The following morning arrived with a hush. Mist clung to the mountains like silk, curling low around Cloud Recesses, softening the white pavilions and stone walkways with its quiet embrace. The courtyard was damp from the early dew, and the robes that had dried the day before now shimmered faintly with moisture once again.

Wei Wuxian sat on the edge of the wooden platform with his knees tucked beneath him, sipping hot tea from a simple clay cup. The steam curled up into the cool air, mingling with the morning fog. He wore a loosely tied outer robe, the collar slipping just slightly, revealing the curve of his shoulder. His hair was unbound, cascading like black silk down his back.

Lan Wangji approached silently, holding a folded robe in his arms. He paused when he saw Wei Wuxian so still.

“You’re quiet this morning,” Lan Wangji observed.

“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian looked up and smiled faintly. “Just… taking it in.”

Lan Wangji set the robe down on the bench beside him and sat as well, the silence stretching comfortably between them. The birds hadn’t yet begun their morning chorus, and the world felt like it was holding its breath.

“It’s beautiful here in the morning,” Wei Wuxian said softly. “When it’s quiet like this.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“I always thought I hated silence,” he continued, wrapping his hands around the warm cup. “Too much room for thinking. But with you, it’s different. You make silence feel full.”

Lan Wangji turned his head slightly, eyes meeting Wei Wuxian’s. The misty light made his features even more ethereal, softening his sharp lines and adding a quiet glow to the pale pink of the headband still tied neatly across his forehead.

Wei Wuxian reached up, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind Lan Wangji’s ear. “Still wearing it?”

Lan Wangji didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “You’re really committed to the look now, aren’t you?”

“I told you. I do not mind.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian murmured, “but still… it means something.”

He looked down at his cup, suddenly uncertain. “I don’t think anyone’s ever… worn something for me before. Not like this. Not with meaning.”

Lan Wangji was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a voice barely above the breeze: “I would wear anything, if it reminded me of you.”

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat. He looked up quickly, eyes wide.

Lan Wangji didn’t look away.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, then closed it. A thousand jokes swam to the surface, but none felt right. So instead, he simply said, “You really are dangerous when you talk like that.”

A faint blush bloomed on Lan Wangji’s cheeks. “You speak this way all the time.”

“Yes, but I’m trying to get a reaction,” Wei Wuxian said, nudging him with his shoulder. “You say it like you mean it.”

“I do.”

Wei Wuxian exhaled, setting the cup down. “Lan Zhan…”

The mist began to lift slowly, golden light breaking through the veil of morning. From somewhere deep within Cloud Recesses, a bell rang softly—low, resonant, and peaceful.

Wei Wuxian stood, stretching his arms overhead. “Well, laundry doesn’t wash itself.”

Lan Wangji stood as well. “Today is the last day.”

Wei Wuxian paused. “…Right. The disciples return tomorrow.”

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

Lan Wangji looked at him carefully. “You don’t want them to return?”

“No, it’s not that,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “Just… it’s been nice, that’s all.”

He turned toward the wash basins. “You and me. Like this. No lectures, no stern looks from the elders. Just… chores, and tea, and wind.”

Lan Wangji followed him, walking in step. “It has been peaceful.”

Wei Wuxian crouched beside the tub, hands dipping into the cool water. “Promise me something?”

Lan Wangji knelt beside him. “Anything.”

Wei Wuxian glanced sideways, surprised by the ease of the answer. “That we’ll still have this, even when the courtyard is full again. When you’re busy, and I’m… well, being me.”

Lan Wangji didn’t hesitate. “We will.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile returned, softer this time. “Good.”

They fell into their now-familiar rhythm. Robes washed, rinsed, wrung. Water splashed quietly, and droplets glittered in the morning sun like tiny stars. Occasionally, Wei Wuxian would splash Lan Wangji just to see the corner of his mouth twitch. And occasionally, Lan Wangji would retaliate—with precision, of course—until they both sat half-soaked and breathless with laughter.

As they worked, a new robe was brought out from one of the storage chests. It was smaller than the others, and clearly older—a training robe from the juniors’ collection.

Wei Wuxian held it up and inspected it. “Lan Zhan,” he said slowly, “why does this one have paint stains?”

Lan Wangji examined it. “Junior disciples use these for art practice.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up. “Art, you say?”

Before Lan Wangji could respond, Wei Wuxian had disappeared behind one of the partition screens. There was rustling. Splashes. A few quiet curses. Then silence.

“Lan Zhan,” came his muffled voice, “don’t be mad.”

Lan Wangji turned.

Wei Wuxian stepped out, now wearing the old training robe—which was far too short in the sleeves and slightly damp—and had taken the liberty of tying a pink sash around his waist. Where he got the sash, Lan Wangji didn’t ask.

“I call this: Cloud Recesses Couture,” Wei Wuxian said, striking a ridiculous pose. “Minimalist chic with a rebellious edge.”

Lan Wangji blinked. “You are wearing a robe that does not fit.”

“And yet,” Wei Wuxian said, spinning slowly, “it works.”

“You will catch a cold.”

“It’s summer,” Wei Wuxian replied. “And besides, fashion knows no temperature.”

Lan Wangji stared at him, expression unreadable.

Wei Wuxian walked up, twirling the pink sash between his fingers. “You’re really not going to scold me?”

“No.”

“Not even a disapproving glance?”

Lan Wangji took a small step closer. “You look… happy.”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

Lan Wangji lifted a hand, brushing a damp strand of hair from Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “When you smile like this, I cannot disapprove.”

Wei Wuxian’s teasing expression faded, replaced by something more tender.

The courtyard quieted again, even the wind pausing in its dance. The sun lit their faces gently, the laundry swaying in a slow rhythm behind them.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Lan Wangji’s hand lingered, fingers brushing lightly along Wei Wuxian’s jaw. “Yes?”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. “I don’t want this to end.”

“It does not have to.”

Wei Wuxian searched his eyes. “You mean it?”

Lan Wangji nodded once.

Wei Wuxian smiled, slow and real. “Then let’s make one last memory before the courtyard fills again.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes held his. “What do you want to do?”

Wei Wuxian leaned in, voice low and mischievous. “You’ll see.”

And just like that, he turned and darted off toward the drying lines, the too-small robe flapping behind him and his laughter echoing like music through the empty courtyard.

Lan Wangji stood still for one breath. Two.

Then he gave chase.