mannerless | open post!

You, perhaps. From my uncle.

Regardless of your particular tastes, you may complain, and whine, if the spices are not to your liking.

You have copied the Gusulan principles enough times. Past 9, which one do you think should be lifted?

I do recall something on the list about loving and respecting yourself, neither of which you're doing by tethering yourself to me, so we could stand to lift that one a bit.

I'm also almost certain to laugh for no reason - so that one could be it, too.

Or... Hmm. I suppose it could be one more, perhaps. But I don't dare mention it, your uncle can sense these things from miles away and you and I will never enjoy our evening if he spends it throwing things at me.

Neither of which I did by resisting, or denying. Do you think yourself unworthy?

One more, then. I could stand to hear you laugh.

I could stand to hear you.

( no reply comes - at least not in text. instead, the faintest possible echo of a distant flute playing a familiar song, though a bit of the finesse has been traded out for sheer volume and even still wei ying isn't positive it will echo properly up the mountain pass. )

( it does. or maybe it’s his senses, acutely attuned to him. the breeze wafts in their favor; lan wangji backtracks, white and pale blues billowing in his wake as he leaves the cloud recesses. he’ll meet him half-way, each step punctuated by a thud against his ribs, heavier as the song gradually echoes louder.

notes wail, and lan wangji hums along. )

Unrestrained. I am on my Wei.

( the song stutters to a stop, and one might assume it's with the intent to reply, but no - wei ying simply can't play and laugh at the same time, and that joke was absolutely awful and he laughs at it for longer than he should.

when he starts to play again, the notes waver just slightly with the last vestiges of said laughter before he swallows them down and resumes the proper song.

eventually, lan zhan will be able to spot a donkey winding its way up the mountain path ahead. on the donkey's back sits wei ying, crosslegged (equal parts daring and trusting), a long stick held tucked between his calves with the other end dangling an apple in front of li'l apple's fumbling mouth. it leaves his hands free to send melodies across the distance between them, which distracts him enough at the moment that he has yet to spot the man coming down the mountain ahead.

but then he does, and his attempt to feign nonchalance lasts approximately four more notes before the music trails off and his flute lowers to his lap. eyes meet across the distance for a number of seconds that wei ying couldn't possibly estimate, then he's in motion - scrambling haphazardly off the donkey's back, his luring stick clattering to the ground (li'l apple seizes his namesake treat, finally rewarded for his efforts), and he tucks his flute hand against the small of his back as he briskly crosses the distance between them at barely short of a jog. when he stops, it's almost certainly too close - or at least it would have been, before all this - and he looks up at him a moment, too many different words at the tip of his tongue but none quite reaching the air.

what finally comes out is, ) I brought you something. ( oh, that didn't sound nonchalant at all. he tries again. ) I'll give it to you once we're back in your jingshi - and no, it's nothing like that.

( but it's now that he decides he stands no chance of acting even the slightest bit normal if he keeps looking lan zhan in the eye, so his lips press together a moment and he moves to step past the man and off toward cloud recesses. but it's a gradual, drifting sort of step, going precisely nowhere unless lan zhan turns to accompany him.

(li'l apple will catch up at some point, he hasn't forgotten who feeds him.) )

( he did always learn from the best. how to recognize the fire in his tempered heart. how to acknowledge its confines, follow them. how to be brave, sometimes bold. how to live up to his own expectations, and never lose sight of his own convictions.

how to make terrible, terrible jokes.

wei wuxian is a sight for sore eyes, a pang for stuttering beats. lan wangji doesn’t trust himself to breathe, not with him so close, already half-dizzy from his proximity. he is so desperately caught, his heart a metronome, and lan wangji inwardly bends to his tune, burning beneath his skin. his name is stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat; he swallows past the dry lump there, mesmerized, barely blinking. wei ying. and lan wangji comes to life again.

his breath finally slips free as wei wuxian moves away, lan wangji’s gaze still fixed on him. he sways forward, towards him, anchored. he drifts with him like an invisible link still binds them together, and if he looks a little awestruck, he doesn’t care. it’s the mention of a gift that ultimately furrows his brows, the lightest wrinkle in-between; he finds his place beside him, impossibly fond. ) You are enough. ( what else could possibly compare to wei wuxian? he doesn’t need anything else. )

( there's something different about lan zhan this time, something wei ying can't quite put his finger on. he glances up at the man now in the corner of his eye, assessing the awe overlaid by a fresh new layer of puzzlement, and - 'you are enough.' )

If Lan Zhan doesn't want it, I can always toss it out. ( but a warm sort of grin has overcome him now, undermining any chance of his joke-threat being taken as credible. it's a rare occasion for banter to fail him, but this is one such time, and he clearly has no real choice but to sidle a half-step closer and link his arm through lan zhan's. )

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