Work Text:
He watches the clouds.
They’re silver at certain angles, a wash of white over brilliant greens and blues. The planet is the closest thing to a companion he has, but he’s never seen its spirit. He thinks the sun had one, once. When he first woke up.
He talks to the stars. An answer never follows.
*
He had a name.
Did he?
*
Sometimes he thinks he can hear someone calling for him.
He used to call back, filling the silent void with his voice.
It never worked.
He hides in the dark side of the moon when it happens now. Better to cover his ears than swallow vinegar.
*
What is vinegar?
*
He’s burning up.
Is he?
He was alight, reflecting the sun’s rays like it was his only purpose.
Shadows invaded. Concealed him.
He’s not white anymore. Crimson ate the darkness and then devoured him in its stead.
His robes are still ivory. Tinted pink, now, but more like a blend than a replacement.
Movement. He looks to the sun, its warmth even stronger than usual.
Something rolls over between flames. He watches as he orbits the earth, watches as the distant planets follow their own path.
Strange.
*
“Hello!”
He opens his eyes. He’d been looking afar at other galaxies, picking out their colours. When had he stopped?
“Hey!”
He’s cold. He’s as far from the sun as he ever gets. It’s a good time to rest.
“Hello? Anyone?”
He peers over his shoulder. Nothing out of the ordinary.
He folds into himself. He’s so far he can barely feel the ocean respond to his pull.
*
The sun won’t stop talking to him.
“There you are! You keep hiding from me, it’s so rude.” The spirit grins, red eyes glowing with flares.
Had he been lonely, before?
He longs for peace.
He’s so tired.
“Do you have your memories?” the spirit asks. “I thought I had them, but it’s all shattered. What’s your name?”
He doesn’t often respond. The spirit usually interprets his silence as if he had. He’s not even wrong most of the time.
Something nudges the edge of his consciousness. His eyes narrow slightly. “What’s a name?”
The spirit lights up. Unfortunately this means he bursts into flame and so he has to retreat to the dark side to hide from the chaos.
*
The sun feels familiar.
Their one-sided conversations loop in his peripheral awareness until they take root somewhere deeper.
He had a name. He’s certain of it.
*
They become closer during eclipses, but the solar ones always feel far more intimate than he can bear. He can’t hide, not when they’re so close.
The sun tilts his head with a soft smile. He’s gotten better at controlling his fire, which means he doesn’t burst into flames whenever he’s excited.
He’s excited a lot.
“I don’t remember my name yet,” he says, red ribbon floating out between them. “Do you remember yours?”
He does. He doesn’t.
It’s too hard.
He moves to the shadows again, curling up behind the moon as if it’d be any help.
Things were simpler, before. His thoughts were loud enough on their own.
Warmth.
Heat sears up one end of his ribbon until it reaches his head. He gasps.
Gasp?
He used to breathe.
“Lan Zhan.” His voice is rough. He’s not used to hearing it.
The warm side of his ribbon is tugged gently. “What’s that?” the sun asks.
When he reaches up, the warmth has reached his forehead. He traces his finger along it in wonder.
He’d always had this ribbon.
He’s certain of it.
“My name.”
*
The sun sleeps, after that.
Lan Zhan had expected more questions, more of their one-two-sided conversations.
He could rest, too, he supposes. He used to spend most of his time doing so.
Why is he so restless now?
*
He’s probably causing problems on earth. The oceans respond to his frustration and lash out against land.
He stares at the sun.
He can’t even see him.
*
Did he dream it up?
Was there every anyone else here?
*
He had a name.
Right?
*
They’re close again. He’s warm.
The sun spirit is staring at him.
He’s tempted to reach out, see if he’s real.
His eyes are grey.
What were they before?
“Lan Zhan.”
His heart seizes. He had a name.
Has.
Heart?
“Lan Zhan.”
Those eyes are familiar. The hair is different, loose and fading into space. His clothes are a vibrant red, gilded with gold in shifting constellations.
He knows that ribbon. That silver.
“Lan Zhan.”
He closes his eyes.
A tug.
His ribbon is being touched again.
He looks again. The sun has tied his white ribbon to his wrist.
“Wei Ying.”
He knows him. He knows him.
“Lan Zhan,” he says, eyes soft. “You remembered.”
*
He sleeps.
He’s not alone. He’s bound to Wei Ying, as he was in life.
He died. He replaced his predecessor to save… something. It was important. Probably.
Wei Ying followed.
***
Solar eclipses are Wei Ying’s favourite thing.
Lan Zhan is beautiful, pale silver against the black space and brighter than the stars. His gold eyes watch over the planets, gentle hums soothing the chaos.
Wei Ying watches over his entire system, while Lan Zhan watches only the earth. He’s supposed to be equal in his attentions, but. Well.
Who can blame him.
He ascended for Lan Zhan after all.
He can usually only reach his ribbon, the hems of his robes on a good day and his hands on special occasions.
This is the rarest occasion.
“You look happy,” Wei Ying says, running his fingers along Lan Zhan’s cheekbone. His eyes were light in life but they’re pure gold now, absorbing his fire and reflecting it back at him.
Lan Zhan smiles, a small and delicate thing, and reaches for an end of his red ribbon. Wei Ying feels it in his core as Lan Zhan binds it around his wrist. “You’ll always be with me now,” Lan Zhan murmurs.
He has to kiss him for that. He just has to.
“Silly,” he grins, burying a hand into space-spun hair and drawing him close. “I always was.”
It lasts longer than it probably should. Their celestial bodies are starting to move apart.
Wei Ying ignores it as long as he can.
And when they can’t reach each other anymore, he kisses the white wrapped around his wrist.
He feels an answering warmth through his own ribbon.
When they synchronise, he can feel Lan Zhan’s lips against his own.
Wei Ying has a new favourite thing.