Chapter Text
Nie Mingjue did not, for the record, get to give him back the money; even the next day when they sat down at their (it wasn’t really their’s, but considering they sat at the same one each day to eat their lunch together Lan Xichen couldn’t deny he’d come to think of it as such) table and Nie Mingjue thought he’d won by slipping the notes under the napkin, Lan Xichen had simply handed the money to Nie Huaisang when his shift finished. He knew he could trust the younger to make sure that it was actually used and that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t get a chance to argue much.
They deserved it.
-
“Lan Huan,” his mother shouted as he almost dozed off again, barely stopping himself before his head could hit the edge of the display case, though thankfully he stirred enough to jerk his face backwards and avoid any pain.
“Wha—“
“That’s it, you’re not working today,” she insisted as she stormed over to him with a concerned frown. It’d been a long time since he’d heard his birth name. “Come on, apron off, go home and get some rest. I’m not arguing with you about this. Why were you up so late?” Lan Xichen’s eyes instantly widened and he shook his head even as he undid the back of his apron. No, he couldn’t just go — it was almost time for lunch, and he couldn’t miss Nie Mingjue, not even for a day.
He’d promised himself, and his mother, that he wouldn’t touch his computer at all during his trip. Lan Xichen was surprised that he’d lasted two weeks without opening it.
Okay, so maybe he had been up late last night, depending on if you classified five in the morning as late, or early. Unlike Lan Wangji who fell asleep each night at nine like clockwork, Lan Xichen had always found himself rather troubled at night — it was the time he was mostly alone with his thoughts.
It wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s fault that he hadn’t been able to sleep or even that he’d had a bit of a breakdown that’d spiralled into him furiously working on a paper that wasn’t due for another two months in an attempt to distract himself from the thoughts permeating his mind, but he had been the cause. Lan Xichen had known he was getting attached to the elder, but yesterday when he’d leaned across the table to dab at the sauce on the edge of Nie Mingjue’s lips with a napkin he’d known he was in too far. He was crazy, letting himself live in this little bubble he’d made for himself when he didn’t have responsibilities and expectations and a life to go back to when he left — when, because it wasn’t very far off.
He never should’ve let himself fall this hard, but . . . he’d never really had much of a choice in the matter.
“I came with you. How will I get home?” He countered weakly, almost pleading, really, despite the fact his eyes felt so incredibly heavy.
“I can take you?” God, Lan Xichen knew that voice far too well. One glance confirmed what he’d already known, that it was Nie Mingjue that’d offered to give him a lift, staring at him earnestly.
“You’re here for lunch, though.” Nie Mingjue just shrugged.
“I’ll come back afterwards.” Like it was that simple, like he’d drop everything for Lan Xichen. Why did it hurt so much?
“Thank you, Mingjue, he can be so stubborn sometimes — make sure he stays awake, I don’t want to have to scrape him off the road.” Huh?
“Of course, ma’am. Come on, let's get you home before you keel over.” Lan Xichen blamed his sleep deprivation on the fact that he couldn’t really bring himself to argue too heavily, just murmuring a weak protest about how this really wasn’t necessary even as he followed the other back out to— oh, his motorcycle, of course. He’d certainly never been on one of those and he felt like his apprehension was understandable.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, “it’s honestly fine, da-ge, I can just sit around the diner until mama finishes. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue snorted quietly as he pulled off that thick leather jacket he seemed to keep for when he rode, moving forward and wrapping it around him before guiding his arms into the sleeves and tugging up the collar. “You’ll be fine as long as you hold onto me.” Lan Xichen still wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact he was given the sole helmet, but Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer as he seated himself on the bike and patted the spot behind him with a relaxed grin. “Hop on.”
None of this was good for Lan Xichen’s health. First of all, he was about to get on a two-wheeled death trap, and second of all, as he carefully eased himself on, he realised he was going to be plastered to the older male the entire way. Now he was sort of grateful for the fact that the helmet his the flush that rose up his neck as he tentatively wrapped his arm’s around the other’s waist — Nie Mingjue was quick to adjust his grip and tug him closer so that they were flush, hand lingering on his wrist for a few seconds longer than necessary before he started up the bike. Lan Xichen instinctively cuddled in closer.
He was already surrounded by the other’s cologne just from the jacket that was keeping him so warm and cosy, but pressed so close to the source . . . he felt like he was drowning in it. It wasn’t hard for him to relax after that initial movement. Lan Xichen was exhausted enough that he didn’t really focus on a lot of the few-minute-long trip, but he had to admit that it was nowhere near as bad as he’d anticipated. In fact, if anything, it was sort of enjoyable. Perhaps he’d have to test that hypothesis sometime in the future.
All he could think of the entire time was a soft murmuring in his mind of Nie Mingjue over and over again. He was so kind and considerate, so sweet, offering to bring him home even though it was out of his way, always being so tolerant of him. He’d make an incredible boyfriend, someday— a husband. Someone’s lover, but not his. The mere thought had him gripping the other’s torso a little tighter and trying to focus on the firm muscles spread out under his touch, separated by just a layer of clothing, but if the other male noticed then he didn’t say anything. The idea of anyone else getting to see the sides of Nie Mingjue he’d been gifted with was enough to make his stomach curl, and not in a good way.
Lan Xichen hadn’t even realised the bike had stopped until large, warm hands were gently untangling him from where he’d latched on like some sort of overeager squid and easing him off the bike. The helmet was carefully undone and set onto the seat, but Nie Mingjue didn’t take back his jacket. “You really were almost asleep,” the other hummed quietly, a little amused but mostly concerned, brushing some of his hair back into place.
“Just thinking,” Lan Xichen defended without any sort of heat as the other walked him up towards the front door; it felt like second nature for the other to follow him inside and close the door behind him.
“Lan Huan?” Naturally, Lan Xichen responded to his name and turned on his heal, blinking, though it took him a few moments to realise the words had been posed as a question. Oh, of course.
“I think I mentioned before that my father’s family is very traditional,” he offered in explanation. It was uncommon to have courtesy names in this day and age, but his father had insisted, as had his uncle.
“Traditional. I mean, I guessed when I saw the photo of you and your brother with the long hair but . . . Xichen is your courtesy name, then?”
“Mm, it is. You can call me whatever you’d like though, da-ge, I just usually go by one so people don’t get confused,” he explained as he lazily toed off his shoes and tried to bite back a yawn. A moment passed, and then he paused. “Wait, what do you mean? The long hair?” One glance at Nie Mingjue had him noticing that the elder almost looked like he’d been caught out, coughing into his hand and avoiding his gaze.
“I mean, your mother always talks about you — she’s shown me— us, I mean, a lot of photos. Your hair was so long in some of them, and I thought it was very . . .”
“Very?”
“It suited you. Of course. Not to say your hair now doesn’t suit you, you look gorgeous, but it was very eye-catching. You looked like a character out of one of the xianxia shows Huaisang loves.” All Lan Xichen could do was stare, rather shocked, but Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to realise what he’d said or the effect it’d had on him.
“Thank you, a-Jue,” he answered softly after a few moments, a faint, pleased smile curling onto his lips despite himself, and Nie Mingjue seemed to smile in relief as he wiped his hands on his thighs. Like he was nervous. He . . . surely not, right?
“A-Huan.” Oh. Oh. As if his heart wasn’t already hammering in his chest, now he was starting to feel a little lightheaded, fingers curling into the sleeve of the jacket he was still wearing. “Too weird?”
“No. No, it’s . . . I like it.”
“Get some rest then, a-Huan. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
“Mm.”
It wasn’t until Lan Xichen finally crawled into his bed once the other had left that he realised that Nie Mingjue had never asked for his jacket back and that it was still snug around his shoulders; he carefully pulled it off and folded it, fingers grazing over the scuffed leather as he thought back to its owner. He didn’t dare give himself hope, but he wasn’t blind — it seemed as though . . . just maybe, that connect he felt wasn’t so one-sided.
That only made this so much harder.
Lan Xichen forced himself to banish the jacket to the dressing table before he could even consider doing something as foolish as cuddle it as he dozed off. No, instead he snuggled into his own blankets and let himself drown in the scent of the rich cologne clinging to his own clothes.
-
To his merit, Lan Xichen did get some rest. It was the afternoon when he woke to the alarm he’d set prior to laying down ringing quietly beside his bed, an early three pm, which meant he still had about three hours until his mother would finish work and head home. Three hours to himself. Admittedly, even as he reached over and fumbled to grab his phone and shut off the incessant alarm he found himself rather tempted to just roll back over and go to sleep again. Lan Xichen knew he couldn’t, though, not if he wanted to sleep at all tonight — he was not going to embarrass himself two days in a row, that was for certain. Fool me once, shame on me, he thought to himself, shame me twice . . . shame on me again.
Once Lan Xichen had dragged himself down the hall to grab himself a muffin and a glass of water (to make up for his missed lunch) he was quick to retire back to his room, swaddling himself in blankets and opening up his computer regardless. As hard as it was, he didn’t automatically log into his emails or his university portal. Instead he found himself navigating over towards Skype, telling himself he’d just check, but when he saw that little green dot bedsides his brother’s name . . . he was the older brother, he was supposed to be the strong one, but Lan Xichen wanted someone he could talk to, someone who wouldn’t judge him (too much), and he knew that was Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji would understand better than anyone else could.
It was a moment of weakness that had him sending through a message asking if the younger was free to talk, and he barely had to wait a minute before he was receiving an incoming call rather than a written response.
“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Lan Xichen was quick to apologise as the screen filled with an image of his brother; it was easy to recognise that Lan Wangji was sitting at the desk in the corner of his room, just from the fact he could see part of the poster he’d bought the other at the showing of Swan Lake he’d taken him to all those years ago hanging on the wall.
“What’s wrong?” Oh. He’d only been away for two weeks, but he supposed that he’d forgotten just how good they were at reading each other in that time. It was funny, really, the way people had always assumed they were twins even though they were rather different, the way that, even though they weren’t, they’d always had that strong connection. There were times when all they’d had was each other, after all.
Lan Xichen sighed softly, not bothering to force a smile on his lips. “Aren’t I allowed to want to check up on my baby brother, hmm? Have you been eating well?”
“Of course.”
“Sleeping?”
“Mn.”
“Wangji,” Lan Xichen half whined, but his brother just stared at him through the camera with an impassive gaze. Waiting.
“Okay, okay— don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled. “There’s . . . a man.”
Lan Wangji did not look surprised in the slightest — to anyone else, perhaps he would’ve appeared like a blank slate, but Lan Xichen could read between the lines, and he could certainly see that faint satisfaction in the twitch of his eyes.
“Do I want to know?”
“Mother calls me regularly,” Lan Wangji offered in explanation as his lips curled up ever so slightly in one corner. “She mentioned there was someone she wanted you to meet.”
“Of course she di— wait, what?” Lan Xichen’s brows furrowed. That she wanted him to meet. But . . . he’d met Nie Mingjue essentially the first full day he’d been here, and he’d been with his mother the evening before, knew she hadn’t called Lan Wangji then. She— god, even as the realisation started to settle into his body he wished that he could say he was surprised she was trying to be a matchmaker.
“She thinks you’re very compatible.”
“And what do you think?”
“I haven’t met him,” Lan Wangji pointed out, which he knew meant he didn’t approve much, not yet. “But you like him.”
“It doesn’t matter if I like him,” Lan Xichen huffed, leaning back against the headboard and trying to avoid the disapproval in his brother’s gaze. “I don’t have time for this, and besides, if Mama has been meddling with things then how do I know—“
“—Mother said every time he comes into the diner you both act like you’re hopelessly in lov—“
“—Wangji!” Lan Xichen scolded, but there was no heat to it, the warmth lacking from his words but filling his cheeks instead.
“You deserve to be happy.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly at that even if he automatically wanted to argue that he was happy. He had Lan Wangji. He had his mother. Acquaintances. Lan Xichen was . . . he was content, and he was starting to realise that perhaps that didn’t actually mean the same thing as happy. It was a little heartfelt, to hear Lan Wangji say that to him. “If you’re worried about your compatibility in the bedroom—“
And there went the moment.
“We’re not having this discussion,” Lan Xichen was quick to shut it down. “I should be the one giving you romantic advice, Wangji.”
“This is about you, don’t deflect,” the other pointed out. “What’s your favourite thing about this man?”
Lan Xichen couldn’t quite help the way his face instantly softened into something utterly wistful as he rubbed the side of his jaw, eyes idly focusing on a smudge on the edge of his screen. There were a lot of things he loved about Nie Mingjue — he could be here for hours detailing every little nuance he’d come to adore. If he had to choose one, though . . .
“He listens to me,” he murmured quietly, “but he doesn’t treat me like I'm incapable, either— and his smile.”
Okay, maybe it wasn’t one thing, but it was a rather condensed list compared to the one imprinted into his mind.
“Mn.”
“What?” He asked as he came out of his little trance, just a little (or maybe a lot) embarrassed. Lan Xichen was used to being the one teasing Lan Wangji when it came to his romantic endeavours, affectionately of course, not the other way around, but then again he supposed he’d never had anyone for them to discuss. Hell, he still didn’t! This was all just . . . once he got it off his chest, he’d be able to push it to the back of his mind as he should’ve from the start.
“You really like him.”
“I like him a perfectly normal amount, and besides, even if I were to . . . pursue him, which I’m not, you can’t just assume that he likes men.”
Lan Wangji snorted, and it was almost a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, brother. Try to last another week.”
“Wait, why?”
Lan Wangji had the gall to look amused.
“Wangji, I swear to—“
/ call disconnected /
[lan xichen: I didn’t take you for a gambler, wangji ( ￢ _ ￢ ;) ]
[lan wangji: ╮ ( ˘ 、 ˘ ) ╭ ]
[lan xichen: wei wuxian is a bad influence on you]
[lan xichen: don’t think I didn’t see that hickey, little brother]
[lan wangji: is typing . . .]
[lan wangji: is typing . . .]
[lan wangji: is typing . . .]
[lan wangji: I fell]
[lan wangji: and hit my neck on the counter]
[lan xichen: twice?]
// lan wangji has gone offline
-
It wasn’t often that Lan Xichen was nervous. Correction: it wasn’t often that he was visibly nervous, because he was only human, and despite the refined facade he’d always aimed to present to the world, he felt just as strongly as everyone else. He just didn’t let himself show it.
Yesterday had been . . . to put it one way, he’d experienced a number of prominent realisations, things he was still struggling to process even as he pulled on his apron in the back of the kitchen and tried to focus on scanning the ingredients on the bench for anything he’d missed.
His first revelation had been that he could no longer ignore the fact that he was falling for Nie Mingjue, even if he wished he could.
His second was that his mother had ulterior motives for inviting him to stay — of course she’d wanted to see him, and he’d known she was trying to get him to relax and put aside his studies for a while, but it was starting to seem like she’d been trying to . . . husband hunt. Not for herself, but rather for him.
The third was that sometimes Nie Mingjue looked at him in a way that made that small part of him wonder if he was seeing things right; he’d always been good at reading people, yet when it came to himself and his interactions with others, he found himself doubting what he noticed. The idea that there was any chance Nie Mingjue could share his affections was subsequently terrifying and exciting.
The more rebellious portion of his mind whispered that he should take a chance and act on it.
The logical, reserved side reasoned that there was no way to be sure, and that beyond that he didn’t need this right now. It didn’t fit into his plan.
None of this did.
Lan Xichen pressed his lips together and forced himself to look away from the bag of wholemeal flour he’d been inadvertently staring at, letting out a huff of air through his nose. Why did this all have to be so hard?
After a moment's deliberation he turned back around to grab a few apples and some sticks of cinnamon from the pantry, brushing aside the blueberries he’d originally been planning to use for this batch of muffins. He could blame it on being indecisive, rather than the fact that Nie Huaisang had ‘accidentally’ let slip that Nie Mingjue’s favourite flavour, was in fact, cinnamon and apple.
He hated that it suited him.
Lan Xichen knew that Nie Huaisang gossiped with his mother and that when he brought this batch out to them to put in the case he’d have that smug little lilt to his lips that was so frustrating — that he’d done it on purpose to prove a point. He’d never had to worry about whether the youngest Nie would be bothered by his, uh, interest in his brother. All he’d done was try to encourage it from the start even if Lan Xichen hadn’t realised at first.
Everyone had known about this, except himself and Nie Mingjue, it seemed.
Lan Xichen swallowed thickly as he stirred the batter around in the bowl he was holding to his chest, perhaps putting a little more force into it than he usually would, a furrow between his brows. It wasn’t often that he got overwhelmed by things, not like this, but even his fringe which had started growing out was now clipped back off his forehead with one of Nie Huaisang’s clips, because when it’d flipped into his face earlier he’d had the sudden urge to cut it. Again.
He’d cut his hair a few months ago to try and fit in better. Lan Xichen had never hated having his hair so long, in fact, he’d rather liked the way it looked, but he’d despised the way people stared and laughed, the way that people would treat him like he had to be feminine, just because of his hair. He’d never picked an English name to go by so his name set him apart enough even if his accent was perfect, and the hair? He’d always been that one guy.
It’d been a rebellious move to cut off the long, flowing locks he’d worn for most of his life — his father’s influence — but he wouldn’t admit how much he’d regretted it. Not because his father had been angry but because it was his hair, not his father’s. He still often found himself moving to touch hair that wasn’t there anymore or to tuck strands behind his ears like he’d always had a habit of.
Nie Mingjue had said he’d looked nice, with the long hair, but that he looked nice like this too. Gorgeous had been the word he’d used. That wasn’t a very platonic word.
Lan Xichen found himself adding a little more cinnamon to the muffins than he usually would, if just because he felt that maybe it would be appreciated.
Thankfully he was prepared for the little look Nie Huaisang gave him when he walked past with the tray of still-warm muffins and the scent of cinnamon-apple filled the air, something knowing as he hid what was no doubt a smirk behind his order note pad, eyes curling into faint crescents. “Feeling inspired today, Xichen?”
“Very,” he answered instead of letting himself dwell over his response and the implications; it worked, catching the younger male off guard.
“Oh. By anything in particular?”
“Not particularly.”
It was left at that, even when Lan Xichen kept two to the side and put them in a paper bag like usual, taping the edge and reaching for the marker so that he could trace the elder’s name over the label with careful calligraphy, a little heart being added to the end before he could stop himself. He . . . he could’ve scribbled it out, but that would be incriminating. He could repack it, but Nie Huaisang would see. He stared at the offending mark for a moment and let his eyebrow twitch before capping the marker and setting the muffins below the counter like normal.
It wasn't a big deal.
Lan Xichen had already taken a seat at their table by the time that Nie Mingjue arrived at the dinner, a few minutes past twelve — he was absent the leather jacket he often wore when riding, because that jacket was neatly folded beside his own bed, something he’d left behind this morning. Maybe he’d just wanted another excuse to go and see the other male.
Instead, he was treated with grease-stained jeans and a tank top which left his arms on full display, golden skin rippling with each movement. Sometimes Lan Xichen found himself thinking that if gods walked amongst them, they’d probably look like Nie Mingjue.
The other offered him a half-smile and a nod in greeting before he walked up to the counter to grab his food, and all Lan Xichen did was watch, chin propped on his palm. He couldn’t hear them talking from here considering they were across the diner and there were other patrons talking, but he could see the spark in Nie Huaisang’s eyes and the way he said something that made the elder glance back towards him very briefly. He resisted the urge to squirm.
Nie Mingjue snatched his food and the paper bag of muffins before making his way back over to their table with his boots squeaking against the linoleum floors. “Little shit,” he seemed to mumble more to himself than anything even though he didn’t sound angry, drawing his chair in and drawing the muffins towards him first. Lan Xichen tried not to stare, but he couldn’t miss the way that the other’s eyes focused on the heart he’d drawn earlier. Did he imagine the way his face seemed to soften, or did it really happen?
“I think you’ll like these ones, today,” Lan Xichen hummed as the seal was broken.
“I always like what you make,” the other answered simply, yet the moment Nie Mingjue inhaled he looked up towards him, looking mildly surprised. “How did you . . .” dark eyes shifted past him to where Nie Huaisang was probably at the counter. Nie Mingjue snorted. “Trying different flavours?”
“Blueberry was a hit, but I was playing it safe,” he murmured, folding over another brochure and adding it to the pile — he’d been taken with folding all two hundred and placing them on the tables. Admittedly, it did seem interesting. Night markets, festivities, and then in a field on the outskirts of the town they were going to let off fireworks. He’d never been to anything like it, and it was . . . well, it felt like fate that it was the last night he’d have here.
“Besides, I heard it was your favourite — you’re my biggest customer, after all,” Lan Xichen added after a moment. Rather than answering instantly, Nie Mingjue picked up one of the muffins and took a bite from the side, chewing for a few moments before he groaned, hanging his head down and banging his hand gently on the counter.
“Jesus Christ, A-Huan— how did you make them so fuckin’ perfect?” He managed around a mouthful of food.
Lan Xichen just tried and let himself enjoy the warmth that bubbled up in his chest. One hand idly reached out to brush back a few strands that’d come loose from Nie Mingjue’s bun, making sure it didn’t get into his mouth.
“Extra cinnamon. I had a feeling you’d like that.”
“It’s the best muffin I’ve ever had. I’d pay you to make these for me every day.”
Every day, huh?
“I’d do it for free,” he chuckled quietly as he ducked his head down, focusing back on the brochures as he dragged his nail down one edge and made sure it was folded evenly before adding that one to the pile, too. A silence settled between them, but it wasn’t unpleasant or awkward at all — it was comfortable.
It was a few minutes before either one of them spoke again and it was Nie Mingjue who broke the silence. “Do you want to go together?”
Lan Xichen’s fingers paused on the paper in his grip for a moment before he looked up, eyes a little wider than natural. It was . . . god, it was such a loaded question, one that could have any number of meanings, and he didn’t know what Nie Mingjue was really asking or whether he was joking and—
One look at the other’s features confirmed he wasn’t joking. If anything, the elder looked mildly nervous, picking at the edge of a wrapper as he watched and waited for a response. Nervous, like there was a reason for Lan Xichen to say no. “Together?”
“Yeah, together — I usually take Huaisang but he’s eighteen soon and said he wants to spend time with his friends, so I thought—“ Nie Mingjue cut himself off and sat up a bit straighter, brows furrowed in a soft sort of determination.
“Even if he didn’t, I would’ve asked. Do you want to go together, A-Huan?”
Together.
Lan Xichen should’ve said no.
Nie Mingjue hadn’t specified whether it was a date and Lan Xichen didn’t want to assume; more than that, he didn’t want to give himself hope.
Hope is the worst thing he could give me, more painful than any rejection ever could be. He doesn't even realise the power he has over me.
“Of course, da-ge. Who else would I go with?”
-
[Nie Mingjue: hey}
Lan Xichen smiled from where he lay in bed that night, the bright light of his phone making him squint a little in the dark — he’d almost been asleep, but as soon as his phone had buzzed he’d reached for it, hoping for one person in particular.
When Nie Mingjue had asked for his number, so he could hash out the details even though they saw each other every day, he’d handed it over without any hesitation.
[Lan Xichen: hi ( ﾉ ´ ヮ `) ﾉ *: ·ﾟ ]
[Nie Mingjue: not you too]
[Nie Mingjue: huaisang always uses those]
[Lan Xichen: they're so cute though!! ／ (=´x`=) ＼ ]
[Nie Mingjue: . . . ]
[Lan Xichen: I found you! ( ╬ ` 益 ´) ]
[Nie Mingjue: no]
[Lan Xichen: you’re right! This is better ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ ]
[Nie Mingjue: ??]
[Lan Xichen: it’s a bear, but it has eyebrows ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ ˋ)੭✧ ]
[Nie Mingjue: don’t tell huaisang]
[Lan Xichen: huh?]
[Nie Mingjue: ( ´ ▽ ` ) ]
[Lan Xichen: !!]
[Lan Xichen: who is that?]
[Nie Mingjue: you? ]
[Lan Xichen: omg da-ge (´ ω ` ♡ ) ]
[Nie Mingjue: ʕ ᵔᴥᵔ ʔ ]