By the next morning, the sun cast long beams of soft gold through the delicate paper windows of the guest quarters. Wei Wuxian awoke to the chirping of mountain birds and the faint rustle of pine trees. He sat up slowly, arms stretched above his head, hair falling in disarray over his shoulders.

The first thing he noticed was that his borrowed inner robe was folded neatly at the foot of his bedding.

The second was that Lan Wangji had left early.

He padded barefoot through the courtyard, the stone tiles cool beneath his feet. He could hear the gentle swish of fabric before he saw him—Lan Wangji, already in the laundry courtyard, sleeves rolled, hands submerged in water, diligently scrubbing.

Wei Wuxian leaned against the wooden beam, watching for a moment with a lopsided smile.

“Do you ever rest, Lan Zhan?” he called, his voice thick with sleep.

Lan Wangji looked up briefly. “You are late.”

Wei Wuxian laughed, approaching. “Not everyone wakes with the birds, you know.”

Lan Wangji didn’t answer, but his gaze lingered just a little longer than usual before returning to the task at hand.

Wei Wuxian rolled up his sleeves and sat beside him. “Alright, alright, I’m helping.”

He dipped his hands into the water and began working on one of the outer robes. For a few minutes, the courtyard was filled only with the sounds of water, fabric, and breeze. Birds flitted in and out of the trees, and a squirrel darted along the top of the stone wall.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers slowed after a while. “Lan Zhan,” he said suddenly, “I’ve been thinking.”

Lan Wangji kept working. “That is dangerous.”

Wei Wuxian gasped, scandalized. “Lan Zhan! That was almost… a joke. Am I rubbing off on you?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Then you’re just naturally witty. How terrifying.”

Lan Wangji didn’t comment, but again, there was that barely-there twitch at the corner of his mouth. Wei Wuxian caught it and pointed.

“There! You almost smiled again. Admit it, you’re enjoying yourself.”

“This task must be completed,” Lan Wangji said, as if that explained everything.

Wei Wuxian leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, dripping water onto the tiles. “But you don’t hate it. Spending time here with me.”

Lan Wangji’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then he rinsed the robe and laid it out on a bamboo tray.

“Mn.”

It was a small sound, but it spoke volumes.

Wei Wuxian sat back, surprised by the warmth blooming in his chest. “Mn,” he echoed, smiling.

They worked side by side, the silence between them growing more companionable with each passing minute. As the sun rose higher, casting a gentle glow across the courtyard, the drying lines began to fill with fresh robes once again. Wei Wuxian took to the task of hanging them up, climbing up on a stool, balancing precariously as the wind tugged at the fabric.

“Lan Zhan,” he called, wobbling slightly, “what’s the punishment in the Lan sect for falling off a stool?”

Lan Wangji looked up from folding a towel. “Avoid unnecessary risks.”

“Avoiding them is no fun,” Wei Wuxian replied, and just as he stretched to pin the edge of a long-sleeved robe, the wind picked up. The fabric whipped across his face, blinding him. He yelped.

In a flash, Lan Wangji was at his side, one steady hand gripping Wei Wuxian’s waist, the other catching the robe before it flew away.

Wei Wuxian blinked, peeking through the veil of cloth. “My hero.”

Lan Wangji quickly removed his hand and stepped back, but not before Wei Wuxian noticed the flush creeping up his neck.

He grinned. “You’re blushing again.”

“No.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said sweetly, hopping down from the stool, “it’s alright. You save me, you blush—it’s very poetic.”

Lan Wangji turned to pick up another wet robe, but his ears betrayed him once again with their reddening tips.

As they worked, Wei Wuxian hummed softly, a little tune that drifted lazily through the courtyard. Lan Wangji didn’t comment on it, but he didn’t object either.

And then, just as they were folding the last of the dry robes, Wei Wuxian caught sight of the pink headband sitting on the edge of the bench where Lan Wangji had left it earlier.

He picked it up, holding it reverently between his fingers. “You know,” he said, “this really suits you.”

Lan Wangji glanced at it, then at him.

Wei Wuxian walked over and, without waiting for permission, carefully tied it around Lan Wangji’s forehead, fingers brushing lightly against his skin. “There,” he said softly. “Perfect.”

Lan Wangji didn’t flinch. He stood still, letting Wei Wuxian adjust the knot just so. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither spoke.

The headband, dyed a soft shade of rose, contrasted subtly with Lan Wangji’s otherwise pristine white robes. But there was something undeniably elegant about it.

Wei Wuxian took a step back and admired his handiwork. “You’ll start a new trend. The juniors will be begging for pink headbands.”

Lan Wangji blinked slowly. “Let them.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile faltered slightly, then grew into something more genuine. “You really don’t care what people say, do you?”

“I care about what is important,” Lan Wangji said simply.

That left Wei Wuxian speechless for a moment. He looked down at his hands, damp and wrinkled from the water. “And… what’s important to you?”

Lan Wangji met his gaze. “You.”

The word dropped like a stone into the still pond of Wei Wuxian’s thoughts.

For once, he was quiet. No teasing, no laughter. Just… silence.

Then, as if suddenly unsure of himself, Lan Wangji turned and busied himself with collecting the remaining laundry baskets.

Wei Wuxian stared after him, stunned.

“…Lan Zhan?” he said softly.

Lan Wangji didn’t look back. “The robes are dry. They should be returned before evening.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian murmured.

They carried the baskets inside together, the energy between them subtly shifted. Not awkward—never awkward—but heavier somehow, like something had changed and neither of them knew quite what to do with it yet.

Back in the guest quarters, Wei Wuxian stood at the doorway and watched as Lan Wangji placed the last folded robe neatly atop a wooden chest.

“…That thing you said,” Wei Wuxian started.

Lan Wangji paused.

Wei Wuxian scratched his neck. “Did you mean it?”

Lan Wangji didn’t turn around. “I do not say things I do not mean.”

A small smile tugged at Wei Wuxian’s lips, slow and uncertain. “Well,” he said, stepping into the room, “in that case, I should probably tell you something too.”

Lan Wangji finally turned to face him.

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “You’re not so bad, you know. A little too uptight. Too quiet. A bit too serious. But still… not bad.”

Lan Wangji raised a brow.

“I mean it in the most flattering way possible,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flicked to the headband again. “Also, I’m keeping that pink dye recipe. Might make myself a matching sash.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened. “I would not object.”

“Good,” Wei Wuxian replied, “because I’d wear it even if you did.”

Another pause. Another almost-smile.

And this time, when they stepped back into the fading sunlight of Cloud Recesses, robes billowing in the breeze and fingers still damp from shared labor, they walked just a little closer than before.