( Ah, then his eyes slowly creep open, just to watch nothing more than Lan Zhan's return, the steady breaths on him and to his side a lull and lullaby, his own steady breathing sending one son to slumber, and then; Lan Zhan making quiet commentary on Wei Wuxian's choice in resting places, and he brings to himself the energy to snort, a softer sound than usual, less convincing and more action. )
We've slept on worse.
( Is his idle comment, not a helpful reasoning for why they ignore the platform of the bed for the narrower one of the seat, but still, this is also not so cumbersome or uncomfortable a place. He shifts after Lan Zhan makes his own settled piece, Qingshan drooling and deeply slumbering already, small fist curling in and uncurling to pat, in his sleep, his uncooperative pillow. Wei Wuxian handles the sudden assault on his chest with a fond pat, then shifts child and tips him sideway, until he's framing Lan Zhan and his armful of rabbit and the visible relaxation that speaks of healing injuries, more peaceful fates.
All this so he might sit up, look to his own attempts at libations that never make it beyond washed hands and a washed face, a damp wipe at the back of his neck, the column of his throat. Qingshan snuggles into the firmness of his father's side, encounters the fur of the rabbit, frowns and mutters baby nonsense before patting and sneezing, then settling back down.
Wei Wuxian watches this from peripheral vision, heart warmed. Chilled in turns by a seriousness that follows, as he glances down to Lan Zhan as he speaks, bathing cloth against his throat.
Words. Parceled out as Lan Zhan's usually are, weighted as they always will be, meaningful and not empty, most often. He might say always, but he's heard words that have lesser meanings than intended out of Lan Zhan's lips. He remembers those with a sort of fondness that says nothing about their context, and everything about the joy and challenge in discovering just how Lan Zhan could be found to throw his wit and the sharpness of his tongue against those as he saw fit.
That's not tonight's thought. Right now, it's simpler, met with a firm, slow blink of his eyes, drifting from Lan Zhan's face to the rabbit yao, all rabbit now. )
I have an idea. ( Several, really. ) In tracking the time, where it warped. We return, with the rabbit. Qingshan—
( One child in danger is enough. Two is foolhardy, and nothing he wants to risk, not when he'd fought so hard raising A-Yuan and knowing the nature of children is to give their parents room for fear and surprise and hurried dashes to prevent disasters that might be prevented, and observe the learnings of what might not. )
Will not.
( Something known already, but also: )
Jiang Cheng needs to know.
( About this place? About Qingshan. Wei Wuxian, king of delivering his fosterling adopted sons to others stoops?
No, no, not that, and never intended. Never knowing who had lived, when so many had marched to their death for the sake of a powerful man's greed and his paper thing promise.
He sets the towel aside, having held it like an absent thought for too long, then settles again, curved inward, only by circumstance toward Lan Zhan. Qingshan is who settles into the space between chest and stomach and Lan Zhan's side, and that rabbit, such a large presence, is almost comedic in this little group. Jade rabbits, moon rabbits, and rabbits of another kind. )
Lan Zhan... how's your ankle?
( Said as he strokes fingers over Qingshan's mussed, dark hair, looking from child to fellow parent. Sleep is hemming in again, but so are busy thoughts, puzzles for the solving, the very source of so many sleepless nights while Lan Zhan's better habits meant regular resting, not chasing after concepts and possibilities on a midnight wind, as Wei Wuxian is still tempted toward. )
no subject
We've slept on worse.
( Is his idle comment, not a helpful reasoning for why they ignore the platform of the bed for the narrower one of the seat, but still, this is also not so cumbersome or uncomfortable a place. He shifts after Lan Zhan makes his own settled piece, Qingshan drooling and deeply slumbering already, small fist curling in and uncurling to pat, in his sleep, his uncooperative pillow. Wei Wuxian handles the sudden assault on his chest with a fond pat, then shifts child and tips him sideway, until he's framing Lan Zhan and his armful of rabbit and the visible relaxation that speaks of healing injuries, more peaceful fates.
All this so he might sit up, look to his own attempts at libations that never make it beyond washed hands and a washed face, a damp wipe at the back of his neck, the column of his throat. Qingshan snuggles into the firmness of his father's side, encounters the fur of the rabbit, frowns and mutters baby nonsense before patting and sneezing, then settling back down.
Wei Wuxian watches this from peripheral vision, heart warmed. Chilled in turns by a seriousness that follows, as he glances down to Lan Zhan as he speaks, bathing cloth against his throat.
Words. Parceled out as Lan Zhan's usually are, weighted as they always will be, meaningful and not empty, most often. He might say always, but he's heard words that have lesser meanings than intended out of Lan Zhan's lips. He remembers those with a sort of fondness that says nothing about their context, and everything about the joy and challenge in discovering just how Lan Zhan could be found to throw his wit and the sharpness of his tongue against those as he saw fit.
That's not tonight's thought. Right now, it's simpler, met with a firm, slow blink of his eyes, drifting from Lan Zhan's face to the rabbit yao, all rabbit now. )
I have an idea. ( Several, really. ) In tracking the time, where it warped. We return, with the rabbit. Qingshan—
( One child in danger is enough. Two is foolhardy, and nothing he wants to risk, not when he'd fought so hard raising A-Yuan and knowing the nature of children is to give their parents room for fear and surprise and hurried dashes to prevent disasters that might be prevented, and observe the learnings of what might not. )
Will not.
( Something known already, but also: )
Jiang Cheng needs to know.
( About this place? About Qingshan. Wei Wuxian, king of delivering his fosterling adopted sons to others stoops?
No, no, not that, and never intended. Never knowing who had lived, when so many had marched to their death for the sake of a powerful man's greed and his paper thing promise.
He sets the towel aside, having held it like an absent thought for too long, then settles again, curved inward, only by circumstance toward Lan Zhan. Qingshan is who settles into the space between chest and stomach and Lan Zhan's side, and that rabbit, such a large presence, is almost comedic in this little group. Jade rabbits, moon rabbits, and rabbits of another kind. )
Lan Zhan... how's your ankle?
( Said as he strokes fingers over Qingshan's mussed, dark hair, looking from child to fellow parent. Sleep is hemming in again, but so are busy thoughts, puzzles for the solving, the very source of so many sleepless nights while Lan Zhan's better habits meant regular resting, not chasing after concepts and possibilities on a midnight wind, as Wei Wuxian is still tempted toward. )