every star in the sky

七

Dust flew up in the air when Xichen lifted the lid of the chest, sending him into a coughing fit. The robes inside were as pristine as they used to be, his blue formal robes the first thing that caught his eye. He pulled them out, setting them aside. When he had put them away, he had wrapped Wangji's white robe within his own, hoping to keep the white as clean as he could. But the years had not been kind to them.

If only Wangji had been old enough to wear the blues that he did, Xichen thought mournfully as he pulled aside the second layer of his own robes that concealed Wangji's white ones. The fabric was yellowed with age, definitely not wearable. There was one light blue robe in there, the colour of a summer sky. The waistband was yellowed, but Xichen was certain he owned another that he could loan. After all, he would not be attending that banquet.

Xichen bit back the wave of bitterness that rose in his throat. He would have liked to attend, if only to see Nie Mingjue again. But there was no use dwelling. He may as well get some use out of his beautiful robes.

Wangji was certainly old enough to wear the prominent Lan blues now and it would be a shame for him not to. They were of similar enough build that Xichen could alter his own for him. His robes were more suitable for the occasion anyway.

Xichen's breath caught when he pulled out what he thought was the last robe. There was still one more, this one in a silvery gray that was not Gusu Lan style at all. The fabric was heavy when he pulled it out, smooth and silky against his fingertips.

Mingjue had commissioned this robe for him, to wear in Qinghe when he visited. Qinghe winds were brutal in the winter and this robe had kept Xichen warm on many occasions.

Warmth pricked at Xichen's eyes, and he dropped the robes at once, hastily pushing it aside in favour of pulling out the three boxes hidden at the base of the chest.

In his chair, Wangji's pendant would hardly be seen but it would not feel right for him not to wear it. He set Wangji's aside, unable to resist opening his own. It hurt more than he expected to, a memory of the jade pendant he had given to Nie Mingjue a long time ago floating unbidden to his mind. Did he still have it?

"Xichen?" Xichen snapped the box shut, putting it back to where it belonged as Shufu came up the stairs.

"I was just thinking that Wangji should wear my robes," he murmured. "He's old enough to wear the blues now."

Shufu stared at the pile of clothes around him, his gaze softening when they landed on the Qinghe style robe.

"Does he not have his own?" he asked, sinking to his knees beside Xichen.

"It's not formal enough," Xichen said, shaking out the sky-blue robes.

Indeed, now that he was looking at it, the material was too plain, without the heavy embroidery that adorned Xichen's own.

"I will have to alter them, but he should fit."

"But these outer robes." Shufu fingered the stone blue fabric with concern. "They are too thin for Qinghe's winters."

Xichen's throat clenched for a moment before he picked up the Qinghe style robe.

"He can have this one," he said, hoping that Shufu could not hear how his voice choked. "It may be a little big, but I can take it in."

"Xichen. You don't have to give up your robes," Shufu said, brows furrowing. "I'm sure Wei Ying would be more than happy to provide."

"I'm never going to wear these again, Shufu. They shouldn't go to waste," Xichen murmured, smoothing his hand over the fabric.

"Xichen, if you wish to go-."

"I don't," Xichen said, too quickly. He avoided Shufu's gaze, carefully folding up the robe in his arms.

"Lying is forbidden."

"We are not in the Cloud Recesses," Xichen said, because had Shufu not used that against him before? He smiled when Shufu shook his head, rising to his feet.

"You should take out Liebing. It's been a long time since you played."

Lan Qiren opened the other chest in the attic, the one that contained their swords and Xichen's Liebing. He pulled out the xiao, still wrapped in white silk.

"I'm not sure I remember how," Xichen answered, taking it when it was offered. He stroked a hand over the intricate carving, tracing the fingerings of a song he had played too often.

"Play it sometime," Lan Qiren said, "I miss hearing it."

He turned on his heel and headed back downstairs, leaving Xichen staring after him in open mouthed surprise.

After a beat, Xichen carefully refolded the robes he would not be taking, tucking them back into their chest. He rummaged through the other chest, coming up with his old ornate dragon guan that Wangji could have.

Wangji could most certainly wear his own; it was formal enough, but Xichen found himself wanting to see his brother in his.

He took Liebing, gathering up the remaining robes and guan and slipped downstairs to hide them in his room.

That night while the whole house slept, Xichen busied himself by the light of an oil lamp, cutting and hemming the robes.

With his chair, Wangji could not have them too long or they could get caught in the wheels. He would have to do a proper fitting to make sure they fit him right, but he could do some of the work by actually trying the robes on himself.

Xichen had to force down a ball of tears that formed in his throat when he looked in the mirror at himself, in his old robes. They still fit him, but they hung a little looser now. On Wangji, they would be a little too big.

He looked like a stranger in the mirror, a child playing dress up. There was no sign of Zewu Jun in that picture, only a worn and tired man.

Picking up the guan, Xichen set about the task of weaving it into his hair. It was a stupid idea, when he had to take it all down again, but he just wanted to see. He wanted to see how the world saw him once upon a time.

His fingers fumbled as he pushed the hair pins into place, the guan heavy on his head. He did not remember it being so heavy.

Wangji would need help to get this on and Xichen was going to relish every minute of being able to help him with his hair. He had not helped his brother do his hair since he was a child.

With a sigh, Xichen began pulling out the pins, scattering them into a pile on his dresser. He shed the robes, shivering when a draft came through a crack in the window.

Unpicking the seams was a mindless task. He refolded the fabric, sewing it all back together. It was not much of a difference and perhaps he had not needed to do it at all because wearing the waistband would tighten the silhouette, but Xichen did not want Wangji to feel as if he was wearing borrowed clothes.

He paused when he came to the Qinghe robes, his hands shaking. He could not bring himself to cut it.

Instead, he folded the edges higher, tacking them to the body with tiny stitches. That way, they could be let out and he would not ruin it permanently.

It was a foolish thing to do, when he had no more reason to wear it, but it was an indulgence Xichen allowed himself. It would sell better as a full robe if they ever had cause to sell it anyway.