[ It's not the gentle, rolling 'er-ge' that Meng Yao might offer, nor is it the familiar comfort of 'a-Huan' that is custom between them in private moments. Mingjue is too strung up for that and feels too coiled, a spring ready to snap. Baxia lifts from his shoulders without his hand moving and goes to rest in its place beside his desk, his eyes barely leaving the other man. Any other time, any other moment, and Mingjue would be thrilled to see his lover in front of him.
The moment is different now.
There has been much that has come between them; Meng Yao being the foremost, leading to other tense words and crossed brows. He doesn't like it - hates it, truly - because it festers under his skin like an infection, like a wound, lending itself to his anger and his hurt and heartache. Brooding about Xichen does little more than worsen his already problematic temper, and nothing Meng Yao nor Huaisang does can settle him down. He feels worse, more often than not, and all he can blame it on is his irritation with his honoured brother.
He sees the tea and, for just a moment, he considers turning his back and leaving Xichen where he is. Unfortunately, both propriety and his own heart refuses to allow it and he ends up stepping into the room and settling, crossing his legs under his weight before he looks over the table.
It's hard. It was never meant to be this hard. Mingjue feels sick with it. ]
If it's more about the merits of our honoured brother then I don't want to hear it. [ He takes his own cup of tea - refusing his partner the honour of offering it to him properly, a little slight that he can muster himself. Even in his frustration and the ache of his heart, though, there's something tender under it all: something reserved for Xichen alone, because this is the man that Mingjue loves the most, even now.
Breathing out, he tilts his head back just a little. ]
You know you're always welcome here, no matter what news you bring. Go ahead.
no subject
[ It's not the gentle, rolling 'er-ge' that Meng Yao might offer, nor is it the familiar comfort of 'a-Huan' that is custom between them in private moments. Mingjue is too strung up for that and feels too coiled, a spring ready to snap. Baxia lifts from his shoulders without his hand moving and goes to rest in its place beside his desk, his eyes barely leaving the other man. Any other time, any other moment, and Mingjue would be thrilled to see his lover in front of him.
The moment is different now.
There has been much that has come between them; Meng Yao being the foremost, leading to other tense words and crossed brows. He doesn't like it - hates it, truly - because it festers under his skin like an infection, like a wound, lending itself to his anger and his hurt and heartache. Brooding about Xichen does little more than worsen his already problematic temper, and nothing Meng Yao nor Huaisang does can settle him down. He feels worse, more often than not, and all he can blame it on is his irritation with his honoured brother.
He sees the tea and, for just a moment, he considers turning his back and leaving Xichen where he is. Unfortunately, both propriety and his own heart refuses to allow it and he ends up stepping into the room and settling, crossing his legs under his weight before he looks over the table.
It's hard. It was never meant to be this hard. Mingjue feels sick with it. ]
If it's more about the merits of our honoured brother then I don't want to hear it. [ He takes his own cup of tea - refusing his partner the honour of offering it to him properly, a little slight that he can muster himself. Even in his frustration and the ache of his heart, though, there's something tender under it all: something reserved for Xichen alone, because this is the man that Mingjue loves the most, even now.
Breathing out, he tilts his head back just a little. ]
You know you're always welcome here, no matter what news you bring. Go ahead.