against the table. The pain jolts through his leg (though his shattered hips, through his fractured spine, through his broken head) and he gasps. “Fine,” he says quickly. “Fine, I’m fine, I’m—I have to go to the bathroom.”
He can hear the juniors murmuring behind him as he bolts upstairs, into his room. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, gasping. Fuck. Fuck, he can’t catch his breath. He brings a hand up and scrubs it across his mouth again, then clamps it down so he can pant against his palm. His tongue tastes like brittle bone marrow and the hot wash of blood. His mouth waters, and he barely makes it to the matong in time.
He vomits up what little dinner he managed, then retches yellow bile for several miserable minutes. When his nausea finally subsides, he sits back on his knees and groans. Gods. It’s been a while since he’s felt like this—he supposes he can add yet one more thing to the list of weird shit that makes Wei Wuxian overreact. His skin is still crawling. He gets the distinct feeling that he is not alone, a creep of paranoia along his shoulders, and he huddles closer to the wall.
It doesn’t get better.
He spends most of the evening on the floor trying not to hyperventilate. He knows where and when he is—he knows, he knows— but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. The back of his mind is alight with ancient horror. Every breath he takes smells like those godforsaken Burial Mounds. Every time he swallows it tastes like oily blood.
When he thinks of the ribs—of broken bone between his teeth—a familiar mantra returns to him: it could have been anything.
He clings to the mantong as he dry-heaves.
Lan Sizhui comes to see him shortly before the ninth hour. He pauses outside of Wei Wuxian’s door, his shadow looming across the screen. “Wei-qianbei?”
a-Yuan, Wei Wuxian thinks desperately, nonsensically. a-Yuan, you’re still here with me.
“I’m okay,” he says, his voice a miserable rasp. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m okay, Sizhui, don’t worry about me. I’m just ill. I must have caught something.”
“Oh, Wei-qianbei, I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’ll be alright.”
“Shall I send word to Hanguang-jun letting him know we’ll be late?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head before he realizes Lan Sizhui can’t see him. “No, no, don’t do that. We’ll still leave tomorrow morning.”
“Wei-qianbei, if you need to rest—”
“I want to go home,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice much smaller than he should have allowed it to be. Shame floods him. How pathetic he is!
Lan Sizhui hesitates, and then relents: “Okay. I’ll make sure Jingyi and Little Apple are ready to go. You’ll tell me if you need something?”
Wei Wuxian makes a soft, affirmative noise.
“Good. Feel better soon, Wei-qianbei.”
Wei Wuxian lets out a shaky breath as soon as Lan Sizhui has gone. The rest of the night is a rotten affair: Wei Wuxian fluctuates between shivering against the wall and retching over the matong whenever he thinks too long about bones, and meat, and the repulsive act of chewing. He’s exhausted by morning, and he stumbles out to the stables before the sun even rises. The smell of sweet hay is familiar and comforting.
Little Apple snorts when she sees him, stomping her hind foot—but she lets him stand by her and stroke her long ears without complaint. As she relaxes, she leans her head against his hip, and his throat tightens. He thinks that he would kill her, if he had to. He would kill her, and take her apart, and eat her piece by piece. That’s just who he is, isn’t it? He’ll do anything to survive, no matter how horrible. He really is a—a bad person, isn’t he?
Wei Wuxian kneels beside Little Apple and presses his face against her neck, breathing in her warm animal smell and whispering apologies for the things he would do if he had to.
After several minutes, he manages to pull himself together enough to tack Little Apple up for the day—but the shame stays sticky on his skin. He wants to go home and sit in a hot bath until he dissolves. With that goal in mind, he leads the juniors back towards Cloud Recesses. He can feel their worried eyes on him the entire time, and it does nothing to ease the guilt in his gut. They’re just lucky they haven’t gone too far; it’s only a day’s trip back home.
They stop for lunch, at midday, but Wei Wuxian cannot bring himself to eat or drink. He knows that if he does he’ll only retch it all back up; his stomach clenches at the mere thought. Lan Jingyi tries to cajole him into nibbling a steamed bun, and Lan Sizhui makes him offerings of bright red congee. Wei Wuxian wants to hurl. He moves away from them both, instead, waving off their uneasy questions.
They arrive at Cloud Recesses that evening, and Wei Wuxian says his goodbyes to the juniors. Lan Jingyi offers to take Little Apple for him, and he hands her reins over gratefully—the sooner he can get to Lan Zhan, he thinks, the better. Lan Sizhui stops in front of him, and Wei Wuxian cannot meet his eyes. He doesn’t think he can handle it if Lan Sizhui wants to push the matter; his emotions are tremulous, uncertain things curdling like old milk in the pit of his stomach.
“Wei-qianbei,” Lan Sizhui says quietly. “Are you going to Hanguang-jun now?”
Wei Wuxian nods.
“Will you be okay?”
“I will,” Wei Wuxian says, although even he isn’t convinced that it’s the truth. Lan Sizhui clearly isn’t convinced, either; his eyes glitter with concern. “Don’t worry, a-Yuan.”
“Hm,” Lan Sizhui says, and then hugs him. Wei Wuxian falters for a moment, but only a moment, before folding himself around his son and hugging back. Was it worth it, then? He did all of those terrible things, but they kept him alive, and he kept a-Yuan alive. Does that make it worth it? Does that make what he did in the Burial Mounds any more forgivable?
Ah, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know, but he does know this:
For a-Yuan, he would do it all again.
When Lan Sizhui pulls back, he rests his measuring gaze on Wei Wuxian—too smart, his son! “I’ll see you tomorrow. Go talk to Hanguang-jun.”
“Yes, Lan-gongzi,” Wei Wuxian says, bobbing into an overly formal bow; it’s a weak joke, perhaps, but it still gets Lan Sizhui to smile. “Right away, Lan-gongzi.”
“Goodnight, Wei-qianbei.”
The smile Wei Wuxian offers him doesn’t feel as stilted, this time. “Goodnight, Sizhui.”
Wei Wuxian makes his way to the Jingshi alone. Warm yellow light bathes the windows as he approaches, and he pauses outside to breathe in the cool night air. There’s a shadow moving inside: Lan Zhan must already be home. Wei Wuxian wants so badly to see him. He knows Lan Zhan would do anything to make him feel better (Lan Zhan is good that way) but this time—
This time, Wei Wuxian really isn’t sure he deserves it.
Lan Zhan doesn’t know what he’s done.
Shame sticks to him like drying blood, tacky and cool. He forces himself to ignore the way it chafes on his skin as he pops into the Jingshi and beams at his husband. “Lan Zhan!”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan looks up at him, his eyes warm, and for a moment Wei Wuxian really does feel better. Coming home to his husband, to his Lan Zhan—what could be better than that? “Welcome home.”
Wei Wuxian wastes no time in plastering himself to Lan Zhan’s side. “Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s good to be back! I missed you so much. Did you miss me? You did, right? I bet you were just wasting away without me.”
“I missed Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan confirms, wrapping an arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist to draw him closer. He leans over, kissing Wei Wuxian’s temple, which is really too cute of him!! Wei Wuxian buries his face against Lan Zhan’s throat so he can’t do it again. “How was your trip?”
“It was good. Easy. I’m sure Lan Sizhui will have a whole report for you by tomorrow, so I won’t bore you with the details. Surely there’s something more exciting you’d like to do, Er-gege…?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan confirms, and then nudges Wei Wuxian to face the table. “Dinner.”
“Eh? That’s not what I meant…”
Lan Zhan reaches forward, beginning to fill two bowls with rice. He points towards Wei Wuxian’s seat across the table, and Wei Wuxian reluctantly unsticks himself from Lan Zhan’s side to go. Once there, he cups his bowl in his palms and frowns down at it. His throat feels thick again. He swallows hard.
“Lan Zhan, how are you?” he asks, looking up.
“I am well,” Lan Zhan says. He reaches for his chopsticks.
Wei Wuxian, desperate to stall, claps a hand over said chopsticks. Lan Zhan arches an imperious eyebrow at him. “Uh! You forgot!”
“Forgot?” Lan Zhan asks.
“The chili oil,” Wei Wuxian confirms, nodding rapidly.
Lan Zhan glances down at the table, where—ah, where the chili oil sits next to the bowls of vegetables.
“You—you have to put it on for me,” Wei Wuxian says. “Because you love me. Those are the rules.”
“Of course,” Lan Zhan agrees solicitously, as though Wei Wuxian’s request is not utterly absurd. He pulls Wei Wuxian’s bowl towards himself, sprinkling it liberally with chili oil before returning it.
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian says, wrapping his hands around the ceramic again. The warmth seeps through his palms. “Lan Zhan really is the best. He takes care of his husband so well.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan sounds pleased with the compliment. He reaches for his chopsticks again.
“Lan Zhan, wait,” Wei Wuxian whines, and Lan Zhan glances expectantly at him. “Don’t eat yet. I miss you, I want to talk with you.”
“We can talk after we eat,” Lan Zhan suggests.
Wei Wuxian pouts at him, but—ah, Lan Zhan probably is hungry. He isn’t fucked up, not like Wei Wuxian is, and it’s cruel to keep him from his meal. Wei Wuxian relents, picking up his own chopsticks and regarding his rice warily.
“Lan Sizhui did well today,” he says suddenly, clearing his throat. Just because Lan Zhan won’t talk while he eats doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian can’t, and besides, Wei Wuxian is plenty capable of carrying a conversation by himself. “I knew he was good, of course—Hanguang-jun trained him—but he really surprised me.”
Lan Zhan nods to show he’s listening, and Wei Wuxian rambles and rambles and rambles. It’s exhausting. For once, the words don’t come easily, and he wants to withdraw into himself—but if he does that, he’ll have no excuse not to eat. He doubts this excuse is going to last much longer, anyway. Lan Zhan is already eyeing him suspiciously. Every few minutes, he adds another vegetable to Wei Wuxian’s bowl and looks pointedly at him.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan finally says, when Wei Wuxian ignores every single hint. “You are not eating.”
Wei Wuxian glances down at his rice. “Oh! Yes. Yes. We ate late on the road, Lan Zhan, I’m still full.”
It’s a lie—and not even a good one! Wei Wuxian immediately feels guilty. What is he thinking, lying to Lan Zhan like that? He doesn’t lie to his husband. He knows better!
“Wei Ying—”
“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian blurts. “I’m sorry, that was a lie, please don’t be mad. I don’t know why I said that.”
Lan Zhan regards him for a moment, then inclines his head.
“Look, I’m eating now, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian fumbles for his chopsticks, scooping up a mouthful of rice. He shoves it into his mouth, chewing hastily. “I’m eating.”
“I see.” Lan Zhan takes a deep breath. “Wei Ying, are you okay?”
Fuck.
Fuck, no, he’s really not.
Wei Wuxian chews his rice longer than is strictly necessary. He really doesn’t want to swallow it—his stomach feels like a rock—and it’s a good excuse to stall. There’s only so long a person can chew rice, however, and Lan Zhan is already beginning to look anxious. Wei Wuxian swallows. His stomach rolls violently.
Clear communication is sexy, he thinks desperately. Clear communication is sexy, clear communication is sexy, clear communication is—
“I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” he chirps, and then bursts into tears.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds alarmed, now, which is fair. Wei Wuxian might be quite the crybaby, but even he usually isn’t so abrupt about it. A second later, Lan Zhan’s arms wrap around him, and he’s drawn securely into his husband’s lap. “What is wrong?”
Wei Wuxian squirms, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and clinging. His breath comes in hitching gasps, and he presses his face to Lan Zhan’s robes to gulp in the safe sandalwood smell of him. He wants to answer Lan Zhan—really, he does—but his throat is too tight to speak through. He’s not sure if he’s nauseous because he’s crying or if he’s crying because he’s nauseous, but either way he would like to stop soon.
Lan Zhan makes a soft, worried sound before beginning to rock him. He rubs Wei Wuxian’s back in slow, soothing circles and presses gentle kisses to his hair. He’s so nice. He’s really so nice. He’s warm and solid, keeping his arms snug around Wei Wuxian’s back. He hums their song low in his chest, and Wei Wuxian splays a hand over his heart to feel the rumble of it.
It takes several minutes, but Wei Wuxian does, eventually, pull himself together enough to speak. The first thing he says is, “Lan Zhan it’s so—so stupid!”
“What is?” Lan Zhan murmurs, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Wei Wuxian’s head protectively.
“I was eating ribs,” Wei Wuxian wails. “I was just eating ribs!”
Lan Zhan’s fingers thread through his hair, easing the tangles out of it and rubbing his scalp. “Mn,” he says, and then, because even he can’t be expected to make sense of why Wei Wuxian is sobbing over ribs, “Can you explain?”
Wei Wuxian shakes his head frantically. He can’t—he really, really, really can’t, not to Lan Zhan—what would Lan Zhan say, if he knew? How could he still love Wei Wuxian? He’s accepted so much of Wei Wuxian’s evil already, but surely this— this is too much, this is where he draws the line.
But maybe not telling him is even worse. It’s selfish to hide it from him. Lan Zhan should be allowed to make an informed decision about who he loves, right? He should know what awful things Wei Wuxian has done. Wei Wuxian is being selfish, hiding this from him.
Oh, gods, he’s so awful no matter what he chooses! He’s just the worst!! How can Lan Zhan even stand to be around him?!
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice breaks over the waves of panic crashing in his skull. He tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian, squeezing hard enough to make his ribs hurt. “Where have you gone?”
“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian gasps, digging his fingers into Lan Zhan’s robes. Lan Zhan’s grip on him relaxes, and Wei Wuxian drags in a full breath. “I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m— fuck, Lan Zhan, I did something bad, I did something really bad—”
Lan Zhan hushes him, resuming their gentle rocking. “Tell me in a moment. Breathe, now.”
“But Lan Zhan, I—”
“Whatever you did, we will deal with it,” Lan Zhan says firmly. “Right now you are panicking. You must breathe.”
Wei Wuxian hauls in another breath. It comes out on a ragged sob, and Lan Zhan smooths a hand over his hair. It takes several more minutes for Wei Wuxian to settle himself, and Lan Zhan holds him the entire time. Wei Wuxian allows himself to enjoy it while he can; there’s no way Lan Zhan will possibly want to comfort him after he knows what Wei Wuxian did.
The shame of it is almost unbearable. The guilt is a black, sucking pit between his ribs.
“Lan Zhan,” he says brokenly. “Lan Zhan, please.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was in the Burial Mounds—” Wei Wuxian shakes his head, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “When I was in—when I—”
“Breathe,” Lan Zhan reminds him gently, and Wei Wuxian breathes. “What happened when you were in the Burial Mounds?”
“I didn’t—” Wei Wuxian gulps. His hands won’t stop trembling. “I didn’t want to die. I had to eat something. Lan Zhan, I had to eat.”
Lan Zhan’s hand drops to cup the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck, and he goes very still.
“There were all these stupid birds, but I couldn’t catch any of them,” Wei Wuxian says, swiping furiously at his eyes. Lan Zhan catches his hand and holds it. “But the birds ate bones? I thought if they did—I thought I could too. I didn’t know what the bones were from, but it had been weeks since I’d eaten, and I didn’t want to fucking die, and—Lan Zhan, I didn’t know. They could have been anything. They really could have been anything!”
The mantra sounds hysterical, now, but it’s true: the bones could have been anything.
They weren’t.
Wei Wuxian knows exactly what they were.
“I fucking—I—” Sobs tear through him, and he crumples against Lan Zhan’s chest. He feels so sick. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want to die.”
It sounds like such a flimsy excuse, now, and he had died in the end anyway.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, his voice broken. “Wei Ying.”
There is nothing he can say to make it better. There is nothing he can do to make it right. He can only clutch Wei Wuxian to himself, pressing kisses to his face and hair. He says, “You survived,” and “I love you,” and “I’m glad you’re here,” and none of those things make it okay. Nothing in the world will make the hurt okay again—but this, at least, makes it bearable. For a-Yuan, for Lan Zhan—
Wei Wuxian can bear this.
Lan Zhan cups Wei Wuxian’s ribs like they’re fragile things, and the pads of his fingers are searingly warm where they press into the gaps. Wei Wuxian gasps, arching into the touch, and Lan Zhan litters his chin and jaw with kisses. When he reaches Wei Wuxian’s throat, he sinks his teeth in and bites. Wei Wuxian’s fingers scrabble across his back.
“Lan Zhan,” he pants, cradling the back of Lan Zhan’s head to keep him in place. “Lan Zhan, oh, that feels good. Do it more.”
Lan Zhan readily obliges. His teeth scatter sharp bruises down the column of Wei Wuxian’s throat and into the slope of his shoulder. Wei Wuxian whines, rocking up against him; he can’t move much, with Lan Zhan’s weight draped across him like this. His husband is heavy—tall and strong, all muscle packed over solid bone—and Wei Wuxian revels in the feel of it. He whines when Lan Zhan draws back.
Lan Zhan catches his hands, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. When he speaks, his lips brush Wei Wuxian’s skin: “Wei Ying.”
“Too far away,” Wei Wuxian insists, trying to haul Lan Zhan back down. Lan Zhan resists. “Lan Zhan!”
“Patience,” Lan Zhan chastises. He sits back, straddling Wei Wuxian’s hips, and rakes his eyes down Wei Wuxian’s body. They catch and linger on his ribs, again. Wei Wuxian would worry, except Lan Zhan is smiling. “Wei Ying is beautiful.”
“Wei Ying is going to throw a fit if his husband doesn’t fuck him soon,” Wei Wuxian chirps, resolutely ignoring the sudden flare of heat in his cheeks. Really, Lan Zhan, too bold!!
Lan Zhan hums thoughtfully, then splays his hands over Wei Wuxian’s stomach. His fingers brush the arches of Wei Wuxian’s lowest ribs. He bends to kiss Wei Wuxian’s chest, his hair falling forward to tickle Wei Wuxian’s skin. Wei Wuxian squirms beneath him. He drifts down and down and down, until his lips touch the warm skin of Wei Wuxian’s belly.
Wei Wuxian isn’t as thin as he used to be, anymore. He’s still lean and rangy—and he thinks he always will be, thinks it’s just a given since he runs around everywhere literally all of the time—but he’s filled out under Lan Zhan’s fussing. He’s no longer the malnourished youth he used to be. A smooth layer of fat and muscle has settled over his ribs; the bones of his hips do not jut painfully; his belly is no longer concave.
“I like you,” Lan Zhan says, suddenly, nuzzling Wei Wuxian’s stomach. Wei Wuxian reaches down to cradle the back of his head, again, tangling fingers through his hair. “I like this.”
Then, before Wei Wuxian can reply, Lan Zhan latches onto the skin of his belly and sucks it between his teeth. A whimper burbles in Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he tilts his head back into the pillows. His stomach heaves with each breath. Lan Zhan keeps him weighted to the bed. He moves across Wei Wuxian’s abdomen, lavishing it with tongue and lips and teeth as Wei Wuxian gasps his name in staggered fragments.
“Lan Zhan, ah—Lan Zhan, this is bullying, you’re bullying me,” Wei Wuxian says, his breath hitching as Lan Zhan’s tongue dips into his navel. “You’re bullying your poor husband.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees, entirely unrepentant, and then slides down to dig his teeth into Wei Wuxian’s hip.
Wei Wuxian yelps and tugs his hair. “Lan Zh— ah, ah, no, do that again!”
Lan Zhan nibbles the arches of Wei Wuxian’s hips, the tops of his thighs, the crease between his leg and his groin. His tongue is warm and soft where it curls against skin; his teeth sting. He settles himself between Wei Wuxian’s legs like he belongs there: Wei Wuxian thinks he does. When he looks up to meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze, his eyes are as dark and sweet as treacle.
“Please,” Wei Wuxian says, because he is not above begging, not when it comes to Lan Zhan. “Please, Lan Zhan, I want you, I need you, please.”
“What do you need? Ask clearly,” Lan Zhan murmurs, running one hand over the inside of Wei Wuxian’s thigh.
“I need Lan Zhan! I need your mouth, please, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, put your mouth—” Wei Wuxian breaks off into a garbled moan as Lan Zhan obeys and swallows him down. His hands press Wei Wuxian’s thighs apart, digging bruises into the flesh there and holding him down. “Fuck, fuck, Lan Zhan, good boy, that feels so good.”
Lan Zhan keeps him there for several minutes, lets him pant and whine and moan but does not let him move—not that Wei Wuxian wants to go anywhere. No, thank you, he is right where he wants to be. There is nowhere on Earth better than this, right here, right now. Lan Zhan’s mouth is warm and wet and soft, working Wei Wuxian over so thoroughly his legs tremble. He would be more than happy to come that way, only—only—
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, tugging urgently at his hair. “Lan Zhan, wait.”
Lan Zhan draws back; his lips are red and spit-shiny and Wei Wuxian feels dizzy with want of him.
“I want to taste you too, I want you, I want—” Wei Wuxian scrambles to sit up, and Lan Zhan leans back to let him. “Lan Zhan, let me?”
Lan Zhan nods, and Wei Wuxian rushes to push him flat against the bed. He wastes no time tucking himself between Lan Zhan’s legs and taking Lan Zhan into his mouth. Lan Zhan tastes like skin and salt, heavy on Wei Wuxian’s tongue. He keeps his hips still as Wei Wuxian moves, but there’s a hitch on every exhale and his fingers are curling white-knuckled into the sheets. Wei Wuxian hums around him, and the faintest moan tumbles from Lan Zhan’s mouth.
“Good boy,” Wei Wuxian says, drawing back and taking Lan Zhan in hand. “Lan Zhan, good boy, you taste so good. Does it feel nice? Do you like it?”
Lan Zhan nods quickly, and Wei Wuxian cannot possibly stop himself from smiling. He kisses the soft spaces between Lan Zhan’s legs and reaches up to take Lan Zhan’s hand, guiding it into his hair. Lan Zhan’s fingers tighten there. Pain prickles across Wei Wuxian’s skull, and he whines softly. Lan Zhan’s grip loosens, but Wei Wuxian shakes his head.
“I like it,” he says, nudging his head up against Lan Zhan’s palm. “Can you come this way, Lan Zhan? I want you to.”
“I suppose,” Lan Zhan says, his voice a heated rumble, “that depends on how well Wei Ying does.”
Well! Challenge accepted!!
Wei Wuxian gets back to work, vigorously and enthusiastically. Lan Zhan keeps a tight grip on his hair, guiding his head into a steady rhythm; Wei Wuxian is more than happy to let him set the pace. He only slows once Lan Zhan’s hips begin to hitch in tiny, aborted thrusts—he wants to draw this out, wants to savor Lan Zhan’s little huffs of breath and the way his chin tips up in pleasure. He’s beautiful.
Wei Wuxian is so, so lucky.
Lan Zhan comes with a gasp and a shudder, tugging Wei Wuxian’s hair until it hurts. Wei Wuxian swallows greedily around him—he tastes like bitter brine, now, like a job well done. Wei Wuxian whines when Lan Zhan tries to tug him away, so Lan Zhan relents and lets him stay nuzzled close. When he finally grows soft on Wei Wuxian’s tongue, Wei Wuxian releases him and sits up straight.
“Wow, Lan Zhan,” he says. “You came a lot! That had to be good, right? I think next time—”
Lan Zhan surges up to kiss him, and Wei Wuxian laughs into his mouth. Their teeth clatter together, jarring, until Lan Zhan tips his head to find a better angle. His hands fumble between them until they find Wei Wuxian and tug him in long, slow strokes. Wei Wuxian keens into the kiss, arching against the warmth of Lan Zhan’s palm.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, shifting back to kiss Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, his nose, his chin. “Yes. That was very good. You were very good.”
The words blaze a light down Wei Wuxian’s spine, and he buries his face against Lan Zhan’s neck. “Ah—ah, ah, Lan Zhan, you can’t just say things like that.”
“I don’t see why not.” Lan Zhan tightens his grip on Wei Wuxian, twists his hand just so, and Wei Wuxian claws desperately at his shoulders. “Wei Ying is always very good. I should tell him so.”
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, oh, please—”
“Wei Ying is going to be good for me now, too.” Lan Zhan kisses his ear. He smooths one hand over Wei Wuxian’s side, over his stomach, scraping his nails over Wei Wuxian’s skin in tingling lines. “Wei Ying is going to come for me.”
And, well—what choice does Wei Wuxian have after that, really?
He muffles his cry against Lan Zhan’s skin, rolling his hips frantically into Lan Zhan’s grip as he comes. Lan Zhan strokes him through it and doesn’t slow until Wei Wuxian whimpers and bites him. After, he guides Wei Wuxian to lay down again and goes to fetch a cloth. He cleans them both; they curl together on the sheets as they catch their breaths.
Lan Zhan’s head rests on Wei Wuxian’s chest. His hand splays across Wei Wuxian’s stomach.
“You really like it, huh?” Wei Wuxian asks, wryly amused.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees, adamant.
“Ah, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian smooths a hand over Lan Zhan’s hair. “You’re too good.”
“There is no such thing as too good for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, looking stubbornly at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian chuckles and shakes his head. “Besides, it is nice.”
“What is?”
Lan Zhan pats his belly again, which would be amusing, if only he hadn’t gone and said, “To see Wei Ying healthy.”
“...ah.” Wei Wuxian swallows thickly. His eyes sting.
Lan Zhan starts to stir, anxious, but Wei Wuxian settles a hand in his hair and holds him in place.
“It’s alright,” Wei Wuxian says, blinking rapidly. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it.”
“I have upset you.”
“No, no! Lan Zhan, no. I’m happy. I’m just—” He sits up, shuffling Lan Zhan’s head into his lap, and leans down to kiss his temple. When he curves himself down, he has belly rolls. He has belly rolls!! He hasn’t had belly rolls in years!!! “I’m just really happy, that’s all.”
For once, it’s not a lie.
“Here!” Wei Wuxian says, hefting a tray of steamed buns into his arms. The wood is warm against his wrists, and the heady salt smell of the steam billows up in front of him. He sets the tray down on the table with a clatter, to a chorus of delighted exclamations. “Eat as much as you want. There’s plenty more!”
“Wei-qianbei, these look so good,” Lan Sizhui says, his eyes shining.
“Yeah!” Lan Jingyi agrees, already reaching for one plump bun. “What kind are they?”
“Those are yacai, and egg custard, and red bean paste ones,” Wei Wuxian says, pointing out each different flavor. “Oh, and black sesame ones, too! Save one of those for me.”
Jin Ling eyes the buns speculatively. “How spicy are these?”
“They’re not spicy at all,” Wei Wuxian scoffs. “Only the yacai ones have any chili oil in them.”
Lan Sizhui gently replaces the yacai bun he had selected, and Wei Wuxian wilts.
“They look wonderful,” Lan Zhan says, his plate already piled high. “Wei Ying did a very good job.”
Wei Wuxian brightens, sitting down to load his own plate. “You think?”
He’s far from a chef; most of what he makes, these days, is still bitter and blackened. His steamed bun recipe, however, he has practiced for several months, and he’d like to think it’s come along nicely. With enough practice, even an untalented individual like him can make something edible—something worthy of serving to his family, even.
“Mm—they are pretty good, actually,” Lan Jingyi says through a mouthful of food, his eyes widening.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised, you know.” Wei Wuxian takes a seat at the table, with Lan Zhan on one side and Lan Sizhui on the other. Lan Zhan begins to fill his plate for him, piling it with a variety of buns and steamed vegetables and a hefty drizzle of chili oil. Happiness bubbles in Wei Wuxian’s chest; he feels like he might burst from it. The Jingshi is warm and safe, filled with the very best of food and friends.
“It is good,” Lan Zhan confirms, after finishing his own egg custard bun. “Wei Ying is becoming a talented chef.”
“It’s certainly better than last time,” Jin Ling agrees, wolfing down his own food. The three juniors shudder at the memory of last time. That had been several months ago, near the very beginnings of Wei Wuxian’s foray in food-making. “What are you making next?”
Wei Wuxian props his chin in his hand, pushing his vegetables around on his plate. “Oh, I don’t know. Candy, maybe, or meat. Soups.”
“Pork rib and lotus root soup?” Jin Ling asks, haltingly.
“I don’t know that I could do it justice,” Wei Wuxian says, with a half-smile. “I’ll do something else first.”
“Eat,” Lan Zhan prompts, pointing a chopstick at Wei Wuxian’s plate.
Wei Wuxian obediently shovels a steamed bun into his mouth. The dough is pillowy and soft, and the black sesame paste is rich and sweet on his tongue. He closes his eyes and hums in pleasure. I made this, he thinks. I made this and other people like it.
His friends will not go hungry tonight.
“Soup,” Jin Ling decides. “I think next time, we should have soup. I don’t care what kind.”
Wei Wuxian grins. “I’ll start practicing right away.”