[ He doesn't bother to spare his donkey a glance--months enough on the road at this point and he knows roughly how far it's willing to stray before it wanders back. He's the one with the apples, after all, and in the balance of what's important here, Lan Wangji tips the scales. It would be arrogant to call himself knowledgeable in the expressions that break the surface of that calm, reserved pool, but he's spent time enough staring, time enough studying what it takes to eke out something new that he sees it now.
This is new. Or--as he allows himself a hesitant breath and casts back for what he knows of Lan Wangji--it's very, very old. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Soft, little more than a whisper. He cradles the sound in his mouth like it's not just a name, but something to treasure, a gift granted years ago he's not willing to lose. And maybe he should lose it, maybe he should give up the privilege he's been granted because he's caused enough hurt over the years (the years and years and years) but he's a coward all the more here, too, because he doesn't want to let it go. Selfish, again, fingers desperately digging into whatever hold he still has here, because any Lan Zhan is better than no Lan Zhan and he'll temper what needs tempering but.
But.
Something is splintering. He doesn't know what. He can feel it as he dares a step closer toward Lan Wangji and a thousand voices call him a fool for not retreating. He should. He should he should he should-- everything is a mess and he's lost grip on what's real and what's not outside of how very fragile Lan Wangji has turned, a paper lantern about to light. His question is just as tremulous, a crossroads of understanding, reverence, and fear, hesitant even as the words trip out past his tongue. ] Lan Zhan. You feel so very much, don't you?
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This is new. Or--as he allows himself a hesitant breath and casts back for what he knows of Lan Wangji--it's very, very old. ]
Lan Zhan. [ Soft, little more than a whisper. He cradles the sound in his mouth like it's not just a name, but something to treasure, a gift granted years ago he's not willing to lose. And maybe he should lose it, maybe he should give up the privilege he's been granted because he's caused enough hurt over the years (the years and years and years) but he's a coward all the more here, too, because he doesn't want to let it go. Selfish, again, fingers desperately digging into whatever hold he still has here, because any Lan Zhan is better than no Lan Zhan and he'll temper what needs tempering but.
But.
Something is splintering. He doesn't know what. He can feel it as he dares a step closer toward Lan Wangji and a thousand voices call him a fool for not retreating. He should. He should he should he should-- everything is a mess and he's lost grip on what's real and what's not outside of how very fragile Lan Wangji has turned, a paper lantern about to light. His question is just as tremulous, a crossroads of understanding, reverence, and fear, hesitant even as the words trip out past his tongue. ] Lan Zhan. You feel so very much, don't you?