[ His expression makes plain that he means to argue: there's not need for anything like that. But arguing the generosity feels crass, even moreso than the way Quentin holds him or kisses him. So, he swallows the debate, reaches to set his teacup down before taking the box. The size of it makes him think immediately of charms, chains, jewelry. His brow purses as he slips the twine off it and unwraps the box. ]
[argumentative expression or no, Jin Guangyao's small, almost nervous smile remains the same. he sits quietly at Quentin's side, one hand resting against his leg while the other absently toys with the soft hair at the name of his neck.
inside the little box, resting on a bed of soft fabric, is a comb. it's immediately obvious that it is intended more as a sentimental piece than anything one would truly use as part of their daily grooming routine; carved from dark wood and then treated with a lacquer-like resin that ensures it gleams when held in the light. suspended within that resin are dried spring flowers and green leaves--suspiciously like the very bouquet Quentin once left on his doorstep. aster, liverwort, baby's breath. the blooms are small and subtle, and kept to either end of the comb so as to not detract overly much from the elegant shape of the wood.]
In my world, [he explains quietly,] when a gentleman wishes to make his feelings clear, he might present his intended with a gift like this. I imagine, [added with a self-effacing little laugh, eyes lowered,] that in your world, such things are done differently.
...Holy shit. [ He murmurs just at the shine and the weight of it in his hands. The rich color and daint details, the solidity of it in his palm as he lifts it to the light, make it feel like a souvenir in someone's dusty office--the kind of thing his dad would chide out of his hands if he got caught snooping it out of a draw or off a shelf when someone wasn't looking.
[ It's not big enough to do his hair with, which means (if he trusts his memory of grandma's things or the buns of ladies with slower jobs around town) that this is an ornament. The kind of things girls put in their hair--or that Jin Guangyao might. His cheek color deeper, lips going dry as Jin Guangyao explainst, and Quentin sputters. ]
[it isn't a delicate enough piece to be worn by a woman, though the addition of the dried flowers beneath that layer of resin was certainly a choice he deliberated over before ultimately choosing to include them. the artisan who performed the work had been diligent and attentive to each detail of the request; now, watching Quentin's artless expression as he admires his gift, Jin Guangyao feels it was the right decision.
his smile dimples a little at that incomplete question. with a soft, reassuring laugh, he squeezes Quentin's shoulder and the slope of his neck once, then smooths his fingers across his skin.] Please be at ease, [he cuts in kindly. watching Quentin's eyes for a moment, he purses his lips, then carefully broaches a subject he's been politely sidestepping up until now.] Bao bei, I know I am not the only one in your heart. I--[a pause, considering his words,]--only wish for you to know that your place in mine is secure.
[a love confession, even if he seems to hesitate over saying the words. he traces his touch along Quentin's neck, an affectionate touch with no ulterior motive except to share affection, and closeness. Jin Guangyao's dark eyes are warm, his expression soft.]
[ The sentiment sparks and catches in between his lungs, burns warm and homely in his chest. He doesn't deserve this. He can't pay it back. He knows better than to say either thing, though, and--thanks to a little bit of self-awareness he's built up in the last few months--he manages to shove the feeling down before it shows.
[ He covers Jin Guangyao's hand with his own, peels it back to kiss the hollow of his palm emphatically. ] I love it. [ He mutters there, lingers for another little while before pulling back and brushing his hair with his fingers. ]
You're gonna...I dunno how to get it in, you're gonna have to show me...
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inside the little box, resting on a bed of soft fabric, is a comb. it's immediately obvious that it is intended more as a sentimental piece than anything one would truly use as part of their daily grooming routine; carved from dark wood and then treated with a lacquer-like resin that ensures it gleams when held in the light. suspended within that resin are dried spring flowers and green leaves--suspiciously like the very bouquet Quentin once left on his doorstep. aster, liverwort, baby's breath. the blooms are small and subtle, and kept to either end of the comb so as to not detract overly much from the elegant shape of the wood.]
In my world, [he explains quietly,] when a gentleman wishes to make his feelings clear, he might present his intended with a gift like this. I imagine, [added with a self-effacing little laugh, eyes lowered,] that in your world, such things are done differently.
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[ It's not big enough to do his hair with, which means (if he trusts his memory of grandma's things or the buns of ladies with slower jobs around town) that this is an ornament. The kind of things girls put in their hair--or that Jin Guangyao might. His cheek color deeper, lips going dry as Jin Guangyao explainst, and Quentin sputters. ]
His intended? You mean like--?
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his smile dimples a little at that incomplete question. with a soft, reassuring laugh, he squeezes Quentin's shoulder and the slope of his neck once, then smooths his fingers across his skin.] Please be at ease, [he cuts in kindly. watching Quentin's eyes for a moment, he purses his lips, then carefully broaches a subject he's been politely sidestepping up until now.] Bao bei, I know I am not the only one in your heart. I--[a pause, considering his words,]--only wish for you to know that your place in mine is secure.
[a love confession, even if he seems to hesitate over saying the words. he traces his touch along Quentin's neck, an affectionate touch with no ulterior motive except to share affection, and closeness. Jin Guangyao's dark eyes are warm, his expression soft.]
🎀?
[ He covers Jin Guangyao's hand with his own, peels it back to kiss the hollow of his palm emphatically. ] I love it. [ He mutters there, lingers for another little while before pulling back and brushing his hair with his fingers. ]
You're gonna...I dunno how to get it in, you're gonna have to show me...