we_bring_hell | (no subject)

So.

He talked to Lan Zhan.

He did not, in the course of any of that, actually talk-talk to Lan Zhan.

In fact, the more he has thought it over, critically examining every too-loud laugh from himself and every tiny shift in facial expression from his friend, the more he is convinced that Lan Zhan is the most polite man in the world and Wei Wuxian is the biggest fool ever born. How could he possibly say anything to him? Look at how his eyebrows lowered a fraction of a centimeter when Wei Wuxian stared at him too long! Look at how Lan Zhan was the first to let go of his hand! And he cannot believe he thought getting drunk would help, how has Lan Zhan not lost all patience with him by now, truly --

All of which is to say that he does not have breakfast -- does not even have lunch, yet -- but he does have his head in his arms at a spot far down the bar, groaning softly to himself in an agony typically reserved for heartsick juniors meeting the female cultivators for the first time.

Harrow comes down the Bar, leaving behind her dubious breakfast. "I presume congratulations are not in order?" she asks tonelessly.

"I am a fool," he says, muffled almost to incomprehension by his arms.

Realizing a beat later that Harrow may misinterpret this, he lifts his head enough to hook his chin over his folded arms, staring straight ahead. "I didn't say anything," he clarifies. "But I cannot. I behaved terribly and I am surprised he wants anything to do with me."

He's well aware of how melodramatic he's being -- he can only imagine the eye-rolling he would endure from Wen Qing, or even shijie, if they were here. (Though his sister would probably be far kinder about it.) But he can't bring himself to care.

"What did you do?" she asks, ready for anything.

"I could hardly look at him," he mutters. "He knew something was wrong and I fear he thought it was his fault. I drank two entire bottles of wine in a fraction of a shichen to calm my nerves, and all it did was worry him further. He spent half the night awake trying to comfort me! He had enough burdens to carry without me deliberately making myself into one as well."

He puts his head back into his arms.

"And he pulled away from me when I took his hand, and I am certain he disapproved of how much I stared when I was drunk, and..."

"I see," she said. "Is such drunkenness unusual?"

To be fair, he emptied a bottle in front of her once.

"Not particularly?" he admits. "But not to that extent. I enjoy my wine; I just do not tend to enjoy quite that much of it that quickly."

"Hm," she says.

"I doubt you have terminally damaged your prospects, although I admit you have taken a vital strike to your ego."

He raises his head again to pull a truly impressive face, well known to anyone who has ever dealt with a sulking teenager. And while Wei Wuxian was just old enough to no longer be a teenager when he died -- and endured far more serious blows than this in his short life -- he can still sulk with the best of them.

"I suppose it will not kill me a second time," he mutters. "But what can I say? I cannot carry on like this every night for the rest of my afterlife. Do you think the rats will deliver to the forest if I decide to live there forever? Or the bottom of the lake?"

"You know it will hurt him tremendously if you disappear," she says, not afraid to go for the low blows.

The Bar transfers the bowl of porridge to in front of her; she side-eyes it.

"I have examined the path of duty and I find that it is incumbent on me to be your ally in this. So let us set aside self-pity and consider this matter seriously."

A low blow well deserved, he admits, and tries not to wince.

"All right," he says with a tired sigh, pushing himself upright -- or mostly upright; his elbows stay firmly planted on the bar. Briefly, he follows her glance to the porridge. "...Is Madam Bar's food objectionable?"

Let no distraction go un-seized around Wei Wuxian.

"It is not what I desire," she says calmly. The porridge... lurks.

"First, let us consider the topic of competition. Do you have any noteworthy rivals in the lists of his affections?"

"I don't know," he admits. "He has had affections for others -- there was a cultivator we knew when we were younger, Mianmian -- but that was years ago. It's possible he met someone in the time we were apart, before I died, but he did not mention it to me."

And, of course, there is Harrow. But if Lan Zhan still has affections for her, he must certainly know by now they will not be returned.

She nods. "And what were they like? Mianmian?"

"She was -- is, I would hope, I do not know where she is now -- " He sighs again, fainter. "Headstrong. Unafraid to speak up. Especially when she believed an injustice was being committed. And beautiful," he adds, a bit more morosely. "I cannot forget that part."

Funny how that has become a much bigger problem all of a sudden!

"She sounds very like you, then," she points out. "Promising, I would believe."

"Maybe." He wrinkles his nose, propping his cheek against one hand. "Of course there is also the issue where she is a woman and I am not, but..."

"Is that an obstacle for him?" she asks. "I myself have a strong preference, but I understand this isn't the case for most people."

"I don't know."

He seems to be saying that quite a lot in this conversation, he thinks, and they have only been speaking for five minutes.

"It may not be? It would be unexpected for a cultivator of his standing to pursue men instead of women. That is all."

She frowns. "Indeed? How strange." The Empire is a lot of things, but it's not biphobic.

"Well, that could be a issue, yes," she says calmly. "If he truly feels strongly about it. But no reason to make assumptions."

"I suppose not."

There's an odd little spark of hope in his chest as he says that. No reason to make assumptions. He has made truly a lot of them in the last day, hasn't he? Not just in Lan Zhan's preferences, but in, well. Everything. His own actions, Lan Zhan's responses, a steadfast belief that he must know what the other man is thinking...

It might be a foolish hope. But it is more hope than he had a moment ago.

Edited 2020-10-02 17:42 (UTC)

"In truth I have always considered myself something of an oddity for it," she says. "That I have never had any interest in young men, even beautiful young men like you and Lan Wangji."

"So you do think me beautiful? I wondered if the similarities to Mianmian extended that far," he says with a small laugh. "But ah, I should not tease -- I am sorry, Harrow."

He waves an apologetic hand, then tucks it back against his cheek.

"It is not an unheard-of thing in my world; only one that is not often spoken about. It's the providence of notorious gossipers, not polite company."

She shrugs at his apology. "It truly does not bother me. As an aesthetic object--yes, certainly. But it kindles no desire in me."

"Perhaps I misunderstand--you are saying that it is a matter of prurient interest to...? Be so single-minded in your desires?" This seems to contradict what he said a moment ago.

He frowns slightly, puzzled.

"How do you mean?"