[ one of the things that xiao xingchen has always loved about song lan is that they were kindred spirits. maybe people saw song lan as cold, or humorless, but xiao xingchen knew that wasn't the truth. he might not have been the best at expressing himself (if you couldn't read him), but when he did. oh, when he did. he was just as passionate as xiao xingchen if not more, just as loving, just as kind.
any sort of severity in his tone is only enough to shake xiao xingchen out of what was becoming a terrible, tight spiral of guilt. he's always been a bit cerebral, the type of person to reflect and think on his actions--as a true daozhang should be--and the paths those thoughts take him down are dark, twisted, and have no end in sight. words like could have and should have are inevitably useless, but he thinks them anyway, so frustrated with his own behaviors, his own stupidity.
but (and it's like things are normal again), song lan pulls him out of it again. his fingers are familiar, callouses he knows as well as he knows his own, from holding fuxue, from once or twice where he dared to let them touch, where they passed weapons or food or locked hands in spars that went from graceful to childish rolling around in the dirt. though he can't see, he turns his head towards it anyway, as if he could visualize, and instinctually, xiao xingchen's grip loosens, and he lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
it comes out in a huff, not quite hysterical, but certainly surprised, almost a laugh. it's still hard to believe this is real, and song lan isn't making it any less unbelievable. the feelings well up in his chest, dangerous, full, threatening to overflow, and xiao xingchen takes a breath to gently push the tide back. he speaks up, soft, almost unsure in contrast to song lan's determination. ] Zichen...
[ it doesn't work; the wound at his eyes leaks, and he turns his head away, abruptly, moving to cover it the best he can. (it's futile. he is in fact, completely naked in this bathtub, something he has yet to properly consider. xiao xingchen is having a moment, here, and none of it is very thoughtful, or composed, or entirely daozhang like.) xiao xingchen huffs again, only frees one hand to reach up and put the heel of it underneath the silk bandage at his eyes, rubbing away a thin streak of red. ] ...I'm sorry. I keep apologizing, and I'm sorry for that too--I think I must be losing it.
[ i choose to be at your side. the words echo again, and he gives song lan a smile, lips quirked at the corners. it's small and unsure, not so serene. a gentle breeze, scattered. ] Please excuse this behavior...I don't think I ever imagined you saying that in my wildest dreams, after --
[ he inhales. ] --After. [ and just lets the sentence finish their, in its finality. the fingers of his hand still covered by song lan's flex, softly, but it's not rejecting. in fact, he only loosens them to turn his hand upwards, the gesture so tender and soft, slowly opening his fingers, palm holding song lan's gently now in his own.
song lan is trembling. he can feel it, and xiao xingchen's heart aches for him. ] I didn't dare to ask for your forgiveness, let alone your company.
omg no need to apologize... i told you i write novels don't feel like you gotta match ;__; <3
any sort of severity in his tone is only enough to shake xiao xingchen out of what was becoming a terrible, tight spiral of guilt. he's always been a bit cerebral, the type of person to reflect and think on his actions--as a true daozhang should be--and the paths those thoughts take him down are dark, twisted, and have no end in sight. words like could have and should have are inevitably useless, but he thinks them anyway, so frustrated with his own behaviors, his own stupidity.
but (and it's like things are normal again), song lan pulls him out of it again. his fingers are familiar, callouses he knows as well as he knows his own, from holding fuxue, from once or twice where he dared to let them touch, where they passed weapons or food or locked hands in spars that went from graceful to childish rolling around in the dirt. though he can't see, he turns his head towards it anyway, as if he could visualize, and instinctually, xiao xingchen's grip loosens, and he lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
it comes out in a huff, not quite hysterical, but certainly surprised, almost a laugh. it's still hard to believe this is real, and song lan isn't making it any less unbelievable. the feelings well up in his chest, dangerous, full, threatening to overflow, and xiao xingchen takes a breath to gently push the tide back. he speaks up, soft, almost unsure in contrast to song lan's determination. ] Zichen...
[ it doesn't work; the wound at his eyes leaks, and he turns his head away, abruptly, moving to cover it the best he can. (it's futile. he is in fact, completely naked in this bathtub, something he has yet to properly consider. xiao xingchen is having a moment, here, and none of it is very thoughtful, or composed, or entirely daozhang like.) xiao xingchen huffs again, only frees one hand to reach up and put the heel of it underneath the silk bandage at his eyes, rubbing away a thin streak of red. ] ...I'm sorry. I keep apologizing, and I'm sorry for that too--I think I must be losing it.
[ i choose to be at your side. the words echo again, and he gives song lan a smile, lips quirked at the corners. it's small and unsure, not so serene. a gentle breeze, scattered. ] Please excuse this behavior...I don't think I ever imagined you saying that in my wildest dreams, after --
[ he inhales. ] --After. [ and just lets the sentence finish their, in its finality. the fingers of his hand still covered by song lan's flex, softly, but it's not rejecting. in fact, he only loosens them to turn his hand upwards, the gesture so tender and soft, slowly opening his fingers, palm holding song lan's gently now in his own.
song lan is trembling. he can feel it, and xiao xingchen's heart aches for him. ] I didn't dare to ask for your forgiveness, let alone your company.