The idea of Wei Ying doing so to him is enticing enough to make Lan Zhan pause, trying to imagine that such indulgence could be his. There would be no rule against it in this place. The thought is frightening it is so foreign.

"Like Wei Ying's hair," he finally murmurs, watching as even now unruly pieces stick out in waves. "Would not suit Wei Ying to have hair that behaved. Like the waves and the curls when it is wet. Suits you."