Lan WangJi soon found out the truth behind Bai LiQin's statement. Every night, the surrounding cluster of tents found themselves awoken to a blood-curdling scream, and every night, Lan WangJi had to wrestle his own screaming instincts.
He needs me.
No.
He doesn't need me.
He doesn't need me.
A week passed and the caravan was to head to Qinghe at first light. Supplies were low and troops even lower. It was the SunShot Campaign's grayest days, when jokes about surrendering became less than jokes.
Lan WangJi found he was unable to meet with sleep that night. By choice, he continued to work on various battle plan proposals. He sat through the destruction of three sticks of incense, and the dwindling aura of a candle, but he'd not printed a single character by his fourth stick. Wei Ying, Wei Ying, all he could think about was Wei Ying. Dried ink crusted his brush's bristles like a statue erected in honor of his lost concentration. No, not lost. He knew exactly where it was, just a tent away.
Wei WuXian was moaning.
Wei WuXian was begging.
Slap, slap, slap.
The ink brush snapped in Lan WangJi's hand. Wei WuXian mewled a wonderful succession of melodies he had only ever dreamed of composing.
Lan WangJi felt his world had stopped. He was very aware of every agony prodding his body—a thick knot of missed confessions in his throat, a brewing cup of future grievances in his gut—he hated and he hated, himself mostly, and just maybe the world too for so cruelly toying with him.
The Jade couldn't listen any longer.
If only he had stayed to hear Wei WuXian moan his name.
"Lan Zhan."
Qinghe was, somehow, more depressing than their raggedy camp had been. People dressed in gray robes. Gray, stone castles stood against a backdrop of gray sky. Gray broth to feed a gray appetite.
Gray, gray, gray.
But now, with an unlimited supply of the thickest spirits known to man, Wei WuXian was drinking every odd minute. Just like he was never seen without a certain rogue cultivator at his side, he was never seen without a jug of alcohol at his other.
No one could approach him, not even his Shijie and Shidi. After awhile, nobody tried to either.
Until one night, while Lan WangJi paced the Unclean Realm's outer corridors. Through the thick curtain of rain, a black figure could be seen shamelessly lounging on a random rooftop. Lan WangJi adjusted his grip on the umbrella as he approached.
It was, to no surprised, Wei WuXian letting the sky beat him down into the roof. Hesitantly, Lan WangJi traipsed the shingles alongside him. Extended was an olive branch in shape of a small umbrella.
Wei WuXian opened his eyes when the rain suddenly stopped. "Ah, HanGuang-Jun. Couldn't sleep?"
"Mn. Wei Ying?"
YOU ARE READING
MDZS Oneshots / The Untamed / WangXian
Fanfiction🌲 Sporadic updates. My oneshots focus on the "hurt/comfort" and "angst with a happy ending" genres. No sad endings here!🌲 🪶 Requests by donation to my kofi will be done within a week. Standard requests may take a month or so if I choose to write...
Vinegar (Vol. 3)
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