[this likely isn't anything that either of them wants, to be fair. sizhui had tried so desperately hard to ignore his feelings, although it seemed the more he tried, the harder it became.
which is exactly why those feelings began worsening, prickly vines winding themselves around his lungs and creeping up his esophagus; he remembers those days when bloody lotus petals would find their way up, recalls going to an herbalist for help by himself rather than worry his fathers with something like this. of course it would just so happen to be after he's gotten it all under control that he and jiang cheng are called away on a night-hunt together. (if push comes to shove, he still has some medicine available for more extreme symptoms.) as it stands now, everything seems alright, aside from the other cultivator's irritation— but let's be real here: isn't that normal for him?
sizhui's attention flickers away in case his staring seems too obvious, focusing instead on his task at hand, brows worriedly knit together in spite of himself. he can already imagine what scolding might come his way once they figure their predicament out, but for some reason, he's not nearly as concerned about it as he could be. what he's keen on doing is preparing these poultices and ignoring how there's a metallic taste in his mouth even though he knows no flowers have appeared (yet).
briefly, his motions do hesitate, the crease in his forehead deepening when an elbow aches from where it'd gotten bashed earlier. with a soft huff and after switching hands, he continues grinding, pausing another moment to add water, stirring until it's just thin enough to spread easier.
right then is whenever jiang cheng finally insists aloud his wounds are fine, that he can handle them later. while he could've sighed again, jiang cheng's decision to kneel down and examine him catches lan sizhui off-guard, making his eyes widen in surprise, both hands going suddenly motionless. a slow, steady inhale and exhale, followed by the softest, annoyed-sounding mahhh then he answers,] They are bruises, Jiang-zongzhu, you needn't worry so.
[however, as he considers, an idea comes to mind and – albeit tentatively – he upturns his gaze again.] Unless you truly are that concerned? In which case, I will show you mine if you show me yours.
no subject
which is exactly why those feelings began worsening, prickly vines winding themselves around his lungs and creeping up his esophagus; he remembers those days when bloody lotus petals would find their way up, recalls going to an herbalist for help by himself rather than worry his fathers with something like this. of course it would just so happen to be after he's gotten it all under control that he and jiang cheng are called away on a night-hunt together. (if push comes to shove, he still has some medicine available for more extreme symptoms.) as it stands now, everything seems alright, aside from the other cultivator's irritation— but let's be real here: isn't that normal for him?
sizhui's attention flickers away in case his staring seems too obvious, focusing instead on his task at hand, brows worriedly knit together in spite of himself. he can already imagine what scolding might come his way once they figure their predicament out, but for some reason, he's not nearly as concerned about it as he could be. what he's keen on doing is preparing these poultices and ignoring how there's a metallic taste in his mouth even though he knows no flowers have appeared (yet).
briefly, his motions do hesitate, the crease in his forehead deepening when an elbow aches from where it'd gotten bashed earlier. with a soft huff and after switching hands, he continues grinding, pausing another moment to add water, stirring until it's just thin enough to spread easier.
right then is whenever jiang cheng finally insists aloud his wounds are fine, that he can handle them later. while he could've sighed again, jiang cheng's decision to kneel down and examine him catches lan sizhui off-guard, making his eyes widen in surprise, both hands going suddenly motionless. a slow, steady inhale and exhale, followed by the softest, annoyed-sounding mahhh then he answers,] They are bruises, Jiang-zongzhu, you needn't worry so.
[however, as he considers, an idea comes to mind and – albeit tentatively – he upturns his gaze again.] Unless you truly are that concerned? In which case, I will show you mine if you show me yours.