[The patriarch, in all his glory, doesn’t look even a handful of years older than Bi’an himself— though maybe that sense of nearness has more to do with the silhouette Wei Wuxian casts: layers of red and black, long hair loosely tied back, away from a beautiful jawline and half-lidded eyes.
(If Xie Bi’an were more desperate, more ill with irreplaceable loss, he might have mistaken Wei Wuxian for Fan Wujiu.)]
He’ll remember everything...?
[Asking question after question makes him feel naive in a way he only vaguely remembers from his own childhood: something in his head still runs on instinct and propriety, he knows he should be thanking Wei Wuxian for his mercy and generosity.
Instead he doesn’t hesitate to tuck himself into the space beside a man he barely knows, still wondering about the beautiful teeth of that woman from moments before.
Is that what Wujiu will become?
Would he forgive him for that, too?
Sick, hisses the knot in his stomach, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten in two days now. What travel hasn’t done, his tether to the dead has.]
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(If Xie Bi’an were more desperate, more ill with irreplaceable loss, he might have mistaken Wei Wuxian for Fan Wujiu.)]
He’ll remember everything...?
[Asking question after question makes him feel naive in a way he only vaguely remembers from his own childhood: something in his head still runs on instinct and propriety, he knows he should be thanking Wei Wuxian for his mercy and generosity.
Instead he doesn’t hesitate to tuck himself into the space beside a man he barely knows, still wondering about the beautiful teeth of that woman from moments before.
Is that what Wujiu will become?
Would he forgive him for that, too?
Sick, hisses the knot in his stomach, and he realizes he hasn’t eaten in two days now. What travel hasn’t done, his tether to the dead has.]