The winnings of vice,
May feel like a heist,
But always come with a price
Exhilarating as it may be
There will always be more than three
Stutter at the price,
Or whisper in high
It may be nothing more than ice
But by well, nigh
Nothing is to be fiddled cry

Some got addicted to drugs, some alcohol, and some words.

But Wei Ying got addicted to tattoos.

He loved the feeling of ink on his fingers. The smell of sweat and metal clinging to his hands like the vines of a tree. The way the words were etched into his skin, in delicate and brash strokes of onyx... The names that were buried beneath his skin, lurking under. The first time he'd done it, he'd felt giddy; the feel of a needle nipping through his skin, ripping part of it open slowly, staining his skin with ink, made him drowsy. Lavender eyes followed where the ink did, and he savoured the tiny tingles of pain that rushed through him, the way the needles carved out something he couldn't put into words, into action. The first tattoo Wei Wuxian ever got, was a tattoo of a lotus. A purple one, not for the Jiangs, but for his sister. He cradled it closely the first few days, loving the lilac and purple underlays on his skin, but it hurt so badly. The artist hadn't failed to notice the tiny golden crown on top of the flower, a fallen sword strewn to the side where the floor would have been.

He'd sobbed for ages afterwards. Because it throbbed. Knowing he'd never get to see her again, his sword was nothing but a mere ornament now. Nothing but brutal silver against sheathed leather, worn and crumbling, the same way he was falling apart. He'd cradled the tattoo for days afterwards, his eyes filled with visions of hazel eyes, of a gentle smile, loving hands that had hugged him, pinched him, fed him. The faint smell of lotus and jasmine that once clung to lavender and gold robes, a scent that had long since faded, but Wei Wuxian refused to forget.

Refused to forget the woman that was once his sister, once his sibling to love, to cherish, to protect.

And he'd failed her.

Failed her, in the worst way possible. He could feel her crumpling into his arms, as he stood there silently, numbly, in mute shock. His arms around her went limp, just as she did. The way she looked up to him, eyes filled with tears, unspoken words shrouding her eyes. "A- Xian.." she heaved, her voice ragged and faint, the same way Wei Wuxian imagined a doll would sound.

But Yanli wasn't a doll. Not at all. And it terrified Wei Ying to no end, unnerved him the same way the blood, her blood, sinking into his robes did. He hated the way crimson seemed to flow through her robes, seeping into his. How did things come to this? He wondered, but even then, his own thoughts seemed like an afterthought. Distantly, he could feel tears rolling down his face. He barely registered hazel eyes gazing at him, pleading with him. "别怪自己。 姐姐爱你。魏婴， 对不起。"

That would be the first death he saw, but it surely wouldn't be the last.

Eventually, he made it a habit to carve the names of those that meant something to him into his skin. He didn't care how long it took, how much it hurt or cost. All he held onto were the words, the names he carved into his skin. It was an addiction, Wen Qing chastised, a bad one at that. But Wei Wuxian didn't care, and Wen Qing got used to seeing Wei Wuxian coming back with a new wrapping, and then she knew.

The Lotus was simply Wei Wuxian's gateway to many firsts.

An oak tree and a blindfold for his first kiss, a lotus for the sister he'd loved and lost. The rest of the names were etched in a sprawling design on his back, forming the image of a yin-yang symbol. One carried a lotus, the other showed the sun, and for every person he lost, another dash of ink was added. And when the Wens was decimated, he made sure that every name was inked in colour. Red for Wen Qing, onyx for Wen Ning, Azure blue for A-Yuan, crimson for his parents. He made sure that both names were intertwined with one another. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to ink Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan's names on his back. The idea lay over his mind like a bad raincloud, and some part of him vehemently detested the idea.

Still, the rest of the names remained on his back, the same way the words of a story embedded themselves into the minds of the reader, whether they were conscious of it or not. Some days when Wei Wuxian sat down in the drafty tattoo parlour and thought, he could hear Jiang Cheng silently scoffing at him, comparing him to a common street ruffian. While some part of that stung, he found that Jiang Cheng's barbs didn't get to him anymore. So the first time he'd heard that his sworn brother had turned against him in an innkeeper's wretched and crumbling hut, he'd chuckled. Laughed until his stomach hurt, and ordered more beer.

It was only when the innkeeper turned as white as a sheet did he realise that what he'd said was true.

Another name was added to the list, only to be clawed out by the work of Wei Ying's knife, a scar where Jiang Wanyin's name should have been.

For some reason, two characters danced in and out of his vision, and he craved them on his skin, even as his mind protested.

He's not gone.

He's still here.

But his heart still ached, still yearned for the other, and he couldn't help but cling to the idea. As his fingers itched, he found himself drawn to the idea, a memory rising from the back vestiges of his mind.

"Lan Zhan," His own voice called out, "What are you doing here?" Gilt eyes looked at him in silent adoration, as if he were the only thing standing between them. Rain blinded him, slipping off the woven hat he wore. Gilt eyes held his gaze with equal intensity, sending something spiralling in his stomach. It's like I'm falling all over again, he thought. Falling in love with him again. Something lay beneath the calm surface of his eyes like ripples of liquid honey, something that Wei Ying yearned for and yet couldn't place.

"What do you think, Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan's voice was quiet against the torrential downpour that surrounded them, the whirlpool of messes that swarmed them, and yet they were nothing but two boys standing in the dark. And Wei Ying heard him. I have you close, he thought. And in another world, that would have been more than enough for him. For them. You're right where I want you.

Except he wasn't, and Wei Ying craved more. Craved hands running through his hair, warm arms pulling him close. Craved the feeling of lips imprinting a smile on his neck, fingers threading through every nook and cranny of his body, exploring every crevice and dip. Craved the low whispers designed especially for his ears, the humming reassurances. He could see it, the image of them. He could see the stars in the other boy's eyes, and it terrified him as much as it enthralled him.

I want you.

But can I have you?

Do I need you?

But the questions died on the tip of his tongue, the same way his throat went dry looking at the azure robes that clung to him. They were different, he realised. They weren't the Gusu Lan Robes Wangji once donned, but another set, in shades of blue and grey, kept dry safe for the splashes of rain that dripped onto them.

"I don't know, Lan Zhan." Came his terse reply. Wordlessly, Wei Ying turned away, letting his eyes flutter shut. Still, the other's gaze was as heavy as it was before. Something flickered to life within Wei Ying, brushing against his insides. It curled up against him like fire, like venom, searing through his skin as he thought, as he spoke. "I don't know anything anymore."

The words scattered in the space between them and Wei Ying could feel the concern, the worry, the pity in the other's eyes rolling all over him, rubbing over him, and he loathed it. Yet, there was something waiting within him, an ember of hope. That he saw him as someone, saw him as something. An equal of sorts, perhaps. A lover? Gods, he was desperate, he knew. How could Lan Wangji, of all people, like him?

You're useless, Yu Ziyuan's voice flickered to life behind his eyes, hissing next to his ear. You're worthless. You should have died, all those years ago.

You're nothing but a good-for-nothing waste of space.

The words cut into him like knives, or perhaps like the jewelled whip that the owner of the voice had once carried, and Wei Wuxian found himself crumbling. I'm nothing, he thought. I'll never be good enough.

Before he knew it, he was sitting back on the roof, head in his hands. He could feel something hot streaming down his face, but he'd lost track of the tears and the rain, all he could feel was the pain. I fucked up. I fucked up.

There's no going back.

Not anymore.

"Wei Ying.." Lan Zhan's voice slipped in and out of him, and he could vaguely feel a pair of arms surrounding him, bringing him closer. The smell of sandalwood threaded through him, ad he felt oddly safe. "Wei Ying, can you hear me?"

A small nod.

Wei Ying moved closer to the feeling of warmth, ignoring the layers of damp cloth between them, as much as his mind yelled at him to pull away. Don't, he thought. Don't step too close to me. Or I might just vanish before your eyes.

I feel so tiny.

Can someone tell me why?

But the words were nothing but mere questions in his mind against the background of Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian felt himself drowning in him. Even if they were doing nothing but holding each other, even if he knew they would be nothing in the end.

There is no us in this life, he thought.

I hope there'll be one in the next.

I love you, Lan Wangji. I just hope I'll be able to tell you in my next. The last thing he felt was fingers threading through his hair, running through the knots and curls, and the ghost of lips on his forehead. Come back, they seemed to mouth.

I'm waiting. 

---------
A/N: 1820 words! This is..a weird update? I think this is a partial spinoff of raindrops in the night, I'm not quite sure...I hope you guys enjoyed this Oneshot! Take it as a celebratory chapter for 28K...I don't know when the next update will be, though. Hopefully it's soon, but at this point I'm just babbling. Thank you guys so much!