( This, then, is marriage: to compromise, feeling at once shattered, bemused, at peace and misunderstood. And to wish, foolishly, to never be anywhere else.
Will half the shichen turn the tide of war? So often, that stake has lived in shorter moments, in heartbeats, in blinks. In the turn of a sword, in Meng Yao appearing to summon the last of the Sunshot Campaign, one swing drawn.
But it is Wei Ying who asks, and this man is his husband, and for all they are now like constellations that always cluster together even after fleeing periods of distance — sixteen years sprawled intrepid and long between them. He rushes, without bitterness, to sweep Wei Ying's hand into his own. )
Forgive me. I dishonour you with this appearance. ( It is his duty, after all, given that Wei Ying has neither cheek nor shame, to show his own face clean to the world and bear the brunt of its laughter, at times. ) We bathe.
no subject
( This, then, is marriage: to compromise, feeling at once shattered, bemused, at peace and misunderstood. And to wish, foolishly, to never be anywhere else.
Will half the shichen turn the tide of war? So often, that stake has lived in shorter moments, in heartbeats, in blinks. In the turn of a sword, in Meng Yao appearing to summon the last of the Sunshot Campaign, one swing drawn.
But it is Wei Ying who asks, and this man is his husband, and for all they are now like constellations that always cluster together even after fleeing periods of distance — sixteen years sprawled intrepid and long between them. He rushes, without bitterness, to sweep Wei Ying's hand into his own. )
Forgive me. I dishonour you with this appearance. ( It is his duty, after all, given that Wei Ying has neither cheek nor shame, to show his own face clean to the world and bear the brunt of its laughter, at times. ) We bathe.