( His resistance is thin, a point of capitulation to Lan Zhan's shoulder, avoiding his lap for the upset of their third and second son both. That it merits the partly intended pat to his head by Qingshan, that Qingbai snuggles in closer and butts his head against Lan Zhan too, only unifies the whole, leaves him closing his eyes and then: chuckling, half opening them again. )
Too young to know what love is.
( That last time he talked with his sister in that way, when he'd been asking what it was to like someone like that. Even if he's leaning against the reason why he'd asked, there were obstacles then, and decades that followed, to leave him wondering is it a matter of ever understanding?
No, he doesn't think it does. Not understanding, and maybe that's always been a problem, because the emotions he reacts to, the times he throws all in, are times where he already sets rationale to the side. Maybe that, too, is what one does in love.
Maybe. He's not thinking hard on it right now. Not with one child breathing against him, the sounds of the other child in Lan Zhan's arms right next to him, the steady bone of shoulder, and the fingers cutting through his hair. He's missed this. Somewhat fiercely, he's missed this, and it was not delivered from Lan Zhan's hand in the aching parts of himself that remembers what it was like most strongly.
He fears, sometimes, losing those memories, of his shijie's voice and face, just as he's lost those of his parents. It's a matter of time, he knows. The best he can do is fill in those blank spaces with new memories to hold precious, to remember, when the hold are too faint to bring anything more than their passing impressions of warmth. )
Mm? ( Stirred from his own thoughts, blinking. ) Ah, yes. We do, don't we? ( He wasn't tracking, truly. A longer pause, inhaling, exhaling, and a murmured: ) That'd be nice.
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Too young to know what love is.
( That last time he talked with his sister in that way, when he'd been asking what it was to like someone like that. Even if he's leaning against the reason why he'd asked, there were obstacles then, and decades that followed, to leave him wondering is it a matter of ever understanding?
No, he doesn't think it does. Not understanding, and maybe that's always been a problem, because the emotions he reacts to, the times he throws all in, are times where he already sets rationale to the side. Maybe that, too, is what one does in love.
Maybe. He's not thinking hard on it right now. Not with one child breathing against him, the sounds of the other child in Lan Zhan's arms right next to him, the steady bone of shoulder, and the fingers cutting through his hair. He's missed this. Somewhat fiercely, he's missed this, and it was not delivered from Lan Zhan's hand in the aching parts of himself that remembers what it was like most strongly.
He fears, sometimes, losing those memories, of his shijie's voice and face, just as he's lost those of his parents. It's a matter of time, he knows. The best he can do is fill in those blank spaces with new memories to hold precious, to remember, when the hold are too faint to bring anything more than their passing impressions of warmth. )
Mm? ( Stirred from his own thoughts, blinking. ) Ah, yes. We do, don't we? ( He wasn't tracking, truly. A longer pause, inhaling, exhaling, and a murmured: ) That'd be nice.
( I'd like that. )