[ open post: Lan Wangji and guests ]

[lightbearinglord]

In the wake of his disorienting and unpleasant stint in Gu Xiang's body, Lan Wangji has done his utmost to resume and enjoy all of his usual pursuits. He has, he believes, thoroughly made up for his lapse in his promise to Wei Ying. He has wielded kitchen knives, his ink brush, and Bichen with precision and enthusiasm. He has sunk into long, restorative shichen of meditation. He has, at Claudius' behest, thoroughly perused Emily Post's instructions regarding how to conduct oneself as the best man at a wedding.

There is the matter of his qin, too. The discovery of the spirit in Gideon's sword struck Lan Wangji with greater surprise than he might have expected. Such things were once commonplace for him; he hardly went two weeks, before he came to this place, without finding himself called to some night-hunt. He does not like to believe that he could become complacent, and he has always practiced diligently, but still.

The tableau is a familiar one: a certain parlor near the entryway of the mansion, one that often houses this particular cultivator along with his spiritual instrument. Wangji is balanced on a table at the center of the room, polished black wood gleaming and strings freshly tuned, and Lan Wangji sits cross-legged before it. He is not actually playing it at this precise moment, however, because he currently has guests. A small white rabbit sits next to the qin, munching his way through a piece of lettuce. An equally small brown rabbit is perched in the crook of Lan Wangji's elbow, eyeing his brother with some envy. Ostensibly, the rabbits are in trouble, because they have recently laid waste to Lan Wangji's copy of Emma. It is impossible to tell, because Lan Wangji is petting Danding's head with exactly as much solemn focus as always.

Comments

[sagramore]

"That wouldn't happen to have been your job, would it?"

[lightbearinglord]

"It was," Lan Wangji says, this second admission delivered with a little more embarrassment than the first one.

[sagramore]

He laughs. "That seems like an easy way to fall in love with someone, watching them make trouble."

[lightbearinglord]

It was ridiculously easy, so easy that Lan Wangji only knew it was happening because he fought it with everything in him. Nothing he did had any effect. "I..." A little uncharacteristically, he hesitates mid-sentence. What can he say? He had never met anyone like Wei Wuxian. He never did again. He had believed with utter sincerity for weeks on end that he was losing his mind and that clarity of thought would be inaccessible to him for the rest of time. "Yes," he agrees, after that little pause, with slightly more obvious feeling than usual. "He did not listen to me."

[sagramore]

"If you were used to rule followers and some dashing fellow came in and defied you and over and over you wound up together for his punishment -- Christ, it probably felt like flirting. It must have been maddening and delirious." He laughs. "I think I was someone else's Wei Wuxian from time to time."

[lightbearinglord]

Maddening and delirious could hardly be a more apt description. Lan Wangji nods, then gives Sagramore a faintly curious look, head cocked the tiniest bit to one side, to see if he wants to elaborate on that final thought.

[sagramore]

"Oh, I was horrible," laughing again. "I shouldn't even say was. I was such an impatient boy, and angry and stupid and looking for trouble. Not," he amends quickly, "that Wei Wuxian was angry or stupid. Just that I did like finding rules to flout."

[lightbearinglord]

Calmly, Lan Wangji takes this in. "Wei Ying was not stupid," he agrees. "Nor were you." There is another small stretch of silence as he thinks. "I had never met anyone so alive."

[sagramore]

Sagramore cocks his head in that doglike way, smiling.

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji allows himself one more hesitation, then relents. He ducks his head to hide his own smile, which is considerably smaller and shorter-lived. "He believed I hated him. I believed I hated him, at first. Still, he would not leave me be."

[sagramore]

There's something deeply pleasing about listening to Lan Wangji talk about Wei Wuxian, with all the subtle tells for warmth that show up in his face and voice. For once, Sagramore doesn't say anything: he's waiting for Lan Wangji to continue.

[lightbearinglord]

This will take another few breaths, time to weigh what he might say next. To truly explain what it meant to meet Wei Ying would necessitate explaining the death of his mother, and Lan Wangji is not willing to discuss her, if only because he finds that he becomes rude and prickly when he does so. "I first met him because he was breaking curfew. He intended to bring alcohol into the Cloud Recesses; it is forbidden there. We fought, although fighting on the premises is also forbidden." Lan Wangji had been unable to control himself around Wei Ying from the jump, driven to impossible rage and desire within moments of the first time Wei Ying opened his mouth.

[sagramore]

A soft laugh. "He must have made you mad."

[lightbearinglord]

"Mad and delirious," Lan Wangji says, a more fervent agreement than he might usually issue.

[sagramore]

"What made you realize you loved him?"

[lightbearinglord]

Lan Wangji glances toward his qin, which is currently serving mostly as decor for Xiaoxue. He strokes the rabbit's back with the side of a finger. "I knew it when I found myself writing a song."

[sagramore]

The only time anyone has ever written a song about Sagramore it was Dinadan, and the song was very rude, which as it turns out is sufficient to make Sagramore feel very sentimental about the idea. His smile gets softer and fonder. "Did you?"

[lightbearinglord]

"Mn. You heard a portion of it that morning that we met." Only a portion, but that is still more than Lan Wangji played for anyone but himself for a very long time.

[sagramore]

"I'm honored that you played it for me when I was a stranger."

[lightbearinglord]

Gently moving Xiaoxue out of the way and onto his lap instead, Lan Wangji whisks back his sleeves so that they do not drape and sets his hands to the strings of his qin. He plucks a few slow notes, the opening of the song in question, and then directs his gaze back up at Sagramore. "When Wei Ying returned from death, I knew him by this song."

[sagramore]

"You taught him the song? Or had he heard you play it?" He suddenly remembers the rest of the arugula and offers Danding another piece.

[lightbearinglord]

Danding, who cares very little about the romantic story on offer as long as Wei Wuxian continues whittling toys for him and Xiaoxue in his spare time, accepts the arugula eagerly. Lan Wangji nudges Xiaoxue off his knee in case he is also interested in approaching Sagramore for food. "I sang it for him, once. He was feverish. When he played it, I knew it was him. No one else had ever heard it."

[sagramore]

"Christ, that's beautiful," softly, holding another leaf in his other hand for Xiaoxue.

[lightbearinglord]

One day, it is possible that this memory will wear thin for Lan Wangji, but such a day seems vanishingly far off. Thirteen years do not dissipate so quickly, nor do the preceding eight. He is briefly quiet, sitting with the thought of Wei Ying's new face, the familiar cleverness behind those unfamiliar eyes. It is easy enough to put his hands back to the qin and resume the piece.

[sagramore]

And, just as he did the first time, Sagramore listens quietly -- though the first time he was thinking of how he'd guard his heart against the trouble of love, and now he's thinking of his husband, and how he'd recognize him if had been lost. He thinks of the sicanje on Laertes' arm, and how it marks them as a family, with their fir trees and doubled stars; he thinks of the way Laertes looks when he's tousled and sleepy, when he's flushed with the pleasure of some new project, the light in his eyes when he looks at Szarka, the soft thoughtful face he makes while he's reading. He thinks of what an act of love it is for Laertes to be his master, and how much he wants to be Laertes' in return, and give him everything he needs or wants.