Jiang Cheng didn’t really think about it at first.
Back when he reunited with Wei Wuxian—after the asshole had gone missing for three fucking months—he’d just been pitifully grateful to have his brother back to pay attention to much else. Wei Wuxian had marched up that stairwell with an ominous presence that oozed into the room long before him and then he’d threatened both Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao, a deed Jiang Cheng very much approved of. He’d had to step in when the Core-Melting Hand had cornered Wei Wuxian and then Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had a weird stand-off that Lan Wangji…lost? In truth, Jiang Cheng hadn’t paid that much attention because there were more important things about to happen.
After Wen Chao died (painfully, screaming, and deserving each agonizing moment of it), he took Wei Wuxian back to show his parents that he was still alive, and then they went to Qinghe to show a-jie the same.
And then a-jie cornered him and asked, eyes wide and worried, ”What’s wrong with A-Xian?”
Yeah.
What was wrong with Wei Wuxian?
A lot was lost in the middle of the war. Not just lives but also resources, sleep, peace of mind, innocence. Jiang Cheng fought with the rage of his burned sect under his skin, pouring all his hate and bitterness out through Sandu, letting his fury add more to Zidian’s crackle. He snarled like a feral animal as he cut down Wen after Wen, envisioning Wen Ruohan’s face on each beheaded corpse and trampled enemy soldier. He went out each morning with the taste of ash in his mouth and returned each evening with the cloying scent of blood sliding down his throat.
He didn’t have much time to wonder about Wei Wuxian.
They were at war. Wei Wuxian’s general…everything was helping them win.
And that was enough.
After, though…
The low-burning fire he’d spied in Wei Wuxian’s eyes whenever they’d met on the battlefield was still there, even though the war was over. Wei Wuxian lurked like a shadow, hiding in the dark corners and avoiding helping out as he was supposed to, the dull gleam in his eyes flashing whenever Jiang Cheng tried to order him to do his job.
Sometimes Wei Wuxian’s shadow stretched across the yard in the low light of setting sun, almost impossibly long, wider and with sharper angles than his body seemed to actually be. It flared whenever someone shouted and curled closer when a-jie called out his name.
It would’ve probably been more disturbing if Jiang Cheng wasn’t so fucking tired and angry all the time.
”I need you here!” he hissed, turning his face away from the sickly sweet scent of wine rolling from Wei Wuxian like waves. ”You’re always out in the wine houses, drinking away the meager funds we have.”
Wei Wuxian shot him a look from the corner of his eye. ”I’m not wasting any money,” he said with a lopsided grin. ”They give me the wine for free.”
”It doesn’t matter,” Jiang Cheng snapped. ”It’s your duty as the head disciple to be here.”
Wei Wuxian’s hand clenched around the black flute—always with the fucking flute!—and he rolled his eyes. ”Aiyah, Jiang Cheng,” he drawled. ”You should relax sometimes. It can’t be good for you to be always so wound up.” He smirked, flashing his teeth from between his lips. ”I can think of several ways to untense.”
”You—!”
Wei Wuxian laughed as he danced away from him and for a moment, Jiang Cheng forgot about too-sharp canines and gleaming eyes, too busy chasing after his annoying brot— head disciple.
The Phoenix Mountain crowd hunt was both a success and a disaster.
And then Wei Wuxian snatched the Wen remnants right from under Jin Guangshan’s nose, creating a whole new set of problems for Jiang Cheng. He marched after the ragtag group and entered the Burial Mounds with demands of an explanation. He left with gritted teeth and a strange headache that throbbed behind his eyes in rhythm with the shadows dancing back into the mists hiding away a sad group of hovels and a handful of people with nowhere else to go.
They fought because they had to, not because he wanted to or because he felt like it.
”Wei Wuxian is no longer a member of the Jiang Sect!” he declared to the gathered cultivators, ignoring the cold feeling slithering down his spine and the sense of something old, dangerous, and predatory tracking his every move as he led his people away from Yiling.
That night, he dreamed of Wei Wuxian playing his damned black flute and staring at him with red eyes while black, leathery wings spread high above him. He woke up with a gasp and stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes before he scoffed, told himself he was stupid, and rolled to his side.
He didn’t fall back to sleep that night.
”Is he coming?” A-jie asked in a small voice, her head drooping slightly with the weight of her crown.
”He fucking better,” Jiang Cheng muttered. ”They say he’s been selling his radishes here every other day.” He glanced at a-jie who smoothed a heating talisman pasted on the soup tureen with trembling fingers, and sighed. ”I’ll head out to wait.”
”Thank you, A-Cheng,” she said.
As if she’d get married without Wei Wuxian seeing her in her wedding splendor.
As if he’d let her.
Wei Wuxian was even thinner than the last time they’d met, his skin bone white and his hair moving in the still air like an invisible wind (or fingers) played with it. His eyes lit up when he saw a-jie and Jiang Cheng had to turn away and wage battle with the basket holding the tureen and soup bowls because if he didn’t, he’d start to cry.
They ate.
They bickered.
Wei Wuxian cried.
And when a-jie cupped his cheek and asked what was wrong, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, pressed a small kiss on her hand, and lied that he was alright.
He escorted a-jie back home in the secrecy of the night, trusting a handful of old disciples to keep their mouths shut.
”He’s so thin,” a-jie fretted in the carriage. ”Did you see, A-Cheng? His hands—”
”I saw,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t mention the nails that were just slightly too sharp and long and he didn’t think about the shadow of wings stretching high and wide, almost like they tried to envelop them in a crude embrace.
”I wish there was more we could do,” she whispered.
He sighed and said nothing.
Life would sort itself out. It always did, especially when it was about Wei Wuxian.
Things might’ve been hard now but it would get easier.
A-jie would be married. Jiang Cheng would rebuild his sect.
And eventually, Wei Wuxian would come home.
Right?