( Lips twitched into a smile less bewitching than bemused; genuine amusement and the touch of confusion that years ago had been deep rooted, had been a loss of self and faith and trust in who Wei Wuxian was, to what space he took in a world, to what parts of it he might lay claim to, to allowances he sought at the benediction of Lan Zhan's graces.
He steps forward now, cupped lotus pod in hands, and he lifts both arms to hook them over Lan Zhan's head, choosing not to forsake the hold they retain on the husked blossom. What he's eaten since his earlier days, what Jiang Yanli had shelled for him and Jiang Cheng both, for this part of childhood and home that he had tried to resurrect in Yiling, that the Dafan Wen had given him there after A-Yuan had torn the single seedling Wei Wuxian had coaxed out of the transplanted mud from its home. The one time he'd lost his temper without a cause that a child, curious and sweet, could understand, and he'd regretted it in degrees after, no fault of a child that his own hopes were as fragile and poorly rooted.
Pressed against Lan Zhan's front in his loaned robes, he leans in, enough to be offbalance for any movement Lan Zhan makes. Speaks with his nose near but not quite touching Lan Zhan's, the weight of his arms over Lan Zhan's shoulders, his lashes lowered a touch less out of art and more out of the proximity of their faces and a fondness he doesn't attempt to disguise. )
Let it also be known what is mine, I choose to share with you. Do you like the taste of lotus seeds, Lan Zhan?
( Tell him, murmur the affirmation or denial for his waiting ears, for the inopportune moments where his excusable lack of modesty has attained the inexcusable, caught in the drone of insects and day's heat and blessing of breezes off the water, heady with the scent of living, breathing plant growth, plant decay. )
no subject
( Lips twitched into a smile less bewitching than bemused; genuine amusement and the touch of confusion that years ago had been deep rooted, had been a loss of self and faith and trust in who Wei Wuxian was, to what space he took in a world, to what parts of it he might lay claim to, to allowances he sought at the benediction of Lan Zhan's graces.
He steps forward now, cupped lotus pod in hands, and he lifts both arms to hook them over Lan Zhan's head, choosing not to forsake the hold they retain on the husked blossom. What he's eaten since his earlier days, what Jiang Yanli had shelled for him and Jiang Cheng both, for this part of childhood and home that he had tried to resurrect in Yiling, that the Dafan Wen had given him there after A-Yuan had torn the single seedling Wei Wuxian had coaxed out of the transplanted mud from its home. The one time he'd lost his temper without a cause that a child, curious and sweet, could understand, and he'd regretted it in degrees after, no fault of a child that his own hopes were as fragile and poorly rooted.
Pressed against Lan Zhan's front in his loaned robes, he leans in, enough to be offbalance for any movement Lan Zhan makes. Speaks with his nose near but not quite touching Lan Zhan's, the weight of his arms over Lan Zhan's shoulders, his lashes lowered a touch less out of art and more out of the proximity of their faces and a fondness he doesn't attempt to disguise. )
Let it also be known what is mine, I choose to share with you. Do you like the taste of lotus seeds, Lan Zhan?
( Tell him, murmur the affirmation or denial for his waiting ears, for the inopportune moments where his excusable lack of modesty has attained the inexcusable, caught in the drone of insects and day's heat and blessing of breezes off the water, heady with the scent of living, breathing plant growth, plant decay. )