( He wakes to his mouth full of a familiar beaded bracelet, the cord breaking as he shifts to sitting up with a violent thrust of his palm down, free hand flying up to cover his mouth. The beads spill out with his violent coughing, caught and held in place as his eyes tear up by reflex. Lan Zhan sleeps beside him, arms crossed over his chest, steady and breathing and alive. Wei Wuxian is glad to see he's still there, has been since their extended separation by Lan Zhan's choice, but it's not his husband who can hold his attention beyond the reassurance while he coughs.
No, it's his gaze lifting to catch sight of the dark form of the man who'd presided over the returned coffin boats, the Dark Man or whatever the villagers had called him. Wei Wuxian's watering eyes watch him step back from the entrance of the cave, swallowed by the rest of the night behind him, even while he shoves himself up, hand dropping away from his mouth to cradle the whole of the carved bead bracelet.
He leaves the blankets mussed and messy at Lan Zhan's side, finding his feet and walking barefoot across the stone floor of the cave toward the front area, where a niche in the wall holds the embers of an earlier fire. The hole through the ceiling allows the smoke to funnel out and away, allowing further the incense that burns during the day hours to escape instead of linger heavy over their collective heads. He blinks the lingering vestiges of reactive tears out of his eyes, glancing down at the collection of wet beads in his hand, the characters carved into them haunting as well as... forgettable. There's a sense of regret, acceptance, longstanding grief that spikes sharper at the name his eyes always catch, night after night.
Jiang Yanli. His shijie, martial sister, elder sister of the heart.
He breathes in past the sharp pang her name still brings to his heart, the tightening bands of his chest, the breath that won't easily leave his constricted throat. Crouching to collect more of the small kindling and wood for the fire stacked to its side, he adds to the embers, coaxing it back to flame with the intention, the hope, of warm water, or perhaps something like tea.
From experience he knows sleep will be slow returning, if it finds him again before the dawn this night. )
recovered memories
No, it's his gaze lifting to catch sight of the dark form of the man who'd presided over the returned coffin boats, the Dark Man or whatever the villagers had called him. Wei Wuxian's watering eyes watch him step back from the entrance of the cave, swallowed by the rest of the night behind him, even while he shoves himself up, hand dropping away from his mouth to cradle the whole of the carved bead bracelet.
He leaves the blankets mussed and messy at Lan Zhan's side, finding his feet and walking barefoot across the stone floor of the cave toward the front area, where a niche in the wall holds the embers of an earlier fire. The hole through the ceiling allows the smoke to funnel out and away, allowing further the incense that burns during the day hours to escape instead of linger heavy over their collective heads. He blinks the lingering vestiges of reactive tears out of his eyes, glancing down at the collection of wet beads in his hand, the characters carved into them haunting as well as... forgettable. There's a sense of regret, acceptance, longstanding grief that spikes sharper at the name his eyes always catch, night after night.
Jiang Yanli. His shijie, martial sister, elder sister of the heart.
He breathes in past the sharp pang her name still brings to his heart, the tightening bands of his chest, the breath that won't easily leave his constricted throat. Crouching to collect more of the small kindling and wood for the fire stacked to its side, he adds to the embers, coaxing it back to flame with the intention, the hope, of warm water, or perhaps something like tea.
From experience he knows sleep will be slow returning, if it finds him again before the dawn this night. )