( Jingyi stares at the plush dragon, struck immobile to start. His mouth opens, lips parted, and he wants to say something, anything, but no words come out. His eyes burn with a sudden intensity he doesn't expect, and he hugs the stupid, familiar shape of the dragon plush to his chest and lets himself have a moment of gratitude so intense it burns.
And yes. He does cry, just a little, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness from the closest thing he'll have to a parental figure in his world, aside from the mentorship that comes from Hanguang-jun. Different divides, and it's all tied up in Clan, in identity, in knowing Lan Xichen cares for all of them and also is a man with too much he bears, for the sake of them all. Who has suffered at the hands of his sworn brothers in different, unintended and unasked ways; who has been betrayed for his affections and trust, and still carries on. As much as he can, still carries on.
For a moment, though, he can hug this stupid, soft representation of what he's missing so acutely he doesn't even know it sometimes. Kindness, he thinks, is something like this.
It's later that he finds Lan Xichen, in the gardens, and executes the perfection of a bow for a junior to not just a senior, but to his sect leader. Sword in hand, in his robes with their partial mending, because that is what is due for this. Hair carefully in place, crown worn like it should, ribbon precisely worn as it always is regardless. )
Thank you for the gift, Zewu-jun. It... it was very well received.
( He's not sure if he should or could or can accept it in one turn, but he knows he has, that denying it now is too insincere in its own way. He'll return as good to his sect leader, he will. He'll figure out the how, but for now he can offer this: his respect, the depth of it and his gratitude, unshakeable loyalty no matter the fractured differences across worlds. )
action briefly
And yes. He does cry, just a little, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness from the closest thing he'll have to a parental figure in his world, aside from the mentorship that comes from Hanguang-jun. Different divides, and it's all tied up in Clan, in identity, in knowing Lan Xichen cares for all of them and also is a man with too much he bears, for the sake of them all. Who has suffered at the hands of his sworn brothers in different, unintended and unasked ways; who has been betrayed for his affections and trust, and still carries on. As much as he can, still carries on.
For a moment, though, he can hug this stupid, soft representation of what he's missing so acutely he doesn't even know it sometimes. Kindness, he thinks, is something like this.
It's later that he finds Lan Xichen, in the gardens, and executes the perfection of a bow for a junior to not just a senior, but to his sect leader. Sword in hand, in his robes with their partial mending, because that is what is due for this. Hair carefully in place, crown worn like it should, ribbon precisely worn as it always is regardless. )
Thank you for the gift, Zewu-jun. It... it was very well received.
( He's not sure if he should or could or can accept it in one turn, but he knows he has, that denying it now is too insincere in its own way. He'll return as good to his sect leader, he will. He'll figure out the how, but for now he can offer this: his respect, the depth of it and his gratitude, unshakeable loyalty no matter the fractured differences across worlds. )