[ The rustle of silk isn't impossible to hear over the waves and Wen Qing glances back to him, although she quickly looks away. It is not that she has not seen men in such disarray— she is a physician, seeing people disrobed is part of what she does. But to see Hanguang-jun in such a state, in this small boat, is disconcerting. It's only when the layers rustle, the cloth whispers over her feet, that she looks away from the waves.
A good thing, too: the waves were making her queasy once again, and with her stomach having so recently revolted, it is safer to look at a fixed point, and that happens to be Lan Wangji.
Her gaze falls upon the pile of robes at her feet, and for a moment she's confused on what to do with them, until it dawns on her that he— possibly?— intends for her to put them on. Easy enough to do, the material drowning her but warming nonetheless. ] Is that what we are now? Family? [ Her name will never change: she is a Wen to her core. Nothing can hide that. ]
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A good thing, too: the waves were making her queasy once again, and with her stomach having so recently revolted, it is safer to look at a fixed point, and that happens to be Lan Wangji.
Her gaze falls upon the pile of robes at her feet, and for a moment she's confused on what to do with them, until it dawns on her that he— possibly?— intends for her to put them on. Easy enough to do, the material drowning her but warming nonetheless. ] Is that what we are now? Family? [ Her name will never change: she is a Wen to her core. Nothing can hide that. ]