I'd claim the day, ( he says, as easy and breezing as if he were a spring's exhalation across a blooming meadow, flowers stirred to dipping heads and dancing shivers. lethe lends her support, but does not lend her indulgence to this: she exhales sharply enough to stir the loose hair at the sides of wei wuxian's face. some sly strands even catch in his beard, temporarily misbehaving. much like him, only more tractable as a whole. ) if I can get away with it. What of you? You're technically younger than I am, aren't you? More well lived, ( that same artful, deliberate ease, a nonchalance perhaps neither of them feel, and an ache that apologises to lethe and his husband unequally ) but younger? Or should I be calling you gege.

( amusement to the twist of his lips, and the faint awareness that it hardly matter to him either way. they move, lethe sinuous and space-filling in ways he knows but renders strange in their current environs. they're too close, and not close enough. had it ever mattered before, in the roads passing through village and city, with the calls of the living drowning out the demands of the dead while light hung in the skies. it's darker here, by nature and intent of design, and he sighs. steps forward, holding onto his husband, onto the dragon who breathes without the need for breath. )

Three moons after, yours. What would you wish for your name day, Lan Zhan?

( rest feels so far from possible, for he who sleeps to find nightmares and sightless eyes waiting, seeing through him and into the altered landscape of his mind. lan zhan sleeps well, but wei wuxian does not know if he necessarily rests so well; they share beds, and yet he cannot be sure, in their side by side slumber. just feels glad when his nightmares strike opportune, lan zhan left undisturbed, or only the light of day to greet him. he lifts a shoulder, trying to free the strands of hair caught upon his face from their hold, largely unsuccessful. )