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Something crunches under the boots of one of their escorts. The fire crackles. If he turns his head, he could see the light reflecting against his hair piece sitting on the ground beside him. The fire holds back the cold that is staring to seep into the night. Cicadas call out. A night bird cries, low, mournful, and lovely.
The noises should not be disturbing him as they are.
Noises at night are nothing new to him. The soft creek of wood in the corridors of Cloud Recess during the night patrols have been a constant of his life. Even during night hunts, he has heard louder noises than this when he’s trying to sleep. He has caught the end of tavern jokes through floorboards and the final cries of markets through windows before.
This is nothing unusual. There are no signs of monsters or wicked spirits around them. Nor of soldiers. He should be at peace. He should be sleeping.
Still, he’s restless.
Lan Wangji stares upwards. Leaves sway between him and the stars. The moon’s dying light falls down and scatters along the cool ground.
They had chosen to make camp here rather than push on towards Qinghe Nie. It had not been a unanimous decision. Nie Huaisang had whined protests until Jiang Wanyin had thrown a blanket at his head while Meng Yao’s head was turned away. Any further protests had been drowned out by Wei Yng’s laughter. Tomorrow they would be close enough to get rooms at an inn if needed or at their destination if they made good time.
He almost wishes he had argued for them to continue onwards. He can hear every sleepy murmur and breath from his companions. It’s as if they’re lying right by his side. Nie Huaisang murmurs in his sleep, likely already fighting with his brother. Jiang Wanyin occasionally rolls from one side to another. Only Meng Yao is completely silent. Even Wei Wuxian is sleeping. He’s been asleep for a long time. Every so often he makes a sound, almost like he’s laughing even in his dreams.
Lan Wanji has only managed a few moments of rest. His eyes are burning for more, but he keeps hearing those little noises from nearby. Those noises won’t let him sleep. Wei Ying won’t let him sleep. He’s so close by. It feels strangely intimate. He can’t see him. He can’t feel him. But he hears every noise he wakes.
Lan Wangji draws in a breath. This isn’t sustainable. At this rate he will rise from his bedroll and fall immediately back down. He risks a glance.
Wei Ying had not undone his hair before collapsing into his blankets. His ribbon does little to hold his hair in order. It spills along the ground tangling little leaves within it. Slips of red entwine with the inky mass. And beyond them, the flames’ flickering light caresses his face. He’s curled into a chaotic ball of blankets and limbs. They’re so out of order that one foot has escaped.
It does not seem right. Lan Wangji has dedicated his life to his sect and to cultivation. Both demand the highest levels of discipline. He has that discipline. He’s held himself to the ideals of his sect and he has never failed to follow them. He’s not certain he can continue to do so for much longer.
With a glance, Wei Ying compels him to abandon them all for the curve of his smile and a taste of the wildness that pours out of him so easily. How can he resist? Even held firmly in the embrace of sleep, Wei Wuxian is temptation given form.
His eyelids flutter with dreams. His lips part.
These things are not for Lan Wangji to see. Certainly not to hold in his memory. Yet he knows he will treasure everyone, running his mind over the memory like fingers polishing jade. It’s worth every pain of consciousness.
Lan Wangji’s eyes sting and water. He wants to sleep. Every part of his body desires it, but he still cannot.
He has never been so close to Wei Ying before. No, they have been closer, but not in the same way. Clashes between swords and hasty teasing have so very little in common with these peaceful moments. Still his heart pounds the same.
Wei Ying is very affectionate. He touches his brother and friends so casually, so often. But not Lan Wangji. When he is awake Wei Ying can’t contain himself, or at least he doesn’t try to. He is always slipping over into Lan Wangji’s space, demanding his attention. His touches are fleeting and light like the clouds skimming the tops of the mountains. But each touch is seared into his memory. They linger on his skin. They leave him craving more.
Knowing what the future could hold, he knows he might never be so close again. War is on the horizon.
Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut. His brow furrow with nervous tension. Wei Wuxian would be delighted by the sight if he was awake for it. But now, Lan Wangji thinks, he has an opportunity. It is not proper. It is most certainly ill advised. And yet…it would be harmless. Nothing Wei YIng would protest if he were awake.
He shifts his leg, then holds himself as still as possible. Nie Huaisang remains oblivious. Jiang Wanyin does not shout. Meng Yao does not arise to scold him. Wei Wuxian sleeps on.
He moves again. Closer. He slides his own foot out of his blanket. The night air drags itself alone his skin. He pushes on, running his foot along the damp ground until it brushes against soft skin. He holds his ankle against arch of Wei Ying’s foot. He relishes the warm soaking into his skin. He closes his eyes and listens to the soft breaths around him.
His heart pounds against his ribs. He gives himself a moment and nothing more. Then he swallows dryly. He pulls away.
-
Lan Wangji soon discovers that war camps are never silent. There’s always too much to do and sleep is stolen in moments between battle.
-
Much later, and all too soon, Lan Wangji realizes that the quiet in Cloud Recesses is as cold as a grave. The comfort it once gave him in his earliest childhood memories is long gone.
-
Later still, after the world turns itself inside out and exposes its dark underbelly, hot breath caresses his skin. Wei Wuxian shifts in his sleep. His leg drifts over Lan Wangji’s as he mumbles half words. He is dreaming. About what Lan Wangji does not know. But his forehead is free of wrinkles and his lips lift in the slightest of smiles. Those small signs of happiness are enough for him live on.
He tilts his head to look at his love. Wei Ying’s head moves immediately to tuck into the space below his chin. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent of their soap clinging to his skin. The full moon’s light is slowly fading.
Outside their door, flowers bloom. Their scent mixes in with the incense that lingers in the corners of their room. He breathes deeply, savoring every moment.
Crickets chirp outside their door. Nothing lurks in the darkness: no war, no monsters, no betrayals. No dark fate awaits them.
Their bodies press together. Warm skin against skin. They share their warmth, a bed, and a long life.
Wei Ying murmurs nonsensical affections as he presses closer. His lips brush softly along the skin of his neck. Lan Wangji’s heart beats steadily. Everywhere they touch heat pulses.
The first rays of sun falls against Wei Ying’s eye lids. They flutter as he moves even deeper into Lan Wangji’s embrace. He can’t help the deeply satisfied noise he makes.
Wei Ying moves his head upwards. His eyes open blearily. Twin pools of inviting silver look at him with so much easy love.
He could bend down and take his lips. He could sing a million love songs in his honor. Every token of affection would be taken and adored. And returned.
He’s never seen a more perfect sight.