[it had never been enough. Nothing he did had ever been enough, his father keeping all of it on the end of a stick he was to follow. By the time he’d come to his senses it had been too late and all he could think of was survive, survive, survive.
Now... He just wanted something. Something attainable. Something to call his. His name, he supposes, might be all he has now and that’s probably worth fighting for.
Must Xichen turn everything into a lecture, though? He feels an exasperated fondness, unable to conjure up the emotion to be truly annoyed. He knows, he knows, so why does Xichen insist on repeating these things to him? Perhaps it’s just part of the Lan way, like reciting their rules over and over. Like if he says it enough times, it’ll stick and stay.
Meng Yao leans back to look at him, eyes tracing over every line and pore. He reaches up with one hand to cup the side of his face, running his thumb lightly over the line of his cheekbone.]
And what of your goals, Xichen? What are they? [Would he even tell Meng Yao that?]
no subject
Now... He just wanted something. Something attainable. Something to call his. His name, he supposes, might be all he has now and that’s probably worth fighting for.
Must Xichen turn everything into a lecture, though? He feels an exasperated fondness, unable to conjure up the emotion to be truly annoyed. He knows, he knows, so why does Xichen insist on repeating these things to him? Perhaps it’s just part of the Lan way, like reciting their rules over and over. Like if he says it enough times, it’ll stick and stay.
Meng Yao leans back to look at him, eyes tracing over every line and pore. He reaches up with one hand to cup the side of his face, running his thumb lightly over the line of his cheekbone.]
And what of your goals, Xichen? What are they? [Would he even tell Meng Yao that?]