The removal of hands so Wangji can read is felt. Loss of warmth. But Wuxian forces himself to ignore it, to give the other man the time to read in peace.

Peace...that can't last any longer.

This knowledge...

'Hope,' he's told. That, and the hand returning to his back, finally help ease the silent sobs. He draws in a shaky breath, slowly sitting upright back on his heels. His hands fidget, fingers tugging restlessly at whatever they come in contact with.

"I-" his voice cracks and he coughs, one hand quickly moving to cover a second. He swallows heavily and tries to take a deeper, calmer breath. "It doesn't...matter. Lan Zhan. None of it." Voice quiet. Hoarse. Rough.

Listless.

None of his suffering. None of his pain.

None of his grief.

Useless.