[ well, there will be no mind-changing here. despite being the serene, gentle breeze, the lightest moonlight, a daozhang of the highest order, xiao xingchen is actually pretty stubborn. he doesn't do or say things that he doesn't mean, and he definitely, absolutely meant this.
it's selfish, but he really does wish he could see. he wishes he could read song lan's expression, instead of just his tone, his movements. he's left anticipating, not quite breath held, but focusing in on the water moving and the sudden presence of a body, behind him. song lan's sigh, separated from the splashing of the water. that's that--this is just the true closeness of two friends, isn't it? it's completely normal. if you had told xiao xingchen many years ago this was happening, he might have laughed. (or, he might not have been all that surprised: they were, after all, the most intimate of friends.)
the fingers down his spine feel like they leave ripples of their own, some kind of spiritual energy; the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and xiao xingchen's entire attention is focused on the pads of song lan's fingertips. to turn around is crossing a completely different border of "intimate friend", and while he's never once been tempted by any sort of worldly desire, this is -- something on an entirely different level. his hands pause where they had been toying with his hair, and there's a beat of silence. ]
--Alright. [ he breathes out in response, nodding to steel himself as much as to agree with the notion. song lan does make a good point, and there's zero resistance to the idea of being closer (not to mention, sitting like this, it must be cramped; song lan's legs are awfully long.)
alright. alright!! this is happening. carefully, xiao xingchen pushes himself up to his knees; the water catches in his long hair and weighs it down, covering his back from view save for the pale crescents visible at his shoulders. it's a bit of awkward manuevering, as his hand slides across the inside of the barrel to make sure he doesn't disrupt song lan too much. all in all, it's not a graceful process for someone who has always been completely graceful, and finally, he stops touching oak and his hand finds song lan's arm instead.
familiar. his skin's warm, soft. xiao xingchen's fingers curl, and as carefully as he can in the small space, he uses song lan's arm to push himself upwards better. still, even with good hearing--these finely cultivated senses--he could probably use a little help, and he offers song lan a small, sheepish smile from where he's facing him at least. ] I'll make no promises to not send us both crashing to the ground.
[ it's almost a tease, a gentle rib at himself. xiao xingchen gives a small squeeze to song lan's bicep, a wordless if you wouldn't mind helping, because he doesn't need to say such things out loud. ]
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it's selfish, but he really does wish he could see. he wishes he could read song lan's expression, instead of just his tone, his movements. he's left anticipating, not quite breath held, but focusing in on the water moving and the sudden presence of a body, behind him. song lan's sigh, separated from the splashing of the water. that's that--this is just the true closeness of two friends, isn't it? it's completely normal. if you had told xiao xingchen many years ago this was happening, he might have laughed. (or, he might not have been all that surprised: they were, after all, the most intimate of friends.)
the fingers down his spine feel like they leave ripples of their own, some kind of spiritual energy; the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and xiao xingchen's entire attention is focused on the pads of song lan's fingertips. to turn around is crossing a completely different border of "intimate friend", and while he's never once been tempted by any sort of worldly desire, this is -- something on an entirely different level. his hands pause where they had been toying with his hair, and there's a beat of silence. ]
--Alright. [ he breathes out in response, nodding to steel himself as much as to agree with the notion. song lan does make a good point, and there's zero resistance to the idea of being closer (not to mention, sitting like this, it must be cramped; song lan's legs are awfully long.)
alright. alright!! this is happening. carefully, xiao xingchen pushes himself up to his knees; the water catches in his long hair and weighs it down, covering his back from view save for the pale crescents visible at his shoulders. it's a bit of awkward manuevering, as his hand slides across the inside of the barrel to make sure he doesn't disrupt song lan too much. all in all, it's not a graceful process for someone who has always been completely graceful, and finally, he stops touching oak and his hand finds song lan's arm instead.
familiar. his skin's warm, soft. xiao xingchen's fingers curl, and as carefully as he can in the small space, he uses song lan's arm to push himself upwards better. still, even with good hearing--these finely cultivated senses--he could probably use a little help, and he offers song lan a small, sheepish smile from where he's facing him at least. ] I'll make no promises to not send us both crashing to the ground.
[ it's almost a tease, a gentle rib at himself. xiao xingchen gives a small squeeze to song lan's bicep, a wordless if you wouldn't mind helping, because he doesn't need to say such things out loud. ]