[ Looking over at Wei Ying, he can almost taste the vitriol in his words. It's true that Lan Zhan has not died. His body has not decayed into the earth to become a feast for all manner of creatures. His spirit has never been lost to another plane, wandering or ascending or whatever had happened to Wei Ying. His voice has not become a memory in those he left behind, his deeds lauded or loathed, his smile painted on the heart of a loved one. But he has experienced death in his own ways. The death of his mother, a woman he barely knew and yet loved more than the father who held her captive. Wei Ying, someone who deserved his trust and protection, whom Lan Zhan failed at the height of his need and the depth of his helplessness. Part of himself, too, had gone with Wei Ying, though seeing his fierce annoyance now, he doesn't admit to it. Never will he burden Wei Ying with tales of his life during those sixteen years, how he became a shell of himself only filled with the need to raise A-Yuan, Wei Ying's sweet boy, Lan Zhan's responsibility. The search and the punishment which delayed it. The drink. The brand.
His lips purse with fresh annoyance of his own. It should be expected that Wei Ying sees a tradition and attempts to poke holes in it as if a tradition can only be upheld through obligation and not through shared values. Lan Zhan has proven that he no longer adheres to rules so strictly and that he has learned, through Wei Ying's noble example, that the parameters of rules must be called into question. Lan Zhan hardly fell in love because of a rule, and it wasn't the cause of his passion, either.
Tightening his grip on Wei Ying's hand, he holds it in place on the next upswing, pulls it to his chest, and presses the knuckles of his too-thin hand to feel the steady beating of his heart through layers of silk and flesh. ]
Lan Wangji does not stray. [ Though speaking in the third person will surely earn him a teasing, heightened language is the only way he knows how to make himself sound as serious as his declaration deserves. ] For sixteen years, Lan Wangji did not stary. Did not cast his eyes on another. Raised a son for the memory of his fated love. Do not belittle my heart for upholding a custom steeped in loyalty and devotion.
no subject
His lips purse with fresh annoyance of his own. It should be expected that Wei Ying sees a tradition and attempts to poke holes in it as if a tradition can only be upheld through obligation and not through shared values. Lan Zhan has proven that he no longer adheres to rules so strictly and that he has learned, through Wei Ying's noble example, that the parameters of rules must be called into question. Lan Zhan hardly fell in love because of a rule, and it wasn't the cause of his passion, either.
Tightening his grip on Wei Ying's hand, he holds it in place on the next upswing, pulls it to his chest, and presses the knuckles of his too-thin hand to feel the steady beating of his heart through layers of silk and flesh. ]
Lan Wangji does not stray. [ Though speaking in the third person will surely earn him a teasing, heightened language is the only way he knows how to make himself sound as serious as his declaration deserves. ] For sixteen years, Lan Wangji did not stary. Did not cast his eyes on another. Raised a son for the memory of his fated love. Do not belittle my heart for upholding a custom steeped in loyalty and devotion.