( Suspended rests suits him, as if the violent, vicious discomforts of his contortions erase the steady, damp beat of pain that rocks his temples. If he hurts physically, openly, at shallow skin levels — his hurts become deeply sketched, singular fixtures. He can isolate them, tally them, control his understanding of their depth. Breathe attuned to them, drowning them.
He can assume control, where his migraine ebbs, crests and tides without his say. A pitiful gesture. His murmur's half a groan between the snarled obscenities of the man who paces outside, an animal testing his cage. He will not leave, Lan Wangji knows. For hours, he has not left.
What does he wish to find here? Men cannot hope to desperately outpace their troubles. )
You are not his keeper. ( The man Wrathion may mutter his own apologies with a willing mouth. )
no subject
He can assume control, where his migraine ebbs, crests and tides without his say. A pitiful gesture. His murmur's half a groan between the snarled obscenities of the man who paces outside, an animal testing his cage. He will not leave, Lan Wangji knows. For hours, he has not left.
What does he wish to find here? Men cannot hope to desperately outpace their troubles. )
You are not his keeper. ( The man Wrathion may mutter his own apologies with a willing mouth. )