[sizhui won't fall asleep in jin ling's bed, he won't because gods, what would anyone think if they saw him leaving the sect leader's personal room in the morning rather than the guest quarters? the longer he considers it, the redder his cheeks get and eventually, he's reaching to scrub his fingertips over his face, clearing his throat then resting one arm between them, the other resting across his heart.
perhaps doing that wasn't the best idea, it'll only put him within closer proximity and poor jin ling already seems flustered with how close they are. (he is too, let's be real!) but sizhui's always done his best to handle his emotions rather than the other way around; so, maybe he doesn't have an exact solution that will help jin ling's ever-growing anxiety, he does have a technique he's used himself he can offer. just because it's helped him doesn't mean it will help his friend, but where's the harm in trying?
silent or not, attention focused elsewhere even, he can feel jin ling's displeasure. all he offers is the most fleeting glance then his attention's back on the ceiling, lips softly pursed, total silence.
he inhales, measured and sustained, contemplating jin ling's words. overthinking, he wants to correct, though he holds his tongue, absently drums his digits against his sternum while doing some thinking of his own. every single week, he's noticed he questions his feelings for jin ling at least once a day; what they mean, how much better it'd feel blurting it all out and getting everything on the table. except when he remembers what it means, the repercussions that come with admitting those feelings while the chance of them being vehemently denied hangs in the balance— oh, but what if they're reciprocated of all things? this whole damn time, sizhui's attention remains unfalteringly upward, right until the other male turns toward him.
he slowly casts him a glance, flutters half-lidded eyes, draws the arm between them up then says,] Give me your hand, Jin Ling.
[before it's even asked: no will not be an acceptable answer and, just for emphasis, sizhui wiggles his fingers, somehow making an almost enthusiastic gesture look patient without hardly trying.]
no subject
perhaps doing that wasn't the best idea, it'll only put him within closer proximity and poor jin ling already seems flustered with how close they are. (he is too, let's be real!) but sizhui's always done his best to handle his emotions rather than the other way around; so, maybe he doesn't have an exact solution that will help jin ling's ever-growing anxiety, he does have a technique he's used himself he can offer. just because it's helped him doesn't mean it will help his friend, but where's the harm in trying?
silent or not, attention focused elsewhere even, he can feel jin ling's displeasure. all he offers is the most fleeting glance then his attention's back on the ceiling, lips softly pursed, total silence.
he inhales, measured and sustained, contemplating jin ling's words. overthinking, he wants to correct, though he holds his tongue, absently drums his digits against his sternum while doing some thinking of his own. every single week, he's noticed he questions his feelings for jin ling at least once a day; what they mean, how much better it'd feel blurting it all out and getting everything on the table. except when he remembers what it means, the repercussions that come with admitting those feelings while the chance of them being vehemently denied hangs in the balance— oh, but what if they're reciprocated of all things? this whole damn time, sizhui's attention remains unfalteringly upward, right until the other male turns toward him.
he slowly casts him a glance, flutters half-lidded eyes, draws the arm between them up then says,] Give me your hand, Jin Ling.
[before it's even asked: no will not be an acceptable answer and, just for emphasis, sizhui wiggles his fingers, somehow making an almost enthusiastic gesture look patient without hardly trying.]