It's not a confirmation he explicitly needed, but there's something so despairingly final in getting it anyway. But how can he show any of that feeling of shivering wrongness when Lan Zhan is clearly so unbalanced by it? By everything. He doesn't want to be asking any more than Wei Wuxian wants to be navigating an introduction to the person who knows him best. He's only just gotten him somewhat reassured, pared away some of that tightly wound tension with what, the promise of home? He can only meet that painfully earnest look and voice with a small wry smile, real but too pale, like winter sun.
"You may," he allows with a kind of resigned nod; he won't do this situation the disservice of bowing, even if it may be proper. Possibly? Impossible to work out, on the fly. There's too much for him to figure out as it is. Someone has to collect the fallen ribbon, still, and that alone is a problem for the ages. Someone has to text the disciples, too, and in a way that won't upend them completely. There can currently be no doubt as to who that someone is. "To you, I am Wei Ying. Thank you for trusting me."
This is the extent of Wei Wuxian's ability to look at these circumstances dead on, and so he busies himself gathering and folding the ribbon, deeming it unnecessary to replace in service of getting Lan Zhan home, even if it's an indignity. Everything is, at the moment, and it's only the start. It doesn't seem like he's said or done enough, to explain the weight of who he is, but how else? "And to me, you will still have to be Lan Zhan, even if it seems overly familiar for now. You always said I was unteachable, and I am."
The winter sun may not be able to warm, but it can banish the fog and promise spring all the same. And like the winter sun, a single glimpse is enough to make one wish to see it every day. He receives the name and the thanks with equal care, understanding both to be significant. Even if he can't quite define the significance, any sense of understanding he can grasp is precious. Though it is clear to him that his benefactor-- that Wei Ying owes him thanks as little as he owes him proof of any sort.
He repeats the name carefully once more in his mind, as if testing to see how it fits, like a rhyme, or a pair of notes, when the other man unexpectedly reaches down to pick up something of his that he had all but forgotten about in his distress. He watches him fold it and keep it safe, silently entranced, and can find nothing out of bounds with how Wei Ying wishes to address him. Not least of all because he does not know how else Wei Ying would be meant to address him, and vice versa. But most of all, he feels glad for the certainty, some ground to stand on at last. To have a name to call him, and a name to be called by him, it's as if both put together act like a talisman to keep the horror of all this at bay for now, and he can breathe a little easier.
And with this anchor, he can even feel something besides the fear and exhaustion and the shame inherent in not knowing, can feel a little curious even, at Wei Ying's words. "I did?" He isn't questioning the truth of it; if Wei Ying says so it must be true, but he would like to know more. What else has he said about him? What else is he?
Wouldn't the idea of such unshakeable trust in whatever Wei Wuxian says be something, if he only knew about it. But it's enough that Lan Zhan is more reassured by the minute, however small the increments-- that this starts to become something manageable. Not that Wei Wuxian would ever doubt, because it simply has to be manageable, ultimately. Lan Zhan doesn't deserve anything less than that, which settles it.
It would be funny, for Lan Zhan to finally be the one who doesn't remember something, if it were just that. If it weren't for the distress and injustice of it all. It would be a little sweet, the curiosity. It would be touching to be so trusted, if it weren't rooted in injury. As always, he is determined to be worthy of the trust nonetheless. And there's surely nothing below board about telling Lan Zhan things he would otherwise know, even if it seems, absurdly, like gossip.
"Yes, you did." Not gossip; just more reassuring, like catching Lan Zhan by the arm once more (still careful!) in hopes of keeping him moving, even if the distractions had turned out to be a little necessary. It will do at least something to ease Wei Wuxian's nervy agitation; the sooner Lan Zhan is returned to the home he doesn't remember, the more he feels like he's helping. With that overarching imperative in mind, he can say anything, albeit without his entire attention. "It was very true when we were young, and it's still true now, even if you haven't said it lately...Maybe in months." It's on the tip of his tongue to deliver a familiar chiding, but maybe without the familiarity it's best he has the presence of mind to divert himself from calling Lan Zhan stingy with his words. That's hardly the reason he remembers this word, anyway. "So you'll just have to bear with me, if I forget and overstep."
This time there is no flinch or discomfort at being supported and led, only half owed to the fact that he is growing more worn out with every step. As before, Wei Ying is a beacon in the darkness to him, all the more now for standing by his side against the gaping emptiness in his mind. It's the feeling of finding the unknown thing he had been walking towards for so long, and of being found in the same measure. For this, he can walk a little further.
Wei Ying speaking more freely again is a comfort in its own way, but he also listens closely to the words, tries to glean all he can from them. So they have known each other since they were young... and Wei Ying apparently pays close attention to his words. And possibly takes pride in being called unteachable? Confusing, but rousing his curiosity further.
But before he can give voice to his burgeoning fascination, Wei Ying's addition reminds him of the existence of boundaries he would have otherwise been unaware of. As if Wei Ying is the one who has to worry about forgetting and overstepping. "I will," he reassures him earnestly, and then continues more hesitantly, "... Will you, too?" The dread of his inadequacy returns, of unspoken rules in their relationship that he may trample unknowingly and cause offense... He isn't even sure of the nature of their relationship, to have known each other for a long time and be sharing a home. With an anguish as precipitous as staring down the side of an abyss, he realizes he is still only at the beginning of understanding what he has lost.
As if Lan Zhan could! It's hard to suppress a scoff at the very concept, a twist to his mouth like he's tasted something unexpected but is being so polite about it. Wei Wuxian might easily be too much for any stranger, but even at the height of familiarity Lan Zhan is a paragon of decency, and feeling unsure can only make him more so, not less. And Wei Wuxian, memories as intact as they ever are, is not a stranger. The irony of having to remind Lan Zhan of this without being dangled over a lake does not go unnoticed even if it goes uncommented on. The earnestness is unbearable, even if that's essentially what Lan Zhan always is. He can't pinpoint the difference, but he'll earmark it for later.
"I don't want you to be anxious about that," he says with as much finality as feels safe, squeezing Lan Zhan's arm a little like that will impress it upon him through his clear exhaustion. "It's not possible. How would you overstep when I still know you?" How to explain the clear impossibility of Lan Zhan being too much? Even without the allowances granted by injury. Something in him twists with guilt, but he can't accept this, even as he fears being a disappointment in it, somehow. The reciprocity feels like it would be more reassuring, like it's what Lan Zhan is asking for, but he can't allow it in good faith, as the party who currently knows better. "You shouldn't have to worry while you're hurt. Especially about something so unlikely."
The reciprocity would have certainly been easier to understand than what he is given instead. It would have been a fair exchange of a little leniency in such troubling circumstances. Equal footing to stand on, when there is so little else equal between them. But instead, he is given a puzzle.
Are there not boundaries for any relationship? Rules for any interaction? What sort of bond is it that is free of restraints and regulations? Can there be such a thing? ...And how would he know whether there is or isn't? All he can do is to believe in what Wei Ying says. Wei Ying is his only reference for the world around him, and even for himself and the person he is supposed to be. It is still a helpless and frightening and shameful feeling; he knows he should be reliant upon himself. But even stronger is the relief to have something he can trust in. The idea that Wei Ying may say something untrue does not occur, not even to be discarded.
And so, what he is given is also reassuring. Being hurt does not relieve him of responsibility for his actions, but if it is impossible for him to overstep, to offend, then that is one thing he does not need to be anxious about. He does not need to fear being turned away. Whatever the nature of this relationship, whatever it is he has lost to his forgetting, he can still allow himself to feel safe in it. And so, after a long moment of working through all these thoughts, he finally nods and hums his agreement with not a little relief.
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no subject
"You may," he allows with a kind of resigned nod; he won't do this situation the disservice of bowing, even if it may be proper. Possibly? Impossible to work out, on the fly. There's too much for him to figure out as it is. Someone has to collect the fallen ribbon, still, and that alone is a problem for the ages. Someone has to text the disciples, too, and in a way that won't upend them completely. There can currently be no doubt as to who that someone is. "To you, I am Wei Ying. Thank you for trusting me."
This is the extent of Wei Wuxian's ability to look at these circumstances dead on, and so he busies himself gathering and folding the ribbon, deeming it unnecessary to replace in service of getting Lan Zhan home, even if it's an indignity. Everything is, at the moment, and it's only the start. It doesn't seem like he's said or done enough, to explain the weight of who he is, but how else? "And to me, you will still have to be Lan Zhan, even if it seems overly familiar for now. You always said I was unteachable, and I am."
no subject
He repeats the name carefully once more in his mind, as if testing to see how it fits, like a rhyme, or a pair of notes, when the other man unexpectedly reaches down to pick up something of his that he had all but forgotten about in his distress. He watches him fold it and keep it safe, silently entranced, and can find nothing out of bounds with how Wei Ying wishes to address him. Not least of all because he does not know how else Wei Ying would be meant to address him, and vice versa. But most of all, he feels glad for the certainty, some ground to stand on at last. To have a name to call him, and a name to be called by him, it's as if both put together act like a talisman to keep the horror of all this at bay for now, and he can breathe a little easier.
And with this anchor, he can even feel something besides the fear and exhaustion and the shame inherent in not knowing, can feel a little curious even, at Wei Ying's words. "I did?" He isn't questioning the truth of it; if Wei Ying says so it must be true, but he would like to know more. What else has he said about him? What else is he?
no subject
It would be funny, for Lan Zhan to finally be the one who doesn't remember something, if it were just that. If it weren't for the distress and injustice of it all. It would be a little sweet, the curiosity. It would be touching to be so trusted, if it weren't rooted in injury. As always, he is determined to be worthy of the trust nonetheless. And there's surely nothing below board about telling Lan Zhan things he would otherwise know, even if it seems, absurdly, like gossip.
"Yes, you did." Not gossip; just more reassuring, like catching Lan Zhan by the arm once more (still careful!) in hopes of keeping him moving, even if the distractions had turned out to be a little necessary. It will do at least something to ease Wei Wuxian's nervy agitation; the sooner Lan Zhan is returned to the home he doesn't remember, the more he feels like he's helping. With that overarching imperative in mind, he can say anything, albeit without his entire attention. "It was very true when we were young, and it's still true now, even if you haven't said it lately...Maybe in months." It's on the tip of his tongue to deliver a familiar chiding, but maybe without the familiarity it's best he has the presence of mind to divert himself from calling Lan Zhan stingy with his words. That's hardly the reason he remembers this word, anyway. "So you'll just have to bear with me, if I forget and overstep."
no subject
Wei Ying speaking more freely again is a comfort in its own way, but he also listens closely to the words, tries to glean all he can from them. So they have known each other since they were young... and Wei Ying apparently pays close attention to his words. And possibly takes pride in being called unteachable? Confusing, but rousing his curiosity further.
But before he can give voice to his burgeoning fascination, Wei Ying's addition reminds him of the existence of boundaries he would have otherwise been unaware of. As if Wei Ying is the one who has to worry about forgetting and overstepping. "I will," he reassures him earnestly, and then continues more hesitantly, "... Will you, too?" The dread of his inadequacy returns, of unspoken rules in their relationship that he may trample unknowingly and cause offense... He isn't even sure of the nature of their relationship, to have known each other for a long time and be sharing a home. With an anguish as precipitous as staring down the side of an abyss, he realizes he is still only at the beginning of understanding what he has lost.
no subject
"I don't want you to be anxious about that," he says with as much finality as feels safe, squeezing Lan Zhan's arm a little like that will impress it upon him through his clear exhaustion. "It's not possible. How would you overstep when I still know you?" How to explain the clear impossibility of Lan Zhan being too much? Even without the allowances granted by injury. Something in him twists with guilt, but he can't accept this, even as he fears being a disappointment in it, somehow. The reciprocity feels like it would be more reassuring, like it's what Lan Zhan is asking for, but he can't allow it in good faith, as the party who currently knows better. "You shouldn't have to worry while you're hurt. Especially about something so unlikely."
no subject
Are there not boundaries for any relationship? Rules for any interaction? What sort of bond is it that is free of restraints and regulations? Can there be such a thing? ...And how would he know whether there is or isn't? All he can do is to believe in what Wei Ying says. Wei Ying is his only reference for the world around him, and even for himself and the person he is supposed to be. It is still a helpless and frightening and shameful feeling; he knows he should be reliant upon himself. But even stronger is the relief to have something he can trust in. The idea that Wei Ying may say something untrue does not occur, not even to be discarded.
And so, what he is given is also reassuring. Being hurt does not relieve him of responsibility for his actions, but if it is impossible for him to overstep, to offend, then that is one thing he does not need to be anxious about. He does not need to fear being turned away. Whatever the nature of this relationship, whatever it is he has lost to his forgetting, he can still allow himself to feel safe in it. And so, after a long moment of working through all these thoughts, he finally nods and hums his agreement with not a little relief.