Wei WuXian's hot breaths condense into a thin, white fog as they hit the chilly air, clouding the space around them and giving an almost dreamy atmosphere to the sight in front of him.
He's always known Lan WangJi is beautiful everyone in the cultivation world knows that but right now, as the man lies on wrinkly white sheets, silky hair in a disheveled, pitch black halo around his head, and moonlight spilling over him as though trying to kiss every exposed inch of his shimmering skin, it's hard not to be overwhelmed by his beauty.
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Or to be envious of said moonlight.
He reaches for Lan WangJi's face with one hand while the other remains providing heat to his most vital point and, suddenly, the little bubble that seemed to surround them just a moment ago disappears as the other holds his wrist abruptly before it can meet its destination.
"Don't."
Wei WuXian hopes the fleeting rejection he feels doesn't show, and proceeds to offer an explanation as nonchalantly as he can manage – he's good at that – laughing teasingly for good measure.
"There's a bit of ice in your eyelashes. Don't tell me the great HanGuang-Jun is scared of a man of such low cultivation level man like myself."
"I am not."
The grip loosens around his arm and Wei WuXian wipes the small water crystals with the pad of his thumb. He wasn't lying, there really was ice in his eyelashes for some reason.
Lan Zhan, have you been crying?
If so... For how long?
The two questions are right on the tip of his tongue, weighing down heavily. So heavily that the human body's supposedly strongest muscle doesn't dare move under their weight. How strange, the infamous Yiling Patriarch, the arrogant, unscrupulous evil being with a mean tongue larger than his mouth is scared to speak up for once.
His thumb hasn't left Lan WangJi's face yet and the latter remains still, not having protested again, so he decides to try and push his luck. The warm finger finds its way around the cool cheek, drawing soft patterns on it and threatening to go lower.
Wei WuXian isn't sure what he's doing, but his hand seems to be moving on its own accord as if trying to get drunk on the tender touch like its owner would on a bottle of Emperor's Smile.
He doesn't even notice his entire upper body also moved on its own until he feels a chilly breath hitting his mouth. Their faces are no more than a few centimeters apart now. Lan WangJi's breathing comes out in long, but shaky puffs. The daring thumb that's still on the other's cheek travels lower, going for a neck vein, merely intending to check its pulsation. What Wei WuXian finds, though, is something else entirely.
Lan WangJi's head tilts back a little, exposing his throat more, lips parting just the slightest bit. The other feels frozen for a second, right hand completely still on his friend's neck, feeling his Adam's apple bob once against his fingers.
