when he had first arrived, the buildings seemed to stretch impossibly high. where he glanced, people followed. and upon his own feet, he had felt unsettled among the constancy of noise and the constancy of bustle. and though he has now long learned where it is he might go to seek refuge from all that surrounds, it is here that he is most comfortable. it is here, in cramped spaces of their apartment, that all tension in his body and all tension in thoughts come unbound.
and it is here, with his fingers gently lifting the clever features of a cat from a familiar face, that lan wangji thinks he would always like to remain. he thinks, selfishly, that he would forever like to stay at the side of wei wuxian and jiang cheng, for them to never grow bored.
but, lan wangji will never press upon either the emotions that sway after their feet as though a pining grass. he will never force them to love as it is he does. and so, he savors ( greedy, he knows ) each moment it is they are close. each moment, like this moment, that he may look upon wei wuxian's face and smooth the dark of his hair behind the cool shells of his ears. each moment, like this moment, he might watch too the way jiang cheng settles in — removes his own mask with an effortlessness, that lan wangji takes too and places aside with their ties unfurled and their edges kissed.
kissed, like he too had kissed them. not long ago, upon their way back. he had saved jiang cheng's until it is he had passed through their door, but wei wuxian had gotten his in the small and shameless instances. in the instances that lan wangji could not bring himself to say no, as lan wangji could never say no to him. and so, lan wangji had exchanged them in the alley, along their walks, within the festive hum of transportation cars — the city alight with ardor and excitement.
and with his own mask still on and his body heavy with a fatigue that comes only late in the evenings, lan wangji manages to swallow a yawn as he pays mind first to removing his cardigan. ]
I will make tea, [ he suggests, hums out against the threat of another rising yawn that he manages only just to suppress. he folds his outwear neatly, arms tucked with the squared angles of its body, as he finally works it off.
it is the least he might do for them, the least he might be allowed to do for them both. it is a form of tradition, perhaps, molded from the beginning. and something quiet in lan wangji's heart warms at the thought of it, as he turns the pale of his eyes back upon them — them, who he is permitted to touch and to hold and to rest with.
( & all: i was sleepin' in the garden when i saw you first. )
when he had first arrived, the buildings seemed to stretch impossibly high. where he glanced, people followed. and upon his own feet, he had felt unsettled among the constancy of noise and the constancy of bustle. and though he has now long learned where it is he might go to seek refuge from all that surrounds, it is here that he is most comfortable. it is here, in cramped spaces of their apartment, that all tension in his body and all tension in thoughts come unbound.
and it is here, with his fingers gently lifting the clever features of a cat from a familiar face, that lan wangji thinks he would always like to remain. he thinks, selfishly, that he would forever like to stay at the side of wei wuxian and jiang cheng, for them to never grow bored.
but, lan wangji will never press upon either the emotions that sway after their feet as though a pining grass. he will never force them to love as it is he does. and so, he savors ( greedy, he knows ) each moment it is they are close. each moment, like this moment, that he may look upon wei wuxian's face and smooth the dark of his hair behind the cool shells of his ears. each moment, like this moment, he might watch too the way jiang cheng settles in — removes his own mask with an effortlessness, that lan wangji takes too and places aside with their ties unfurled and their edges kissed.
kissed, like he too had kissed them. not long ago, upon their way back. he had saved jiang cheng's until it is he had passed through their door, but wei wuxian had gotten his in the small and shameless instances. in the instances that lan wangji could not bring himself to say no, as lan wangji could never say no to him. and so, lan wangji had exchanged them in the alley, along their walks, within the festive hum of transportation cars — the city alight with ardor and excitement.
and with his own mask still on and his body heavy with a fatigue that comes only late in the evenings, lan wangji manages to swallow a yawn as he pays mind first to removing his cardigan. ]
I will make tea, [ he suggests, hums out against the threat of another rising yawn that he manages only just to suppress. he folds his outwear neatly, arms tucked with the squared angles of its body, as he finally works it off.
it is the least he might do for them, the least he might be allowed to do for them both. it is a form of tradition, perhaps, molded from the beginning. and something quiet in lan wangji's heart warms at the thought of it, as he turns the pale of his eyes back upon them — them, who he is permitted to touch and to hold and to rest with.
them. ]