A skip in his memory of breathing, watching Lan Zhan's advance, the slide of fingers around the wine jar flirting with the barest touch of a filled remembrance, dregs as mediocre as the first pour. He can recall when Lan Zhan had drank with full awareness, has a hazier recollection of the time he'd convinced, ordered, whatever it had been with that talisman he's forgotten with the sway of time, and things had been simpler.
He wonders if Lan Zhan's mind ever sits in knots of too busy chatter, of cross purpose and questions and doubts and further questions and endless, immense, insatiable curiosity; but he thinks that at times, Lan Zhan has clarity, and others, he's like the wine mixed in with his tea, and his answer, spilled past his lovely lips like the slide of his tongue over them.
A taste of what is, and what isn't. Listening to Lan Zhan's words, forming with his hands the script of his consideration. It feels rare still, even when Lan Zhan is less absolute in his trade of golden words than he once was, or often could be. Worth the extra consideration, the admittance of how he turns, caught within the web of their collective lives, of the realms, and even their chosen duties.
An empty cup, his fingers curled around its sides. Studying Lan Zhan's face, and offering a smile, without edges, without promises. Better natured, but wry, thoughtful.
"I might recommend travel," he says at length, "For starting to find the edges of an answer. When you don't need to be the leader," of realms through the handholding and the keen-eyed watch on the unfair and fair dealings of humanity and the inhuman. "You live up to your name, Lan Zhan. You fit Hanguang-jun, but that light doesn't need to shine as the sun does. Light enough to guide you fits. Lan Zhan fits. Finding the weave of who that man is... for yourself, who that man is. Tell me how to help, when you find you know."
no subject
He wonders if Lan Zhan's mind ever sits in knots of too busy chatter, of cross purpose and questions and doubts and further questions and endless, immense, insatiable curiosity; but he thinks that at times, Lan Zhan has clarity, and others, he's like the wine mixed in with his tea, and his answer, spilled past his lovely lips like the slide of his tongue over them.
A taste of what is, and what isn't. Listening to Lan Zhan's words, forming with his hands the script of his consideration. It feels rare still, even when Lan Zhan is less absolute in his trade of golden words than he once was, or often could be. Worth the extra consideration, the admittance of how he turns, caught within the web of their collective lives, of the realms, and even their chosen duties.
An empty cup, his fingers curled around its sides. Studying Lan Zhan's face, and offering a smile, without edges, without promises. Better natured, but wry, thoughtful.
"I might recommend travel," he says at length, "For starting to find the edges of an answer. When you don't need to be the leader," of realms through the handholding and the keen-eyed watch on the unfair and fair dealings of humanity and the inhuman. "You live up to your name, Lan Zhan. You fit Hanguang-jun, but that light doesn't need to shine as the sun does. Light enough to guide you fits. Lan Zhan fits. Finding the weave of who that man is... for yourself, who that man is. Tell me how to help, when you find you know."