Magnus doesn't sleep -- Lan Wangji would be able to tell -- but he does settle, and that will do for now. His breaths are slow and steady, his limbs all neatly tucked into Lan Wangji's lap. There is a certain base comfort in that, in having Magnus enfolded entirely within his arms, like a confirmation that as long as Lan Wangji has him, he will be shielded from the things that have hurt and disappointed him. The things that have killed him. If Lan Wangji has his way, that will never happen again.

After the death of his mother, Lan Wangji shut himself away. His brother worried, and said so, but made no insistences. If a night-hunt came calling, Lan Wangji answered. Otherwise, it was himself and his books and his qin and his cold, silent, unoccupied heart. Wei Ying shattered it open, in defiance of every one of Lan Wangji's defenses, and then left him aching, and then laughed at a marketplace in Yiling and told Lan Wangji that the small, hot, grubby body clinging to his leg liked him. Lan Wangji told A-Yuan to be quiet at mealtimes, and A-Yuan nodded with wide solemn eyes and obeyed, Wei Ying sputtering with indignation in the background. Lan Wangji should have known then that he would never again be able to shutter himself against this or any other kind of love.

Lan Wangji is not stupid. He can read people, not always but often. When Magnus accused him of neglect, no longer summery so much as fiery, the tears in his eyes and the absolute earnestness of him spoke to the empty places within his own heart. The people who were meant to care for him have let him down. That, too, will not happen again.

Lan Wangji sighs, very quietly, and relaxes where he sits. He will hold Magnus until sleep comes for him.