( What he cannot know, he knows peripherally, as a movement caught in the forest but gone once his head turns. Here he holds still, hands up, fingers splayed, as if he intended to play upon the air as he might another instrument, more than his humming whistles or the whistling blade of Bichen cutting forward, or Lan Zhan's calloused fingers sliding over strings, and Wangji sings.

An apology, without the explanation, and what he says: )

You almost explained the why to me.

( And it's ludicrous, here in this house with the bones of a woman on this table sturdier than the floor it straddles, to feel warmth in his chest, for something he has not, does not expect. )

Without me asking, you almost explained why.

( But he doesn't ask, because here, to know is to lose a battle they don't have time for him to falter in, and he trust, contained, he leaves the ribbon thus tied, he allows himself to be blinded and fettered as a horse led from a burning barn, and: )

Contained for me, or contained for you?