( Yet to trust enough, that with a word, he pats the wyvern's head, steps forward, taps down his foot, and with arms out, leaps from his chosen height. The creature wings skyward with a creeling call, diving back inside the tower, to the darkness. Wei Wuxian doesn't look back in the strength of his descent, Chenqing in hand, tucked into his waistband as he lands.
He controls his falls.
Even the one that'd been almost, and intentionally, fatal.
Footsteps, settled over bone, and a thin wrist, turned and offered. His fingers on his left hand curled when he offers Lan Zhan the use of his palm, the canvas promised blank and for painting. )
Which characters.
( What impossibilities were real, what stories were silent, in the litany of those he'd never known. Difficult to allow, finally, the follies of their youth were always mutual. That nothing he did could change what he didn't know, and some regrets had never been his to own or forget.
That instead, some of them could be now, in reflection, amusing, in a heart-conflicted way. Lan Zhan taking ownership of what he's held over Wei Wuxian's head, to be this? A youth's passions directed down familiar avenues, and what, confessed when Wei Wuxian couldn't recall even if he'd wanted to. Held against him because? Because.
Neither one of them is easy to love. Both are simple. Something in that warms him even through the chilling unpleasantness of Lan Zhan hedging bets on his own fall. The deep anger that stirs, then settles, a tightly leashed beast breathing for moments before it subsides to its long, abyssal slumber. )
no subject
( Yet to trust enough, that with a word, he pats the wyvern's head, steps forward, taps down his foot, and with arms out, leaps from his chosen height. The creature wings skyward with a creeling call, diving back inside the tower, to the darkness. Wei Wuxian doesn't look back in the strength of his descent, Chenqing in hand, tucked into his waistband as he lands.
He controls his falls.
Even the one that'd been almost, and intentionally, fatal.
Footsteps, settled over bone, and a thin wrist, turned and offered. His fingers on his left hand curled when he offers Lan Zhan the use of his palm, the canvas promised blank and for painting. )
Which characters.
( What impossibilities were real, what stories were silent, in the litany of those he'd never known. Difficult to allow, finally, the follies of their youth were always mutual. That nothing he did could change what he didn't know, and some regrets had never been his to own or forget.
That instead, some of them could be now, in reflection, amusing, in a heart-conflicted way. Lan Zhan taking ownership of what he's held over Wei Wuxian's head, to be this? A youth's passions directed down familiar avenues, and what, confessed when Wei Wuxian couldn't recall even if he'd wanted to. Held against him because? Because.
Neither one of them is easy to love. Both are simple. Something in that warms him even through the chilling unpleasantness of Lan Zhan hedging bets on his own fall. The deep anger that stirs, then settles, a tightly leashed beast breathing for moments before it subsides to its long, abyssal slumber. )