( and why shouldn’t he. stature doesn’t mean anything, rank and prestige and what have you. men of renown aren’t free of sin, or cruelty. men of standing have failed, and strayed, and harmed, and in the name of what, exactly? justice, they like to claim, righteousness, but man-made virtues aren’t void of flaws, and better men often pay the price.
wei wuxian has tasted its weaknesses. even his freedom now is tainted, carrying with it remnants of a past that won’t ever fully dissipate. it’s one of lan wangji’s ambitions to break its chains, but when wei wuxian takes hold of his wrist, his hand, he realizes, not without a stutter in his breath, that he doesn’t quite know how to break his own.
wei wuxian’s open gaze is now oddly undecipherable. lan wangji’s heart stirs in his chest, a flickering tremor that travels up to tickle his throat. it’s pointless to swallow it down, the quivering settling back behind his ribcage, an echo of his puse in the crook of his palm. it beats irregular against wei wuxian’s chest, and lan wangji stares a little dumbstruck, a little nervous, the faintest crease between his brows. )
How much…? ( doesn’t he know? and why does he ask, now, as if lan wangji wouldn’t travel every court of hell for him. whether wei wuxian’s about to spill some dark secret or do something reckless, the answer is the same; fully, and lan wangji’s hand shifts of its own volition, turning to lightly press against wei wuxian’s palm instead. )
Wei Ying. ( how much? completely, endlessly, and... ) With my life.
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wei wuxian has tasted its weaknesses. even his freedom now is tainted, carrying with it remnants of a past that won’t ever fully dissipate. it’s one of lan wangji’s ambitions to break its chains, but when wei wuxian takes hold of his wrist, his hand, he realizes, not without a stutter in his breath, that he doesn’t quite know how to break his own.
wei wuxian’s open gaze is now oddly undecipherable. lan wangji’s heart stirs in his chest, a flickering tremor that travels up to tickle his throat. it’s pointless to swallow it down, the quivering settling back behind his ribcage, an echo of his puse in the crook of his palm. it beats irregular against wei wuxian’s chest, and lan wangji stares a little dumbstruck, a little nervous, the faintest crease between his brows. )
How much…? ( doesn’t he know? and why does he ask, now, as if lan wangji wouldn’t travel every court of hell for him. whether wei wuxian’s about to spill some dark secret or do something reckless, the answer is the same; fully, and lan wangji’s hand shifts of its own volition, turning to lightly press against wei wuxian’s palm instead. )
Wei Ying. ( how much? completely, endlessly, and... ) With my life.