Archive of Our Own ^beta

An evening of indulgence was needed, even in the middle of a war.

No. It was especially because of the war that such indulgence was a necessity. Else it’d drive you mad.

It was just a small event, an evening gathering in one of the allies’ house. Dining room turned talent stage, smuggled vinyl record in a creaky-squeaky record player, stalling peanuts. But everybody was having a pleasant time, their smile brightly contagious.

Basking in his friends’ happiness, Lan Xichen felt a momentary reprieve.

“Come on, Zewu-Jun! One more cup wouldn’t hurt!” Lan Jingyi yelled against the loud guffaws of Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang’s comedic performance audience; swashing a pot of cheap palm wine to the older.

“No, no … I’ve had enough!” Lan Xichen laughed, covering the top of his cup to prevent Lan Jingyi from refilling it.

Lan Xichen looked so beautiful like this. His cheeks cherry red, his eyes gleamed and wide, and most of all was his laughter, weaving its way into Jiang Wanyin’s spine with its tingling, gentle vibrations. Suddenly, Jiang Wanyin pulled the unsuspecting Lan Xichen into a heated kiss, inviting a lewd, endearing cheer from the crowd.

“I think Zewu-Jun had had too much drink tonight,” Jiang Wanyin announced, pulling Lan Xichen to his feet and tugged at his arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to take him to rest.”

They walked out of the room, leaving the maddening cheers behind.

.

.

Lan Xichen sat on the bed as Jiang Wanyin locked the door.

“What was that?” The older man chuckled endearingly, covering his mouth with his fingers. “I thought Wanyin prefer a … subtler display of affection?”

“It’s that piss of a palm wine,” Jiang Wanyin grinned, face flushed. “It tastes so bad, it drives me wild. Or, would you prefer your usual uptight Jiang Wanyin?”

“Hmm,” Lan Xichen scooted to give him space as Jiang Wanyin lied down beside him, “I don’t ever think my Wanyin is uptight,” he leaned closer to Jiang Wanyin’s ear, “especially not in bed.”

Jiang Wanyin pushed him away, chuckling, though the red had spread to his ears. “Shameless.”

“Only for you, my midnight lullaby.”

Lan Xichen lied down on his side, Jiang Wanyin followed suit. They faced each other, breathing in each other’s breath. Lan Xichen’s ivory skin flushed like a peach blossom in spring, warm and inviting.

He was staring at Jiang Wanyin the same way Jiang Wanyin knew he was staring at him, like finding in each other’s eyes an imaginary city when the real one was crumbling behind their back.

“Well. Zewu-Jun’s always making the first move on this Wanyin, doesn’t he?” Jiang Wanyin combed Lan Xichen’s bangs, stroking the sweaty forehead with his thumb. “And that’s why, tonight, Wanyin has to take him by surprise.”

Lan Xichen hummed, closing his eyes as Jiang Wanyin caressed his cheeks, his head following the motion like a kitten. Jiang Wanyin closed the distance between them, kissing him again—gently this time, rolling it in his mouth like the last chunk of rock sugar they used to share back in the simpler days, when their world consisted only of confections and childish games and stealing kisses under the bridge, confused but excited at their newfound feelings.   

The sounds behind the door faded into mist. The lamp beside the bed casted a soft orange glow, the rustles of the sheet in sync with their sighs.

Jiang Wanyin wished this night would never end.

“Hey. Let’s try something new,” Jiang Wanyin whispered, pinching Lan Xichen’s cheek.

Lan Xichen giggled. “Oh? Like what?”

“Like, ah ….” Jiang Wanyin felt his ears heated up. “Me tying you up to the bed?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened. Jiang Wanyin held his gaze.

“Ah, we should have palm wine more often, if it makes Wanyin this adventurous,” Lan Xichen’s remark was coated in amusement, but not without fondness. He caressed the ribbon holding Jiang Wanyin’s bun. “So that’s why you wear such a nice ribbon tonight.”

“Don’t push it,” Jiang Wanyin grumbled, face getting redder. Lan Xichen’s eyes softened.

“Now, don’t be like that. It looks good on you,” Lan Xichen nuzzled Jiang Wanyin’s nose. “And maybe,” he whispered so close to his earlobe, breath hitching hot, “It’ll look good on my wrists too.”

.

.

Even the leader of a resistance movement was allowed to have a good time too.

A time when he could put all the matters in his head into a box and tucked it away for the morning. A time when he was being taken care of oh-so-tenderly that he could unravel himself like a rope, trusting his lover as he fell.

“There,” Jiang Wanyin patted the knot, a satisfied smile on his face. “All done.”

Lan Xichen tried to pull it and it didn’t budge. His face flushed, the thought of being completely in the mercy of his partner stirred something up in him, something feral and hungry and yet also—calm. The quietness of utter obedience, the feeling of being carried in the back as he passed through a difficult path.

No wonder his Wanyin had liked it so much. Being spoiled in the same way, Lan Xichen was grateful.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Jiang Wanyin whispered, touching their foreheads. “I love you so much. So, so much—I won’t be me anymore without loving you.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, brushing Jiang Wanyin’s skin with the tip of his eyelashes. “As I am, Wanyin.”

Jiang Wanyin straddled him, cupping his face, looking into Lan Xichen’s soul with eyes so light, as if a poet stabbed their pen into his iris and bleed the black ink dry. “Xichen-ge. What place under heaven most hurt the heart?”^[1]

Lan Xichen smiled, knowing this little game of theirs by heart. “Lao Lao Ting, for seeing visitors off.”

“The spring wind knows how bitter it is to part …”

“… the willow tree will never again be green,” Lan Xichen joined Jiang Wanyin, finishing the poem harmony.

It was one of their two favorite poems. Back then, when Jiang Wanyin was still a high school student, Lan Xichen already in college; they recited both together on Lan Xichen’s last day of vacation. Lao Lao Ting, a parting message, and Lin Hu Ting”^[2]

, a promise to meet again.

Facing the railing, we drink a cup of wine.

On all sides, lotus flowers are in bloom …

Jiang Wanyin always cried when the time came to part. He always did cry too much.

A drip onto his cheeks. Lan Xichen blinked.

Jiang Wanyin was crying, bulbs of tears tethering at the tips of his lashes, falling onto Lan Xichen’s face like a poignant rain.

“Wanyin …?”

Jiang Wanyin gathered Lan Xichen’s head into his chest, peppering his hair with kisses. Lan Xichen could feel the jagged gasps of his breath, the warmth of the skin behind his half-buttoned shirt, now suddenly stifling.

“Wanyin, what is it? Why are you crying?” He asked, alarmed. Because this wasn’t the tears of happiness Jiang Wanyin sometimes shed in their nights of pleasure. This wasn’t the tears you had as you feel an immense happiness.

Anguish, that was what it was. A cold, gut-wrenching anguish Lan Xichen knew so well from their days of parting now shaking his lover’s body like a leaf.

“I’d do anything—anything to keep you safe. You know that, right?”

“Wanyin, I—”

“Ssssh, ssssh!” Jiang Wanyin took a deep breath, playing with Lan Xichen’s cheeks, pulled them slightly so that Lan Xichen’s mouth stretched to a smile. “It’s okay. It will be fine.”

As if on cue there was a loud bang outside. The music was gone in an instant, drowned in screams.

“What is tha—mmmmgh!”

Jiang Wanyin tied Lan Xichen’s own tie around his mouth, gagging him. Lan Xichen looked at him, wide eyed, confused, betrayed and hurt.

“Mmmggh!”

“I’m so sorry, Xichen-ge,” Jiang Wanyin smiled wetly, as the commotion outside was getting rowdier by the second. A loud bang, followed by a shrill cry. Jiang Wanyin brushed Lan Xichen’s tears (since when did he cry?).

“They have found out about you—about Zewu-Jun. The things they did to our captured friends just to gouge even the slightest bit of information about you—” Jiang Wanyin sobbed into Lan Xichen’s chest. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s enough. Enough of our people suffering. Enough to see my friends dying to protect a person—a persona—that doesn’t exist.”

“Mmmmgh!” Lan Xichen pulled his arms angrily, trying and failing to freed himself. “Mmmmgh!”

“Stop. You’ll only hurt yourself. You won’t be able to take it off, I’ve made sure of it,” Jiang Wanyin smiled sadly, “I’m sorry it has to be this way. As I said—I have to take you by surprise.”

“Where’s Zewu-Jun? Tell me where he is or I’ll kill you all!”

The harsh, hatred-fueled yell. The heavy steps of combat boots. Jiang Wanyin looked toward the door, his expression blank; and then he turned back to Lan Xichen.

“I love you, Xichen-ge. I’m so, sorry.”

He kissed Lan Xichen’s forehead one last time.

.

.

He was dreaming.

He had to be.

Lan Xichen watched as Jiang Wanyin made his way toward the door, his long silky hair cascaded down his back like a mythical creature.

He was dreaming the worst, stupidest, ugliest kind of nightmare.

Jiang Wanyin opened the door. He didn’t look back.

Lan Xichen would wake up soon. He would wake up—hunched in a hideout somewhere, shivering cold, hugging a handmade riffle; aching all over but otherwise confident of their cause, confident of the plans he had so meticulously executed, confident that after all of this, him and Jiang Wanyin would be able to start all over again.

“Freeze! Put your hands up!”

Jiang Wanyin would be there, safe in his arms. Just like always. 

“State your name!”

Jiang Wanyin’s voice rang loud and clear, piercing through the thick wooden door, piercing through Lan Xichen’s lungs. “I am Zewu-Jun. Don’t hurt my comrades. It’s me you’re looking for.”

Why Zewu-Jun? Why those characters?

“You’re Zewu-Jun, the leader of the resistance?”

Ah, the way I see it, these characters give the image of life thriving in a peaceful pond, away from disturbance. I think it’s fitting, since we are fighting for freedom.

“Yes, Sir!”

Besides, I like the ring of it. Zewu-Jun. Wei Wuxian said the name looks like me.

“Take him!”

Huh, I suppose he’s right. It does look—and sounds—like you. Gentle, tranquil, a bit ditzy sometimes ….

Now, Wanyin, you just break my fragile glass heart!

A shuffle behind the door. Another brash order. Heavy footsteps, fading away.

And then, silence.

A long, unbearable length of it, a loud silence that pressed into your ears until it bursted; disturbed only by Lan Xichen’s keening, gagged, sobbing laugh.

What a fool. What a fool, all of them, believing Jiang Wanyin of all people bearing that name. His face didn’t even match the name. Jiang Wanyin, your audacity!

All of this must have been a dream, and when he woke up, Lan Xichen would be greeted by that deep frown, that thinly veiled smile; and Lan Xichen swore to the hell and back he would never, ever trust him again.