#casually sprinkles in a wn as therapist headcanon

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 18 & 19: Breath & Journey

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series (this is the “SL Prequel”):

XXC Prequel | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Also available AO3: link

5,540 Words

Songxiao, happy ending (for both of them), canon-compliant, post-canon, hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical major character deaths, 

As promised, here is my companion piece to my Day 6: Breeze contribution  (though either can be read as a standalone). See the XXC piece at the “XXC Prequel” link above. 

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Roam this world with Shuanghua, exorcise evil beings alongside Xingchen.

Song Lan had been doing exactly that since he had regained consciousness in Yi City. He drifted from town to town, feeling like he had more in common with the ghosts he was there to disperse rather than the hero the villagers seemed to think he was.

The spirit bag dangled at his side, weightless, lifeless, but he never for a moment forgot its presence. It was everything. He hardly touched Shuanghua, though, feeling guilty for the comfort its companionship brought him. He tried to make up for his partner’s absence - he moved constantly, always looking for the next sign of trouble he could help solve. Fighting became mechanical. Sometimes he felt that the only difference between his day to day life now from his life as a puppet was his choice of target.

Shuanghua had begun to weigh on him. The first time he’d noticed had been after a particularly grueling night hunt, four months into his travels. He had assumed that he had simply been tired, but when he woke up the next day, and had trouble just lifting the sword onto his back as he did each morning, he was knew it must be something else. He tried to figure out what Shuanghua wanted. He used it on a few night hunts, wondering if it was bored. Shuanghua only grew heavier, if anything, after these hunts, and after a few near misses where a parry or attack had failed because of the unusual weight of the sword, he abandoned this theory. All he had accomplished was a feeling of shamelessness in using another cultivator’s sword, especially the one belonging to the man he had wronged so deeply.

He knew he might find an answer if he visited one of the towns governed by a major clan. There were swordsmiths there, ones who seemed to understand the swords they made more intimately than even the cultivators who carried them. He decided that it was not worth the journey, though. Not only was there a chance that an ordinary swordsmith wouldn’t have the skills to evaluate the sword of one of Baoshan Sanren’s disciples, but Song Lan also preferred to avoid major cultivator cities if possible. There was too much risk he would be recognized, that Shuanghua would be recognized, that even if he weren’t recognized, that there would be questions about why a cultivator would carry two swords. Song Lan had never liked being pestered with question, but now that every word would have to be painstakingly carved out in the ground or written on paper, and every answer inevitably something too painful to relive, it would be far worse.

So the sword grew heavier, and Song Lan treated the sword’s moods as an unfortunate but unchangeable fact of his current life.

One day as he was making his way from one small village in Yiling to another, a voice he recognized called out to him.

“M-master Song!”

Sighing, he turned around to face the person who had finally found him after two years of successful avoidance.

Long black robe, disheveled hair hanging loose, and, most tellingly, black veins creeping up his neck. Wen Ning waved and jogged lightly, stopping in a bow just in front of Song Lan. Song Lan bowed instinctively in response, grateful as ever for the automated etiquette he could lean on as he tried to restart the part of his mind that knew how to act around someone from the clans. The manners, he could handle. But Xing-, …others had usually been better than him at resisting provocation if the conversation turned somewhere unpleasant. Though perhaps, he thought wryly to himself, it might be easier to get through these conversations without what Master once called “my sharp tongue.”

The Ghost General smiled, “Strange to meet here, isn’t it?”

Song Lan nodded.

Song Lan remembered being briefly introduced to Wen Ning at the Yiling Supervisory Office, so many years ago. He’d been disoriented, his sight damaged but recovering. He also, vaguely, remembered fighting him in Yi City. But Song Lan had not had a chance or really the will, at that time, to speak with the man, besides to offer a quick bow as an apology for the fight, which Wen Ning had politely returned. The Ghost General was a name he’d heard often in the last two years though. Few villagers knew Wen Ning’s face or even his birth or courtesy name, but almost every town had their own version of the Ghost General - who in one town would be said to come to take children who did not finish their vegetables, and in another, it was an omen of foreboding for any upcoming weddings if someone heard the rattling chains of the Ghost General nearby.

None of the stories matched the pleasant, unassuming man before him.

“I was just passing through. Y-you were too?” Wen Ning asked.

Again, Song Lan nodded.

“Ah.” Wen Ning smiled and shuffled a bit, “I… I heard that I might find you here. Everyone you’ve helped… It’s very impressive!”

Song Lan only smiled and nodded gratefully, wondering briefly if Wen Ning was deliberately keeping his questions to need simple yes or no answers. He did want to ask, though, why Wen Ning sounded like he had been looking for him.

They walked together in silence a while, Song Lan not wanting to pull out Fuxue to keep the conversation going. It was one of those days where Shuanghua was acting up more than usual. Alone, Song Lan had felt free to walk slowly to compensate. Alongside Wen Ning, he hadn’t wanted to show such a weakness, so he tried to keep pace. The weight seemed to grow with every step he took. Soon, it had grown to a point where he would either have to stop, or, more shamefully, collapse on the path under Shuanghua’s weight. The former option sounded slightly more appealing.

Song Lan veered off the path and leaned against a tree, catching his breath but keeping his face passive. He gently took Shuanghua off and laid it gently against the trunk.

Wen Ning quickly realized that he had lost his walking companion and turned to look quizzically, first at Song Lan, then, eyes widening, at Shuanghua leaning on the tree, even while Fuxue was still strapped comfortably to the cultivator’s back.

“Master Song!” Wen Ning cried, hurrying over, “Are you ok?”

Song Lan nodded, but knew his heavy breathing gave him away. He closed his eyes, hoping he might be lucky enough that Wen Ning would take this to be a perfectly normal nap, with no further questions.

Wen Ning frowned, “… I know we… we’re not friends.” Wen Ning’s head leaned one way, then another as he considered each word, “We don’t really know each other… but…” he sighed, “what happened in Yi City,” Wen Ning’s eyes widened as Song Lan flinched at the words, “Sorry, I just mean, well.” He breathed deeply, “This is obvious to everyone else but I think you might need to hear it. It… it wasn’t your fault.”

Song Lan’s eyes snapped open to look at Wen Ning, brows furrowed. Of course he didn’t blame himself, of course he knew that that man… that monster had been truly responsible. But that didn’t mean he denied his responsibility for his role in what had happened to his cultivation partner. If not for his cruel words, Xingchen wouldn’t have been there in the first place. If not for Song Lan’s incompetent interference, Xingchen might have continued as he was, tricked, but alive and happy even if in ignorance. Song Lan reached for Fuxue, suddenly not feeling so burdened by the prospect of writing in the dirt.

What wasn’t?

Wen Ning smiled. “I don’t know, Master Song, but I think you do.”

Song Lan huffed in frustration, adding next to his first message, He was alone and blind because of me.

“Was he?” Wen Ning asked gently, meeting Song Lan’s eyes.

I sent him away. He saved me. Song Lan’s eyes had started to tear up as he wrote, I couldn’t even manage to warn him without getting him, Song Lan couldn’t bring himself to write what had happened to Xingchen after all the love and kindness he had put out into the world, had given to Song Lan.

He remembered the moment he had rounded that corner in Yi City, A-Qing by his side. His eyes had, of course, first landed on Xiao Xingchen. His smile. His laughter. The comfortable life he seemed to be living without Song Lan by his side. He had almost turned and walked away there, willing to set aside his own feelings if Xiao Xingchen was happy. If Song Lan had lost him and Xingchen had moved on without feeling that he had lost Song Lan, maybe that was the most just outcome. But then he realized that there was also something familiar about the second voice coming from those steps. With some difficulty, he pulled his eyes away from the beautiful man he’d once had the honour of sharing every day with, the moon to Song Lan’s cold winter nights. And had felt a jolt like a stab to the chest as he recognized the figure sitting beside Xingchen. In that moment of realization, everything had changed.

Xiao Xingchen had been lured right into a trap, one that couldn’t have worked if Song Lan hadn’t abandoned him, leaving him to walk alone when he could most use a trusted partner by his side.

And newly armed with the knowledge of how bad the situation was, Song Lan had made every wrong move in the moments that followed.

By now, the tears were flowing freely. Wen Ning awkwardly pet him on the back.

“I used to blame myself for my family and sister’s deaths.” Wen Ning said quietly.

Song Lan looked to him in confusion. He had heard many stories about Wen Ning, ones he believed and ones he hadn’t, but despite all the fightening tales of the Ghost General, despite the excited whispers he had overheard years ago when he travelled with XIngchen about the grisly fates of the remaining Wen clan members, he’d never heard a story that cast the Ghost General as the executioner.

“She was always protecting me, always fixing my mistakes.” Wen Ning smiled sadly, “She thought that if we both turned ourselves in, that that would protect our family. But instead, I survived, she died, and no one even paused before attacking our family.” Wen Ning sighed, “I used to wonder if it would have been better if I had gone to Lanling alone. If Master Wei and Jiejie hadn’t protected me, saved me until then, they probably wouldn’t have died. She was so strong,” a tear fell from Wen Ning’s eye even as he smiled at the thought of his sister, “If she hadn’t come with me, hadn’t tried to make up for what I’d done, maybe she could have protected the rest of our family and they would all still be alive today.”

Song Lan was shaken. He remembered Wen Qing, too, from his days in recovery. She had been gentle, but stern. He had no doubt she was as strong as Wen Ning described. He had also heard talk, not too long ago, that it was now common knowledge that Wen Ning had not been in control when he had killed the Jin heir. That Wen Ning blamed himself for his sister’s fate… Wen Qing had not struck Song Lan as someone who would step back as other people stepped up. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would simply bid her brother farewell and watch him face the consequences for actions he couldn’t have prevented.

“I-I think she blamed herself, that she thought I was her responsibility, so if I did something wrong or something bad happened to me, it was because of her,” Wen Ning said, “I should have known that the consequences for anything I did would end up on her.”

Song Lan carved harshly into the dirt, the cuts so deep and so large it might take several rainfalls before they disappeared completely NOT YOUR FAULT.

Wen Ning looked at the marks, and smiled, “I know that now. It took me a long time, but I know others will make choices that you don’t like that you can’t control sometimes, will try to protect you from the world as if you can’t be trusted to make your own choices.” He looked hard into Song Lan’s eyes, “Do you understand?”

You and Xingchen didn’t do anything wrong.

Wen Ning nodded, then gently added, “And neither did my sister. And neither did you. It’s good to try and protect people you care about but…” Wen Ning paused as though searching for the words, “but you shouldn’t blame yourself just because they end up in trouble, even if you think there was a way you could have prevented it.”

Song Lan let his back slide down the tree, collapsing on the ground, unsure if it was the aftereffects of carrying Shuanghua, this conversation, or simply the amount of spiritual energy he had put into those last few lines but he was exhausted all of the sudden. He gripped the bag dangling from his hip, detaching it and pulling it to his chest. It still felt empty, but it brought him some comfort.

He had one more question, though, Why are you here? He wrote, tracing the characters with his finger in the soft dirt, not wanting to lift Fuxue again.

“Oh, yes! I have a message from Master Wei.” Wen Ning said, clearing his throat, “He said to find you and tell you…” Wen Ning worked his way methodically through the sentence, and Song Lan was confident that this was almost word for word what Wei Wuxian had told him to say, “to tell you that he has a theory for something that might work for Master Xiao.”

Any drowsiness forgotten, Song Lan scrambled to his feet, his sudden grip of Wen Ning’s shoulder making his meaning clear enough without the need for any more writing.

Wen Ning nodded, confirming that Song Lan had heard correctly, “He said that once you’re your spirits are healed, you should come see him in the Cloud Recesses, and he can try something. He said he couldn’t know if it would work,” Wen Ning shrugged, “but I don’t think he was sure about me either.”

Now Song Lan did reach for his sword, How do I heal Xingchen’s spirit? He wrote, clutching the spirit bag firmly to his heart as he did so.

Wen Ning shook his head, “I’ve been trying to explain, I’m just not very good at it,” he breathed out, “You can’t.”

The adrenaline, the hope that Song Lan had so eagerly grabbed on to evaporated. He felt like he might faint. If Wen Ning was anyone else, Song Lan might have drawn his sword on him for this, but Wen Ning’s face was neutral. It did not tease, did not make light, this man did not seem like he had a malicious bone in him. A part of Song Lan wondered if that was why Wei Wuxian had chosen him to bring this message - to boast about his innovation, without risking Song Lan’s frustration with its insufficiency. But Wei Wuxian didn’t seem the type to do that either. So why bother telling him at all?

“He has to,” Wen Ning provided gently, “All you can do is try your best to work on healing yourself and support him if you can. Just like you’re already doing.”

Wen Ning pointed at his chest, at the spirit bag being hugged like a lifeline.

Healing myself? I am well.

Wen Ning tilted his head, looking Song Lan over, “I don’t know if you are. But I think you will be.” Wen Ning continued, “You do remind me a bit of… of my sister. Always thinking of others. Always protecting others. And I’d like to think, if she were in your place, she would take a break, just for a little bit, and just… do what she wanted to do for herself.” Wen Ning smiled, “I don’t know if she ever had the chance to do that, but if you do, maybe I can believe she did too.”

Song Lan still looked skeptically at Wen Ning, reattaching the spirit bag to his side but not letting go.

“We’ve both been used as puppets. We, more than anyone, should know that there are sometimes things we do that we can’t be blamed for. And if there were one thing I could tell my sister if I had the chance, I would want her to know she was allowed to live her own life too, that the worst part of bad things happening to me was never what was happening to me, but was worrying about how she might hurt herself to fix it.”

The words resonated in Song Lan’s head as he processed them. He looked down to the spirit bag. If there was a chance - even a chance - that Xingchen could come back, he would do everything he could to be sure that Song Lan would be the person Xingchen needed, not just a guilt-ridden protector, but a true partner.

The two parted ways not long after that, Shuanghua mysteriously lighter when Song Lan picked it back up. Song Lan wondered whether his conversation with Wen Ning would have happened if the sword had not been so heavy before. It seems it might have encouraged him, coaxed him into having his first conversation about Yi City since his departure from that cursed place. Not forced, not threatened, just gently guided him into making a choice that ended up being right for him.

--

Song Lan had decided to make the long journey to the place where he and Xingchen had first met, a quiet town not far from Baixue Temple. He knew many of the people in the town, so any stranger was remarkable, but he had been especially curious as to why such a man would be buying enough food to serve a small banquet. He had followed Xingchen around a corner into a dark alley. Song Lan had hidden in the shadows and watched as the man had knocked on a door Song Lan had never noticed before. The door soon opened to the sounds of wailing children and a very tired looking woman. Song Lan hadn’t been close enough to hear the conversation, but he did see the food, all except a tiny portion, handed across the threshold to the thankful woman inside. Xingchen had smiled, his beautiful, heart-shattering smile, then turned to leave the way he came.

Song Lan had realized too late that there would be no way Xingchen would pass him without seeing him there, and leaving the alleyway at a run would be even more suspicious, so he had stepped out and greeted the man who would soon become the dearest person to him in the world.

“I saw what you did there. That was kind of you.”

Xingchen had simply smiled that gentle smile of his, held out the little food he had left and said, “Would you like some as well?”

Now, Song Lan passed by the same alleyway, the town, still so familiar, had had enough changes to make it feel a little uncanny. He wondered vaguely what had happened to all those children, who would by now (hopefully) be healthy, happy adults.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, he bought some food from the same stand Xingchen had visited all those years ago, from a man who looked like a carbon copy of the previous vendor, though with a rounder jaw. Song Lan followed the same path he had all those decades ago, found the little door, and knocked.

When the door opened, a man just as disheveled as the woman had been back then stood there, looking confused. Unable to speak, unwilling to write, and unsure how to put his reasons for being here into words, Song Lan simply bowed, handed the food to the bewildered but cautiously thankful man, and left. He laughed at himself - what a ridiculous thing to have done. This simple gesture - one without fighting, done without guilt, without a drive to do anything but the things he thought might make him happy, might make someone else happy, would remind him of his fondest memories, even though it might have left the man confused, left him glowing inside. He felt full though if he, unlike Xingchen, had forgotten to retain any of the food for himself. The warmth of the glow travelled from his heart and radiated outwards, a small smile formed on his face, and as he felt himself relax through the very ends of his fingers, Shuanghua lighter than ever. He felt a slight quiver at his side.

Eyes widening, he reached down and pulled the spirit pouch up to his face, peering closely at it. Was it… fuller than before? He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but something certainly felt different about the pouch. He held it close to his cheek, and as he did, felt a soft vibration in the cloth, no more noticeable than if a moth had flapped its wings inside, but definitely there.

Xingchen. Xingchen, I’ve got you. He wanted to say, And I know you’ve got me. He moved the pouch to his chest, hugging it tight, hoping the meaning might come through to whatever form his Xingchen took right now. I know we’ll get through this together.

--

A year passed, a year in which Song Lan learned more about himself than he had ever allowed before. He had grown restless after three months of walking through various places and memories, eager to get back to his work protecting the innocent wherever trouble arose.

Gradually, he felt lighter. He had learned he could take breaks, and was greatly rewarded when he did so. He felt Xingchen’s pouch shift and saw it glow more and more frequently and dramatically over time, most reliably whenever Song Lan paused to relax, to take in the little things. A patch of flowers at the side of the road. Children who played, laughing through markets. And, though this had taken the longest to prompt anything but a deep ache in his core, couples walking side by side, hand in hand, taking in the scenery but turning again and again back to each other.

He visited Wen Ning sometimes, to ask advice, to see how he was doing. It felt good to have someone who understood, a much needed anchor to this world while his world still fought to reassemble himself at his side. Besides, Wen Ning was training himself to carry on his clan’s legacy of healing, and Song Lan was not immune to the occasional need for medical attention, and no longer felt that healing needed to be put off until all the other work was done. Wen Ning was especially excited to discuss the books on mind healing he had found in some books he had found, hidden for years in Dafan Mountain.

Song Lan was sure that Xingchen was healing, but in the meantime, despite the glows and quivers of the spirit bag, Song Lan still felt very alone. He felt the loneliness less as time went on, as he allowed himself to spend more time celebrating victories with villagers, more time enjoying the world around him, more time reminding himself that he had friends still in this world. The loneliness could not be chased away, and though they had dampened, he still experienced pangs of guilt some mornings as he put Shuanghua onto his back, or brushed against the spirit pouch, or if his mind wandered to thoughts of Yi City, the one place he and Xingchen had both visited that he refused to return to. These feelings were still there, would never truly disappear, he thought, but as he took more time to pursue the paths he wanted to follow, to protect himself if he stumbled into dangerous situations, he began to feel, despite his loneliness, whole.

--

After another full year, one full of more joy than Song Lan remembered in the last 20 years since he had come home for his Master’s birthday, but a year not free of nights weeping over the sword and pouch he carried, not free of moments where he reviewed every detail of events from their first encounter with Xue Yang to Song Lan’s last moments with Xiao Xingchen and told himself all the things he should have done differently, all the moments that could have changed everything. But these moments grew more distant, shallower with time. Song Lan continued his visits with Wen Ning, who never failed to share some proud story about his nephew, who by Wen Ning’s account, was shaping up to be the top cultivator of his generation. Song Lan, in return, brought back the slowly shifting tales of the Ghost General he heard whispered through villages - that if you stood in a certain spot under a full moon, the Ghost General might enter your dreams, giving you advice sure to bring you good fortune. Song Lan had never revealed the source of these rumours, but he was sure Wen Ning had his suspicions. They had both been near dead, had both lost nearly everything, but were both managing, were both happy, even.

The one thing Song Lan wished for in the quiet hours, the thing he on some level had always known would come, even before he’d been told it was possible, came on a quiet night, a quiet night with a full moon, wind gentle on Song Lan’s face. He was sitting on a hill, alone, simply enjoying the feel of the breeze on his face, the spirit pouch sitting on his lap as it often did on such nights, when the pouch moved. It was not violent, not trembling. It seemed almost purposeful, the bag expanding, and in doing so, shifting closer to Song Lan’s hand, which rested on his thigh. On contact with his hand, the bag began to glow. Not the gentle flickering it had produced in the past, but a steady, yellow shine, strong and… and… healed.

All thoughts of a quiet night evaporated as Song Lan grunted in surprise, brought the bag to his chest and squeezed it tight, willing his love and support through as hard as he could. He touched Shuanghua, trying to communicate softly that the one they had been waiting for might be here soon.

He stood on Fuxue, and crossed valleys, mountains, towns, all the way to Gusu, far faster than he would have previously thought possible.

After flying nonstop all night, he arrived at the gates of the Cloud Recesses just as the guards were starting their duty for the day. The white and blue disciples blinked and exchanged a glance at the panting cultivator who had just landed on the steps, who had bowed politely, but urgently at each of them in turn. One of the guards opened his mouth to ask this unannounced guest who he was, but another, looking open-mouthed at the two very recognizable swords strapped to the man’s back, cut the first off.  

“Get Hanguang-Jun,” this second guard commanded, and the first nodded, setting off up the steps.

Hanguang-Jun was at the gates in a matter of minutes, his neutral, cold look melting into something softer when he caught sight of the unbreakable smile on Song Lan’s face.

“You are both ready.” Hanguang-Jun did not phrase it as a question, but Song Lan nodded anyway. Hanguang-Jun mirrored the nod in response, said, “Come,” and turned to walk back up the stairs. Song Lan obliged. He was hardly absorbing anything that was going on around him, focused more on the stirring spirit, the life, at his side to take in any of the serene beauty of the residence.

“Lan Zhaaan, what could be so urgent that I had to be up before 9?” Wei Wuxian’s voice rang loud and clear through the quiet of the Cloud Recesses as they reached the main residences.

Wei Wuxian had come out of a room rubbing his eyes. Song Lan vaguely noted that the room was called (in the state he was in, he only just prevented himself from laughing giddily at someone of Wei Wuxian’s temperament ever being in such a place) the Jingshi.

“Wei Ying.” Hanguang-Jun drew the other man’s attention to their visitor.

“Song Lan!” Wei Wuxian bounded over, all talk of exhaustion gone. He looked down at the pouch Song Lan still clutched to his chest, at its fullness, at its glow, and at Song Lan’s peaceful look of genuine happiness, of profound hope.

Wei Wuxian smiled. “I think this will work.”

It took some time to gather what they needed. Wen Ning was summoned to retrieve Xiao Xingchen’s body. Wei Wuxian prepared the necessary space and talismans, and also Song Lan, who, the Yiling Patriarch explained, was key to this whole process.

“It’s your eyes.” Wei Wuxian explained with a smile, “I can’t usually revive the dead after so long but then I realized… Xiao Xingchen still lives. By continuing to live and breathe, you kept his body alive and connected to this world while he worked on his soul.”

Within a week, they were ready. Song Lan had almost cried when Wen Ning had arrived carrying the limp body of the man thought about so often during the years, but refused to visit precisely because he didn’t want to see him like this. They laid Xiao Xingchen’s body on a bed in a guest room.

Song Lan knelt by the bed and opened the bag that had been by his side all this time. He was only faintly aware of the flute and guqin music playing in the background. As instructed, Song Lan looked into the bag, then slowly drew his gaze from the soft, beautiful glow, to the equally beautiful but horrifyingly still form on the bed. The glow followed along the path of his gaze as if pulled along by a string. The spirit entered Xingchen’s chest.

Silence, but for the flute and guqin music.

Song Lan’s heart seized, the last week’s high yielding to a sudden fear - what if, after all this, this didn’t work? It was only experimental. Wei Wuxian had never done this before. No one had ever done this before. He knew he would live even if this failed, but that almost made it worse. What if…

A finger twitched. Hands moved.

Song Lan’s eyes widened. He had never missed his tongue more. He wanted to be able to say something to Xingchen. To tell him he was there. That they were together, had been all this time, but now could finally touch and share in each other’s worlds again, be truly home again. He ended up communicating all this the only way he knew how, by throwing himself over the stirring white robed man and sobbing.

Xingchen’s mouth opened and let out a breath, held for 20 years, carrying with it two gentle syllables, “Zichen.” His chest rose and fell. Two pink spots grew on the clean white cloth covering the place where the eyes now living in Song Lan’s head had once been. Red began to drip down the sides of Xingchen’s face. His arm reached up, towards Song Lan. One arm, then the other, found the man who had remembered him, carried him, loved him, for so long. “Zichen” the newly revived man repeated. The music stopped, and Song Lan understood that the other two, who understood what this moment meant probably better than anyone, had given them the time and space they so desperately wanted.

Song Lan’s heart swelled at the sound of his name, at the name he had refused to even introduce himself with since he had left the side of the man who said it best. He held the other man closer, a person not just a spirit but a full person, gloriously alive, healthy, and happy in his arms. That they were both so complete, that they had both struggled to get to this point through their own efforts, that they had each done so with but not relying on the other’s support, only made their reunion that much sweeter. They were not two halves making one whole, but two wholes making a loving pair.

They could not stay there forever. That was for certain. And until they figured something else out, Song Lan couldn’t say the things he wanted to say unless they brought someone into this space to interpret. But for now, being here with Xingchen in his arms, that didn’t matter. For now, each other’s touch, their embrace, their tears, said everything that needed to be said. For now, every moment together, every breath together, felt like a new forever they would protect together.

Next: Chapter 1 of my post-Songxiao reunion fic