[ he knows, he knows he means well when jiang cheng prompts him.
angry though he is, his movements do not become sharp. there is only a delay, perhaps more purposeful than not, in how he obeys. too much, jiang cheng tells him. and lan wangji knows he means not himself, but had he not told lan wangji that of himself earlier? lan wangji was too much, expected too much, wanted too much. he became comfortable in spaces not meant for him.
and that was why, wasn't it? in part, that was reason enough why he avoided the touch of others, as much as he avoided touching them. as if they could somehow feel the intensity of his heart, the ache toward all who came nearest — the ugliness of his loss.
we are already so close, he had wanted to say. but, what good is it now? he has heard this once before. and back then, though he so wanted it to be —
the skin about his eyes tightens. ]
Mn, [ he manages, after a moment. the affirmation is ashed against his tongue, ground down by reluctance. he places the watering can where it is it rests and thinks maybe such treatment will rot the roots.
he does not think further on it, as he glances only briefly toward jiang cheng. only briefly, before he turns back to the plants. there are many tasks left to do here, but lan wangji only pins his focus upon the nearest's leaves. those which are dead find themselves collected in the palm of his hand, as he pinches them off from the source.
mind your own, says the pettiest parts of his heart. he takes a steadying breath in. ]
no subject
angry though he is, his movements do not become sharp. there is only a delay, perhaps more purposeful than not, in how he obeys. too much, jiang cheng tells him. and lan wangji knows he means not himself, but had he not told lan wangji that of himself earlier? lan wangji was too much, expected too much, wanted too much. he became comfortable in spaces not meant for him.
and that was why, wasn't it? in part, that was reason enough why he avoided the touch of others, as much as he avoided touching them. as if they could somehow feel the intensity of his heart, the ache toward all who came nearest — the ugliness of his loss.
we are already so close, he had wanted to say. but, what good is it now? he has heard this once before. and back then, though he so wanted it to be —
the skin about his eyes tightens. ]
Mn, [ he manages, after a moment. the affirmation is ashed against his tongue, ground down by reluctance. he places the watering can where it is it rests and thinks maybe such treatment will rot the roots.
he does not think further on it, as he glances only briefly toward jiang cheng. only briefly, before he turns back to the plants. there are many tasks left to do here, but lan wangji only pins his focus upon the nearest's leaves. those which are dead find themselves collected in the palm of his hand, as he pinches them off from the source.
mind your own, says the pettiest parts of his heart. he takes a steadying breath in. ]