[lan sizhui can distinctly remember the first time he coughed up tiny purple lotus petals; it was during a night-hunt alongside his fellow juniors where they'd ended up overwhelmed by an enemy they didn't understand. this, of course, meant it had taken them far longer to finish their task than earlier anticipated and whenever they finally arrived back in yunmeng from baling, hell broke loose—
no, it wasn't really that bad! though even after the explanation, jiang cheng remained irritated (worried in his own way), scolding jin ling some feet away but, despite their distance, sizhui had no trouble hearing. he'd smiled faintly then, abruptly and all at once, a tightness in his chest made him cough, which in turn caused him to raise his hand and cover his mouth. the disease isn't unheard of, he remembers learning about it during his studies, delving further into its subject for a few weeks until he ran out of material, yet whenever he'd turned away and coughed up flower petals, the only proper reaction was being surprised. that, thinking oh no! and being glad hanguang-jun and wei-qianbei weren't looking so he could dispose of the small blooms before they became noticeable. still, he hadn't gotten away with his sneakiness completely. ‘a-yuan!’ hearing the name from wei wuxian had all but made him jump out of his skin, except as he whirled around, it'd simply been to get his attention so they could get going.
and the moment they had taken off is when his – or so he thought! – artful discarding was brought into their conversation. lucky for him, it's to just question his cough: if he's sick, if he needs medicine or something before they leave, all of which he politely declines and, despite what he thinks isn't discreet enough, effectively plays off. since then, he's done everything within his power to keep things in check, to make certain he doesn't have another flare-up around sect leader jiang; it proves simpler than part of him likes, but his other half's grateful for no more possible awkward mishaps.
this means it would be just his luck to get called away on a night-hunt with said sect leader, of course. blessed immortals above, what sort of karmic backlash has been laid upon him? something unfortunate enough that it ends with jiang cheng getting injured and them trapped inside the cave they'd gone into after the monster fled.
(and all because he couldn't control those ridiculous flowers, ugh!) first, sizhui makes quick work of the aforementioned beast in its weakened state with his guqin, but now that they've gotten it cornered inside this oversized tunnel, there's a sudden cave-in dropping them to the very bottom of the alcove, which is where sizhui'd gotten hurt too. he, however, has nothing besides some bumps and bruises whereas the other man has actual wounds that need tending, regardless of his stubbornness.
sizhui briefly glances up as jiang cheng paces by him again.] You will exacerbate your injuries if you keep fussing. [then he sighs and downturns, still steadily working shi cao and goldenroot flowers into a thick, gritty kinda paste.]
He's well aware of what the curse is, of course, what it means; experience had taught him that at a young age. He had seen his mother cradling lotus petals in her hands, her sister with golden peonies decorating parchment as she had read. He had seen the people of Yunmeng, rare and far between, coming to their Sect to try and find the cause of their sudden illness, the kind of which there is little cure other than brutal, painful honesty.
There had never been a moment in his life where he had imagined that he would be struck down with the same curse, if only because had hadn't thought that he would be able to love someone so deeply. His path had always been the kind of arranged marriage, of finding a suitable wife and settling to create the perfect set of heirs to come after him, a son to raise as leader, a daughter to cultivate her beauty and warmth. Perhaps a son like himself, or like Wei Wuxian, and a daughter with his sister's heart to keep her memory truly alive.
All of that had been ripped from him when he coughed up soft white petals, curling in his fingertips, his mind refusing to accept what it means.
His hand is pressed against a wound to his hip now, a scowl on his face, twisting his features completely into something bitter. He doesn't want this to be his future, doesn't want this to be the path he has to walk, not when his eyes drag over Sizhui and he doesn't know how to handle himself, how to quash the feeling inside of him. Age matters much less between two cultivators, that doesn't bother him, and his brother had married a Lan, so that isn't problematic now, but...
But it ruins all his plans. It ruins everything, and Jiang Cheng is prepared to die to carry that burden. There's no question in his mind that his feelings will never be returned, and the thorns in his throat begin to tear him apart before he speaks. ]
My injuries are fine, I'll deal with them later. [ Robes snapping around him as he shoves his sleeves out the way, he leans down to look over Sizhui, gaze critical, examining, trying to be clinical rather than exploratory. ] Let me see yours.
[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.
[ Jiang Cheng is still preparing himself for marriage, to find a proper wife, to have heirs, to keep the future of his clan going. With no sister and no brother to have more nieces and nephews to lend to Yunmeng Jiang... The weight is all upon his own shoulders.
His hands are careful as he reaches for Sizhui, trying to take care of him without completely suffocating himself in the process. It's not a difficult thing to do, keeping his eyes down, not breathing in too much, not letting himself lose himself completely, because he doesn't have a choice. He is in a position of power, as a Sect Leader, as someone with a strong, well cultivated core, and to force his advances on someone...
That's something he cannot do. He has no intention of being another Jin.
A little bit of energy is all he needs to offer, all he needs to give, and then his hand can fall away. That's all he has to do, but it seems impossible for him - he wants to take care of him, he wants to make sure he's alright, he wants to do everything in his power to make Sizhui be alright. His knees are a little sore, some of his aches are stronger than others, and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up to touch his neck.
He can feel the petals. He can feel the thorns. He can feel all of it, pressuring, pushing, making him feel sick and he turns his head away, lifting a hand to cover his mouth, his lips, to smother the blood before he can do anything to embarrass himself. He is in worse shape than the disciple now, surely, feeling weakened and bloody and broken, taken down and left bare and pained because of his own stupid emotions.
Leaning back, he hesitates, coughing out a handful of flowers and trying to throw them behind himself before they can be picked out, before they can be seen. ]
That is unnecessary. Aren't you supposed to do as you're told in Gusu?
[all things sizhui's unsure he could give jiang cheng and more reasons for him doubt his feelings despite knowing otherwise; adopting is always an option – just look at him, after all! – and perhaps he can't exactly be the wife jiang cheng's looking for, they could marry and he'd be a partner, someone ready and willing to be there for him whenever needed.
(but only with feelings being reciprocated, never forced on anyone!)
while he hasn't realized yet, his breath catches once jiang cheng reaches out for him, eyebrows arching in a mixture of apprehension and fleeting interest, though sizhui softens after the distance between them lessens further then he loosens his vice-like grip on both the mortar and pestle. here come those petals again, fluttering up his throat, some coating his tongue, which he's able to somewhat swallow back down following his momentarily distressed expression.
at least he looks mostly normal before the other man might look, tight-lipped and steady, if not a bit overly stiff. oh no, does that make him look uncomfortable? not that it or anything else matters once jiang cheng reaches toward his neck. immediately, sizhui sets his tools aside, stalling long enough for jiang cheng's fingers to cup his mouth, for him to lean back, those same digits to curl into themselves after a cough and then move away in an attempt to deposit something behind himself.] Ordinarily, [he answers, calm and collected, tamping down the worry threatening to creep into his voice.] But we're currently not in Gusu, are we?
[precisely why he has no problem breaking just the tiniest rule of going against his senior. and a sect leader, furthermore? what would others think?! it's disregarded though so he can instead reach out, catch jiang cheng's sleeve and tug that same hand back around he'd used to throw flower petals with.] We are also taught not to lie in Gusu. [yes, he knows what he'd said just moments ago, but after the remark, his empty hand lifts, palm upturned, and he huffs a sigh which expels a small purple lotus petal.
—okay, that's a bit odder now that it's done, he tries ignoring any awkwardness by rolling the blossom in his hand, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger then letting it drift into jiang cheng's palm.] ...there are some rules I don't break, regardless.
[ It's the sort of ridiculous comeback that Jiang Cheng would have expected from Wei Wuxian, not Lan Sizhui, and for a moment all he can do is blink and stare at the man in front of him. There's something almost strange about it, a familiar echo that makes his heart ache somewhere deep in his chest, but he has to swallow it down, has to force himself not to think too hard about his brother. That just makes his heart ache all the more, beyond anything else that might be rolling through his mind.
There are thorns in his throat and his heart hurts; he doesn't know what to do with himself.
What he wants, of course, is to get this done, to escape so he doesn't have to think too long on the matter of being in such close proximity with someone who is, unintentionally, killing him. Jiang Cheng knows if he isn't careful the taste of flowers will completely destabalise him; he has to try and maintain his composure, has to force himself not to fall flat in terms of his own emotions.
He has to be the stronger one here.
So, he shakes his head, leaning back and giving a raised eyebrowed look of disappointment. ] Does that matter? Rules are the rules, that's what I was taught. [ And it's not as if Lan Wangji or Lan Xichen do anything to break those rules outside of Gusu either, so he had valid reason to imagine Sizhui as being the same.
Leaning back, he tries not to appear as frustrated as he is. ]
Either way, we should be working on getting ourselves back, on ensuring that we can return to the others, not arguing over semantics. So let me take care of you.
[ It comes out with a cough that stains his lip a little red with blood. ]
[seems fitting, considering, but it's most definitely something that's still bizarre from someone like lan sizhui. he glances between the flower petal and jiang cheng's face, watches him gawk, blink, and look somewhat discomposed for a brief moment before it passes just as fast as it'd come. whatever it was, sizhui's not simply brushing it aside, filing it away for later consideration instead so his attention can focus on the task at hand for now.
which is making sure jiang cheng gets healed and doesn't choke to death on flowers, thorns and his own feelings blood.
unfortunately, the latter will prove difficult whenever sizhui's adamant on the former; it's unlike him to give up so easy, but there might come a moment where the pressure proves too much and he buckles beneath its weight. (there's some joke here to be made about prodigious lan clan arm-strength, except it's something else entirely when speaking of emotions rather than physical power.)
oh, but if only jiang cheng knew what rules had been broken . . . his fingertips recapture the flower, pinch tight around the floret, thumbnail cutting into its softness, his gaze unwavering from the older man's.] You're right, [he finally says. then, without missing a beat, he discards that blossom and lowers his hand, obediently folding them both across his lap.] My apologies, Jiang-zongzhu, I shouldn't speak out of turn.
[the distance between them increases as jiang cheng leans back and sizhui follows suit by slouching down, hands interlocking tighter, still looking fixedly at him.] Do whatever you wish. [sizhui's lips pinch then, blood catching in his own throat rather than spilling from his mouth; it's thick, coppery and it takes all his willpower to not cringe, yet he manages.
what he doesn't resist doing, however, is disentangling his hands, reaching out with the left one and using his sleeve to blot away the red smearing jiang cheng's lips.]
[ It's impossible to ignore what is happening, the way that he is being torn inside out by a disease that wants, desperately, to humiliate and end him. There's no way to ignore that, no way to pretend as though he isn't filled with a need to wrap his arms around the man in front of him and offer promises that he has no way of keeping. There are some things he simply cannot do, to himself nor to Sizhui.
His wounds are not as serious as they might have been in another situation and the worst feeling is that of the thorns, not what happened to him during the hunt, but he can't express that to Sizhui. He cannot vocalise it, because he simply does not have the strength or the words.
Of course he's right, though, and the scoffing noise he makes proves that he is confident in that. The way Sizhui looks at him is so overwhelming, so intense, that he has to look away to swallow, make himself push all of those things down and away so that he doesn't fall apart. He has to be the leader, the teacher, the guide, and he cannot do that if he is suffocating.
But, all the same - ] I don't care if you speak out of turn. You've met a-Ling. [ A sharp little noise. Of course his nephew learned it from someone, and who else but his uncle? It would make him laugh were they in any other situation.
Reaching out, he begins to move, to try and deal with the injury; until a hand reaches up and his own goes to join it, his fingers brushing over Sizhui's as he holds it in the air between them. He feels breathless, suddenly, and his eyes go wide. ]
[the desperation with which sizhui's also attempting to hold himself together is frantic, especially after having revealed his own feelings, yet he's somehow managed to stay looking mostly put-together throughout this whole thing so far. he'd much rather crumble, collapse into jiang cheng's arms and bury against him, perhaps find solace that he would've never imagined discovering in this man— but he swallows around his own blood-coated flowers and continues pushing along.
being a little bruised and battered isn't anything that bothers him nearly as much as jiang cheng concerns himself with, but if it's what helps in this situation, he'll accept whatever fussing is necessary to help ease some stress for them both.
that self-satisfied sound almost makes sizhui shake his head; sect leader jiang has every right to feel assured, after all, but that'd mean having to break eye-contact, which he wasn't too keen on doing at the moment. mostly because it feels like if he does, he's ashamed and there's nothing he feels entirely sorry for, though he's surprised when it's so much, the other man ends up looking away. he is quite tempted to question why jiang cheng can't hold his gaze, why he must turn away and compose himself rather than stare him in the eye while they're deliberately denying what's hurting them most.]
I have. [and considering their similarities, he might've laughed too, but then jiang cheng shifts closer, lessening the distance between them this time, inadvertently allowing his hand to reach easier—
or he would have if it hadn't been grasped instead, brushing their fingers together in the process. sensations like tiny invisible sparks of electricity prickle across his skin, causing goosebumps to rise along his arms, most of which are hidden underneath all those lan layers. he glances toward their hands, raises his free one, curls it into a tight fist against his heart and redirects to jiang cheng again.] Jiang Cheng . . . [then he leans forward, bridging what gap remains by dropping his forehead against jiang cheng's shoulder.
while he has earned no right to refer to him by name, it's in this moment of vulnerability, sizhui doesn't care about what's proper or not; he's taking the risk, abandoning his manners for a little closeness, even if it's all he's allowed.]
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houseofsushi2020-05-22 10:34 pm
♪ 'cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs (hanahaki, @fennu)
no, it wasn't really that bad! though even after the explanation, jiang cheng remained irritated (worried in his own way), scolding jin ling some feet away but, despite their distance, sizhui had no trouble hearing. he'd smiled faintly then, abruptly and all at once, a tightness in his chest made him cough, which in turn caused him to raise his hand and cover his mouth. the disease isn't unheard of, he remembers learning about it during his studies, delving further into its subject for a few weeks until he ran out of material, yet whenever he'd turned away and coughed up flower petals, the only proper reaction was being surprised. that, thinking oh no! and being glad hanguang-jun and wei-qianbei weren't looking so he could dispose of the small blooms before they became noticeable. still, he hadn't gotten away with his sneakiness completely. ‘a-yuan!’ hearing the name from wei wuxian had all but made him jump out of his skin, except as he whirled around, it'd simply been to get his attention so they could get going.
and the moment they had taken off is when his – or so he thought! – artful discarding was brought into their conversation. lucky for him, it's to just question his cough: if he's sick, if he needs medicine or something before they leave, all of which he politely declines and, despite what he thinks isn't discreet enough, effectively plays off. since then, he's done everything within his power to keep things in check, to make certain he doesn't have another flare-up around sect leader jiang; it proves simpler than part of him likes, but his other half's grateful for no more possible awkward mishaps.
this means it would be just his luck to get called away on a night-hunt with said sect leader, of course. blessed immortals above, what sort of karmic backlash has been laid upon him? something unfortunate enough that it ends with jiang cheng getting injured and them trapped inside the cave they'd gone into after the monster fled.
(and all because he couldn't control those ridiculous flowers, ugh!) first, sizhui makes quick work of the aforementioned beast in its weakened state with his guqin, but now that they've gotten it cornered inside this oversized tunnel, there's a sudden cave-in dropping them to the very bottom of the alcove, which is where sizhui'd gotten hurt too. he, however, has nothing besides some bumps and bruises whereas the other man has actual wounds that need tending, regardless of his stubbornness.
sizhui briefly glances up as jiang cheng paces by him again.] You will exacerbate your injuries if you keep fussing. [then he sighs and downturns, still steadily working shi cao and goldenroot flowers into a thick, gritty kinda paste.]
no subject
He's well aware of what the curse is, of course, what it means; experience had taught him that at a young age. He had seen his mother cradling lotus petals in her hands, her sister with golden peonies decorating parchment as she had read. He had seen the people of Yunmeng, rare and far between, coming to their Sect to try and find the cause of their sudden illness, the kind of which there is little cure other than brutal, painful honesty.
There had never been a moment in his life where he had imagined that he would be struck down with the same curse, if only because had hadn't thought that he would be able to love someone so deeply. His path had always been the kind of arranged marriage, of finding a suitable wife and settling to create the perfect set of heirs to come after him, a son to raise as leader, a daughter to cultivate her beauty and warmth. Perhaps a son like himself, or like Wei Wuxian, and a daughter with his sister's heart to keep her memory truly alive.
All of that had been ripped from him when he coughed up soft white petals, curling in his fingertips, his mind refusing to accept what it means.
His hand is pressed against a wound to his hip now, a scowl on his face, twisting his features completely into something bitter. He doesn't want this to be his future, doesn't want this to be the path he has to walk, not when his eyes drag over Sizhui and he doesn't know how to handle himself, how to quash the feeling inside of him. Age matters much less between two cultivators, that doesn't bother him, and his brother had married a Lan, so that isn't problematic now, but...
But it ruins all his plans. It ruins everything, and Jiang Cheng is prepared to die to carry that burden. There's no question in his mind that his feelings will never be returned, and the thorns in his throat begin to tear him apart before he speaks. ]
My injuries are fine, I'll deal with them later. [ Robes snapping around him as he shoves his sleeves out the way, he leans down to look over Sizhui, gaze critical, examining, trying to be clinical rather than exploratory. ] Let me see 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.
no subject
His hands are careful as he reaches for Sizhui, trying to take care of him without completely suffocating himself in the process. It's not a difficult thing to do, keeping his eyes down, not breathing in too much, not letting himself lose himself completely, because he doesn't have a choice. He is in a position of power, as a Sect Leader, as someone with a strong, well cultivated core, and to force his advances on someone...
That's something he cannot do. He has no intention of being another Jin.
A little bit of energy is all he needs to offer, all he needs to give, and then his hand can fall away. That's all he has to do, but it seems impossible for him - he wants to take care of him, he wants to make sure he's alright, he wants to do everything in his power to make Sizhui be alright. His knees are a little sore, some of his aches are stronger than others, and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up to touch his neck.
He can feel the petals. He can feel the thorns. He can feel all of it, pressuring, pushing, making him feel sick and he turns his head away, lifting a hand to cover his mouth, his lips, to smother the blood before he can do anything to embarrass himself. He is in worse shape than the disciple now, surely, feeling weakened and bloody and broken, taken down and left bare and pained because of his own stupid emotions.
Leaning back, he hesitates, coughing out a handful of flowers and trying to throw them behind himself before they can be picked out, before they can be seen. ]
That is unnecessary. Aren't you supposed to do as you're told in Gusu?
no subject
(but only with feelings being reciprocated, never forced on anyone!)
while he hasn't realized yet, his breath catches once jiang cheng reaches out for him, eyebrows arching in a mixture of apprehension and fleeting interest, though sizhui softens after the distance between them lessens further then he loosens his vice-like grip on both the mortar and pestle. here come those petals again, fluttering up his throat, some coating his tongue, which he's able to somewhat swallow back down following his momentarily distressed expression.
at least he looks mostly normal before the other man might look, tight-lipped and steady, if not a bit overly stiff. oh no, does that make him look uncomfortable? not that it or anything else matters once jiang cheng reaches toward his neck. immediately, sizhui sets his tools aside, stalling long enough for jiang cheng's fingers to cup his mouth, for him to lean back, those same digits to curl into themselves after a cough and then move away in an attempt to deposit something behind himself.] Ordinarily, [he answers, calm and collected, tamping down the worry threatening to creep into his voice.] But we're currently not in Gusu, are we?
[precisely why he has no problem breaking just the tiniest rule of going against his senior. and a sect leader, furthermore? what would others think?! it's disregarded though so he can instead reach out, catch jiang cheng's sleeve and tug that same hand back around he'd used to throw flower petals with.] We are also taught not to lie in Gusu. [yes, he knows what he'd said just moments ago, but after the remark, his empty hand lifts, palm upturned, and he huffs a sigh which expels a small purple lotus petal.
—okay, that's a bit odder now that it's done, he tries ignoring any awkwardness by rolling the blossom in his hand, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger then letting it drift into jiang cheng's palm.] ...there are some rules I don't break, regardless.
[telling the truth is one of those.]
no subject
There are thorns in his throat and his heart hurts; he doesn't know what to do with himself.
What he wants, of course, is to get this done, to escape so he doesn't have to think too long on the matter of being in such close proximity with someone who is, unintentionally, killing him. Jiang Cheng knows if he isn't careful the taste of flowers will completely destabalise him; he has to try and maintain his composure, has to force himself not to fall flat in terms of his own emotions.
He has to be the stronger one here.
So, he shakes his head, leaning back and giving a raised eyebrowed look of disappointment. ] Does that matter? Rules are the rules, that's what I was taught. [ And it's not as if Lan Wangji or Lan Xichen do anything to break those rules outside of Gusu either, so he had valid reason to imagine Sizhui as being the same.
Leaning back, he tries not to appear as frustrated as he is. ]
Either way, we should be working on getting ourselves back, on ensuring that we can return to the others, not arguing over semantics. So let me take care of you.
[ It comes out with a cough that stains his lip a little red with blood. ]
no subject
which is making sure jiang cheng gets healed and doesn't choke to death on flowers, thorns and his own
feelingsblood.unfortunately, the latter will prove difficult whenever sizhui's adamant on the former; it's unlike him to give up so easy, but there might come a moment where the pressure proves too much and he buckles beneath its weight. (there's some joke here to be made about prodigious lan clan arm-strength, except it's something else entirely when speaking of emotions rather than physical power.)
oh, but if only jiang cheng knew what rules had been broken . . . his fingertips recapture the flower, pinch tight around the floret, thumbnail cutting into its softness, his gaze unwavering from the older man's.] You're right, [he finally says. then, without missing a beat, he discards that blossom and lowers his hand, obediently folding them both across his lap.] My apologies, Jiang-zongzhu, I shouldn't speak out of turn.
[the distance between them increases as jiang cheng leans back and sizhui follows suit by slouching down, hands interlocking tighter, still looking fixedly at him.] Do whatever you wish. [sizhui's lips pinch then, blood catching in his own throat rather than spilling from his mouth; it's thick, coppery and it takes all his willpower to not cringe, yet he manages.
what he doesn't resist doing, however, is disentangling his hands, reaching out with the left one and using his sleeve to blot away the red smearing jiang cheng's lips.]
no subject
His wounds are not as serious as they might have been in another situation and the worst feeling is that of the thorns, not what happened to him during the hunt, but he can't express that to Sizhui. He cannot vocalise it, because he simply does not have the strength or the words.
Of course he's right, though, and the scoffing noise he makes proves that he is confident in that. The way Sizhui looks at him is so overwhelming, so intense, that he has to look away to swallow, make himself push all of those things down and away so that he doesn't fall apart. He has to be the leader, the teacher, the guide, and he cannot do that if he is suffocating.
But, all the same - ] I don't care if you speak out of turn. You've met a-Ling. [ A sharp little noise. Of course his nephew learned it from someone, and who else but his uncle? It would make him laugh were they in any other situation.
Reaching out, he begins to move, to try and deal with the injury; until a hand reaches up and his own goes to join it, his fingers brushing over Sizhui's as he holds it in the air between them. He feels breathless, suddenly, and his eyes go wide. ]
... Lan Sizhui.
no subject
being a little bruised and battered isn't anything that bothers him nearly as much as jiang cheng concerns himself with, but if it's what helps in this situation, he'll accept whatever fussing is necessary to help ease some stress for them both.
that self-satisfied sound almost makes sizhui shake his head; sect leader jiang has every right to feel assured, after all, but that'd mean having to break eye-contact, which he wasn't too keen on doing at the moment. mostly because it feels like if he does, he's ashamed and there's nothing he feels entirely sorry for, though he's surprised when it's so much, the other man ends up looking away. he is quite tempted to question why jiang cheng can't hold his gaze, why he must turn away and compose himself rather than stare him in the eye while they're deliberately denying what's hurting them most.]
I have. [and considering their similarities, he might've laughed too, but then jiang cheng shifts closer, lessening the distance between them this time, inadvertently allowing his hand to reach easier—
or he would have if it hadn't been grasped instead, brushing their fingers together in the process. sensations like tiny invisible sparks of electricity prickle across his skin, causing goosebumps to rise along his arms, most of which are hidden underneath all those lan layers. he glances toward their hands, raises his free one, curls it into a tight fist against his heart and redirects to jiang cheng again.] Jiang Cheng . . . [then he leans forward, bridging what gap remains by dropping his forehead against jiang cheng's shoulder.
while he has earned no right to refer to him by name, it's in this moment of vulnerability, sizhui doesn't care about what's proper or not; he's taking the risk, abandoning his manners for a little closeness, even if it's all he's allowed.]