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The world seemed to orbit Wei Wuxian. Everyone he came across immediately trapped in his hold. He seemed to bear the universe on his shoulders, everyone traveling around him in ellipses.

Lan Wangji was a star. The great Hanguan-jun, there was no foe to best him. No monster too monstrous, no demon too demonic, no beast too fierce.

And yet he was trapped.

Trapped in the gravity of a star so close yet so far, and so much greater than him. Too great for him to hold and cradle in his arms. And so he orbited Wuxian, never capable of getting too close but cherishing the little bits of him that he could.

Until he was gone

Leaving behind a devouring singularity.

Even in death, the universe seemed to be trapped in his hold, venture too close and one would be engulfed in the memory of him. Torn to shreds by everything he had been and everything he could have been.

Yet Wangji wandered closer, and closer

and closer.

Till he seemed to stop in time. Warped by a black hole’s gravity, a mere stretched out shell of himself.

Wangji was tired.

Tired of longing for something that destroyed him at a single touch.

Tired of pain.

The scars on his back burned with the strength of a thousand suns, only cooling as surprisingly soothing hands traced them in the night.

Wangji was at the event horizon now. He was on the verge of converging with the universe. Yet he felt a presence, the presence of a child fallen too fast. A nebula gone singularity. And to him they seemed to be caught in a dizzying dance of power. Each relying on one another but running when the other was nigh.

Eyes closed, the star envisioned them tread circles around each other to their song of pride and avoidance. The event horizon was near.

I am here Wei Ying

Lan Zhan was not there.

He could never hold the Yiling Patriarch.

He could never have Wei Ying


And then his eyes opened. He was captured in Wei Ying’s pull. But Wei Ying was alone. The presence pulled from behind him, no void, a white dwarf. Radiating the light Wei Ying had once held. And this was light Wangji could bear in his calloused musician’s hands.

The blindfold slid off his eyes and out came an exasperated sigh from above. Wangji grasped the purple fabric in his hand, for a brief moment it seemed crimson, and suddenly his hands were covered in Wei Ying’s blood once more.

Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.

But it was not red. It was purple. The distinction was important. The silk slid through Wangji’s fingers to rest upon the white robes splayed out on the floor. For a brief moment Jiang Cheng was stagnant, but then proceeded to slide an already oiled finger into Wangji. His eyes watching intently as the former’s solemn expression unraveled under him. He inserted another and began scissoring into the other man, tortuously slow. A treacherous sound left his lips and Wangji cursed himself for letting himself be so weak under Wanyin of all people.



Wangji didn’t know when, but he had stopped looking for Wei Wuxian in Jiang Cheng. It had been easy at first, their speech so similar, eyes so haunted, built nearly the same. Wangji could not pretend any longer. After all, how long could two stars lay parallel to one another and not lean into one another’s gravity? How long could they trace scars and not relinquish the pain they carried?

And suddenly the sect leader hastened his pace. He seemed a bit too amused to have Wangji so vulnerable under him, watching him writhe on amaranthine sheets. The dim candlelight cast a lewd picture onto Jiang Cheng’s bed, Wangji’s usually immaculate hair splayed out and his ears tinted a violent crimson to match the marks left across his pale skin.


Upon hearing his name, Jiang Cheng’s blood ran cold. Horror painted his grey eyes. He pulled his fingers from Wangji and backed away. He let out a sigh at the sudden loss. At that moment, there was only Jiang Cheng in his golden eyes, and Wangji knew that that terrified Jiang Cheng. He propped himself up on his shoulders and cocked his head to the side teasingly. Roles reversed, it was him watching the grey eyed.

Jiang Cheng was beautiful. His face flushed red at his own name. Wangji, without thinking, reached out to brush his hands over his blush. Hands then trailing along his defined jawline.

“Wanyin,” He whispered, softer this time.

Wangji pushed Jiang Cheng down, and smiled slightly at how his eyes widened and his suddenly flustered state. This was a star he could touch. A star whose neck he could kiss and mark. A star who he could hear whimper at his touch. Teeth grazed against tan skin.

Wangji’s pale hands ghosted against Jiang Cheng’s. He gently lifted them up and guided them to the ribbon sitting upon his forehead. Just above golden eyes that glinted with something Jiang Cheng had never seen from him, it was not anything the man laying on the bed could understand but he could learn. He could learn and for that reason he shook loose Wangji’s hand and reached to the back of his head of his own accord, another hand reaching as well. Jiang Cheng tugged at the knot holding it together.

The ribbon slid through his fingers, Jiang Cheng vividly felt the cloud brushing against them. The ribbon fell to the ground, atop white robes and a purple blindfold. Entangling with it.

His hands retreated to the back of Wangji’s head, lacing into raven hair and lightly tugging, forcing Wangji to let out the breath that he had been holding. A breath held in fear that Jiang Cheng would push him away like he had seen him push everyone else away.

But he had let himself fall into Wangji’s hold. Just like Wangji had fallen into his.

He leaned down into the crook of the younger’s neck, murmuring his name once more.

And the cosmos were suddenly a little less vast, a bit more bearable despite the rips and tears, and the void seemed to be just a bit further. The universe would always heal, The fabric of space and time would always bend upon itself to bury away its secrets. The universe would always heal, and it would teach healing to two lonely stars.

Two lonely stars that maybe, just maybe, someday, would learn to orbit around each other.