[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
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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.]