[He's in the middle of writing the first character when Xue Yang speaks up seemingly out of nowhere. Xingchen gasps, his hand jerking suddenly, the brush leaving behind a surprised stroke off to the side. A mistake. Proof of his foolishness to have been so absorbed by this futile task that he didn't even hear the other man get so close.
What should he do? He's in no position to fight Xue Yang here, but surely he can't just sit and let this awful man do as he wishes, either.
But all Xingchen can do right now is clutch that brush harshly, the paint seeping into the paper where he has yet to move it.]
Help me? You?
[Even if he wanted Xue Yang's help, he'd refuse out of principle.]
no subject
What should he do? He's in no position to fight Xue Yang here, but surely he can't just sit and let this awful man do as he wishes, either.
But all Xingchen can do right now is clutch that brush harshly, the paint seeping into the paper where he has yet to move it.]
Help me? You?
[Even if he wanted Xue Yang's help, he'd refuse out of principle.]
What makes you think I'd ever trust you again?