( There's context he doesn't have, a thought process he finds hard to trace at times, because he is not Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan is not him. Wei Wuxian blinks, startled, pulling his head back and finding he has no words for a moment. Overwhelmed with a sense of embarrassment that colours his cheeks, his heart catching in his chest, his breath cloying in his lungs. Too much, and he feels it, in a warm and frightening rush, and he's glad for the moment that he doesn't need to speak using his mouth, his lips, his tongue.
If he did, he wouldn't have the words. As it is, this is painfully, exquisitely difficult for him to frame. His husband's brashness, his directness, his shamelessness in this (and no insult, but it startles, is shocks, it endears)... it exceeds anything he expects. Ever.
Wei Wuxian has to pause, to recall breathing. To feel warmth in his eyes as tears simmer and threaten, hurting as all good things learn to hurt. I am worth this, he can feel, and He's worth this, he can think. Can write, in the end. )
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1/?
If he did, he wouldn't have the words. As it is, this is painfully, exquisitely difficult for him to frame. His husband's brashness, his directness, his shamelessness in this (and no insult, but it startles, is shocks, it endears)... it exceeds anything he expects. Ever.
Wei Wuxian has to pause, to recall breathing. To feel warmth in his eyes as tears simmer and threaten, hurting as all good things learn to hurt. I am worth this, he can feel, and He's worth this, he can think. Can write, in the end. )
I'm tied to the wagon of us.