( To think, he has now become the strange, barely tolerated breed of companion — the natural, gregarious conversationalist. Wangji, son of Lan, has never stood so accused. And yet, Bucky now transgresses into the assumption.
He makes a point of leaving Bucky an open path, the chance to walk undeterred. A cloying, dusty, hopeless corridor — how could Lan Wangji ever possibly deprive him of it? )
I walk to your side. Intending no disruption.
( Blandly, far too literally, the tension of his body only visible in the righting of his arm, how it hangs steeled, fingers clutching in a fist carved loose to turn, at any moment, on his hilt. His sword, if need me. )
no subject
He makes a point of leaving Bucky an open path, the chance to walk undeterred. A cloying, dusty, hopeless corridor — how could Lan Wangji ever possibly deprive him of it? )
I walk to your side. Intending no disruption.
( Blandly, far too literally, the tension of his body only visible in the righting of his arm, how it hangs steeled, fingers clutching in a fist carved loose to turn, at any moment, on his hilt. His sword, if need me. )
What ails?