#not because he's blinded by sentimentality (though he is a bit biased). imagine. him having legitimate reasons to believe this.

[moe-broey]

VAGUING VAGUING

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: 手下留情

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji, Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian

Additional Tags: Introspection, Grief/Mourning, Gossip, Anger, Getting Together, Conversations, Chief Cultivator Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén in Seclusion, Cultivation Sect Politics

Summary: Wei Wuxian had been back in the Cloud Recesses a week when he first heard the gossip. He was only somewhat surprised—if any rule was going to be broken, that one would be first anywhere. The cultivation world loved gossip, and even if the Lan sect was founded by a monk, his descendants weren’t all ascetics by any definition despite their airs.

Notes: The title is an idiom that often means “do not judge me too harshly.” Initially I imagined this fic would be Lan Xichen-centric from Wei Wuxian’s perspective, but it went in a different direction. I’m not unhappy with it. 

AO3 link

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Wei Wuxian had been back in the Cloud Recesses a week when he first heard the gossip. 

He was only somewhat surprised—if any rule was going to be broken, that one would be first anywhere. The cultivation world loved gossip, and even if the Lan sect was founded by a monk, his descendants weren’t all ascetics by any definition despite their airs. 

The surprise was in the content: that Zewu-Jun’s seclusion was bitterly scorned by the Lan elders and Lan Qiren in particular, that his mourning was seen as distasteful.

In particular, that it had been compared to Lan Zhan’s mourning of him, something still seen as distasteful. 

He wanted to rail at all of them for their audacity but knew it would change nothing. 

It had taken him most of the afternoon, several hours amongst the bunnies, to calm down. 

He still wasn’t calm when Lan Zhan found him, and his zhiji could see right through his smile, his gaze immediately questioning the reason for his upset. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan. I just didn’t know they disdained your right to grieve,” he finally said, letting the smile fall away when it was clearly ineffective. 

Tension immediately made Lan Zhan’s stance almost taut, like a bow. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to say, but that had never stopped him before. Rambling allowed him to make his point more often than not. 

“Would they decry Lan An for returning to the temple?” he mused. “If it happened today, would they quote that rule, ‘Do not grieve in excess,’ like it has any meaning at all? He became a monk the rest of his life, after all.”

He watched as Lan Zhan carefully folded himself to sit nearby amongst the bunnies, but barely paused. 

“Honestly, who decides what ‘excess’ is? Who gets the right to arbitrarily decide someone else’s grieving is enough? Someone whose only claim to fame is living longer? It’s mind-boggling, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan made no reply, except to manifest his guqin and begin playing ‘Clarity’—the real one, not the twisted one Wei Wuxian had seen in Chifeng-Zun’s memories during ‘Empathy’—as though it could help settle his turmoil. 

He kind of hated that it worked. 

Wei Wuxian let the music fill the air, taking the place of his words for a few minutes, letting it settle him because he knew it would please Lan Zhan. 

“They say you grieved over a decade for a heretic, for someone unworthy of mourning, a scourge whose death was a relief, wearing only white all that time, and that Zewu-Jun does the same.”

It was nothing he hadn’t heard before about himself. That it was used to disparage Lan Zhan he could not abide. That the same description was applied to Jin Guangyao, a villain of the cultivation world’s own creation, their biases and hideous pride twisted into a creature whose instincts at self-preservation had been learned through trauma…

The cultivation world believed the death of Meng Yao (as they had oft started to refer to him publicly, as though the corruption of the Jin hadn’t honed him) had excised the evil from themselves, when the truth was that he had just been the visible tumor—one they’d grown themselves. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know if Lan Xichen was mourning Jin Guangyao, Nie Mingjue all over again, or both. Or maybe he could see the infection spread across the cultivation world and grieved for that. 

He’d long had time to come to terms with it, himself. It wasn’t that he saw himself in Meng Yao or Xue Yang, not that he understood their actions. But he understood how they had been created. He’d had his whole death to come to terms with it, even if he didn’t remember it, and a year besides. 

His plan initially upon his return had been to resolve the curse and then leave it all behind. 

But ultimately he couldn’t leave Lan Zhan. 

A discordant note interrupted his zhiji’s playing, rippling through the air with a shiver. It resonated in the air, followed by silence. 

“It is true,” Lan Zhan said into that silence. “What they say.”

Wei Wuxian had left many things unsaid between them, a knot of tension between them that neither of them had time to unravel before he’d set off with Little Apple, parting atop a foothill. 

Lan Zhan had agreed to be Chief Cultivator, and the Yiling Patriarch’s presence would detract from the job he had to do. If anyone stood a chance of saving the cultivation world from itself, it was him. 

And Wei Wuxian… He wasn’t quite sure the cultivation world could be saved, or that it really deserved to be. So he had set off to be among the common people, to see the light among them that cultivators were supposed to protect and nurture. 

He hadn’t had the energy to try to untangle the knot. Not then. 

“All those years?” he asked. 

He wasn’t able to keep his voice from breaking at the idea of Lan Zhan waking up every day to that magnitude of grief. If it had been Lan Zhan who had died, he isn’t sure he could have survived it. 

After all, he hadn’t survived his grief over Jiang Yanli’s death. 

“I had A-Yuan,” Lan Zhan said, his voice soft. “And if I worked to make the world better, make it brighter…”

Wei Wuxian could hear the sentiment unspoken. That maybe he would come back. And it makes his initial thoughts upon his resurrection all the more painful to remember, that he wished to leave his zhiji in his grief, even unknowing. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Between us—”

“I know. But still.”

Lan Zhan turned to him, and Wei Wuxian felt pierced by his gaze.

“I have never blamed you.”

“I know,” he said again. 

He felt a bit like they were on a precipice, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to go over. Maybe it was inevitable, but right now…

“You had the right to grieve. Your brother has the right to grieve. Fuck them for criticizing either of you for it.”

Lan Zhan inclined his head in agreement. For a while they sat quietly, the bunnies hopping around them contentedly. 

“You know, you’re acting sect leader. The last acting sect leader added like a thousand rules because he was pissed at one person,” Wei Wuxian said casually. “One defining excess wouldn’t be out of line, would it?”

A huff of quiet laughter told him his point had been made. 

The gentle sound of the guqin rose again, this time the song Wei Wuxian still didn’t know the title to, an invitation to ask. 

He took it, and the knot unraveled with a single word. 

The Cloud Recesses would wake to two new rules engraved in the wall, one flawlessly carved to replace the one about not speaking to Wei Wuxian.

Do not be petty. 

Do not criticize the emotions of others.

It would not stop the gossip, but despite the rage of the elders in general and Lan Qiren in particular, no fault could be found with these particular additions, aside from an insistence that the rules were themselves somehow petty. 

Honestly, the blindness of old men…

They were less happy with Lan Zhan’s announcement that he was courting the Yiling Patriarch, either, which took the focus off the new rules and Zewu-Jun rather nicely. 

Despite Lan Xichen’s self-imposed seclusion, Wei Wuxian made it a point to sit outside his door daily thereafter and tell him about one of the people he had met on his journey, each one having helped restore his faith that there was good in the world. 

He tried not to be excessively pleased with himself when Zewu-Jun eventually opened the door. 

[mishamoonberry]

Lie

Heavily inspired by Jimin’s LIE and my art.

Also available on AO3 and FFN.

"I love you."

What a pure sounding lie.

He first saw her sitting in the corner of the bar, her eyes gleaming in quiet amusement and resignation as she watched her best friend, the Yamanaka, danced and laughed with other people in the bar.

He himself was invited by his colleagues and dragged here by a persistent Anko (he had learned not to challenge Anko when she was determined to do something; and in this case she was determined he, The Hokage, got some 'day off' and have fun with them at the famous bar for shinobi). He did not expect to see his students and their friends here, but perhaps he should've. They were, after all, adults now. They were now reaching almost the age of twenty, and while that made him feel old, he still could feel the pride rushing through his bones whenever he saw them grow up and be successful.

Still, it was surprising for him to see her sitting alone, especially when her best friend seemed to be having so much fun on the floor (and was she flirting with Genma? His eyebrow rose in question, finding the sight rather intriguing. Genma was flirting back). Even Naruto seemed to have much fun in another crowded table, his arms waving around excitedly as he woven tales and whatnot to his friends.

Everyone was having fun here. They laughed, danced, flirted (Kakashi was ready with a polite smile and crab-walking to escape from men and women alike who tried to do so to him), or be like him, who sat alone and drunk his drinks alone.

And, well, there was Sakura too.

She could be put in the same category as him, he supposed. She did seem to have fun watching as Ino flounced and bounced around Genma, who laughed and smiled at her. Kakashi had to resist a smirk as well. Those two were obvious with their interests toward each other.

Not only Ino and Genma, other shinobi were seemingly trying to find matches of their own, and considering how it was peace time, and that Konoha had lost a generous amount of personnel during the war, Kakashi had no qualms against another baby boom. He hoped he had more patience dealing with it than Tsunade, though. The previous Hokage did talk to him after his inauguration and warned him of the possibilities of lots, and lots, and lots, of marriages.

And considering the relation between the Hidden Villages, there might be inter-village marriages happening soon. He had already seen the looks given by Suna's most reliable delegate, Temari, to Shikamaru and vice versa.

....Man... He had to make laws about that. It must be as detailed as possible and covered everything, to ensure despite the relation between villages, there would be no room where one village will be above the other.

His eyebrow twitched. Look at him. He was supposed to be relaxing here and yet his mind already drifted off to work. Kakashi sighed, and sipped on his drink, his eyes easily finding Sakura's form again. She seemed to have not noticed his presence, sipping her own drink bits by bits as she watched things unfold in front of her.

It made him think. The sight of his female student, that was, even though he couldn't really call her as his student anymore. She had long surpassed him in skills, what with her chakra control, the seal on her forehead and her terrifying super strength. They had different repertoires when it came to skills, but Kakashi would be willing to say that Sakura had grown beautifully in terms of strength and skills.

And well, he conceded, in terms of looks, as well.

He hadn't really taught her anything aside from the importance of teamwork. Even the tree climbing was more of a demonstration that Sakura nearly perfected by herself. Aside from his former position as Team Seven's sensei, he hadn't really been a teacher for her.

(Sometimes he'd think that he should've taken him under his wings after the retrieval mission that failed).

(But then, he thought, rather viciously to himself, that if he failed so badly with Sasuke, who said that he wouldn't with her, too?).

(He was quick to dismiss her potential, anyway).

(She was lucky she demanded Tsunade to teach her instead of looking for him to teach her after her teammates went off to learn under their own versions of Sannin).

(He didn't deserve such position).

And, well, considering that Sakura had grown up into a woman who easily threw sarcasm and the occasional salt at him, the sentiment was shared. He was not his teacher other than the position.

While that position had been discarded after Naruto's return to Konoha, it was strengthened during the war.

"Call me Kakashi," he said to her easily despite his exhaustion after the latest battle.

"Excuse me, what?"

"I'm not your sensei anymore, Sakura-chan," he eye-smiled at her. "We're equals now."

"You're my squad's captain," she answered, rather exasperatedly. He almost pouted, if not for her rolling her eyes and rather fond smile as she said, "but sure, Kakashi."

He smiled.

"Now let me look at your shoulders. Don't think that I didn't notice you stiffening, Kakashi."

His smile fell away.

Meanie.

Since then onward, he wasn't sensei for her anymore. He was just Kakashi to her, though she did throw in the occasional "Hokage-sama" accompanied with wiggles of eyebrows whenever she wanted to tease him. She did know his dislike toward those overly polite stuff.

Kakashi-sama this, Kakashi-sama that. Hokage-sama, Hokage-dono, blah, blah.

Sighing once again to his drink, Kakashi had to marvel at his ability to let his thoughts run amok in this noisy and crowded bar (either thanks to how many people were invited or Naruto's charm, considering how his table was very crowded. The Hyuuga heiress was seen squeaking as the crowd pressed closer to Naruto and she was forced to press herself on Naruto's left arm, her face aflame. Naruto didn't seem to mind, though, as he smiled at her. Ah, youth, he let himself thought of that for a moment before he shook himself out of fear of sounding both old and similar to Gai).

He wondered if he should talk to Sakura.

She was, after all, sitting there by her lone self despite her friends chatting and dancing. And he was in the exact same position. He had literally nothing to do.

Might as well, he thought, raising to his feet and making his way toward her, taking his drink along with him.

Not even that close to her position, she seemed to already notice his presence and looked his way, green eyes widening the slightest bit. Her cheeks seemed to be rather pink, but otherwise she looked sober and fine.

Definitely fine, he thought, looking over her outfit. It was quite similar to her usual outfit, although this qipao seemed to fit on her body even more than her usual ones, the dress teasingly showing him her smooth thighs.

Thighs that could crush your skull with a hard enough squeeze, he tried to remind himself, fighting the urge to rest his eyes on that exposed skin.

That's such a nice way to die, though... Agh, he cursed, dammit. Snap out of it, Kakashi.

"Kakashi!" Her voice was like bells in his ears, the grown woman smiling softly at him. "I didn't notice you were invited too."

"Well, now you know I'm capable of cowering in the corner so people don't notice me," he says, eyes crinkling into a smile. Sakura snorted to her glass, somehow still sounding very attractive despite it.

Perhaps he was biased. He was, after all, in love with Sakura. He didn't know when or where the seeds had planted themselves, but a few months after the war, he realized. He loved her. Not only because she had grown into a beautiful woman (because who said Sakura wasn't beautiful must be blind. He almost blinded himself during the war and he could still say with absolute clarity that Sakura was beautiful), but he also loved her passion in her career, her determination, her fierce look, how she was so open with her expressions and emotions, and many other things he could've written down and made into a bible.

A tome, he thought wryly. Imagine one hundred years in the future and the artifact they found ended up being the Sixth Hokage's writing about how hopelessly in love he was.

"Can I sit with you?" He asked her, then, expression lighting up in delight when she easily scooted over, patting the spot beside her. He made himself comfortable beside her, not too far to be awkward and not too close to be more awkward. "So, what are you doing here alone?"

Sakura pointed at Ino. "I'm with her."

"I know that," he said, "but you're here. Alone."

"So I'm talking to a ghost?" She raised her eyebrow, and Kakashi deadpanned at her, making Sakura laugh.

They bantered more through the night, and Kakashi wasn't exactly sure of the time they spent talking together nor the amount of drinks they consumed. Kakashi wasn't exactly drinking much, but Sakura was a fast drinker, another thing that probably she learned from Tsunade. Whenever she ran out of alcohol, she'd ask another one, sometimes with different types to add to the variety. If she wasn't a skilled medic, he'd be worried about alcohol poisoning.

They talked while they drunk. About Naruto, his occupation as the Hokage, her rounds in the hospital, about Ino, about Genma and Ino and many other things they could find as an interesting enough topic to talk about.

It was fun. It was refreshing. And to talk with her and laugh along with her, Kakashi couldn't help but think of thanking Anko for her persistence in dragging him to the bar tonight.

It was well within the night, when some people had found it a nice hour to scatter home, that Sakura looked drunk enough.

She was about to ask for another drink when he grabbed her wrist, a firm command of: "That's enough."

"Huh?" She hiccuped.

"You've drunk enough," he clarified, releasing her hand so it fell on her thigh. "See, your face is red already."

"It's not red," she puffed her cheeks, and Kakashi had to resist the urge to either poke her cheek with his finger or call her a chipmunk. Both seemed quite suicidal for him.

"Yes, it is." He snuck a glance toward the other people in the room. Naruto seemed to be busy with Hinata and Kiba, who looked ready to murder, for reasons unknown to him, being restrained physically by Shino. Sai was in the corner, drawing on his sketchbook with Tenzou by his side. Ino herself seemed to be busy, already sitting somewhere else with Genma, possibly laughing at something Kotetsu said.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked her, "it's already late, and there's nothing left to do."

"Nothing left to do?" She pouted, a small hiccup leaving her lips, "I have loooots of things I wanna do." She looked at him and gave a once-over, cooing. "I'd do you."

He almost choked on his own spit.

Instead, he chose to smile at her. "You must be more drunk than I think."

She pouted harder, if that was even possible. "It's trueee," she slurred, "You have nice arms." In accordance to that statement, her arms reached out to hold his biceps, the woman letting out sounds too obscene for his healthy mind. While it was nice she appreciated his noodle-but-still-muscly arms, perhaps she shouldn't have let the sounds out. The alcohol did its numbers on his mind as well, after all.

"And nice haaaands," she said then, grasping his fingers. "I always love nice hands. Oh-- Oh and a nice butt." She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes.

Kakashi gulped. This wasn't what he expected from her.

She's drunk, he told himself. She's never going to say this to me if she's sober.

She probably didn't even realize that it was Kakashi, and that thought brought a sour feeling in his mind that he hastily pushed away.

Whatever. He thought, grasping her hands and attempted to make her stand.

"Come on, Sakura," he muttered, "let's take you home."

"Hnngh?" She mumbled to herself, "You'll-" she hiccuped, "take me home?"

"Yes, of course," he answered, "it's dangerous to go home alone when you're drunk, no matter how strong you are."

"Whyyy," she almost poked his nostrils, "are you not drunk?"

"Because I drink less than you, obviously," he muttered, "c'mon, up."

"You're so sweet," she giggled, stumbling as she stood, "so sweet, Kashi."

He almost froze at the nickname. Heat rushed through him, a heat that he ignored in favor of having her steady herself. "Finally recognizing me now, Sakura?"

Sakura squinted in response, letting out a long-drawn hum. He sighed, well there went her recognition of him.

"C'mon. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"Yes. Home. Bed. Sleep. No hangover, hopefully. No promises in that part, though," he smirked lightly, guiding her through the crowd to walk out of the bar. In his way out, Ino caught his gaze, her cheeks flushed. Obviously she hadn't drunk as much as Sakura, although she did look kinda tipsy as well. Genma was another thing entirely though, the man was obviously drunk by now. Ino took one look at Sakura and raised an eyebrow at him, in which he replied with a nod, a silent promise to take care of the pink haired medic. The blond Yamanaka responded with a nod of her own.

That matter taken care of, he walked with her outside, Sakura leaning on his shoulder as they walked.

"You're really nice," she muttered, "no one had taken me home before."

He simply hummed in reply.

"You're not-- You're not," she paused, squinting. He waited patiently for her to continue, humming lightly as indication that he was waiting for her to finish. Though in the end she just grumbled and slumped, possibly forgetting what she was about to say.

"You're really nice."

"So I've been told," he responded.

"Mm, really nice."

"Mm-hmm."

"I like nice guys," she said then, peering up at him almost shyly. Her cheeks were flushed, mostlikely because of the alcohol than any sort of attraction toward him, much to his chagrin.

"That's good," he smiled down at her, in which she seemed to be happy to receive, because her smile brightened than ever, her cheeks still red.

"Right?" She seemed like someone that just received free candy, "I really like nice guys. I really like you." She giggled, seemingly oblivious to how Kakashi stiffened in surprise at her words.

"Hey," she hugged his arm, staring up at him dreamily. "I love you."

Heat crept up his cheeks, and Kakashi could swear steam went out of his ears. His grey eyes stared at Sakura's slightly unfocused green ones, wide and shocked.

"I love you, yeah?" She tugged his arm, "Hey. Hey."

He had to get out of here. His cheeks were burning, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to say it back to her. I love you, his mind screamed, I love you too. So much.

But he couldn't. She was drunk, and she probably didn't realize that he was, well, Kakashi. She wasn't really coherent, and there was always a possibility that she saw someone else. Heck, she could probably be imagining Sasuke, despite her claiming she was over him a few months ago.

Therefore, Kakashi simply grunted and took her into his arms, ignoring her squeak as he said as light as he could, "let's get you home as quickly as we can, yeah?"

He brought her home in record time, and although there was some fuss in getting her into sleep, she fell asleep soon enough, tangled with her own soft pink blanket.

It was only after she was safe in her own bed, her doors and windows locked and wards activated, after he himself got home to his apartment, Kakashi allowed himself to sigh heavily, sitting on his bed, looking weary for the world.

Thinking back, he couldn't help but to wonder, if Sakura really truly liked him (loved him) as she said through that drunken confession,

or if, perhaps, when doing so, she was seeing somebody else, thinking of somebody else.

In the midst of his emotions, at war with himself, he wondered which one he truly preferred. Because he loved her, truly, he loved her so much, that he felt sometimes that he could burst, that he could make poems about her that could be turned into a tome, that he could find himself sometimes smiling with no other reasons other than her.

He loved her, but, but.

He didn't think he was worthy. Not worthy of her love, her affection, her smiles and hope and devotion. Not worthy of happiness.

Because the ones that Kakashi loved and loved Kakashi back always got destroyed somehow, someway.

Because the ones he loved had always crumbled under his arms, always destroyed by his very own arms.

(Father, Obito, Rin, Team Seven--)

Kakashi closed his eyes.

In the middle of the night, he closed his eyes, and thought for many hours to come, and many more days to come.

(Am I worthy of happiness?)

(I do not know.)