Wangji kicked off his shoes as he sat down on his hospital bed. He didn't think listening to someone talk about cleaning for an hour would be so exhausting. Although he had to admit, it took him a lot longer than he would have liked to get back. Sir Nick was right, the castle really did like to play tricks.

The sun started to fade out, and now only slanted rays were visible across the stone floor. A few birds had perched themselves on the birch tree outside and were endlessly chirping away. Wangji fiddled with his sleeves as he focused on the sounds. Sparrows, starlings and robins along with the faint twang of a ...

Twang. There was a twang just then. Wangji sat up a bit straighter. What was that? He swiftly looked outside the window. There was nothing there, and if there was, the birds outside didn't seem to register it.

Another reverberating twang, this one loud, defining, shaking the inside of his skull, sloshing his brain fluid around like water in a snow globe. Everything hurt, everything started to get blurry. He tried to stand up, but he felt his legs turn to mush, and he flopped back down on the bed, sprawled across it like a rag doll. The last thing he saw was the arching ceiling of the hospital wing before it all faded to black.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Wangji stood alone, he looked left, he looked right, but still nothing. He felt weightless, suspended in the void. No sound, no wind, no warmth—only the silence of oblivion.

This is peace? No, it...feels wrong, something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

I need to leave. I need to go, I can't be here.

Wangji walked forward, the walk getting brisker, his feeling of dread getting stronger, burrowing into his stomach like a parasite.

A whisper, almost soft, but it carried something darker. .

A vibration threaded through the abyss, tugging at something deep inside him. It was faint at first, almost a distant echo, but then it grew—pressing against him, wrapping around his soul like spectral fingers.

Then, a voice.

"Lan Wangji."

A soundless scream started to build in his throat. He knew that voice. Knew it well. Had heard it every day, every strict word, every harsh punishment, every cold glare.

No.

The darkness wavered, cracks of pale blue and icy white seeping through. The colours of his childhood, of his "home".

Ethereal mist curled through the void, unravelling in delicate, ghostly strands. More voices joined the first, weaving into the pull, each note an invisible chain tightening around him.

They're calling me. He's calling me.

He saw them then—fleeting figures, shifting like reflections on water. They were there one second, then gone, mocking, taunting endlessly. His uncle's steady hands guided the guqin, disciples kneeling in silent reverence. The great hall of the Cloud Recesses blurred before him, its pristine white lanterns flickering in the night.

Inquiry.

They were trying to reach him. Bind him. Drag him back.

"Talk to us, Wangji."

The pull strengthened, he could feel it wrapping around his throat, threatening to choke if he didn't obey. His breath hitched, his heart pounding in a body he no longer had. The voices wouldn't stop, growing louder, more insistent, twisting into a perverse symphony of pleas and commands.

"You must respond."

"Lan Wangji, answer me."

"Wangji—"

No, no, NO!

His hands clenched into fists. He pushed against the pull, against the voices, against him. The mist recoiled slightly but did not release him. His chest tightened. They wouldn't let him go. They would never let him go.

Rage and terror surged through him like fire. He threw his head back, his throat raw as he screamed into the abyss—

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The void rippled. The mist shattered like fragile glass. The weight pulling him snapped— everything snapped like strings pulled too tight, ricocheting, attacking whoever was foolish enough to be close.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Wangji fell out of his bed and tumbled onto the cold stone floor with a deafening thud. His trembling fingers clawed at the night table, but all he managed was to send everything on it crashing down. Glass shattered. Papers scattered. His chest heaved violently.

He barely had time to turn his head before vomiting, his body wracked with shudders. Hot tears burned his eyes as bile stung his throat. The world started spinning again, and everything was collapsing around him.

That was Inquiry.

They actually had the audacity to kill him and then use Inquiry. They were the reason he was here! Why couldn't they just leave him alone?!

Why, why why?! I was dead! Just let me be dead! Leave my soul alone! You took my body, leave my soul alone!

He tried and failed to hold down a broken sob that escaped his lips. He just wanted to be left alone, he just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to be with Wei Ying again.

His gaze blurred, then sharpened onto a jagged shard of porcelain lying in the pool of his own vomit. The soup bowl Madam Pomfrey gave him.

He didn't need the voices to tell him what to do this time, he needed no encouragement, no prompting; they already knew what he was about to do.

Deft fingers acted swiftly for the second time.

It all faded into black before he even slit his other wrist.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

There was warmth.

Arms cradled him, strong yet trembling, the way one would hold something fragile—something precious. Fingers combed through his hair, a soft, shuddering breath ghosting against his forehead.

Wangji opened his eyes so fast he felt dizzy. Silver eyes brimming with unshed tears looked at him like he would break.

"...Wei Ying?" His voice cracked. His mind hadn't caught up to the sight before him, but the moment it did, the dam broke. A sob tore through him, raw and aching. His fingers grasped desperately at Wei Ying's robes, clinging to him like a child afraid to wake from a dream.

".. Yeah, It's... I'm here," Wei Ying said thickly.

Wangji could hardly breathe. "H-how—?" His hands moved frantically, checking, feeling. Was he real? He had to be. He had to be. But that was impossible. Wei Ying was...

His hands roamed over Wei Ying's chest, his arms, his face—he didn't care how frantic and clingy he seemed. He had to be sure. He had known that this wasn't another cruel illusion, another nightmare just waiting for him to wake up in sorrow.

"I... I couldn't leave you alone" Wei Ying took both his hands gently. There was so much pain and worry in those eyes. Worry for him?

He felt something warm on his wrist. His body was only vaguely aware of the pain now, the dull sting where his flesh had been split open. He numbly stared at the blood pooling on his wrist but not spilling from the cut, permanently stuck, slowing welling up, but never spilling. Like it was frozen in time.

"... You're... You're still..." Dead. You're still dead. You're dead, and so am I. Or at least, I'm about to be. The unspoken words hung in the air like a stagnant smell.

"I didn't have much spiritual power left, but I had just enough to follow you after... after you died. " Wangji swallowed a lump in his throat. His hands subconsciously went to the side of Wei Ying's face.

"Why would you?" Wangji's voice was hollow, lifeless. He followed him and stopped him from dying. He wanted to die, he wanted to be with him permanently, he wanted to hold him and know that he wouldn't be ripped away. He didn't want this, not this horrid facsimile of intimacy. Holding someone who was still a world apart from you

Wei Ying's flinched, his grip on Wangji's hands tightening infinitesimally.

"Lan Zhan, how could you just—" His voice broke, his breath shuddering. His hand trembled as he brushed Wangji's damp and vomit-coated hair away from his face, unfazed by the disgusting sensation. "How could you just do that?"

Guilt slammed into Wangji like a crushing tide. He turned his face into Wei Wuxian's shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry... I couldn't do it any more, I didn't want to be here any more." Wangji choked.

"Lan Zhan don't you ever... I can't let you. I already watched you die once, please don't do this to me."

Guilt slammed into Wangji, crushing his lungs, shattering his ribs, broken bones stabbing into his gut. He turned his face into Wei Ying's shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs.

"I—I couldn't do it anymore," He choked out, all of his pain spilling out like molten metal from a forge. Wei Ying's arms tightened around him, as if he could hold him together by sheer force alone. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry... I couldn't, I didn't want to be here any more."

Wei Ying's breath hitched, and then his arms were shaking.

"Lan Zhan, don't you ever—" His voice wavered with something between anger and heartbreak. "I can't let you— I already watched you die once." His voice broke completely. "Please don't do this to me."

He held Wangji close, rocking him like a child, as Wangji wept into his shoulder.

"I hate it here! I can't stand it! It's horrible, and you're not here with me!" Wangji knew he sounded absolutely pathetic, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered enough for him to care.

"... This is my fault," Wei Ying mumbled. Wangji quelled his sobbing, if only for a moment. He carefully pried himself out of Wei Ying's hold to face him.

"Not your fault," He whispered. Tears and snot still flowed like rivers, but he managed to look Wei Ying dead in the eyes.

"...I should have protected you. You're my zhiji, I should have been there for you,"

"I'm your..." Zhiji. Soulmate. After everything? After everything I did to you?

Wangji looked at him and tried to convey every bit of honesty and sincerity he could possibly give.

Wei Ying looked at him like he had hung the moon in the sky just for him. He was covered in blood, snot and tears, and his own vomit was smeared across his chest and in his hair. And yet he managed to get someone, not just someone, Wei Ying, to look at him like that.

"... What am I going to do?" Wangji gulped, feeling a whole new wave of tears coming on.

"Lan Zhan listen to me," Wei Ying gently cradled Wangji's head as though it were made of the most delicate crystal.

"You're going to wake up in your hospital bed, and you're going to be fine. And you're going to live on."

"... I can't live without you..." Wangji weakly trembled. He hated this weak feeling, and he was utterly helpless against it.

"Lan Zhan, I will never leave you... Even if I'm like this... I won't leave you. Never,"

"So please don't say you can't live on; because you'll have me. And everyone in this castle who's kept you alive for me, who are keeping you alive right now."

"I.." Wangji's throat felt tight. Could he actually just live? Could he really do this without Wei Ying? Wangji looked into those silver eyes once more.

He had to live, he had to live for him. For him.

Sorry, not sorry. But hey, Wei Ying is here with him, just as a ghost. I couldn't resist putting some angst into this chapter. I just can't help it, I love angst. I figured that Inquiry would be performed even if Wangji was essentially a "sinner who got what he deserved".

I wanted Wangji and Wei Ying to have some closure as well, so I like what I've done with it. I didn't think that Wangji was acting nearly as sad as he should be, so I threw a grenade into the fray and hoped for the best. Characters are like glow sticks, to see them shine, you have to make them snap.

Also, some of you might know that Elysium has an official Spotify playlist. If anyone has any song recommendations, be sure to let me know. I always look forward to hearing new songs. I'm not joking when I say I listen to at least four hours of music every day.

I'll try to get the story to a more concrete flow and get Wangji to a more stable position, but until then, keep a packet of Kleenex nearby, just in case.   I'm now starting to make a dent in my pre-written drafts, as the end part of this chapter was written a while back, so I should be able to update a little bit faster. 

That's all for now.

Stay safe and stay fabulous.

Sincerely, Amethyst.