He's practically in Lan Zhan's lap by this point, curled against him, the slow drunken tilt of the world rocking him gently. It would be so easy to fall asleep right here: warm, safe, at peace in a way he has not felt in years. But that would mean Lan Zhan would have to carry him upstairs, and Wei Wuxian retains just enough awareness to think, he should not have to do that.

Still. He is quiet, in voice and mind. The moonlight washes over them, scattering its light across the lake as late-season crickets sing in the grass. And it does not take very long before he muffles a yawn against Lan Zhan's shoulder.