"You are awake," Lan Wangji's hands still over the guqin, stopping the vibration of the strings under flattened palms. His voice floats through the room, soft and calm. It does not betray the hammering in his chest, the fact that this moment is the summation of so much he has longed for and craved.
Wei Ying is alive, no longer hiding who he is behind a mask or the facade of a madman.
Wei Ying is also in his bed, an insistent voice reminds him. That is also something he has long wanted and craved. Not like this, no, but Lan Wangji has already received so much that he pushes that thought aside.
The last sixteen years have not been a dream, Lan Wangji has long accepted that. He has lived through them, the wound in his heart that bears testament to that fact has never quite closed. This feels like a dream, he wants to say, but cannot bear to break the illusion if it is. Instead he says nothing, turning to watch Wei Ying as he sits on the bed.
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Wei Ying is alive, no longer hiding who he is behind a mask or the facade of a madman.
Wei Ying is also in his bed, an insistent voice reminds him. That is also something he has long wanted and craved. Not like this, no, but Lan Wangji has already received so much that he pushes that thought aside.
The last sixteen years have not been a dream, Lan Wangji has long accepted that. He has lived through them, the wound in his heart that bears testament to that fact has never quite closed. This feels like a dream, he wants to say, but cannot bear to break the illusion if it is. Instead he says nothing, turning to watch Wei Ying as he sits on the bed.