His husband knows him better and better, the man he is now, the man his husband has become. He holds him up, gathered tiny and pitiably in the cupping of palms, barely the length of the end section of Lan Zhan's thumb. Small and red and black and warm, yet cooler than how Lan Zhan burns, the truth of him is he sits soft and dry, wide eyed and blinking with those barred pupils. He pushes up on tiny toad front legs, the clack of his husband's teeth, the deadpan mock chewing, bubbling up a sense of laughter that bursts from his thin, lipless mouth.
Wei Wuxian laughs, startled out of the panic creeping in and stealing air from his miniscule lungs. Even when he'd been the heartstopping horror of a fox, back in another village, back so many months ago, he hadn't felt as helpless, as inconsequential, as small. Now his husband's sense of humour, and he has one! Look at it now, so wonderfully, beautifully his own, he clings to the amusement and amazement and gratitude that sweeps in after.
"Hahaha, Lan Zhan! That's why you'd just swallow, like the first or the birds do." But he crawls forward, rather than hops, stretches his tiny self out, studying his husband's face. Strains, but cannot reach him without him coming yet nearer, or Wei Wuxian trusting limbs he's just learning with the reflex of a man trusting instinct. He will hop, as he needs, and in a moment, no, now he does, leaping from Lan Zhan's hands to...
... a miscalculation of his generous hair at the side of his head, rather than his shoulder. Small feet spread wide, toes gripping in an impossible, improbable way, and he makes himself shift, think of this like those times where his mass is left behind sleeping, and his consciousness puppets the paper man along, only now he has more weight and less security in the moment of his transition back.
He scales his husband's hair enough to find his cheek, dangles sideways, butting his dry little face against Lan Zhan's face. "Do you love me," he asks, murmur quieter than his loud complaining, the ridiculousness of his too large voice still emerging from this too small frame, "Even when I'm a frog?"
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His husband knows him better and better, the man he is now, the man his husband has become. He holds him up, gathered tiny and pitiably in the cupping of palms, barely the length of the end section of Lan Zhan's thumb. Small and red and black and warm, yet cooler than how Lan Zhan burns, the truth of him is he sits soft and dry, wide eyed and blinking with those barred pupils. He pushes up on tiny toad front legs, the clack of his husband's teeth, the deadpan mock chewing, bubbling up a sense of laughter that bursts from his thin, lipless mouth.
Wei Wuxian laughs, startled out of the panic creeping in and stealing air from his miniscule lungs. Even when he'd been the heartstopping horror of a fox, back in another village, back so many months ago, he hadn't felt as helpless, as inconsequential, as small. Now his husband's sense of humour, and he has one! Look at it now, so wonderfully, beautifully his own, he clings to the amusement and amazement and gratitude that sweeps in after.
"Hahaha, Lan Zhan! That's why you'd just swallow, like the first or the birds do." But he crawls forward, rather than hops, stretches his tiny self out, studying his husband's face. Strains, but cannot reach him without him coming yet nearer, or Wei Wuxian trusting limbs he's just learning with the reflex of a man trusting instinct. He will hop, as he needs, and in a moment, no, now he does, leaping from Lan Zhan's hands to...
... a miscalculation of his generous hair at the side of his head, rather than his shoulder. Small feet spread wide, toes gripping in an impossible, improbable way, and he makes himself shift, think of this like those times where his mass is left behind sleeping, and his consciousness puppets the paper man along, only now he has more weight and less security in the moment of his transition back.
He scales his husband's hair enough to find his cheek, dangles sideways, butting his dry little face against Lan Zhan's face. "Do you love me," he asks, murmur quieter than his loud complaining, the ridiculousness of his too large voice still emerging from this too small frame, "Even when I'm a frog?"