[ Oh, Lan Zhan's so soft. Too soft by far. Who gave Hanguang-Jun the right to melt so completely over a bouquet of fleetingly peppered kisses? Oh no, Wei Wuxian's heart nearly builds itself from chaos and clutter to melt. ]
Shhhhhhhh. Trust the master. You're drunk.
[ And he loops his arm with Lan Zhan's again despite any lurking canine dangers, because birds of a feather sway gently on jagged roads together, and friends don't let friends show their face so bare in the midnight road. Some spirit will spy the great chief cultivator with lowered defenses, then parade around with his stolen likeness, and they'll know, everyone will know what Lan Zhan looks when he's tame. His spotless reputation can only take so much disgrace.
Inn within reach, he only breaks from Lan Zhan long enough to fetch Little Apple from another tavern and pass the donkey unto the new stable hand's care, before stepping in and — ...ah. But it's warm. Nice and warm and pleasing, and a low table to greet him, a handsome man to return to. A body that still answers him, sweetly aching when he sits on a cushion and not hard ground, after a day of travel.
He should pay more attention to their server, or their surroundings, or the scents of hefty broth simmering in the fireplace. Neglects all of these things, elbows locked on the table, soft palms cupping his chin and cheeks. Is he not too adorable to be denied information? He is, indeed he is, he must make himself so. ]
Tell me everything. Lan Zhan, don't play coy. Sixteen years, come and gone. Whooosh.
[ Possibly, with that same sound of Wei Wuxian's hollowed whistling. ]
I barely had scraps of you before. Now, I know less. What poetry do you like anymore? [ A pause, then with the awkward jumble of his hand through his hair. ] I don't even know which of the poets are still alive. Scholars die too quickly.
[ Soft hearts, quick-filled. Imagine if they took poets to battle? Terrible. ]
Jin Ling tells — well, Jin Ling showed me. He doesn't tell me much of anything. But he wears a glove on his arrow hand when he shoots. They all do. It's the — [ His fingers pinch air. ] 'Done thing' nowadays. It was just, you know, fussy before. So, that's changed.
[ In a world that seems to have suspended its breath until Wei Wuxian could redeem his reputation, the Lanling Jin had the audacity to discover best archery practices. ]
no subject
Shhhhhhhh. Trust the master. You're drunk.
[ And he loops his arm with Lan Zhan's again despite any lurking canine dangers, because birds of a feather sway gently on jagged roads together, and friends don't let friends show their face so bare in the midnight road. Some spirit will spy the great chief cultivator with lowered defenses, then parade around with his stolen likeness, and they'll know, everyone will know what Lan Zhan looks when he's tame. His spotless reputation can only take so much disgrace.
Inn within reach, he only breaks from Lan Zhan long enough to fetch Little Apple from another tavern and pass the donkey unto the new stable hand's care, before stepping in and — ...ah. But it's warm. Nice and warm and pleasing, and a low table to greet him, a handsome man to return to. A body that still answers him, sweetly aching when he sits on a cushion and not hard ground, after a day of travel.
He should pay more attention to their server, or their surroundings, or the scents of hefty broth simmering in the fireplace. Neglects all of these things, elbows locked on the table, soft palms cupping his chin and cheeks. Is he not too adorable to be denied information? He is, indeed he is, he must make himself so. ]
Tell me everything. Lan Zhan, don't play coy. Sixteen years, come and gone. Whooosh.
[ Possibly, with that same sound of Wei Wuxian's hollowed whistling. ]
I barely had scraps of you before. Now, I know less. What poetry do you like anymore? [ A pause, then with the awkward jumble of his hand through his hair. ] I don't even know which of the poets are still alive. Scholars die too quickly.
[ Soft hearts, quick-filled. Imagine if they took poets to battle? Terrible. ]
Jin Ling tells — well, Jin Ling showed me. He doesn't tell me much of anything. But he wears a glove on his arrow hand when he shoots. They all do. It's the — [ His fingers pinch air. ] 'Done thing' nowadays. It was just, you know, fussy before. So, that's changed.
[ In a world that seems to have suspended its breath until Wei Wuxian could redeem his reputation, the Lanling Jin had the audacity to discover best archery practices. ]