[ Wen Kexing doesn't laugh. He doesn't smile or joke at that, but he also doesn't draw back or criticize. Just three words, but he takes them in with more weight than the hundreds he's probably spoken in just the past few hours, flitting around the charity event. He strokes Mog gently down the back, fingers combing over preened feathers, and lets the sight of the man who is no longer a boy digest. Scarred. Reserved. Arguably wounded from some points of view.
Cared for. He has friends. Family, even. What a thought. ]
no subject
[ Wen Kexing doesn't laugh. He doesn't smile or joke at that, but he also doesn't draw back or criticize. Just three words, but he takes them in with more weight than the hundreds he's probably spoken in just the past few hours, flitting around the charity event. He strokes Mog gently down the back, fingers combing over preened feathers, and lets the sight of the man who is no longer a boy digest. Scarred. Reserved. Arguably wounded from some points of view.
Cared for. He has friends. Family, even. What a thought. ]
What do you do now?