( Touch, singeing. And growth: he flinches, but does not recoil, does not wither under her attention. It yet burns to feel alien touch, to tolerate the intimacy of acts uninvited.

She withdraws of own accord, the rabbits huddled and curling in her lap and mounting to her waist, nibbling at what linens lie within teeth's reach. He should chastise and educate them. Does not know, abruptly entranced by the words that drift from her young mouth. )

...Clara. Friends do not — ( And his eyes widen, startlingly white and crystalline and staring, to make his meaning known. Young lady, understand him. He dare not transgress into talk of intimacy not his own. )

You are lovers.

( May it be Lan Wangji, voice rasping and coarse like peels of bark, who enlightens you with sincerity. For, 'lo, you are welcome. )