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lies down and delights in the pain of the & #39;last moments of guanyin temple were their love confessions& #39; interpretation
maybe not & #39;interpretations& #39; per se, maybe scenarios? headcanons? words are hard. & #39;don& #39;t you write fic& #39; statistically, not really
anyway i love all interpretations (if only their people aren& #39;t acting like they& #39;re Obvious and Only True Options) but there& #39;s something so wonderfully horrible in lxc realizing that maybe if they both knew earlier, everything would have gone differently BUT IT& #39;S TOO LATE NOW
lxc thinking about all those times they were staying up, talking about/reciting poetry, all those times he felt so at peace, so himself, and he wondered if maybe--if /maybe/... but no, a-yao had his duties, his family
the closest they& #39;ve ever been! was guanyin temple! and some nights back when he was on the run, when they huddled for warmth, but the thing is--even for a cultivator--memory is a fragile thing. he didn& #39;t think to focus on the curve of a-yao& #39;s cheek, the color of the shadows on
his hand; he was tired, cold and hungry and just wanted one night of sleep, of not waking up with a start every half an hour because his half-asleep mind was convinced there was something in the dark
he didn& #39;t think to remember and now the memory is blurry.
he didn& #39;t think to remember and now the memory is blurry.
