Confessing Apostasy

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji smooths his hand over the damp hair plastered on his forehead, the other resolutely clinging to Wei Wuxian’s own limp fingers. He feels the tightness of the grip, the heat and energy pulsing into him, the act benevolent and merciful while utterly worthless.“No, no,” chokes out Wei Wuxian, eyes squeezed tightly as he fights against the light and the warmth. He deserves neither - Lan Wangji swinging Bichen at him, trying to destroy both a flute and its user in one slash, that is the only relationship they have and this temporary, fleeting relief from it is confusing and infuriating. “Leave, get out of here...just go.”