( He is left clutched and abandoned, petting the hair of a ghost
that is only kinder than the ones he survived in the midst of, only sweeter
than sixteen dark years left with nothing but his own mind for company. He
doesn't see it in himself, when his husband's withdrawal, when his words,
dim Wei Wuxian's eyes. Doesn't note the ways he begins shutting down, the
moment his empathy and sympathy cool, when the mask slides in place.
Doesn't pause to reflect on the words that come easily, conversant:
)
It's possible I could facilitate a permanent, final change in that
perception.
( Almost a murmur, and the Adonis curled against him all but squirms
in pleasant distress with his haunted yes. )
Right before we leave. To test how much their sway holds against another
kind, giving them what they want.
( Conversing so evenly, so logically, over things he's witnessed,
things he's leveraged, things the dead wish more fiercely that he. He dies
in inches, moments like these, and for all he's found parts of himself,
scarred and healing and stronger and weaker than his youth, the unwavering
hopes of that time, he has his brother's chosen silences, he has his
brother-in-law's love of convention, he has a world with a history of
convenient hate, and he has the heavy demands of this world, to all point
toward death.
Wei Wuxian and the dead. Fit companions, for the willingness to
listen, the eagerness to be heard.
Gentle, firm extraction of the arms wrapped around him. The lack of
any look to Lan Zhan. The blooming shadows beneath his eyes, as he aims to
lead the ghost out of the bathroom, to test the breaking of traumatic
binding. The ghost's, and not his own. )
no subject
( He is left clutched and abandoned, petting the hair of a ghost that is only kinder than the ones he survived in the midst of, only sweeter than sixteen dark years left with nothing but his own mind for company. He doesn't see it in himself, when his husband's withdrawal, when his words, dim Wei Wuxian's eyes. Doesn't note the ways he begins shutting down, the moment his empathy and sympathy cool, when the mask slides in place. Doesn't pause to reflect on the words that come easily, conversant: )
It's possible I could facilitate a permanent, final change in that perception.
( Almost a murmur, and the Adonis curled against him all but squirms in pleasant distress with his haunted yes. )
Right before we leave. To test how much their sway holds against another kind, giving them what they want.
( Conversing so evenly, so logically, over things he's witnessed, things he's leveraged, things the dead wish more fiercely that he. He dies in inches, moments like these, and for all he's found parts of himself, scarred and healing and stronger and weaker than his youth, the unwavering hopes of that time, he has his brother's chosen silences, he has his brother-in-law's love of convention, he has a world with a history of convenient hate, and he has the heavy demands of this world, to all point toward death.
Wei Wuxian and the dead. Fit companions, for the willingness to listen, the eagerness to be heard.
Gentle, firm extraction of the arms wrapped around him. The lack of any look to Lan Zhan. The blooming shadows beneath his eyes, as he aims to lead the ghost out of the bathroom, to test the breaking of traumatic binding. The ghost's, and not his own. )