The doubt in Lan Zhan's voice is enough to chase some of the fog from Wei Wuxian's head. "Lan Zhan is perfect to me," he says, lifting the hand from Lan Zhan's shoulder to push into his hair instead. Even so, he's noticed moments cut suddenly short, felt Lan Zhan retreating abruptly in the face of pleasure even just this evening.

"But to yourself," he says, tasting the words before speaking them, "I think you are at times afraid to be kind."