( After, his mouth raw, his thoughts stormed. After, Wei Ying unmoored, hands delving haggard and sweet, hold deepened at the rim of Lan Wangji's guan. Sinking. He dips his head into the gesture, works with Wei Ying's pull, sooner than against it. A rabbit tumbles into his lap, idle stray — not purring, but burrowing in the cradle of his silks, where they nestle. )

When we depart here. ( His lips smack together, tacky, tarred. He licks, once. Again. ) If — heed me. ( They do not speak of this, do not consider it. Two years of their lives, stranded on a silvered spider's web thread. ) If one of us... does not remember.

( If, and his heart's shrivelled and bled and ached, they arrive into different worlds, distinct only for the grace of shichen of difference — ) Pledge we will tell one another.

( If not speak of this world, then of the tumult surpassed, of the ebb and tide and deluge of their grown affection. Of their marriage, three, four, five-times honoured. Of their mouths in feral meeting, of how Lan Wangji's hands cling now like forest branches, gnarly and stiff over Wei Ying's, clumsy and plaintive. )

Pledge. ( He cannot be sixteen years a widower to missed opportunity once more. )