His throat and jaw are tight, but his eyes are dry. Lan Xichen has long mourned the possibility of them ever being able to change the nature of their relationship. Jin Guangyao isn't saying anything he hasn't told himself a thousand times.

(Except that there once may have been a possibility and Lan Xichen wants to scream before throwing that on the pile of regrets, but he can't. He can't.)

He pushes it down, that awful hope that manages to drag itself out of some part of him every once in a while, and he wonders why, even after all this time, he still doesn't know any better.

"I have never thought you indifferent," he protests, a thin crack splitting his voice. He doesn't shake Jin Guangyao's hand on his arm off, but he doesn't dare reach for it in turn, because if he does he won't be able to let go.

Please, some part of him begs. I already had to let go once.

"And A-Yao has never been lowly in this one's eyes. He has always thought of him in the highest possible regard."

He manages a tight, thin smile, because the ache of putting this to words, putting it to rest is like putting down some pained and starving creature; some cruel and terrible mercy, but the only one available to them.

"As I said, I know what can and cannot be. This has always been enough."

His eyes fall to the hand on his arm, where he can feel the warmth of Jin Guangyao through his silks. He wishes he was warm too.

"Perhaps in another life, things will be simpler for us."