Chapter Text
Lying beneath a summer-blue sky, Wei Wuxian’s thoughts drift to the day he died. It had been a day just like this one—heavy with heat, the cry of cicadas clinging to the breeze. He’d come home from school, heart too loud, thoughts too fast, drowning under the weight of the future—of everything that had piled too high and too fast and below the unbearable crush it had been too much .
He’s still not sure if death had been the goal or an unfortunate consequence.
What happened when he woke up in the hospital is a blur; hazy fragments underscored by the sharp sterile tang of chemicals and the steady beeping of machines. He remembers his sister’s tear-streaked face as she slept by his side, and his brother’s cold eyes glaring through the window of his room. A nurse, voice sharp and unforgiving, had informed him he was dead when he arrived—that he should be grateful to have been saved in time.
But he doesn’t remember leaving. Doesn’t remember deciding to run. When he came to, he was already on a train—someone else’s clothes clinging to his skin and no plan to speak of. Even now, five years later, he knows it was the right choice. He had long been a ghost to his family. A blemish on their name, their personal shame.
Addiction is a beast with sharp teeth.
Back then, in the depths of his worst, he thought he’d die in some forgotten alley—a lonely, pitiful end to a life of pain. Never, in his wildest imaginings, did he think he’d end up here, at Yiling Heights—a place that feels a lot like healing.
Wei Wuxian stretches his hand towards the sky, tracing the thin white chemtrails that crisscross above. Back then, before his death, he used to dream of floating up up up, where he’d run along those lines of white and leave everything behind.
In a way, he supposes he did.
“Xuanyu-ge.” The voice pulls him back. A smile tugs at his lips. “You’re going to be late for your shift.”
“A-Ning, my saviour,” he replies, pushing himself up and brushing grass from his uniform. “How far do you think we could go on a single chemtrail?”
“W-what?” Wen Ning stands on the path leading from the lake to the clubhouse, confusion creasing his brow. Wei Wuxian smiles as he raises a finger and points to the sky. A breeze stirs, running its fingers through his long hair, carrying the faint scent of lotus blossoms.
“If we could get up there, where do you think it would lead?”
“Over the hills and far away?” Wen Ning replies, the words half question, half smile.
“Over the hills and far away.” Wei Wuxian laughs, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders as they head back to the clubhouse. “What a wonderful place to be! You serving tonight?”
“Yeah,” Wen Ning says as they pass through the clubhouse doors, the cool air inside chilling away the sweat that clung to their skin. Yiling Heights. Wei Wuxian loves it here—the not-quite-tacky clubhouse, the sprawling grounds. Lakes and hills and secrets to explore. He owes it all to Wen Ning. “Granny needs me to fill in this shift, but I’ll be back on front of house tomorrow.”
“Lucky, that big conference group arrives tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, so enjoy your last night of slacking.”
“I do not slack!” Wei Wuxian protests, clutching his chest in mock offence. “I get creative. There’s a difference.”
Wen Ning rolls his eyes and nudges him toward the bar. “Creative, sure. Get in your cage.”
Wei Wuxian laughs as he takes his place behind the bar. “Don’t forget it’s board game night. You owe me a rematch.”
“And I’ll beat you again.” Wen Ning grins as he heads to the serving station.
It’s a quiet shift. The calm before the storm. Between mixing drinks for a few regulars and serving the occasional guest enjoying off-season rates, Wei Wuxian keeps himself busy experimenting. A year after he started, Granny Wen handed him the keys to the club’s social media after Wen Ning showed her some of the photos he’d taken. Now, Wei Wuxian gets to craft beautiful drinks—never to taste, only to capture—and be a part of every event adventure the club offers.
He really does love Yiling Heights.
“Qing-jie,” Wei Wuxian calls as Wen Ning’s older sister walks into the lounge. “Try this one. I think it’s a winner.” Wen Qing rolls her eyes, but there’s warmth in her smile as she perches on a barstool and takes a sip of the bright pink concoction.
“Disgusting,” she says, setting it down with a grimace. “Don’t you dare serve that to anyone.”
“But it’s pretty!” Wei Wuxian pouts.
“Pretty poisonous.”
“Aiya, at least it looks nice in the photo.”
“Stop using me as your test subject, Mo Xuanyu,” Wen Qing sighs, though they both know she doesn’t mean it. “I’ve got events to plan, and I can’t risk drinking your poison.”
“How’s it going?” Wei Wuxian asks as he mixes an Old Fashioned for a regular. “Everything ready for the conference?”
“Barely.” Wen Qing exhales. “I can’t wait for the next two months to be over.”
“Who schedules a conference for two months? Sounds like hell.”
“It’s half business, half pleasure,” Wen Qing replies, takes an absentminded sip of the drink Wei Wuxian made. “One of my distant cousins is getting married, and my uncle decided to turn it into a retreat.”
“Your uncle?”
“A rich asshole. This is his first time holding his conference here. I wish he hadn’t.”
“You’re not close?”
“Definitely not. He doesn’t even live in this part of the country.”
“Well, at least we’re booked solid for the summer!”
“That’s something.” Wen Qing takes another, bigger sip of the drink before pouring the rest down the sink. “Now stop distracting me.”
“Sorry!” Wei Wuxian doesn’t sound sorry at all. “You coming to board game night?”
“If someone stops being a nuisance,” she replies with a smirk, pushing away from the bar. “Don’t work too hard, Mo Xuanyu.”
*
By the time Wen Qing arrives, they’re well into a game of Cluedo.
“Who brought that?” She asks, making her way to Wei Wuxian’s small kitchen, pulling a drink from the fridge.
“Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning answer in unison.
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Mianmian says, moving Miss Scarlet to the library. “We didn’t want to start Grandmaster without you.”
“So sweet. Anyone need a refill?” Wen Qing takes a seat as the others shake their heads. The table is small and worn, its legs slightly uneven, but Wei Wuxian is proud of it. They sit shoulder to shoulder, and Wei Wuxian wonders if this is happiness.
“What’s wrong?” Wen Ning whispers to Wei Wuxian, showing Mianmian one of his cards.
“Nothing, just dust in my eye.” Wei Wuxian smiles, moves Professor Plum to the middle of the board. “It was Reverend Green with the rope in the ballroom!”
Both Mianmian and Wen Ning shake their heads. Wei Wuxian peeks at the murder cards and cheers.
“How does he do it?” Mianmian asks, shaking her head.
“Luck,” says Wen Ning.
“He cheats,” says Wen Qing.
“Aiya, rude! My brother, sister, and I used to play this all the time when we were younger.” The words slip out before Wei Wuxian realises. He snaps his mouth shut, but it’s too late. He doesn’t miss the glances exchanged around the table.
“You have siblings?” Wen Ning’s voice is cautious.
“Had.” Wei Wuxian forces a laugh. “We don’t talk anymore.”
“Do you want to—”
“Nope! Grandmaster?” Wei Wuxian cuts Wen Qing off. “I’m going to win this time.”
“Good luck with that,” she says, setting up the board. “A-Ning’s practically unbeatable..”
“I’ve just had more practice.” Wen Ning mumbles, a soft blush colouring his cheeks. “Xuanyu-ge’s getting there. Slowly.”
“Don’t inflate his ego,” Mianmian warns, placing her character on the board. “He’s insufferable enough as it is.”
“You wound me.” Wei Wuxian grins as he rolls the dice.
He wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
*
Late that night—long after the laughter fades and the warmth bleeds from his apartment—Wei Wuxian lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. The first thing he did when he moved in was stick glow-in-the-dark stars up there. His room at Lotus Pier had been large and styled, but it had never felt like him. Instead, it felt like living between the pages of a glossy magazine. He’d once tried to make it his own, framing his photos and hanging them on the walls.
He never tried again.
Wei Wuxian remembers another ceiling, another room. It’s a fragmented memory, softened at the edges. In it, a smiling man and woman twirl around a baby-blue room, sticking stars to the ceiling. Together, they lift a small boy, helping him place the last star in his own little galaxy.
He wonders how disappointed they’d be.
Wei Wuxian flips over, burying his face deep in his pillow. Whether or not he lets out a frustrated scream is between him and the scratchy linen. It’s nights like this, when sleep evades him and thoughts swirl like storm clouds, that the temptation creeps back—an old craving to soothe his too-tight skin, to quiet the chaos that is his mind. He really shouldn’t have thought about his siblings. He knows better. He shouldn’t have let his thoughts drift to them, shouldn’t have cracked open that door.
But once he’s started, there’s no stopping. He’s kept them locked away for five years, a streak he has no intention of breaking. And yet, he wonders. Have they grown up happy? Did they find love? Do they think of him at all?
God, he hopes they’ve forgotten him.
His chest tightens, and he gives up on sleep. With a frustrated punch to his pillow, he swings his legs out of bed and heads for the kitchen. His emotions are raw, clawing at him from the inside out. He needs something. Something to ease the edge, to chase away those old shadows that linger in the corners of his mind.
Hot chocolate, the good kind—the kind he saves for nights when he needs more than willpower to win his battles. Mug in hand, he slips out to the roof. The fake stars of his ceiling give way to the real thing, spread wide and endless above him. The night feels softer somehow.
There was a night like this once, long ago, just before everything shattered. He’d sprawled on the roof of Lotus Pier, tracing constellations with his outstretched hand. The stars had felt so close, as if—if he just reached a little further—he could brush against them, feel their burn against his fingertips. It had been a rare night, a good night—the weight of the world not so heavy on his shoulders, the future not so bleak. The night had been alive with stars, with magic, with the fragile spark of hope.
He hadn’t been alone, then.
The memory claws its way up, gold eyes and flushed cheeks, soft lips brushing his own under the quiet, starry night. He shoves it back, slams the door shut before the teeth sink in. Some memories are too sharp, too dangerous and painful to touch. They cut too deep. Leave wounds that don't heal.
Some memories snap and snarl like feral beasts, stalk the edge of his mind, wait for a moment of weakness to strike. They fester, they seethe, they grow into something twisted and dark—so dark. Self-hatred and bitter regret bloom, potent and consuming, because he didn’t just hurt himself.
He hurt him, too.