It's amazing what the body can do to make up for the loss of one sense. Xingchen had to take time to adapt, of course, and he tripped and fell and scraped his hands far more than he'd ever like to say, but every time he'd get back up and try again. And try again. And try again. Until he eventually grew to feel the world around him, not just by physical touch, but sensing it in other ways. He's so much more aware now than he ever was before.
Zichen's question makes him pause, thinking. "I've been here...I think about two months now?" And then he's all but ushered into a seat at the table and although he wants to object, having Zichen here convinces him to just give way. He listens to the bustling in the kitchen for a few moments, just letting it settle around him. This is how it should have always been, whether or not Zichen's eyes were ruined or not. And then his own...
Xingchen sits quietly, wringing his hands in his lap. And then, quietly, "You...healed well?" Meaning the transplant. Xingchen assumes he's able to see well enough, or at least he's able to get around even better than Xingchen himself. But he says nothing else right now, knowing this is a sore subject.
no subject
Zichen's question makes him pause, thinking. "I've been here...I think about two months now?" And then he's all but ushered into a seat at the table and although he wants to object, having Zichen here convinces him to just give way. He listens to the bustling in the kitchen for a few moments, just letting it settle around him. This is how it should have always been, whether or not Zichen's eyes were ruined or not. And then his own...
Xingchen sits quietly, wringing his hands in his lap. And then, quietly, "You...healed well?" Meaning the transplant. Xingchen assumes he's able to see well enough, or at least he's able to get around even better than Xingchen himself. But he says nothing else right now, knowing this is a sore subject.