Such plainness has Sizhui feeling somewhat taken aback, his mouth momentarily hanging open, although no words come to him. Zhuque takes his hand and he watches intently as it's placed on his arm again, moved up then back, which is where he realizes he's not just being led, his hand has started moving on its own.

Somehow, even though his words are slow-coming, Sizhui's voice doesn't break while his fingertips drift across where the tattoo begins right below his guardian's nape. “The... wings, you mean?” And those fingers curiously dip, tracing the intricate design down Zhuque's shoulderblade, the opposite hand reaching toward one of the other tattoos stretching across his torso.