wuding | (no subject)

I haven’t picked him up, but I’ve been stroking his head and back.

...wish to hold him.

Me too.

He’s going to be okay. You can hold him as soon as you get here.

Shortly.

You are so strong, my love.

Thanks for coming home to us, Lan Zhan.

I’ll be anything our kids need me to be.

Shall hereon pack you all in my qiankun bag.

You’d need one with a bigger opening if you want me to fit!

And Sizhui. Lan Liang. The rabbits. All of you.

The rabbits, too?

A-Liang and the rabbits would fit without a larger opening, but Sizhui and I would have to wait.

He woke up for a little bit! I got him to drink a few swallows of milk, but he went back to sleep in the middle of it.

Lan Zhan! The doctor says I can take him home, but warned me that the milk will probably pass right through him. She says he’ll probably be sick for a few days and that if he stops eating again to bring him back. She’s preparing medicines and instructions for us.

The heavens were kind. Once more, I thank their sparing mercy.

Shall meet you at home.

She warned me he’ll probably be fussy when the poppy milk wears off, but we can’t give him too much too quickly.

And allow him to suffer?

She’s giving me some to take home, but she was adamant about not over-medicating him with it because he’s so small and it could be dangerous.

He does not write again, intent to waste not a heartbeat on dawdling, as Wei Ying no longer requires careful, constant soothing. Instead, an earnest flight, wind deep and whipping, set against proper advance as it kindles, stoking into a storm. He reaches their home and nearly stumbles off Bichen, graceless when he summons her in hand, then sheath, and enters at a brisk pace. At the last moment, he deigns to catch the door before it might thud, recalling the sensitivities of a young sleeping child generally, and of a sickly one specifically.

Sizhui greets him first, malleable and easy in Lan Wangji's embrace, when he is rushed in for affection and Wangji's private reminder that this son, at least, is safe. He does not plead to leave, but Lan Wangji dismisses him with feverish thanks, aware that Sizhui is late for lessons, for the midday meal so often shared with his companions, for duties that become the heir of the sect. They have yet to speak of his legacy, under the fresh circumstances of his courtship. No matter. Tomorrow.

For now, Lan Wangji relieves himself of his boots and travel accoutrements, and the bag of scrolls of treaty he had toiled to trail with him to Caiyi for the inspection of local merchants who attend the needs of the Gusu Lan. The formalities of finalising another five years' contract will have to wait.

He enters the enclave where Lan Liang is often held, breathless and burning to see his child safe, his husband pacified in some small measure.

"Wei Ying." By way of greeting. "May I hold him?"

As soon as he gets home, he lays Lan Liang down to rest in his bed so that he can organize the assortment of medicines that were given to him. He has them lined up in a row with the written instructions next to them. He’d used some strips of blank talisman paper to write out labels to each of them to make sure everything is as idiot-proof as it can be.

He’s hovering over Liang’s bed when he hears the welcome sound of his husband coming home and his other son taking his leave. He calls out his goodbye to Sizhui instead of going to the next room. He’ll have to do something to thank him for keeping him company and missing a good chunk of his lessons to do so.

He’ll have to think of a way to thank Lan Qiren, too. If it weren’t for him, Wei Wuxian would have been sent away from the doctor’s place until Lan Liang woke up.

He looks up from stroking the baby’s back when Lan Zhan comes in and he welcomes him with a bright smile. “Lan Zhan! He’s still drugged to his gills, but that should be okay. He might not even wake up.” He bends over the crib and picks up Lan Liang so he can hand him over. The baby’s little hands grab at Lan Zhan’s robe as they make the transfer.

...here, his child, his son. Still far too warm to the touch for Lan Wangji's pleasure, and a shiver consumes him, to think of Lan Liang's feverish condition when Wei Ying first discovered his sickness. And small, so very small, a slip of nothing in Lan Wangji's arms. He feels, all at once, as green as if he had never raised children, one hand cradling Liang's bottom, the other supporting his back, for all the babe's already wilted against Lan Wangji's chest and unlikely to ignite into sparks of agitation.

"You frightened us," he murmurs down, only answered by Lan Liang's sudden chirping of fussing, his small fists clenching and releasing Lan Wangji's silks. His mouth drips down to settle on the crown of Lan Liang's head. "...forgiven."

And the child barely looks up, bleary and clearly intoxicated, speaking some great complaint in his own tongue, before lolling his head back onto Lan Wangji's chest. There, there.

Belatedly, Wangji looks past his son to his husband, "Eat. Rest. I shall have watch of him."

He takes a step back to watch the reunion, smile settling into something more docile. Lan Zhan needs this moment of reassurance, he thinks. Touching Lan Liang’s physical form after such a big scare had meant a lot to Wei Wuxian and he hadn’t been separated from him nearly as long as Lan Zhan had.

He touches Liang’s head, then Lan Zhan’s arm. “He’s been so brave today,” he adds, stepping close so he can have a few trinkets of Lan Zhan’s company and attention. “I don’t know, I still don’t have much of an appetite,” he confesses, leaning his head against his husband’s shoulder.

“I’m not really the panicky type, but he really did scare me this morning.” Lan Liang’s still not in the clear, yet. But he’s got his color back, he’s drinking when he’s awake, and he’s as alert as anyone can be when they’re taking milk of the poppy. Since it’s no longer an emergency, Wei Wuxian has been able to switch back to his rational side. He can stay calm now, so he can support his son and husband in any way they need.

...of course. Of course Wei Ying too is yet saddled with the hurts and anguish of watching their son suffer. And unlike Lan Wangji, who can persuade himself perhaps the harm and threat were always faint and diminished, Wei Ying has seen otherwise. He cannot escape the reality of their youngest son's frailty, until he presents a core. Which he must, oh, but he must. Anything else would spell the ruin of them.

He tips his head fleetingly to crown Wei Ying's, at his side, at once accepting and inviting of his husband's presence and offering as much comfort as he can with both hands occupied.

"I would wish to eat." It is, after all, midday and veering past the hour of acceptable lunching in the early-rising Cloud Recesses. "Will you keep me company?"

Perhaps if Lan Wangji sighs and hovers over his own rice bowl long enough, Wei Ying's appetite — untarnished, after skipping likely breakfast to attend their family's emergency — will rear its head. He can but hope.

"Come. Call my lunch."

He leans into the affection, pressing his palm over one of the hands cradling their son to his father’s chest. After several moments of absorbing the comfort and warmth Lan Wangji supplies for both him and their child, he steps back and nods his head.

“If I’m already getting food for you, I may as well try to eat something. I don’t even remember what they made for me earlier,” he says with a sigh while he prepares a butterfly to get their lunches delivered to the jingshi. His will most likely be a dish consisting of fish with more palatable vegetables on the side. Lan Zhan’s would be nothing but vegetables. Jingyi is the only other Lan he knows of that eats meat whenever he gets the chance.

Once he’s done, he tugs on Lan Zhan’s sleeve as he walks towards the main room where they can both sit down and rest as much as they’re able to while their baby son is in such a precarious position. If Lan Zhan wants to bring Lan Liang with him, then it’s all the better. He doesn't want to stray far from him, either. In fact, if he’s not looking better by night fall, he’s ready to suggest sleeping in shifts so there will always be one of them awake and watchful.

He goes to the small table and pours some water in two cups for them to drink. He hadn’t had breakfast at home, so there’s no tea and he’s of two minds when it comes to drinking wine. On one hand, it would be nice to relax, but he wants to keep his wits about him in case something happens and Lan Liang needs more than they can provide.

“I’m glad you came home, Lan Zhan. Just knowing you’re here with us makes things feel so much lighter.” Meaning his personal burden is now split between two and their vigilance is doubled.

For once, he is the more motherly of the twain, fussing over their infant while Wei Ying minds the practicalities of the household with growing confidence. It pleases some part of Lan Wangji to see him settled in the skins and authority of the spouse of the clan's second young master. Even if he does not always feel beloved in Cloud Recesses, at least Wei Ying is stretching out within the confines of his natural shyness, learning its restraints.

Only stopping to fetch a cushion, Lan Wangji follows obediently with their son to the low table, bathed in the golds of a brimming, beautiful midday. The audacity of summer, presuming with prettiness on the day of Lan Liang's suffering. At the very least, Lan Wangji knows he has come with a storm.

As he sits, legs loosely crossed, he settles the pillow in their cradle, and their son above it. Now and then, he shifts his knees, swaying the cushion and lulling Lan Liang pleasantly in the motion. He coos, tender and stuttered, attempting to blink awake, but falling back asleep.

"How could I have stayed away?" He reaches for the water, letting himself briefly enjoy the relief of its coolness. The flight was hard, perhaps too hastened. Sweat chills like a ghost on his back. "My son suffered. My husband was anguished."

And Wei Ying has not lost anyone so very dear, in his second life.

He finally sits down after he’s done everything he can to get their midday meal delivered. He pours more water for Lan Zhan and takes a few sips from his own cup before refilling that too. It feels like he’s too far from his husband and sickly child, so he scoots as close as he can.

“He’s a fighter,” he says as he reaches across the table to lay a hand on their son’s back. He finds it reassuring to feel the rise and fall of breath. Lan Liang doesn’t respond to the touch, but that’s not a surprise. The few times he’d been given milk of poppy, he had slept through most of it, too.

“You’re a good father and husband,” he says and moves his hand from Lan Liang’s back to Lan Zhan’s hand where he gives it a gentle squeeze. It really does feel like things are going to be alright now that he’s not alone. “Are you going to take the rest of the day off? The doctor said he’ll be sick two or three days and to keep giving him milk or sweetened water to keep him drinking whenever he’s awake. That’s the most important part. Oh! I have the instructions for preparing his medicines, too.” And he’s rambling and not leaving any room for Lan Zhan to say anything.

Chattiness suits Wei Ying, a natural metric of his ease. Tension locks his jaw. And so, Lan Wangji does not begrudge him his gregarious song, tipping naturally in his huaband's direction as if to absorb his notes, his candour.

"Shall stay at least the day." Perhaps tomorrow, also, if Lan Liang's condition persists, fever unbreaking. Yet softer, apologetically, "May read or attend correspondence with him on my knee."

He cannot fully break himself from his commitments, not when he has already disrupted a day's schedule for his own purposes. The troubles, he knows, of extending their family at a time of flux. There was wisdom in their quiet certainty that they must wait to entertain the thought of further children.

"We may take turns with vigil. The nursemaid, also. Write her instructions."

“I figured you couldn’t get away completely,” he sighs, rubbing a thumb over Lan Zhan’s knuckles. He can’t blame his husband for needing to work while he’s home. “I’ll try not to distract you too much while you’re trying to focus on work.” And for once, he’ll stick to it. It’s not like either of them will be in the mood for bed play while Lan Liang is fighting a battle for his health.

He’s relieved that Lan Zhan is suggesting maintaining a vigil. He knows that Lan Zhan can get frightened waking up alone in the bed, but if he’s willing to accept that painful moment so that they can keep their baby safe then he’s willing to let him make that decision.

“I’ll get some rest after dinner so I can take the late night shift until the nursemaid can take over in the early morning. I’ll rewrite the instructions for her after dinner and send her a butterfly to come pick them up when she returns in case she wants to familiarize herself with them before coming over tomorrow.”

"Well thought," he murmurs in the wake of Wei Ying's carefully laid out plan, grateful for the immediacy of his husband's response, the attention to detail that Uncle might begrudge was never shown throughout his lessons. It finds a better use here, now, attending to their son.

As if to express his own gratitude, Lan Liang stretches out from a half-moon's tight curl into a tremulous line, hand kicking back to slap, then latch onto one of Wei Ying's finger. He tugs, as if to bring it sleepily to his mouth.

"He missed you," he says breathlessly, and his heart feels too full, too fond. Even a family of cultivators, guaranteed a core will take root in their child, would still live through the terrors of sickness before their son has come into his abilities. Their horror was not unknown in the nursery, before the doctor, earlier in the day. Yet it feels — singular to him, for all he has survived countless other instances of stress with Sizhui. Every time one of his children hurts is fresh, all-battering and new.

"You were too long parted."

He lets Lan Liang guide his finger to his mouth to chew on, smiling because seeing Liang do anything is a huge relief because it means he has the energy to use. Wei Wuxian still can't get the image of him limp and barely conscious when he'd first picked him up this morning out of his head. There had been several painful moments that he'd been terrified he'd have to write Lan Zhan of their son's passing.

"Either that or he wants another dose of poppy milk," he says, watching the child to make sure he doesn't act frustrated that there's no drug on his finger to ease his suffering. At least so far, it seems like the finger is all that's needed.

"Guess you were right. I've been with him most of the day, but it feels like I missed the opportunity to comfort him while he was being seen by the doctor. I got kicked out because I kept asking questions about what she was doing," he explains. He'd behaved a lot more quietly after Lan Qiren had approached her on his - or more like Lan Liang's - behalf. "I should have kept my mouth shut so I could stay with him, but I was worried."