taciturnly: (gonna slowly walk away)
๐š•๐šŠ๐š— ๐š ๐šŠ๐š—๐š๐š“๐š’ / ๐š•๐šŠ๐š— ๐šฃ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š—. ([personal profile] taciturnly) wrote in [personal profile] flauntist 2021-02-19 05:29 pm (UTC)

( he isnโ€™t. too far wrong. the task is tedious at best, and lan wangji has no interest in politics. he does, however, care a great deal for the world around them. its flaws. and their consequences. itโ€™s the main reason why heโ€™s learned their song, but the notes are still tentative, a melody played by too many who would rather sing from memory, rather than from the heart.

this distraction is just as welcome. wei wuxianโ€™s tease, the same old antics lan wangji one day came to seek. to miss. donโ€™t mind the exasperated shape of his mouth; itโ€™s nothing but fond, more obvious in the glint in his eyes, which he conveniently averts. )
Then let hearsay fill their beliefs, and petty quarrels their boredom. ( because hanguang-jun isnโ€™t as immaculate as they, perhaps, wish him to be. reputation is only that, and underneath layers upon layers of decorum and propriety, he wants, and aches, and longs. anger has settled deep, and shame, too, for a world that refuses to judge him as it judged so many others.

as it judged wei wuxian.

was it a hint of awe in his gaze? thereโ€™s something in the air, and lan wangjiโ€™s lungs struggle to draw it in. impressive, he calls him, when he is the most fascinating being heโ€™s ever known. he wants to tell him. amends, slightly--the company isnโ€™t unwelcome, either--but the tips of his ears already feel too warm for safety. he looks up instead, staring at nothing in particular: )
Our destination?

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