There are times when Lan Qiren hates his brother.
Usually, he tries to keep his mind calm and put the past where it belongs—in the past. But sometimes, the past catches up with him and makes it impossible to not look.
Like now.
He pinches his lips together, taking in the small form kneeling stubbornly in the snow in front of a silent, dark house; still waiting, always waiting for the door to open to show someone who is no longer there.
”A-Zhan,” he says. It comes out curt and too harsh but he’s tired—tired of being stretched too thin, tired of taking care of responsibilities and duties that weren’t meant for him, tired of taking care of children not of his own.
The boy doesn’t move.
”A-Zhan,” he says again.
Nothing.
He opens his mouth, ready to snap a command when A-Huan clears his throat slightly and hurries to his brother’s side.
”Didi, please,” he says in a gentle, measured voice well suited for a Sect Heir. ”It’s cold. Come inside.”
A-Zhan doesn’t move. He’s stiff, almost like a little statue carved from cold jade; immovable, frozen.
”Didi, stand up,” A-Huan says. ”Your lips are blue and your hands must be numb from the cold. This isn’t good for you.” He sees something in A-Zhan that Lan Qiren can’t deduce from the mere tilt of his head and rushes to add, ”Coming inside doesn’t mean you betrayed your promise. She isn’t here anymore, Didi, and therefore, your promise has expired. There’s no point in waiting out here in the snow. Please, come inside.” He drops on his knees in front of A-Zhan, reaches out to grab the fisted hands in his, leans slightly in. ”Won’t you come in? For Gege?”
It seems to take an age but finally A-Zhan nods. It’s a tiny, jerky movement that could also be a spasm from the cold. And then A-Zhan stands up—gingerly like an old man instead of a child of six years, and turns.
His face is completely devoid of emotion, still and placid like a doll. He doesn’t react when A-Huan carefully brushes snowflakes from his hair and gently nudges him to move. He doesn’t say a word when Lan Qiren stiltedly offers to read for him before bed, something he used to do when A-Zhan was younger but that he has dropped for some reason or the other. Probably for his ever-increased duties.
Lan Qiren heaves a sigh and holds his tongue as he watches A-Huan fuss around A-Zhan. Despite her crimes, the late Madam Lan didn’t deserve her fate, and Lan Qiren’s nephews didn’t deserve the parents they were born with.
If he’s completely honest with himself, Lan Qiren didn’t deserve his fate, either.
But he’s Acting Sect Leader Lan. He will shoulder the responsibilities of his station and guide and teach his nephews to the best of his abilities. His duty is to his sect first and his family second and his own wishes are irrelevant.
Or that’s what he tells himself.
And later—when A-Zhan has finally dropped off to exhausted sleep—if Lan Qiren presses a barely-there kiss on his nephew’s brow for all the wishes that were and the hopes that aren’t, no one needs to know.