( he does notice. the tremors. they follow the same unsteady rhythm in his arm--against which wei wuxian is now glued to--wilder where his shoulders have stiffened. it’s hard to tell, whether they’ve started or ended there; an extension of wei wuxian’s, maybe, or two different entities, calling out to each other. he glances up. not just because it’s where wei wuxian is pointing at, but because he doesn’t know where else to look, not without faltering. and he finds that the vastness of the sky, fulgent as it is, doesn’t hold a candle to wei wuxian.
he falters anyway. knuckles white behind his back, his hand trembles, nails digging into his palm. blood oozes, and he realizes he’s been clenching his fist for a while now, feeling the erratic beats of his heart there. it’s barely enough for a drop to form, but it reddens his skin some, moist, and abruptly he stretches his hand wide open, a hitch in his breath. wei ying. it’s a glimpse of something rarely seen, and for a fleeting moment, lan wangji thinks he manages to see through the façade. feigned casualness, maybe, another clue between the lines. his gaze slowly drifts to him, observes. it’s a gentle scrutiny, if nothing else, silent as his mind grows a little chaotic. he thinks of the conversation that brought him here. the cryptic glances, their softness, and everything in-between, left unaddressed. he thinks he’s reading too much into something he shouldn’t, and then he doesn’t think at all, his voice struggling past the tightness in his throat. )
And what does the Yiling Laozu truly prefer? ( and while a vacuum in his stomach threatens to collapse his physical form into a dense, compact little ball, he very slightly leans against him, allowing his arm to slowly fall between them. )
no subject
he falters anyway. knuckles white behind his back, his hand trembles, nails digging into his palm. blood oozes, and he realizes he’s been clenching his fist for a while now, feeling the erratic beats of his heart there. it’s barely enough for a drop to form, but it reddens his skin some, moist, and abruptly he stretches his hand wide open, a hitch in his breath. wei ying. it’s a glimpse of something rarely seen, and for a fleeting moment, lan wangji thinks he manages to see through the façade. feigned casualness, maybe, another clue between the lines. his gaze slowly drifts to him, observes. it’s a gentle scrutiny, if nothing else, silent as his mind grows a little chaotic. he thinks of the conversation that brought him here. the cryptic glances, their softness, and everything in-between, left unaddressed. he thinks he’s reading too much into something he shouldn’t, and then he doesn’t think at all, his voice struggling past the tightness in his throat. )
And what does the Yiling Laozu truly prefer? ( and while a vacuum in his stomach threatens to collapse his physical form into a dense, compact little ball, he very slightly leans against him, allowing his arm to slowly fall between them. )