I’m thinking about calling my Wangxian Werewolf AU Winding Moonrise because this is 100% going to be a long trip. Aye or nay? Heads up, I just write and post this. If there’s interest, I’ll do light proofreading pass for the previous ones and post them to my dreamwidth. Anyway here we go:
Wei Wuxian circles Lan Wangji’s room. It took him a hot minute to realize that was what it was. In his defense, the prim and proper Lan family would have guest rooms so pristine they look like high-class hotel rooms.
A bed takes up far side of the wall, sitting below a window. A few steps away is a low table. Along with the shelves that lean on two thirds of the walls with calligraphy hanging above them, the room looks exactly what you would expect from a man who looks like polished jade.
Wei Wuxian glances at the door. Tiptoeing, he opens a book, checking to see if the sleeves match the interiors. He skims long lines from books on proper instrument care, ancient poetry, or classics Wei Wuxian always fell asleep reading when his teachers assigned them.
Chuckling, he thinks, He’s still so stiff.
A tiny of fraction of him savors how nice that is. That Lan Wangji can always be trusted to always remain a gentleman in the trust sense of the world even if he’s so uptight his expression reminds Wei Wuxian of a stoic widow in mourning.
He flicks another page with a sigh. His finger traces along the page. The grainy texture of paper fades.
He freezes, smiling. He picks up a tidy candy wrapper folded into a turtle. How delightful and surprising. He never expects Lan Wangji to do something as scandalous as use a candy wrapper as a bookmark.
A shout knocks the calm out of him. He runs. His steps echo in the silence. Sliding down the polished floors, he skates to a stop.
He stops in front of a pile of teens, more like a heap of them. Each one pushes up against Lan Sizhui as if they need to touch him immediately. One of the six climbs Sizhui, forcing the mild-mannered seventeen year old to carry him.
Sizhui smiles, helplessly. He offers a helping hand. He opens his arm out for his other cousins. Whether or not he understands their need to scent him the attention is nice. All the concern they offer him when usually he’s the one coaxing them.
“No running,” a teen gasps, staring at Wei Wuxian wide-eyed.
The others take notice of Wei Wuxian. Their chatter dies. They freeze like a deer in headlights.
Only the one on Sizhui’s back remains boisterous, Jingyi rubs his cheek on his best friend. His nose twitches at how faintly Sizhui smells of pack, of home. He whines that he can never take his eye off Sizhui again.
The others separate, eying Wei Wuxian. One tugs Jingyi and mouths a warning.
Lan Sizhui blinks at parting wave. “Mister Wei. Sorry. We were noisy, weren’t we?”
“You call that noisy?” He laughs, thinking of all the times he’s screamed across the Jiang residence for Jiang Cheng.
“You saved Sizhui?” Jingyi asks, hanging like a monkey.
He nods.
“Cool. I’m Lan Jingyi, the one usually in charge of keeping Sizhui out of trouble,” he chatters a kilometer a second.
At that, Lan Liqin protests, “Zhui-ge always keeps you out of trouble.”
The others shake their heads in unison.
Ignoring it, Jingyi continues, “You’re a hunter right? Have you killed people before? Do all hunters smell like death? How did you beat the vampires? Did you ki—”
“Lan Jingyi,” Wangji warns. “30—”
“30 times all the rules?” he wails.
Shaking his head, he finishes, “300 lines.”
“Oh.” He releases Sizhui. Landing, he rubs his neck and bows to Lan Wangji with the rest of his cousins. He thanks the heavens it wasn’t Lan Qiren who caught him. Copying the four thousand principles that guide their pack once would be a kindness in his grand-uncle’s book.
But his mouth always gets the better of him. He adds, “It’s not an insult! You kind of smell like an altar.”
Lan Wangji inhales. Less of the utter relief of finding his moon alive in his veins, he notes the difference Jingyi mentions with concern. The hint of incense and burnt paper infuses Wei Wuxian’s naturally cool, salt water scent. What happened in the last thirteen years to stain him with ash?
Sizhui straightforwardly covers Jingyi’s face. He apologizes, nudging Jingyi behind him and away from Lan Wangji.
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian tilts his head, wondering what to do with that information. He’s never wondered how he smelled to supernats before. He asks, “Lan Zhan what do I smell like?”
It’s a passing curiosity. Why would Lan Wangji actually answer?
“Like.” He pauses. Words escape him. How can you capture the essence of an lake’s breeze warming your skin, a splash of water that revitalizes you, or a hint of something unexplainable that fills you with emotions you haven’t been able to name in the last decade and a half? Love barely begins to cover it. He settles, “Like Lotus Pier.”
“Oh.” He grins, inching closer. “Lan Zhan? Every time I invited you, who rejected me? So how do you know what Lotus Pier smells like?”
Pointing his finger, he says, “It’s as a nice I described it right?”
“Mnn.” He averts his gaze. There’s too much of his moon in front of him. He yearns to drink in the easy affection Wei Wuxian gives, but he can’t.
Not when he has no right to hold on to it. Not when all he wants to do is soak in the warmth of his moon`s light. Not when all he wants to do is see if he can taste the sea on Wei Wuxian’s skin.
He bites his cheek. “Dinner will be at five.”
Wei Wuxian tries, he does his best not to judge, but the Lan family meal leave his taste buds yearning for salt and spice and flavor. Most would call the spread of vegetarian dishes, lightly seasoned meat, and clear soup refreshing and light but for his tastes shaped by Yunmeng and Lotus Pier it is truly an ascetic meal. He wants pepper to numb his tongue. For a bite to delight him with lemon and salt and a dozen other flavors that mingle with the sweetness of fish.
He swallows a sigh. He can endure one night to bask in the glow of a family.
Lan Qiren ignores him, yes, but Xichen offers light, considerate smiles. They do not speak, but they show their familiarity in other ways. When Lan Qiren isn’t looking the children shuffle dishes. Jingyi hands his sprouts to Liqin who pushes over his coriander. Only Sizhui cleans his plate like the good and proper teen he is, taking on the bits and pieces of his cousins’ plates without complaint. The elders avert their gaze but laugh in their hearts at the shenanigans.
Peeking at Lan Wangji’s handsome profile, he thinks, Lan Zhan, you’re so good. Thank you.
This isn’t the Jiang residence, but Lan’s home has its pros. Now he knows that behind their clean, immortal like calm they are a fussy family like any other. The Lans have their own an uptight elder and mischievous children just in a different tone.
Thank you, he praises again, enjoying the aura of kinship.
This isn’t Lotus Pier, but he feels transported back over a decade. The feeling of comradery, of kinship, of care warms him to his bones. He didn’t know he needed this.
whenever this song plays suddenly im at 北京大学 in the history department office by the window feeling hot and sticky as i memorize chinese characters it’s like so vivid and it’s fucking d r a gon maid
