#also absolutely dead in a ditch about lwj calling wwx his lover in death even though they never were then DAMN--

[mythvoiced]

The step Zhìjiàn takes back and away from the approaching legend is small, barely there at all, but it is one nonetheless. He wouldn't be able to describe it if asked to do so, mostly because how can a man like Zhìjiàn acknowledge doing something as rude as refusing proximity?

But it is there.

And it matches the look on his face awfully well.

He doesn't know what the look on his face is, but he can feel the muscles and skin of his face twist to accomodate it. Unfamiliar to him, then, something not quite like the easy and warm smile he grants people as a given, take his kindness for granted because you'll ever get anything else from him.

Discomfort.

The revelation is uncomfortable. Sits tightly in his chest, expands like a knot not so much unwinding itself as simply growing in size, using his innards to tie around itself and become bigger than what his ribcage can accomodate.

The kind of sensation that makes even the bravest of men falter and wonder if running away might not be the best option here.

He swallows thickly.

He's hyper-aware of his own face all of a sudden, and watching the look in Hanguang-Jun's eyes as he plucks it apart makes him avert his own gaze. He's not anyone's lover, never has been and likely never will be. Even the one person he's ever brushed his arm against with the slightest hint of intention is fading into a memory, where perhaps it's best to leave them, away from the trouble Zhìjiàn drags along with himself.

"Ah," is all he knows how to respond with for a while. He'd rather not, but he ends up wringing his hands anyway, ends up taking another step back anyway. It's not a threat he perceives, but Zhìjiàn has always prided himself with knowing how to solve a situation.

And when he can't come up with a solution... he'd rather leave it.

"Wait, Wei WuXian?" oh no.

Oh no.

Is that why people stop and stare? Is that why people accept his help when they can hear his voice and not see his face? When he wears hats to block the sun out and the veil fluttering before his features makes travelling easier? Is that men and women his age wearing the rich costumes of cultivation clans look terrified and confused, because they try to reconcile what they see with the man he is as opposed to the one he is not?

Is that why he's so often avoiding?

"The Yiling Laozu?" he asks, soft, the kind of tone of voice and volume used to utter a name imbued with as much misplaced reverence as fear. Zhìjiàn has no reverence for a man like that.

But Hanguang-Jun does?!

"You... your lover?"

Zhìjiàn stares. Hanguang-Jun can't possibly see something in that man that... but even now he seems to do. Even if it's Zhìjiàn he's staring at, he has the tautness of a man dealing with some kind of ache. He's terribly difficult to read, which is perhaps why the grip around his sword is so easy to spot, a spot of something in an otherwise perfect statue.

Zhìjiàn touches his nose, self-conscious, unaware. Too aware. He's never met the Yiling Laozu, but surely...-

"You must be mistaken," he bargains. "There's no way."

 he thinks the familiar stranger means something else — there are plenty of ways to help a man mourn and there are plenty of ways to actually cry over someone . hanguang-jun has never been a man to cry , something that always worried his older brother . he sat on the edge of the cliff for half a day and he did cry but perhaps xichen was expecting something greater . something bigger , he had no idea that lan wangji was fighting for his dear life every single second after wei wuxian fell .

 was he really fighting for it or trying to get killed under the onslaught of leash attacks that pierced his flesh over the same wounds , thirty three times ?

 the man's face hardens into something familiar to wangji , he's seen the same expression on his brother's face . many times , trying to force him out of his room . it was a surprise to see wangji leave the cloud recesses every morning and come back so late at night . his uncle must have had the most creative ideas on how he soothes the ache in his ribs but he didn't mention his displeasure much , and if he did , wangji remained unresponsive .

 when his quietness becomes too much and stretched too long , lan zhan pursed his lips ; he needs to give the stranger something , whatever that'll answer his questions . gently , he takes one step closer , tightens his grip on his sword and readies himself . to mumble , in the smallest voice possible ;

 ❛ you have the face of my dead lover . . . ❜  lover , was that what wei wuxian is to him ? lover , friend , troubled lover , trouble . he'd silence every disapproving mouth that targeted wei ying's unusual behaviors and unacceptable attitude , he'd silence everyone and listen to him giggle about the filthiest jokes that one could only hear in brothels . again , his gaze leaves the ground and settles on zhijian’s face — he takes his time devouring every detail on his handsome face . wonders if he'd be this desperate if they looked nothing alike , isn't it cruel to zhijian ? he feels guilty , when he notices the difference between zhijian's gestures and wei ying's ; you fall in love with souls , not faces .

 after another pause , he mumbles again ; ❛ wei wuxian . ❜  people , in fact more people than lan zhan would like to admit , knew the name of his dead lover . stained it with curses , with hopes that the yilling laozu won't appear in their bedroom if they speak his name . ❛ . . . even your nose . ❜