( He should compromise, walk back his pronouncement. Engage in some manner of negotiation. But a war's only thieved them of their loved ones, not granted them wholesale maturity. Even Lan Wangji, face marred by a far-deep frown, can be unfairly stubborn.
And so, he snatches his abandoned hand away, staring up where Wei Ying is already looming, without fear or falter. )
Is my company worth nothing?
( That it should be so readily relinquished, if it does not come adorned in kisses and commitments. )
[Oh Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian is so mad, he wants to let it all out, but he can't because there's a child right at their feet. All he can do is hiss out admonishments, his eyes turning red from resentment.]
It's worth everything! I come here willingly for you, at your invitation, and I indulge all of your requests-- and now suddenly you don't want to share space with me? You don't want to touch me?
You make me want your company and then strip it away? You treat me like I'm filthy and unwanted now that I know how you feel?
It hurts. [His breath comes out as a wheeze from the effort of keeping himself contained, the rant unpleasant in his chest and throat. The cold in the Cloud Recesses is difficult enough to handle, but he's also still quite tired from the trip from the Burial Mounds.]
( Filthy. Unwanted. Has anyone said so? Would anyone have presumed? Wei Ying rants and hisses and acts as if he is the perpetual victim of Lan Wangji's wavering loyalties — but was he not the same man who avoided him, previously, at every step?
Between them, Yuan curls up abed, showing faint signs of stirring that only the immediate brush of Lan Wangji's warm hand calms. Soothing, gently easing, sinking back to sleep.
His glance turns away to Wei Ying once more, gilded but gelid. )
Will you be satisfied, having wrenched this from my hands?
You didn't let me think too deeply about it, so how would I know? I know nothing anymore. You're just making decisions without me, even though we're married.
[His words are spiteful and angry-- and a lie. He was already thinking deeply about it, and coming to terms. And thinking back to the time that he imagined it would be all right that he married Lan Zhan, that he could come to love that man the way a proper spouse should. He has all these words, and yet doesn't speak them.
He starts to stride towards his clothes, left near the privacy screen, folded messily but out of the way. Still a bit wet from his escapades in helping Yuan bathe, and the drying not helped by the way they were handled. The overcoat itself is drenched and unfit for keeping anyone warm.
He'll still attempt to tug them on though, hands shaking and fingers uncoordinated from emotion, face flushed with much the same. Maybe more.]
( Barely a marriage, this. Barely the conceit of it. Two arrogant children playing pretend with rites they are too immature to entertain. He knows his fault in this, knows the risks of the conversation they're not having.
And of continuing to avoid it.
Already, Wei Ying is planning his violent retreat, dragging his clothes on, exuding irritation that Lan Wangji can neither quantify, nor calm. He thinks to move, to lay a hand on him, to stop him. Stays beside Yuan, as if he draws strength from this child, this beautiful beacon of innocence, hanging.
And then finally, emptily, he says: )
I am not... as expedient as you. I require time. To think. Breathe. ( Be. ) I only ask that.
["Expedient". Ah, yes, once again this is about Wei Wuxian's lack of morals. Is Lan Zhan incapable of coming to terms with loving someone as evil as him?]
And then what? I don't know what you want, Lan Zhan. I don't know anymore.
What do you actually want from me? How must I give you that space?
[A demand as he whirls around, overcoat on his shoulders but no other layers added to his outfit. A demand punctuated by a cough because the wet clothes are definitely not helping with his health. He's stressed, tired, and intending to go out into the night and spend it under the stars like this. And he doesn't give a damn.]
( Shivering, wet, no better than a cat. A creature deprived the satisfaction of some degree of comfort, staring Lan Wangji down with the impassioned hatred of a mispurposed sun.
Still, Lan Wangji does not go to him. Cannot afford to intervene, to force him, when Wei Ying has spent so much of his time rushing away from such interventions. He will only flee faster, wish him farther away.
He will only begrudge him.
And Lan Wangji has so very tired of being begrudged, voice shedding octaves, deepening, heavy. )
...no matter. No matter, Wei Ying. The bed. We share the bed.
No, Lan Zhan. Not until you tell me. [He wants to share the bed so much, but with this much negativity between them, would it truly be a good sleep?
No, of course not.
He wants true companionship, true comfort, not... whatever Lan Zhan is attempting to give him, this concession that likely felt like he's pulling a water ghoul out from the riverbed.]
( He feels he has spoken the words before. Knows so, and that they landed ill, that they will not gladden Wei Ying now. Shakes his head, for once, to refuse him. Decides, in the end, not to presume. )
I want you to be happy. ( Here, in Cloud Recesses, beside him. With this child, collapsed and breathing heavily between them. With food in his belly and warmth breathing hard out of a brazier, and in a room possessed of finery.
Happy, here. Happy to be here. Happy, happy, happy, in ways Jiang Wanyin and his people can no longer facilitate. )
[That stops Wei Wuxian dead, striking him silent, mouth open and gaping. It's a lot like Lan Zhan's response to him last week, that he married Wei Wuxian because it made him happy. Lan Zhan, you idiot.
Wei Wuxian, you bigger idiot. He hates that he feels trickling along his cheeks, and turns his head to wipe his face with his still-damp sleeve. He shouldn't be crying, and pretends he isn't.
Then he nods, conceding the point.]
I will try, Lan Zhan.
But I think that you should stop attempting to put distance between us for no reason. Or. [A pause as he breathes.] Tell me why. And I can think instead of being angry about it immediately.
( He agrees, perhaps too simply. There is opportunity between them. A trickle of misunderstanding, a rivulet of silence. A vast sea of yearning so oppresaive, so great that Lan Wangji feels overwhelmed by his own want. Wholly drained.
This time he rises, crosses the distance. Lays his hand on Wei Ying's shoulder, first soft, then catching. Holds strong. Holds on.
And he says, only: )
Talk does not come easily. Shall learn, for Wei Ying. Be strong, as I do.
[Except the only way for Wei Wuxian to be strong on his own power is through demonic cultivation (gui dao, he reminds himself, people keep misspeaking its name, and it's getting harder to remember that it's not demonic), which Lan Zhan has already shown multiple times to hate.
Being strong is so difficult.
He reaches out, placing a hand on the small of his husband's back, and leaning in for a hug. One that puts their torsos together. Wei Wuxian leeches from Lan Zhan's warm, having gone this long with a damp overcoat, and now he's starting to shiver from the cold.
Idly, he wonders if Lan Zhan can feel his core-- rather, the lack thereof. He doesn't know, but he just realizes now that this position may just reveal his secret. Certainly not the way he imagined revealing it, but he doesn't know how to yet, anyway.]
( The wet of Wei Ying's clothes, he suspects, have slipped into his bones, slackened his limbs, left his skin gelid. Lan Wangji senses his weakness, his chills, and he draws both arms around his... husband, and he pulls him close. Indecent, by any count, but they're a wedded pair in the privacy of their home, and though Lan Wangji might wish Wei Ying's honor defended and their pledges screamed — this will do. It must do.
In the end, he scatters soft kisses over Wei Ying's brow, the top of his head. A strange angle, their height always too close for the gestures of easy, exceeding fondness he sees between men and wives at the market. No matter. No matter, he has enough.
What more can he ask for? This will do. This is enough. )
All I want is your happiness. Yet I fail. Will you teach me? ( How to do, how to speak, how to conceive of the things that bide Wei Ying's gladness. )
( He will try. Lan Wangji will also try. There is little more that they can do beyond their best, and Wei Ying feels too frail, too pale, too close to dismantling to endanger with hard advances.
Now, Lan Wangji's arms move to contain him, to capture his waist, to drift him near. To tip his cheek, warm, into Wei Ying's, cold, and let equilibrium reveal itself.
Unbidden, his mouth slips to Wei Ying's cheek, to claim its stretch. )
[Why would he deny Lan Zhan? Always, yes. He leans into Lan Zhan's embrace, hungrily basking in his warmth, too addicting by half to ignore. He really should remove his coat but he doesn't want to remover his arms from his husband's waist.
Wei Wuxian thinks that perhaps he doesn't need time to fall for him. Perhaps it's always been there, and he never noticed.]
Just being with you is enough, but whatever you want, yes.
( Impossible, improbable. But even cultivators aren't infallible, and Wei Ying's core has been long strained by the excessive toll of his unique demonic cultivation. There is a world in which sickness does not elude him with the enthusiasm that Wei Ying considers to be his birthright.
No, they must not be so arrogant. They must learn to accept their vulnerability, Wei Ying's own limitations. Gently, hesitantly, Lan Wangji extricates himself from the embrace, pointing his husband toward the coffer that holds the considerable and heavily embroidered silks of Hanguang-Jun's own regalia. Perhaps this is the clan's one vice: vanity. )
Please, take my robes. Make comfortable. We may purchase you fresh tomorrow. ( The colors, he knows, simply will not suit. ) And Yuan.
[A week ago, Wei Wuxian would have been ecstatic over the thought of having more of his husband's clothes. He is still thrilled by the thought, but it's tempered by the situation, his oncoming illness brought about by his weakness.
And because there's a child. He can't go bouncing around and making a ruckus, or else Zewu-jun will be dealing with a cranky child who hasn't slept yet, and as sweet east to care for as Yuan is, Wei Wuxian would never wish a crying toddler on anyone. Especially one with Yuan's strong lungs.]
My husband wants me to wear his clothes again? Heavier and warmer, in bed? [Thicker layers... he hasn't had proper Gusu robes since his guest disciple days.]
( Pick for him, as if Wei Ying is his pretty doll, or his child, or his wife true. As if the words can ever achieve less than delighting Lan Wangji, who makes haste across the room to display open the coffer, teasing out silks, layer by layer.
He looks through the offerings, palms the various textures, allows himself to enjoy the perverse indulgence of imagining Wei Ying's flesh encased by this shroud, tamed by softness. Then, he makes his selection: this is only a night's wear, three layers will suit. Of the colors, one pale blue, the other ivory, thicker to suit both the winter air and Wei Ying's strange frailty. On the outer layer, the phoenix bird in flight, a rare edge of playfulness so often denied to the disciples of Gusu Lan generally, and their foremost scion, particularly.
He hands all three out, nearly. )
Shall I assist you? ( He finds, he is not troubled or aggrieved to play the servant to his husband, even in such tasks as dressing. )
[White and blue, of course, because that's what Gusu Lan prefers as much as Yunmeng Jiang prefers purple. Wei Wuxian, of course, has ever been an anomaly with black and red, but he will wear whatever his husband chooses.
He pulls his over coat off and sets it back where he took it.]
Please.
[He's well aware of what he's asking. He needs to remove the zhongyi he currently has on because it's no good for keeping him warm anymore, damp as it is. He's already untying the strings, but hesitates in allowing it to fall open for now.]
( Please, and so Lan Wangji concedes to him, careful and coy when Wei Ying submits to scrutiny, drawing next to his — husband to assume control of his layering.
It's slow work, and some part of the meticulous unraveling commands him to pay explicit, unwavering attention in ways that forsake and exorcise his natural hesitations. Modesty dictates a man should not be bare before another, lest they are bound — but they have taken their bows, and Wei Ying appears far too pallid, besides.
He removes the first layer, then, with more reticence, the second, lingering little over limbs and the stretch of Wei Ying's chest. Each set of cloth, carefully folded atop Lan Wangji's bed. Skin begins to peer, now. He downs his eyes, tips of his ears ruddy. )
[This kind of intimacy is something they've never had before, and he's nervous-- and not for the most obvious reason. He has the old, gnarled burn from the Wen branding iron, but he also has the sharp, defined, straight line that's unmistakable as anything but a surgery scar. He should have thought about that before asking Lan Zhan to help him.
He's already running through excuses and explanations through his head, each new lie more ridiculous than the last one, but blessings of all blessings, Lan Zhan averts his eyes like he's shy. Wei Wuxian is inappropriately relieved about that, he doesn't have to come up with something stupid to explain away why he would have such a distinct, years-old scar in the middle of his chest.
He just makes a soft noise of acknowledgement in his throat and quickly changes his last layers for himself, and tugs on the new ones. When he's done, he steps closer to his husband, pulling the braid he made earlier over his shoulder.]
...warm. ( And he is unseemingly relieved to behold so, a constant prisoner of Wei Ying's ruthless beauty, of his startling new frailty. Now, as Lan Wangji turns, Wei Ying appears anchored by his silks, sustained in place, reliably present. Perhaps not yet thriving, but closer to the prospect.
Gently easing by, he captures Wei Ying's hands, drags them up, squeezes. Then, carefully, he begins to turn Wei Ying on his axis, so that Wangji might all the better enjoy the look of the cut on his body, how the cloth folds and hangs. For all they're close in height, time has had its tell on Wei Ying's constitution. A seamstress will take his measures from start to finish, but perhaps more of Lan Wangji's robes can be delivered and taken in at the waist, the shoulders. )
Will you attend yourself, if I bathe? ( Another stolen intimacy, more rapid intrusion. They should have paced themselves, but now the deed is done. )
[Wei Wuxian enjoys how Lan Zhan examines him, turning willingly to how off to his husband. The robes are comfortable, and it shows in his movements. It may be a little too loose around the waist and slightly tight around the hips, but Lan Zhan wears good fabrics, and Wei Wuxian is a Yunmeng boy, he's used to clothes that allow for freedom of movement. He's comfortable and warm, that matters the most.
He closes his hands around Lan Zhan's wrists, rubbing his pulse with knobby thumbs.]
Of course. I can keep myself amused until you return, don't worry about me.
[He's likely to just silently coo over how cute their son is anyway.]
( Only, all that Lan Wangji does is worry about this man, his prospects. He can hardly peel his gaze off Wei Ying and only prevails, withdrawing himself, once the need to cleanse becomes an overdue urgency. Their evenings do not dally as long as those of Yunmeng. He will want, soon enough, to enjoy his sleep.
And so, hesitantly, he excuses himself, joining the secondary chamber to bathe third, in waters already tarnished by his husband, the small child. It should discomfort him, instead only makes him fonder, to think this is how a normal family of villagers might share their home's comforts. Here, were Wei Ying to linger, they could arrange for additional buckets of steamed water to be delivered each night, for all three residents. But were they simpler people, this would be their fare, and they would share in none of the cultivation world's burdens.
He does not delay, his cleansing perfunctory — though, unlike Wei Ying, he lingers long enough to oil his hair and body with sandalwood elixirs after, to return only once he has been fashioned in the scents that become his station. He joins Wei Ying and Yuan again, dressed in five fresh pale layers, two too many even for the nighttime of Hanguang-Jun, but perhaps necessary for both their modesty, if they are only freshly elevated from the ranks of strangers. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And so, he snatches his abandoned hand away, staring up where Wei Ying is already looming, without fear or falter. )
Is my company worth nothing?
( That it should be so readily relinquished, if it does not come adorned in kisses and commitments. )
no subject
It's worth everything! I come here willingly for you, at your invitation, and I indulge all of your requests-- and now suddenly you don't want to share space with me? You don't want to touch me?
You make me want your company and then strip it away? You treat me like I'm filthy and unwanted now that I know how you feel?
It hurts. [His breath comes out as a wheeze from the effort of keeping himself contained, the rant unpleasant in his chest and throat. The cold in the Cloud Recesses is difficult enough to handle, but he's also still quite tired from the trip from the Burial Mounds.]
no subject
Between them, Yuan curls up abed, showing faint signs of stirring that only the immediate brush of Lan Wangji's warm hand calms. Soothing, gently easing, sinking back to sleep.
His glance turns away to Wei Ying once more, gilded but gelid. )
Will you be satisfied, having wrenched this from my hands?
no subject
[His words are spiteful and angry-- and a lie. He was already thinking deeply about it, and coming to terms. And thinking back to the time that he imagined it would be all right that he married Lan Zhan, that he could come to love that man the way a proper spouse should. He has all these words, and yet doesn't speak them.
He starts to stride towards his clothes, left near the privacy screen, folded messily but out of the way. Still a bit wet from his escapades in helping Yuan bathe, and the drying not helped by the way they were handled. The overcoat itself is drenched and unfit for keeping anyone warm.
He'll still attempt to tug them on though, hands shaking and fingers uncoordinated from emotion, face flushed with much the same. Maybe more.]
no subject
And of continuing to avoid it.
Already, Wei Ying is planning his violent retreat, dragging his clothes on, exuding irritation that Lan Wangji can neither quantify, nor calm. He thinks to move, to lay a hand on him, to stop him. Stays beside Yuan, as if he draws strength from this child, this beautiful beacon of innocence, hanging.
And then finally, emptily, he says: )
I am not... as expedient as you. I require time. To think. Breathe. ( Be. ) I only ask that.
no subject
And then what? I don't know what you want, Lan Zhan. I don't know anymore.
What do you actually want from me? How must I give you that space?
[A demand as he whirls around, overcoat on his shoulders but no other layers added to his outfit. A demand punctuated by a cough because the wet clothes are definitely not helping with his health. He's stressed, tired, and intending to go out into the night and spend it under the stars like this. And he doesn't give a damn.]
no subject
Still, Lan Wangji does not go to him. Cannot afford to intervene, to force him, when Wei Ying has spent so much of his time rushing away from such interventions. He will only flee faster, wish him farther away.
He will only begrudge him.
And Lan Wangji has so very tired of being begrudged, voice shedding octaves, deepening, heavy. )
...no matter. No matter, Wei Ying. The bed. We share the bed.
no subject
No, of course not.
He wants true companionship, true comfort, not... whatever Lan Zhan is attempting to give him, this concession that likely felt like he's pulling a water ghoul out from the riverbed.]
Tell me-- what do you truly want from me?
no subject
I want you to be happy. ( Here, in Cloud Recesses, beside him. With this child, collapsed and breathing heavily between them. With food in his belly and warmth breathing hard out of a brazier, and in a room possessed of finery.
Happy, here. Happy to be here. Happy, happy, happy, in ways Jiang Wanyin and his people can no longer facilitate. )
That is all.
no subject
Wei Wuxian, you bigger idiot. He hates that he feels trickling along his cheeks, and turns his head to wipe his face with his still-damp sleeve. He shouldn't be crying, and pretends he isn't.
Then he nods, conceding the point.]
I will try, Lan Zhan.
But I think that you should stop attempting to put distance between us for no reason. Or. [A pause as he breathes.] Tell me why. And I can think instead of being angry about it immediately.
no subject
( He agrees, perhaps too simply. There is opportunity between them. A trickle of misunderstanding, a rivulet of silence. A vast sea of yearning so oppresaive, so great that Lan Wangji feels overwhelmed by his own want. Wholly drained.
This time he rises, crosses the distance. Lays his hand on Wei Ying's shoulder, first soft, then catching. Holds strong. Holds on.
And he says, only: )
Talk does not come easily. Shall learn, for Wei Ying. Be strong, as I do.
no subject
For you.
[Except the only way for Wei Wuxian to be strong on his own power is through demonic cultivation (gui dao, he reminds himself, people keep misspeaking its name, and it's getting harder to remember that it's not demonic), which Lan Zhan has already shown multiple times to hate.
Being strong is so difficult.
He reaches out, placing a hand on the small of his husband's back, and leaning in for a hug. One that puts their torsos together. Wei Wuxian leeches from Lan Zhan's warm, having gone this long with a damp overcoat, and now he's starting to shiver from the cold.
Idly, he wonders if Lan Zhan can feel his core-- rather, the lack thereof. He doesn't know, but he just realizes now that this position may just reveal his secret. Certainly not the way he imagined revealing it, but he doesn't know how to yet, anyway.]
no subject
In the end, he scatters soft kisses over Wei Ying's brow, the top of his head. A strange angle, their height always too close for the gestures of easy, exceeding fondness he sees between men and wives at the market. No matter. No matter, he has enough.
What more can he ask for? This will do. This is enough. )
All I want is your happiness. Yet I fail. Will you teach me? ( How to do, how to speak, how to conceive of the things that bide Wei Ying's gladness. )
no subject
But since Lan Zhan deserves an answer...]
Few things make me happy nowadays. That is simply the way the world has turned out to be, and neither of us can change it.
[He tucks his face into the crook of Lan Zhan's neck, even if it's a bit of a pain on his own.]
no subject
Now, Lan Wangji's arms move to contain him, to capture his waist, to drift him near. To tip his cheek, warm, into Wei Ying's, cold, and let equilibrium reveal itself.
Unbidden, his mouth slips to Wei Ying's cheek, to claim its stretch. )
I would like to try. Let me.
no subject
[Why would he deny Lan Zhan? Always, yes. He leans into Lan Zhan's embrace, hungrily basking in his warmth, too addicting by half to ignore. He really should remove his coat but he doesn't want to remover his arms from his husband's waist.
Wei Wuxian thinks that perhaps he doesn't need time to fall for him. Perhaps it's always been there, and he never noticed.]
Just being with you is enough, but whatever you want, yes.
no subject
( Impossible, improbable. But even cultivators aren't infallible, and Wei Ying's core has been long strained by the excessive toll of his unique demonic cultivation. There is a world in which sickness does not elude him with the enthusiasm that Wei Ying considers to be his birthright.
No, they must not be so arrogant. They must learn to accept their vulnerability, Wei Ying's own limitations. Gently, hesitantly, Lan Wangji extricates himself from the embrace, pointing his husband toward the coffer that holds the considerable and heavily embroidered silks of Hanguang-Jun's own regalia. Perhaps this is the clan's one vice: vanity. )
Please, take my robes. Make comfortable. We may purchase you fresh tomorrow. ( The colors, he knows, simply will not suit. ) And Yuan.
no subject
And because there's a child. He can't go bouncing around and making a ruckus, or else Zewu-jun will be dealing with a cranky child who hasn't slept yet, and as sweet east to care for as Yuan is, Wei Wuxian would never wish a crying toddler on anyone. Especially one with Yuan's strong lungs.]
My husband wants me to wear his clothes again? Heavier and warmer, in bed? [Thicker layers... he hasn't had proper Gusu robes since his guest disciple days.]
Go pick for me.
no subject
He looks through the offerings, palms the various textures, allows himself to enjoy the perverse indulgence of imagining Wei Ying's flesh encased by this shroud, tamed by softness. Then, he makes his selection: this is only a night's wear, three layers will suit. Of the colors, one pale blue, the other ivory, thicker to suit both the winter air and Wei Ying's strange frailty. On the outer layer, the phoenix bird in flight, a rare edge of playfulness so often denied to the disciples of Gusu Lan generally, and their foremost scion, particularly.
He hands all three out, nearly. )
Shall I assist you? ( He finds, he is not troubled or aggrieved to play the servant to his husband, even in such tasks as dressing. )
no subject
He pulls his over coat off and sets it back where he took it.]
Please.
[He's well aware of what he's asking. He needs to remove the zhongyi he currently has on because it's no good for keeping him warm anymore, damp as it is. He's already untying the strings, but hesitates in allowing it to fall open for now.]
no subject
It's slow work, and some part of the meticulous unraveling commands him to pay explicit, unwavering attention in ways that forsake and exorcise his natural hesitations. Modesty dictates a man should not be bare before another, lest they are bound — but they have taken their bows, and Wei Ying appears far too pallid, besides.
He removes the first layer, then, with more reticence, the second, lingering little over limbs and the stretch of Wei Ying's chest. Each set of cloth, carefully folded atop Lan Wangji's bed. Skin begins to peer, now. He downs his eyes, tips of his ears ruddy. )
You may handle the rest.
no subject
He's already running through excuses and explanations through his head, each new lie more ridiculous than the last one, but blessings of all blessings, Lan Zhan averts his eyes like he's shy. Wei Wuxian is inappropriately relieved about that, he doesn't have to come up with something stupid to explain away why he would have such a distinct, years-old scar in the middle of his chest.
He just makes a soft noise of acknowledgement in his throat and quickly changes his last layers for himself, and tugs on the new ones. When he's done, he steps closer to his husband, pulling the braid he made earlier over his shoulder.]
Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, how do I look?
no subject
Gently easing by, he captures Wei Ying's hands, drags them up, squeezes. Then, carefully, he begins to turn Wei Ying on his axis, so that Wangji might all the better enjoy the look of the cut on his body, how the cloth folds and hangs. For all they're close in height, time has had its tell on Wei Ying's constitution. A seamstress will take his measures from start to finish, but perhaps more of Lan Wangji's robes can be delivered and taken in at the waist, the shoulders. )
Will you attend yourself, if I bathe? ( Another stolen intimacy, more rapid intrusion. They should have paced themselves, but now the deed is done. )
no subject
He closes his hands around Lan Zhan's wrists, rubbing his pulse with knobby thumbs.]
Of course. I can keep myself amused until you return, don't worry about me.
[He's likely to just silently coo over how cute their son is anyway.]
no subject
And so, hesitantly, he excuses himself, joining the secondary chamber to bathe third, in waters already tarnished by his husband, the small child. It should discomfort him, instead only makes him fonder, to think this is how a normal family of villagers might share their home's comforts. Here, were Wei Ying to linger, they could arrange for additional buckets of steamed water to be delivered each night, for all three residents. But were they simpler people, this would be their fare, and they would share in none of the cultivation world's burdens.
He does not delay, his cleansing perfunctory — though, unlike Wei Ying, he lingers long enough to oil his hair and body with sandalwood elixirs after, to return only once he has been fashioned in the scents that become his station. He joins Wei Ying and Yuan again, dressed in five fresh pale layers, two too many even for the nighttime of Hanguang-Jun, but perhaps necessary for both their modesty, if they are only freshly elevated from the ranks of strangers. )
He sleeps still?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)