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Everything hurts.

It hurts more than anything he has ever experienced. It hurts more than a thousand lashes by Zidian. It hurts more than the resentful energy reshaping his body in the Burial Mounds, when he fell down the first time.

Wei Wuxian is distinctly conscious of the pain in a very distant way. It’s like his mind and body are two separate entities; on one hand, he’s acutely aware that his body is disintegrating, torn apart bit by bit every second, and that he no longer has any control over it.

On the other hand, his brain is still awake with startling clarity.

He’s destroyed half of the seal. He wishes he had enough strength to deal with the second half, but maybe… maybe he will be able to do it after he takes a bit of rest. He’s so tired. He wishes to lay down in his shijie’s lap, and feel the comforting touch of her fingers carding through his hair, murmuring to him that she believes in him.

The thought of his shijie is what connects the pain of his mind and his body for the first time since he started the process of destroying his creation.

That monstrous thing that has wrought so much misery and torment.

He thinks he hears himself screaming.

He suddenly knows that if he closes his eyes now, he will never open them again. The thought is disturbingly comforting. Finally, an end to all of his suffering.

He’s so, so tired.

Shijie, he thinks, I’m going to be with you soon. Will she stay to meet him before crossing the bridge to the land of the dead? Will she still smile at him? Will she forgive him, for being the reason she had to die? For her husband’s death? For making his nephew, her newborn child, an orphan? Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what is worse. To have, or to not have her forgiveness.

Either way, he will find out soon.

He wishes to apologize one last time to Jiang Cheng. He can’t remember what he must apologize for, but he feels like there must be something. Or everything.

He wishes to apologize to the Wen, for failing to protect them in the end. For not being strong enough. For letting Wen Qing and Wen Ning die. He hasn’t said thank you to them, either, for giving him a taste of family, despite everything they’ve gone through.

He wishes to know that A-Yuan is safe.

He wishes to see Lan Zhan one last time.

The last thought is so sharp, and abrupt, it almost startles him into a laugh. One of his last cherished moments alive was when Lan Wangji came to Yiling and they sat down for lunch. He’s spoiled A-Yuan rotten with frivolous gifts. He has come back to the Burial Mounds with Wei Wuxian, pristine white robes walking among barren lands. He still owes Lan Wangji for that lunch.

Was that the last time he saw Lan Wangji? He can’t remember anymore. He feels like he’s just seen Lan Wangji recently, his beautiful face marred with worry, those golden eyes pleading, his lips moving, saying something he cannot decipher. But perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

Would anything be any different, if I had come back to Gusu with you? Wei Wuxian thinks, pathetically, as he curls in on himself, pain welting into his flesh like cracks of a whip. A lifetime of imprisonment, or this one moment of excruciating pain?

He has been so sure in his decision, but he was only human. Right now, anything is better than the feel of his body tearing itself apart. Tears run hot on his cheeks. Is this regret?

If I ask to come to Gusu now, will you still take me? He asks, into thin air. He feels so helpless, and scared. Lan Zhan would know what to do, he thinks. He would not lay down and die, like Wei Wuxian is doing right now.

He would feel safe, if Lan Zhan was here, by his side.

I want to see him again…

That was Wei Wuxian’s last thought, when the last string of his consciousness finally slipped into darkness.

*

Wei Wuxian startles awake. It is still dark outside, but he’s in bed. A real bed. He’s warm under the cover, and the room smells faintly of sandalwood. He tries to sit up, but something grips across his torso, pinning him dead into place.

He turns, and finds Lan Wangji’s sleeping face inches from his own. There is no ribbon across his forehead, and he’s only in his inner robe. He’s never looked so… bare.

The thing that is locking him in place is Lan Wangji’s arms, holding him by the waist.

Wei Wuxian is also only in his inner robe, loosely tied, his bare chest plastered against Lan Wangji in the same bed, their legs tangled under the blanket.

He feels his face flames.

What the hell is going on?

Lan Wangji stirs, his thumb circling Wei Wuxian’s hip, and he mumbles, voice surprisingly clear despite him obviously still being half asleep. “Wei Ying? Nightmare again?”

His voice is so soft. There is a comforting weight and warmth to his touch.

Wei Wuxian feels like he can’t breathe.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, awake now that he doesn’t hear a response from Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying, what’s wrong?” He frowns, but not the disapproving frown Wei Wuxian usually gets from him. This is worry, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Wei Wuxian cannot find his voice to answer. The last thing he remembers is pain. So much blood. He remembers losing consciousness. Did… did he somehow survive?

“Wei Ying, you’re scaring me,” Lan Wangji says, and it’s such a ridiculous notion that he almost scoffs in affront. Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, being scared, by him? But before he could offer a sarcastic remark, he’s being pulled into Lan Wangji’s embrace, his face pressed to broad shoulders. There are fingers in his hair, and warm lips pressing on the crown of his head.

“Talk to me, my love.”

My love??? Wei Wuxian feels hysterical. He must’ve misheard. He’s still half delirious, trying to make sense of whatever situation he’s just been thrust into. His first instinct is to push Lan Wangji away, if this creature is really Lan Wangji in the first place. Is someone tampering with his mind? Is he already dead, and this is some special kind of torture?

At the same time, he also wants to pull Lan Wangji closer, to engulf himself in that embrace, to keep letting himself be held down by those strong arms.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, helplessly.

Lan Wangji hums, fingers still massaging against his scalp, and it feels… nice. More than nice. Wei Wuxian wants to melt against that touch. He’s still so tired, the kind of weariness that eats into the bone. He cannot remember the last time someone has cared for him, has touched him so casually. He’s never had Lan Wangji touching him in this way. Or touching him, ever.

“Was it another nightmare?” That low voice asks, calm like an anchor in the darkness.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have an answer, suddenly feeling disoriented. Was everything that happened before he woke up only a nightmare? The dying, the pain? But even then, how did he wake up like this? In bed, with Lan Wangji no less. And Lan Wangji didn’t even push him away. As if this is a common occurrence for him. Like it’s normal for them to wake up together.

Apparently sensing his dissociation, Lan Wangji pulls back, tilts his chin up, and kisses him sweetly.

Wei Wuxian’s mind blanks completely.

“????????”

Kissing. He’s kissing Lan Zhan. Lan Wangji. Hanguang-jun. The Second Jade of Lan. Unbersmirched virtue, and not a cut-sleeve. Someone who hates him. Hates demonic cultivation. Who argued and fought him almost every time they ever crossed paths.

Not only that, Lan Zhan kissed him first!

Before he’s even recovered from the shocking sensation of being kissed, his mouth is expertly pried open with tongue, and teeth nibbling his bottom lip lightly. Wei Wuxian trembles like a newborn calf.

“I’m here, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji whispers reassurances into his mouth, and keeps kissing him. “Focus on me. You’re alright. I got you.”

When some form of thoughts returns to his head, Wei Wuxian finds himself already kissing back with fervor, hands fisted into Lan Wangji’s hair. He feels flushed from his neck to the top of his head. The first thought is admonition. What is he thinking, shamelessly kissing Lan Zhan like this? His second thought is blaring panic, as he realizes he’s enjoying himself. A little too much.

Hands are roaming all over his body, pinching and kneading, and Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes and gasps, feeling his entire body hot and tingling. Then, one warm hand slips beneath his robe, traveling towards dangerous areas.

His eyes fly open. “Wait, wait! Hanguang-jun! What do you think you’re doing?”

Lan Wangji seems minutely confused. “You always ask for this, whenever you have a nightmare.”

The roaming of his hands doesn’t stop. Wei Wuxian tries his best to not do something embarrassing, like whimpering. He shoots out his hands to hold Lan Wangji respectfully in place, before catching his breath.

Nightmare. Lan Wangji keeps mentioning nightmares. Perhaps it is a clue.

He inhales sharply, trying to get his brain to work through the haze. He’s been at the Burial Mounds, trying to destroy the Stygian Tiger Seal. The rebound of that destruction. His screaming. His last thoughts before closing his eyes…

Oh.

“Am I dreaming right now, Lan Zhan?” he asks, voice smaller and less steady than he’d like.

“Dreaming?” Lan Wangji frowns. His lips are red and slightly swollen from kissing. Wei Wuxian looks away, hot with embarrassment.

Vice-like hand wraps around his wrist, the other pressed at his meridian, a surge of qi pours into his body.

“Don’t—” he begins, trying to jerk back, knowing the qi will just dissipate into nothing, and Lan Wangji will be able to detect that his golden core is not there.

Only… now it stays.

Wei Wuxian blinks, dumbfounded. He has a golden core. It’s small, as if he just managed to rebuild it, but it’s there.

Tears fall unbidden from his eyes, surprising both Lan Zhan and himself alike. Then he bursts out laughing.

“Oh Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian! How shameless you are!” He cackles, and cannot stop neither the laugh nor the tears. “Having a golden core again? In bed, kissing Lan Zhan? What outrageous dream you dare construct for yourself!”

“Wei Ying?”

Lan Wangji looks at him, alarmed. This is the most expressive Wei Wuxian has ever seen him. That’s how shameless he is, giving Lan Zhan expressions!

But it is no matter. He must’ve fallen into a coma from succumbing to his injuries. This is his dream, and whatever reprieve he’s created for himself, he’s going to make the most out of it, before the pain returns to wake him again.

“Ah, Hanguang-jun. You should see how flattering I paint you in my dream.” He traces a teasing finger up Lan Wangji’s bicep, all the way up to his shoulder. “Your shoulders are broader. You look older, less angry. Even more handsome, so unfair! You treat me with such gentleness. This is how I know I’m dreaming.”

His face flushes at the thought of exactly how Lan Wangji has taken care of him earlier. Gods, that was so… realistic for no reason. He’s never had a fantasy this detailed; though, if it’s a dream, there’s a possibility he forgets about it whenever he wakes up, especially with his poor memory. He hopes he doesn’t forget this one.

Lan Wangji is still staring at him warily.

Now that he has managed to explain why he is in this situation, Wei Wuxian finds himself relaxing, and appreciates the dreamspace more.

“I wonder why I dream up an older version of you,” he mutters, letting his finger trace the slope of Lan Wangji’s perfect nose, brushing the corner of his golden eyes, the curve of his lips. “I wanted to see you grow up, too, you know? Too bad I won’t be there to see it, now.”

At that, Lan Wangji visibly shudders. “Wei Ying,” he says, as if in pain.

He beams, greedily touching Lan Wangji everywhere he can reach, because this dream Lan Wangji doesn’t push him away. “Tell me, Lan Zhan. Who am I to you in this fantasy I cook up? A secret clandestine meeting? A shameful but passionate fling?”

“Husband,” Lan Wangji replies quietly.

Wei Wuxian sputters. Husband! He knows he has a hopeless romantic bone, but isn’t this pushing it too far? He buries his face in his hand, trying to calm his rabbiting heart back to a normal pace.

“Wei Ying, what is the last thing you remember, before…” Lan Wangji asks, hesitant.

Wei Wuxian chuckles to himself, as he recalls the things he’s thought before losing consciousness.

“Lan Zhan needs to praise me, I just destroyed the Stygian Tiger Seal!” He drapes himself shamelessly into the other’s lap, and looks up through his lashes. “I was so tired, it hurts so much, husband!”

Wei Wuxian wants to try calling Lan Wangji husband just once, and finds himself heady with how it sits so effortlessly on his tongue. This is dangerous. He can get addicted to this feeling.

There are fingers resuming their carding in his hair, though a little more tentative than before. “Mn. Good job.”

Wei Wuxian preens under the praise. This, too, he can get used to.

“Does it still hurt?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Wuxian checks with himself. There is some tiredness, some muscle ache, but a surprising lack of pain.

He’s been in pain for so long it’s strange to feel none of it.

“No pain,” he confirms. “But I’m so, so tired. Lan Zhan must take care of me, like a good husband.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji acquiesces easily. “What would you have me do?”

Wei Wuxian is still getting used to this dream version of him, who is free with affection and weak against Wei Wuxian’s every whim. He wonders how far he could go.

“I want breakfast.”

“Mn. I will cook.”

Lan Zhan. Cooking. Wei Wuxian once again has to compose himself from another fit of hysteria.

“Not Gusu food. I won’t eat it.”

“There will be chilies for Wei Ying.”

“I want to drink Emperor’s Smile!”

Lan Wangji’s nose slightly scrunches at that. The sun is not even up yet, and Wei Ying is already asking for liquor. Surely this is the last straw.

“There is still some in your stash. You may drink after breakfast. It’s not good to have alcohol on an empty stomach.”

Wei Wuxian is stumped. Not even a light scolding? Some recitation of rules? Not even a little angry?

Is he so desperate for affection, that he’s changed Lan Zhan’s personality completely?

He wheezes. “Are we… Are we in Gusu? The Cloud Recesses?”

“Mn. This is the jingshi.”

Wei Wuxian nods, looking around. “Of course, of course. I must’ve married in. Is alcohol no longer forbidden here? Why are you letting me get away with this?”

“Rules have never stopped you before.”

Wei Wuxian laughs. Lan Wangji, making jokes about breaking rules, of all things!

“Your uncle is going to qi deviate if he hears you say that, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji did the equivalent of a shrug, which means he didn’t move a single muscle, yet somehow still able to convey his unfilial apathy at his uncle’s wellbeing. “Shufu is used to it. As long as you’re happy.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, slapping himself slightly on his heated cheeks. The things his mind made up… even he didn’t know he could be this shameless. Lan Wangji, choosing him over rules? Over his family? What a concept.

He clears his throat, changing the subject.

“I guess I do know you after all, huh, Lan Zhan? I dreamed up the entire interior for your house, and it looks just like you.”

Lan Wangji smiles at him, and honestly, that was a cruel move. Smiles! Wei Wuxian stares at it, fluctuating between disbelief and something like devastation.

“It looks like Wei Ying, too,” is what the man says, finishing Wei Wuxian off for good.

He looks around. There’s a red ribbon placed on folded black robes by the bed. Chenqing lying haphazardly on a messy stack of talisman paper over on the low table, next to neatly placed scrolls that is so undoubtedly Lan Zhan. There’s a vase with fresh lotus flowers in the corner, next to the incense burner that smells like sandalwood. Bichen standing next to Suibian, by the foot of the bed.

And that, somehow, got him.

The idea that he’s able to build a life together with someone. To have a home full of evidence of himself, and is loved for it.

The next thing he knows, he’s bawling quietly into Lan Wangji’s chest, feeling a comforting hand tracing circles between his shoulder blades. Him, sitting in Lan Wangji’s lap, slotting so perfectly into place it feels like he’s always belonged here.

It’s everything he wanted, but never allowed himself to entertain that he could have, shoving down his subconscious until it spills out into this dream.

It is mercy. It is torture.

“So, marriage, huh?” He tries to joke through the tears, hoping it’ll make him feel less pathetic. “How did I manage to trick the honorable Hanguang-jun into marrying the evil Yiling Laozu?”

The evil effect is lessened somewhat by his hoarse voice, and puffy eyes. Heavens, it is humiliating, even if it’s his own dream. He’s already cried twice in the past, what, a quarter of a shichen?

“No tricking,” Lan Wangji says. “I wanted.”

He coughs through his fluster, and continues. “You hated my guts.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head lightly. “Wei Ying, I never hated you.”

He scoffs. This dream Lan Wangji is too much. He’s just saying whatever Wei Wuxian wants him to say.

“So you’re saying we married for love?” he teases.

The real Lan Wangji would have shoved him to the ground, and bit out an outraged “Shameless!”. This Lan Wangji just huffs a breath that can be passed off as a laugh. But it can’t be. Lan Wangji, laughing? The sky would collapse.

“Mn. It’s a love match.”

“So you love me?”

The reply comes instantly, sure and steady. “I love you, Wei Ying. I always do.”

It’s suddenly too much, and not funny anymore. He pushes off of Lan Wangji abruptly, and wraps his arms around himself, breathing hard.

It hurts, knowing that none of this is real.

Lan Wangji looks at him worriedly, hand hovering midair as if unsure whether or not his touch is welcomed.

After a stretch of silence, he says. “Wei Ying. Do you want a bath? I’ll have hot water brought in.”

Bath. Okay. Bath sounds nice. Wei Wuxian can’t remember the last time he’s had a bath. He nods wordlessly, cannot trust himself to speak.

Lan Wangji gets out of bed, and gets dressed. Once the forehead ribbon is back in place, and he starts looking impeccable like the Lan Wangji he knows, instead of the soft, laxed, sleep warm version earlier, Wei Wuxian suddenly experiences a moment of panic, wondering if his dream is ending now that things seem to have returned to normal.

“I’ll be back soon,” Lan Wangji gently reassures, so aptly attuned to his every change in mood.

Wei Wuxian is still anxious. He needs… he needs confirmation that this is still a dream.

“Can I…” he swallows. “Can we kiss again?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widen just by a fraction, then soften. He leans closer, and presses a sweet, tender kiss on Wei Wuxian’s lips with practiced ease. Okay, definitely still dreaming.

Wei Wuxian stamps the disappointment valorantly down when his husband (husband!) pulls back without deepening the kiss.

“Bath first,” Lan Wangji says firmly, then leaves.

The separation anxiety doesn’t last long, because true to his words, Lan Wangji returns soon enough with hot water, and busies setting up the tub himself.

Wei Wuxian sits on the bed, still in his half-tied inner robe, watching this domestic scene playing out in front of him. The second Jade of Lan, fussing about with bath water and soaps and towels.

“Do we not have servants?” he asks aloud, but mostly to himself. “Was marrying me your fall from grace, and you’re no longer allowed to have help anymore, Lan Zhan?”

“It is not mao shi yet, no one is awake,” comes the reply.

Wei Wuxian chuckles to himself. Wow, that Gusu Lan’s sleeping regime is ingrained into his brain, huh, for him to remember it in a dream!

“The water is ready,” Lan Wangji informs, then leans down and picks him up, bridal style.

Taken aback, Wei Wuxian thrashes like a fish.

“Wait, wait! There are barely a few steps! I can walk!”

“Be still. Let me take care of you.”

His mouth falls agape, speechless, and his limbs go slack as he gives in, all too easily.

Lan Wangji places him down in front of the steaming tub, the water on the right side of scalding hot, just the way Wei Wuxian likes it, and begins to help him divest the last layer and trousers. He tries not to squirm against the vulnerability of being stripped bare like this, metaphorically and literally, tries not to let that wounded animal inside him hiss and snarl its teeth at the idea of being helpless.

He’s not helpless, he bargains with himself. He can still kick Lan Wangji if he must, or do a really mean headbutt, though how effective is another matter. Rationally, he knows he doesn’t have to, knows that he’s reveling in this rare kind gesture, knows that he doesn’t even want to hurt Lan Wangji in the first place. Knows that this is a dream, that all of this is just a figment of his imagination. But he can’t help but clutch onto that idea, in order to feel safe.

Lan Wangji guides him into the tub like he’s some frail maiden, then picks up his discarded robes to fold it, placing it in the laundry pile. Wei Wuxian watches it happen with a sort of detached, floaty feeling that he blames on the effect of dreaming, and smiles to himself. What a good husband this Hanguang-jun makes! Truly, there’s not a single aspect of him that is lacking.

Sorry for taking this selfish liberty, Lan Zhan, he thinks to himself. Just for a while, let me have this fantasy, let me hoard your full regard for myself.

He lowers himself into the tub, and immediately relaxes. The hot water does wonders to release his tense muscles, and the aroma helps slow down his mind. Blearily, he realizes, his skin is unblemished. Almost. No Wen brand mark, no remnants of Zidian, no golden core surgery scar, but there’s a large one on his stomach, like he’s been run through with a sword. Has he been run through with a sword? He can’t really remember.

He stares at this body he doesn’t recognize for a few more seconds, then closes his eyes, refusing to acknowledge all the dysphoric feelings that come with it. He hasn’t looked at a mirror once since he got back from Burial Mounds the first time, afraid of what he might see. Afraid he’d come face to face with the monster people seem to see in him. He’s not entirely sure what he looks like anymore, the memory warped by experiences he’d rather not revisit right now.

Lan Wangji returns to sit dutifully by the bathtub with a comb and hair oil, and begins to detangle the mess of hair on his head. It is… nice. So nice, his unruly tear duct threatens to run amok again. Really, he chastises himself, he hasn’t felt the urge to cry this much since he was seven. He blames the heat, and the luxury of having his hair brushed and his scalp massaged, for lulling him into a feeling of safety he hasn’t felt in so long, for the way his body goes pliant, all defenses worn down.

“If this is what you meant when you ask me to go back to Gusu with you, I should’ve come,” he mumbles, and feels the comb go still on his hair. “When I wake up for real, you have to take me with you. No matter what I say, or how much I fight back, okay?”

He thinks he hears the signature Mn, and perhaps he’s smiled in response, but by then, he’s already dozing off, the exhaustion seeping out gradually from his bones.

*

When Wei Wuxian wakes up next, it is to the smell of food and the sound of guqin.

Lan Wangji must’ve fished him out of the bathtub and dried him off after he fell asleep, because he’s back in bed again, dressed in fresh robes, his skin warm and soft, his hair only a little damp.

He sits up, a little disoriented, and isn’t entirely sure what reality is. Well, he knows what his reality is, but very much prefers the dream version, and is willing to lie to himself about it. Apparently, falling asleep inside a dream meant being pulled back to the sound of screaming again, the feeling of pain, of being torn apart. He remembers thinking Not yet, and then he’s awake (?) back in the dream again.

The last notes of the melody Lan Wangji is playing linger in the air, and it sounds familiar. He cannot recall where he’s heard it, but it makes sense that he would pull some melody from memory to supply this dream. If he’s not so tired, he would be delighted for a chance to study the mechanism of this unusual dreamscape. But he is still restless despite just being technically asleep, so he contents himself with his face in his hands propping up on his knees, and watches his dream husband with crescent eyes.

Realizing he’s awake, Lan Wangji sets down his guqin, and comes to check on Wei Wuxian’s forehead and meridian. “Are you feeling better?” he asks, and is rewarded with the rumbling sound of Wei Wuxian’s stomach.

He smiles sheepishly. “I feel better. Will be much better with good food.”

Breakfast is some healthy fish congee that looks very much like Gusu Lan’s food, but tastes hearty and flavorful, like someone’s made it with love. Though, the healthy part is somewhat ruined by the amount of chili oil Wei Wuxian dumped onto the bowl. Spicy food is helpful to sweat out the toxins, he’s quick to argue, but Lan Wangji didn’t even bat an eye in the first place, apparently satisfied just by the fact that Wei Wuxian is eating. Or gorging down food, more like.

He tries not to act like he’s starving, but then remembers that he’s dreaming, and who is he even saving face for anyway? He has not had good food in so long.

“The last good meal I had was with you, too, do you remember?” He tells Lan Wangji fondly. “Speaking of which, I still owe you for that lunch.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“Mm? Why are you shaking your head for? Are you saying I don’t need to pay you back?” he grins, finding humor again now that his belly is full. “Ah, of course, Lan er-gege is my husband now, his money is my money, right?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, and uses a handkerchief to clean the corner of his mouth.

His thumb brushes over Wei Wuxian’s lips, and he finds his face heated. His eyes unwillingly drop to Lan Wangji’s soft pink lips again, and his mouth goes a little dry. He can’t believe he’s been dreaming about kissing Lan Zhan in such extensive manners. Even more embarrassing, he’s given Dream Lan Zhan the same kissing style as the mysterious maiden who has stolen his first kiss. He hasn’t known any other lips since then, but imagining Lan Zhan in that place, kissing him with the same tongue, the same nip at his bottom lip, is too much for his poor fragile heart.

Realistically, it is not the first time Wei Wuxian dreamed about kissing Lan Wangji. After returning from Cloud Recesses, and every time they crossed paths, he usually found the Second Young Master of Lan in his dreams. Most of the time, he would dream about Lan Wangji coming to visit Lotus Pier, sitting primly on a boat with a parasol, as Wei Wuxian rows them both onto the full bloom lotus lake. A few times, he would lean in to give him a peck on his cheek, or on those very kissable lips, then Lan Wangji would snap a “Wei Ying!” or a “Shameless!”, his ears flaming red, and Wei Wuxian would immediately wake up, clutching his stomach in hysterics.

He has reasoned those dreams away as his typical wish to tease Lan Wangji, and besides, who would look at that beautiful face, and not want to kiss him? Never has he dreamed about Lan Wangji kissing him back. Now that he did, it feels like the world has just shifted from under him. He’s always held Lan Wangji with affection and in high regard, but to imagine him as his husband, to kiss him like this, and be hungry for more… evidently, it does not come simply from a place of respect, but of deeper adoration. The realization feels both like some earth-shattering, irreversible, forbidden knowledge, and so right, like an array clicking into place. Like the truth has always been there, waiting for Wei Wuxian to make the leap.

It’s too bad, then, that it’s also probably too late to actually do anything about this realization. And the real Lan Wangji probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with him, either. He’s the only one who still treats Wei Wuxian with kindness, despite the cultivation world turning its back against him, wanting him dead. It is more than anything he ever deserves, but kindness doesn’t necessarily mean love. The thought saddens Wei Wuxian more than he thought it would.

He’s broken out of this train of thought before it can spiral further by the sound of Lan Wangji setting a jar of Emperor’s Smile on the table.

“Lan Zhan!” he gasps, scandalized.

Lan Wangji fixes him a look that says You asked for it, and he giggles, the sound of it throws him for a loop. When was the last time he laughed like this, plain and unbridled joy, unmoored by the crushing burden of righteousness, free from the twisted vein of resentful energy? He knows it can worm its wily tendrils into his mind, whispering hate and violence into his heart, and Heavens know he’s succumbed to it before. But he will fight tooth and nail to keep this dream untouched, the last pure and precious thing he created for himself. He would willingly give up his body to the abyss if it requires; the sacrifice would be his last stance to defy its control over him, to cling onto a semblance of his humanity. He will not let the bloodlust in his head ever taint this image of his Lan Zhan he wants to hold close.

This dream was his, and he will hold it dear until time runs out. Till death.

Knocking back a cup of Emperor’s Smile, he sealed the vow. The liquor has never burned so sweet.

Wei Wuxian is determined to enjoy this dream to the best of his ability. He doesn’t know how much time he has left until the destruction runs its course and claims his life as tribute.

So he crawls over to his husband’s side, and wiggles his way onto his lap, straddling Lan Wangji between his legs, feeling heady and delirious with power. He can bend this dream to whatever he selfishly desires, he can make this Lan Wangji do anything.

“Are you mine, Lan Zhan?”

“Always,” comes the reply, and Wei Wuxian’s limbs feel weak. Ah, that cannot be, he’s supposed to be in control of his dream, not out of breath and heart pounding like this.

“Lan Zhan,” he licks his lips, and says before his nerves get the better of him. “I love you.”

The words felt right, on his tongue, so he repeated them. He’s confessing to no one but the fantasy in his head, and yet, he still feels like he might die, if Lan Wangji doesn’t say it back.

Lan Wangji stares at him like he’s just revealed the secret of the universe, his mouth falls slightly slack, his golden eyes burning, and he’s the most beautiful thing Wei Wuxian ever holds in his hands. I want to kiss him, he thinks, before realizing he holds all the control, and leans down to lock their lips together.

There is nothing chaste and respectful about the kiss. He kisses Lan Wangji like the dying man he is, parched and greedy and desperate. He is met with equal enthusiasm every step of the way.

“Love you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breaks off to say breathlessly, before melting back into the kiss, and Wei Wuxian mourns the fact that if he’s heard those words from the real him, he would’ve done anything the man wanted.

A stubborn voice in the back of his head tells him that he could never leave the Wen to fend for themselves, he cannot endure a lifetime of imprisonment in a place with three thousand rules, that it will be a bitter, miserable existence to put himself on a leash.

But in the end, what has been the point? He’s been so hell bent on his way, and yet, what has he accomplished by the end of it? He’s mere moments from dying, he’s failed everyone he ever cares about, he’s unleashed as much anguish into the world as he once wished to alleviate from it. What has been the point of all the suffering? He can only hope his death is enough penance.

It is almost laughable, that even now, he still yearns to be loved.

He gasps, breaking off from the kiss. He doesn’t deserve to defile Lan Zhan, to use him in this way, even for a fantasy. He has no rights.

The Lan Wangji in his dream kisses like he’s the one dying of thirst, clings onto him like he’s the one dying if he lets go, and it makes no sense why anyone would want Wei Wuxian this much.

“You’re crying,” Lan Wangji says, brushing a thumb over his cheek, catching the salty droplet falling from his eyes.

Wei Wuxian half laughs, half cries. “Lan Zhan, I am scared.”

The confession falls out from him brokenly. “I am dying, and you’re not real.”

There is heartbreak in Lan Wangji’s golden eyes, and he thinks it is a mirror of his own. Large hand cups his jaw, and he leans into it, starving for the warmth, so selfish even now.

Lan Wangji presses a kiss to his forehead, on the corners of his eyes, and murmurs. “I am here. I am real.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. His tears are rainfall bleeding into white robes, staining them with guilt. “You’re not,” he repeats, again and again, wondering distantly what he is trying to rationalize with himself, when it just feels like he’s stabbing himself with those words.

He should let Lan Wangji go. He should let this fantasy go. He’s borrowed enough time. But he can’t seem to unlatch his hands from where they’re fisting on Lan Wangji’s robes, shaking and trembling with each hiccup and sob tearing from his throat.

Lan Wangji holds him tight through it all, patient and solid as a mountain.

“I’ll catch you,” he says. “I won’t let you go this time.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, and falls apart in those arms.

*

It is an eon before his tear ducts finally run dry, his voice hoarse, and he finally exhausts himself from all the emotional toll. His hands are cramped from holding on so tightly to Lan Wangji’s robes. There are crescent moon shapes on his palms from where his nails dug into it.

Lan Wangji did not let him go.

He sat with Wei Wuxian held firm in his embrace, steadfast and loyal, as he whispered words Wei Wuxian wishes to hear.

You’re good, Wei Ying, he said.

You never intended for all of it to happen.

Your heart was in the right place.

I know that you tried your best.

For the first time, Wei Wuxian is too weak to fight back. Or the urge to do so has sapped out of him.

What’s done is done. He’s done fighting, and perhaps it’s high time that includes against himself.

Be still, and let me take care of you, Lan Wangji has told him that earlier. Maybe he should stop trying to take control of the dream and just let it play out. He should just delegate all responsibilities to the one more capable. Gods know Lan Wangji would be better at this than he does, dream version or not.

“I’m such a mess,” he sniffs, nuzzling into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck. “I only wish to kiss you until I get my fill, and I can’t even do that without having a breakdown.”

His chin is tilted up, and he’s being kissed again, lips warm and sure and know him so well.

“You can still fulfill your wish,” Lan Wangji points out, and Wei Wuxian barks out a laugh.

“So shameless, er-gege. Are my puffy eyes and running nose doing something for you?”

“Wei Ying is beautiful, always,” he states seriously as if it is an irrefutable fact.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and buries his burning face in his hands. “Am I really dreaming, Lan Zhan? I don’t think I could be so shameless to talk about myself like so, even subconsciously.”

Lan Wangji is silent at that, while Wei Wuxian resumes peppering kisses all over his immaculate face.

“Would you prefer it if it’s just a dream?” he asks, after a while.

Wei Wuxian draws his brows together. “Hmm? What else would this be if not a dream?”

Lan Wangji swallows, uncharacteristically nervous. Though, he hasn’t been characteristic at all since Wei Wuxian opened his eyes into this dream.

“What if this is really your future?”

Wei Wuxian considers that. “So not a dream, but more of a premonition?”

“Mn.”

The thought pleases him more than he thought. Though, there is no chance that it is true. He knows he’s mere moments from death, knows this fact in the back of his mind at all times like a perverse parasite. There’s no version of this where he would come out alive.

Still, attempt the impossible, right? There’s no harm in a little indulgence. If it’s just a dream, then it’s the last act of divine kindness. If there’s a slightest chance he actually gets to have this one day, he can make peace with whatever comes next.

“Then I’m a lucky man indeed,” he laughs, and kisses his Lan Zhan, his heart soars, feeling light for the first time in what feels like forever.

Here, cocooned in this moment of intimacy, in this gentleness, Wei Wuxian is unafraid.

EPILOGUE

Lan Wangji lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. It’s long past his bedtime, but sleep evades him still, leaving him with his jumble of thoughts and emotions.

He’s just spent an entire day with Wei Ying. Still Wei Ying, still his, but from the Before.

Somehow, in the hours of his death, a piece of him had managed to travel to a point in the future to see Lan Wangji one last time.

It is a gift, he thinks, to be allowed this privilege. He’s often wrecked himself with guilt for not being able to be there during Wei Ying’s final moments. It healed a wound he didn’t realize was still there, to know that in the last hours, part of Wei Ying’s consciousness had seeked him out, and that Wei Ying had held him with affection even then. It was also healing to be able to provide some comfort for Wei Ying, despite the inevitable conclusion.

There’s a stir next to him, and then, “Lan Zhan?”

“Mn. I’m here.”

“Hello, my love. I miss you,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Wangji immediately knows that his husband is back. There’s sureness in his voice, earned by maturity and security, so different from the uncertainty of his ghost.

“What a day, huh,” Wei Ying remarks, then leans up to kiss him reassuringly.

“Is he…?” Lan Wangji asks, but cannot force the rest of the words out.

His husband understands either way. “He’s gone,” he confirms, as lightly as he can, the double entendres of the statement clear.

Lan Wangji nods. It never hurts less, thinking about his grief, but it is bearable now that he has Wei Ying in his arms. Now that he knows how the story ends. That it’d all work out.

He turns to pin his husband to the bed, and kisses him for the next however many minutes, just to reassure himself that he’s still here, that he’s alive, and that he’s Lan Wangji’s.

Wei Ying happily meets his lips, lying obediently still, letting Lan Wangji compose himself with as many frantic touches and kisses as he needs to settle old anxieties.

“My husband knows me so well,” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down Lan Wangji’s back, ridged with old scars. “He recognized who I was and what happened right away.”

When Wei Wuxian fell asleep in the bath, Lan Wangji had played Inquiry, and found out that his husband was temporarily possessed by the soul of his past self. Since they both knew what was going to happen soon, they decided against exorcism and instead just let the anguished soul earn his final wish.

“How did it feel?” Lan Wangji asks into lips bitten red, hands running restlessly up and down Wei Ying’s flank.

“Weird. Being ripped off of control and pushed into the back of your brain. A bit like Empathy, but with myself — it was becoming quite a bit crowded in there,” Wei Ying says contemplatively. He adds after a minute of silence. “It’s never fun to be in such a volatile headspace. To be reminded of how it has been.”

Lan Wangji has never been a man of words. He’s gotten better at it, if the amount of times he’s made Wei Ying flustered is any indication, but in general, he’s a man of action. So he banishes the pain and trauma from his husband the best way he knows how: by kissing him silly and using clever hands to leave him breathless, with nothing left in his head but the shape of Lan Wangji’s name.

“What about you, Lan Zhan? It can’t have been easy for you, either, to be reminded of those days,” Wei Ying says, once they collapsed next to each other, sweaty and messy and sated.

There’s no point in lying. He’s never been ashamed of the depth of his grief.

“Mn. But you are here now,” he answers.

“I am,” Wei Ying agrees, then grins, pinching his cheeks. “Who would’ve thought, Lan er-gege did fulfill his promise after all! The next time I opened my eyes, you were indeed there to drag me back to Gusu, and didn’t take no for an answer!”

“I vowed that I would never let you go again,” Lan Wangji says, burying his face happily into his husband’s hair.

“Yes, yes, Hanguang-jun’s word is worth the weight of all the gold in all of Three Realms, he’s always been my conqueror, my savior, my safe place,” Wei Ying laughs, his tone has a teasing lilt to it, but his smile is genuine. The kind that makes his eyes twinkle and crinkled up in the corners.

Lan Wangji bites his neck in response, and they spend the next several minutes not talking.

“I don’t remember much about those days, you know this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, all four limbs clinging tight to him. It’s a good reminder that Wei Ying needs the reassurance of their love and their life together as much as Lan Wangji does.

“But I remember vaguely that I was strangely calm as I faced death. Turns out I’d had you holding me through it all along. Fate really has its mysterious ways to bound us together.”

Lan Wangji finds his chest both warm with love and tight with grief at the notion. He leans in to kiss Wei Ying, and thinks about how his grief never really goes away; it feeds his love to grow bigger around it, until the sorrow is but a mark, a healing scar.

“All right, enough grim pillow talk,” Wei Ying says, and flips them so that Lan Wangji is on his back and Wei Ying is on top, straddling him. “Lan er-gege, did you see how weak I am to your kiss? You really should’ve kissed me much sooner! I would’ve made the leap and we would’ve saved so much time! You could’ve had me grovel by your feet, at your beck and call the second you found me.”

Lan Wangji rolls his eyes. There’s no reality in which Wei Ying would let himself be controlled like that, unless it’s a sex thing.

He kneads Wei Ying’s ass, teasing where it’s still loose and wet from earlier, and Wei Ying jolts, letting out an obscene moan.

“I—ah— I can’t believe the old me woke up in bed with Lan Zhan in just his inner robes and didn’t even—hngh— try to have his wicked ways with him!” he huffs, like he’s actually offended. “Instead, he’s just wasting time being a crybaby virgin, pure as driven snow— ah, mercy, have mercy, er-gege!”

Wei Ying likes to joke about what-ifs, and laments about how he’s squandered his youth by being oblivious, but Lan Wangji would not regret the things they’ve gone through to get to this point, the only exception being he would give anything to spare Wei Ying the pain he had to bear. He knows deep down, Wei Ying would’ve said the same to him.

Whether they have arrived here thanks to, or in spite of fate, the only thing that matters is the wholeness of this moment, their bodies joining together, moving in tandem as one.

Of all the days they still have ahead, coming home to each other’s hearts.