Lan Wangji has to shut his eyes. Sizhui is old enough now to get by without his supervision, and they have been apart for longer stretches than this. Lan Wangji, improbably, trusts the Ghost General to care for him in his absence. And yet not a day has gone by without Lan Wangji thinking of him, longing for him and hoping that he is well.
It does Magnus a disservice to compare the two of them. They are not the same person. Magnus is more talkative, quicker to laugh and quicker to cry, not so honed by years of Cloud Recesses discipline or by half-forgotten years of every Wen uncle and auntie passing him around the rocky soil of the Burial Mounds like the most-beloved sack of radishes in the place. His pains are his own, and the people he has lost cannot be replaced by one cultivator who has known him for a handful of weeks.
Still. Lan Wangji carefully draws in another breath. He flattens a hand between Magnus' shoulder blades, cognizant of the strength and fragility of him, the shape of him caught between childhood and adulthood. "Sleep," he says gently, punctuating this directive with a single kiss dropped to the top of Magnus' head.
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It does Magnus a disservice to compare the two of them. They are not the same person. Magnus is more talkative, quicker to laugh and quicker to cry, not so honed by years of Cloud Recesses discipline or by half-forgotten years of every Wen uncle and auntie passing him around the rocky soil of the Burial Mounds like the most-beloved sack of radishes in the place. His pains are his own, and the people he has lost cannot be replaced by one cultivator who has known him for a handful of weeks.
Still. Lan Wangji carefully draws in another breath. He flattens a hand between Magnus' shoulder blades, cognizant of the strength and fragility of him, the shape of him caught between childhood and adulthood. "Sleep," he says gently, punctuating this directive with a single kiss dropped to the top of Magnus' head.