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Lan Wangji wakes at five and commences what’s become the first step of his morning routine: extricating himself from bed. The difficulty of this process varies daily, depending on Wei Ying’s level of restlessness the night before. This morning it’s particularly dicey; the inn they’d found for the night had only one room left to offer, with a smaller bed than they’re accustomed to. Wei Ying has sprawled almost completely on top of him.
He moves in painstaking increments, pausing after each breath. When it comes time to set Wei Ying’s head on the pillow, Wei Ying stirs briefly in his sleep, then settles again. Lan Wangji remains motionless beside him for an extra minute, in apology, then resumes the extrication.
He’s taken two steps away from the bed when his left arm is pulled back, like it’s been hit with a binding talisman. It’s nothing so dramatic, he sees when he turns to look: Wei Ying has grasped the end of Lan Wangji’s sleeve in one hand. His head still rests on the pillow, eyes closed, but he’s hanging on with a grip strength that would be unusual in sleep, to say the least. Then there’s the obvious smirk on his face.
“Wei Ying. Let me up.”
Wei Ying responds by tugging Lan Wangji closer. Eyes still closed as though he’s fooling anyone, he shifts onto his stomach and tucks the edge of the sleeve under his shoulder. Then he rolls sideways to put his weight on that shoulder. Lan Wangji gives an experimental tug. His sleeve is firmly pinned.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats, impatiently.
No answer.
“You are awake and perfectly capable of releasing my arm. We both know this.”
Wei Ying makes a sleepy, confused noise that Lan Wangji doesn’t buy for a second.
“You think you’re cute,” Lan Wangji says. He means to follow up with you’re not, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it. Wei Ying is cute, even when Lan Wangji wishes he weren’t.
“This behavior is unbecoming,” he settles for.
No answer except for steady, exaggeratedly deep breathing. Lan Wangji considers his options. Shove Wei Ying over to free himself—a reasonable solution, but he does try to avoid disturbing Wei Ying in the mornings, and the fact that he’s conscious enough to pull this stunt is Lan Wangji’s fault, after all. Take off the robe and leave it—Wei Ying would be entertained, certainly, but he hasn’t packed an extra robe on this hunt, and the morning is cold. His eyes flick toward Bichen, propped by the side of the bed—and oh, that’s what’s going on here.
They’d eaten in the common area, last night, while waiting for the room to be prepared. Some time during the second pot of wine and tea respectively, a patron at a nearby table had muttered an uncharitable comment about “the cut-sleeve pair in the corner,” and Wei Ying’s face had gone troubled. He’d shifted like he meant to stand up, to confront them, but subsided when Lan Wangji shook his head—they weren’t worth causing a disturbance over. He’d seemed to forget about it moments later, but what Wei Ying forgets and what he pretends to forget are two drastically different categories, Lan Wangji has learned.
And now Wei Ying wants… what, reassurance that Lan Wangji isn’t ashamed of the label? Proof he loves Wei Ying enough to walk back through that common area, possibly past those same patrons, with a sleeve missing? As though Lan Wangji has anything left to prove, as though Wei Ying has a right to test him? Ridiculous. Wei Ying isn’t even asleep. This type of boundary-pushing behavior is unacceptable and Lan Wangji should not encourage it.
He’ll lift Wei Ying by the shoulders and pull his sleeve free. Easy. He’ll be gentle. It’s an unfair test, and Wei Ying knows it. He won’t say a word, if Lan Wangji fails the test, except perhaps in self-deprecating jest. He won’t try again. He’ll accept it, with the same grace he accepts anything that isn’t societal injustice or being ignored entirely. He'll go on loving Lan Wangji as he always has, and accept he’s found a boundary to how far Lan Wangji will go for him.
Wait. That’s not acceptable, either.
He glances at Bichen again. But it’s ridiculous. It’s beyond reasonable. Robes don’t grow on trees; cutting up his would be wasteful.
They’re not expensive, though. He can afford a new robe, or a dozen, or several hundred.
Senseless waste is against the Lan precepts.
But can it be waste, if Wei Ying wants it?
Mind spinning with something akin to panic, he chooses the only safe option available and climbs back into bed.
Wei Ying jolts a little when the bed shifts, and Lan Wangji feels a flash of smug satisfaction at having surprised him. He leaves the pinned sleeve where it is and wraps his other arm around Wei Ying’s waist.
“S’posed to cut it off,” Wei Ying mumbles, like the shameless manipulator he is.
“This is better,” Lan Wangji tells him.
“Mm.” Wei Ying snuggles closer, which he takes as assent. He nuzzles the back of Wei Ying’s neck, letting his previous anxiety melt into their shared warmth.
Ten minutes later, Lan Wangji realizes he's made a serious tactical error. Cuddling Wei Ying is pleasant, of course, but it’s well after five and he’s fully alert, itching to start the day. His sleeve is still pinned. And Wei Ying has drifted into honest, dead-to-the-world sleep.
With a sigh of resignation, he reaches for Bichen.