( a twitch, there, just between his brows. yet again they stand together on the edge of a precipice, and lan wangji wavers. l’appel du vide. the call of the void, and his heart calls back, deafened by its own beats. wei wuxian’s laughter is hollower than it has any right to be, and the solid ground beneath lan wangji’s feet fractures, melts, sinks.
he doesn’t do impulsive. all of him, shackled by restraints as resilient as his resolve, hardened by years of harsh discipline, bleak and barren. years of drought. it’s what happens, when you’ve been deprived your entire life. you starve, and lan wangji wants. but above all, he grieves, and the words he spoke too fast now resound in the back of his mind; he stares a little agape, a little frightened, and something blooms in the middle of his chest, something impossibly soft that rises higher and wets the corners of his eyes. )
Wei Ying. ( it’s there in his voice, too, but what is there to say now, and what is there to ask. wei wuxian doesn’t owe anyone anything. he doesn’t even owe him punishment, and lan wangji realizes, not without a sting, that it’s what he’s waiting for. but it’s selfish. it’s deserved, but what is punishment, if not a chance for one’s pain to alleviate? lan wangji’s in no position to demand anything from him. not the mysterious depths of his heart, and not his anger, either.
so his mouth closes, lips slightly trembling. he’s on the verge of apologizing--for nothing in particular, for everything--when lil’ apple brays and trots farther away, drawing his attention. for one merciful moment, he regains some semblance of composure as his gaze follows the beast, a tip of his chin in its direction. ) Your steed. ( is sort of running away, maybe. )
[ 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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he doesn’t do impulsive. all of him, shackled by restraints as resilient as his resolve, hardened by years of harsh discipline, bleak and barren. years of drought. it’s what happens, when you’ve been deprived your entire life. you starve, and lan wangji wants. but above all, he grieves, and the words he spoke too fast now resound in the back of his mind; he stares a little agape, a little frightened, and something blooms in the middle of his chest, something impossibly soft that rises higher and wets the corners of his eyes. )
Wei Ying. ( it’s there in his voice, too, but what is there to say now, and what is there to ask. wei wuxian doesn’t owe anyone anything. he doesn’t even owe him punishment, and lan wangji realizes, not without a sting, that it’s what he’s waiting for. but it’s selfish. it’s deserved, but what is punishment, if not a chance for one’s pain to alleviate? lan wangji’s in no position to demand anything from him. not the mysterious depths of his heart, and not his anger, either.
so his mouth closes, lips slightly trembling. he’s on the verge of apologizing--for nothing in particular, for everything--when lil’ apple brays and trots farther away, drawing his attention. for one merciful moment, he regains some semblance of composure as his gaze follows the beast, a tip of his chin in its direction. ) Your steed. ( is sort of running away, maybe. )
no subject
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?