[ the sharp burst of something, some nameless emotion that he cannot place takes jiang cheng completely by surprise - a flash of something that resembles real anger, a violent rolling current that feels as old as a mountain, as deep as the darkest parts of the night. wei wuxian has been many things, yes, a fool and an idiot, a terrible, cursed thing, some revered and reviled existence. wei wuxian has been selfish, has been untruthful, has been like the sun after a sudden rain, but never as this - never as this acrid burst of anger that burns his mouth as if he had swallowed some poison.
( some hidden unconscious part of him recoils, some tiny part of him aches and longs for it, to enfold wei wuxian into his arms, to take his hand and laugh, thunderstruck and dazzled, and say, i am here,
i am here, i have missed you, i have been missing you, a piece of my soul, all this time. )
but even with that wild sense of yearning, of some hunger that sits deep and secret in his gut, jiang cheng feels sick, feels already overrun by the myriad broken-glass flashes of emotions from the both of them, through the tight and loose contact of their hands upon his skin. ]
Oh? [ the grip is tight, tightening, and even though he could easily break out of that fragile hold jiang cheng stands his ground, his rage a brittle and sharp thing that juts out, jagged and spiked, through the point of contact, seeping needle thin pricks of pain through the skin. ]
You don't want me to shame you in front of him? What a match made in heaven, you two are, to defend each other so.
[ it's an uncontrollable thing now, this anger. he has always said whatever he wanted to say when he was angry, the emotions boiling over like a pot left too long upon a flame, a horse unchecked and run wild. he wants it to hurt, he wants wei wuxian to hurt, and damn everything that stood in his way.
the bitterness swirls within like dirty muddled water, and it is a dark, endless thing that he has tried to keep at bay for so long - a beastly thing that he has held back for years telling it not yet, not yet,
he has not yet returned, he is still waiting.
but he has returned, now. he has returned and left just as soon as he came, leaving threads like the stems of a cut lotus, twisted and bent until something gave, bleeding sap like tears ( like blood ). what's done is done.
i'm sorry.
jiang cheng is tired. he is tired of waiting, of continuing to orbit that haunting presence, of waiting for whatever scraps he would throw at him. he had almost given up once, that night at the pier. he should have given it all up then. now this stupid, idiotic false hope makes him faintly burn as if the other's presence has lit the sparks from cinders, rendering him afire.
( he barely feels lan wangji's grip loosening, the frost in his gaze like the sliver of a moon in early winter night, gleaming like bloodstained strings of guqin. he does not hear the midwinter crackle of ice across his voice, of the ice that is strong enough to split boulders, the quiet warning in the tone. )
he should think something is wrong, but then - everything is wrong. ]
What do I care for him? You think you can just ask things of me so easily? You think mere apologies have ever fixed anything?
I have always- [ he needs to shut up, but it is too far gone, too late for stopping, and jiang cheng does the only thing he could do, with what he has been given leeway enough to do so, under some power he has not realised is working upon him. he shuts his jaws so hard he can hear the crack, tasting blood in his mouth as the flesh inside tears with the force of it, the words cutting like so many blades trapped within. ]
no subject
( some hidden unconscious part of him recoils, some tiny part of him aches and longs for it, to enfold wei wuxian into his arms, to take his hand and laugh, thunderstruck and dazzled, and say, i am here,
i am here, i have missed you, i have been missing you, a piece of my soul, all this time. )
but even with that wild sense of yearning, of some hunger that sits deep and secret in his gut, jiang cheng feels sick, feels already overrun by the myriad broken-glass flashes of emotions from the both of them, through the tight and loose contact of their hands upon his skin. ]
Oh? [ the grip is tight, tightening, and even though he could easily break out of that fragile hold jiang cheng stands his ground, his rage a brittle and sharp thing that juts out, jagged and spiked, through the point of contact, seeping needle thin pricks of pain through the skin. ]
You don't want me to shame you in front of him? What a match made in heaven, you two are, to defend each other so.
[ it's an uncontrollable thing now, this anger. he has always said whatever he wanted to say when he was angry, the emotions boiling over like a pot left too long upon a flame, a horse unchecked and run wild. he wants it to hurt, he wants wei wuxian to hurt, and damn everything that stood in his way.
the bitterness swirls within like dirty muddled water, and it is a dark, endless thing that he has tried to keep at bay for so long - a beastly thing that he has held back for years telling it not yet, not yet,
he has not yet returned, he is still waiting.
but he has returned, now. he has returned and left just as soon as he came, leaving threads like the stems of a cut lotus, twisted and bent until something gave, bleeding sap like tears ( like blood ). what's done is done.
i'm sorry.
jiang cheng is tired. he is tired of waiting, of continuing to orbit that haunting presence, of waiting for whatever scraps he would throw at him. he had almost given up once, that night at the pier. he should have given it all up then. now this stupid, idiotic false hope makes him faintly burn as if the other's presence has lit the sparks from cinders, rendering him afire.
( he barely feels lan wangji's grip loosening, the frost in his gaze like the sliver of a moon in early winter night, gleaming like bloodstained strings of guqin. he does not hear the midwinter crackle of ice across his voice, of the ice that is strong enough to split boulders, the quiet warning in the tone. )
he should think something is wrong, but then - everything is wrong. ]
What do I care for him? You think you can just ask things of me so easily? You think mere apologies have ever fixed anything?
I have always- [ he needs to shut up, but it is too far gone, too late for stopping, and jiang cheng does the only thing he could do, with what he has been given leeway enough to do so, under some power he has not realised is working upon him. he shuts his jaws so hard he can hear the crack, tasting blood in his mouth as the flesh inside tears with the force of it, the words cutting like so many blades trapped within. ]