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Write Me a Way (But Don’t Write Me Off) [Chapter 4]
Title: Write Me a Way (But Don’t Write Me Off)
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings: idiots in love
Word Count: 2,207 words, 4 / 5 (Chapter Directory)
Summary: Modern college AU, set ~somewhere???~. Lan Huan slowly finds himself falling for Jiang Cheng, who is (maybe) related to Wei Ying, who is (definitely) dating Lan Zhan, and none of them are (probably) in the mob.
Lan Huan isn’t a good judge of mood when he’s already feeling tense, but he’s pretty sure that it isn’t just him. Lunch is awkward.
And that’s before they stop eating and are allowed to speak again.
“And how did you meet?” asks Uncle blandly as he serves the tea. “In class?”
“Ah, not quite,” says Lan Huan nervously. “We attend different sections of the same nature poetry course.”
Uncle’s eyes narrow. “How fortuitous that you met at all, then,” he says.
“We both happened to be looking for inspiration for our projects at the nature reserve at the same time,” says Jiang Cheng. “Though we probably wouldn’t have run into one another despite that if Lan Huan hadn’t been with Lan Zhan and my brother at the time.”
“Your brother?” Uncle looks deeply suspicious now. Lan Huan sends off a quick prayer for his star jasmine tree’s safety.
“Me!” chirps Wei Ying brightly, tearing his eyes away from soulgazing with Lan Zhan long enough to break into the conversation. “When Lan Huan said he couldn’t hang out with us because he had a class project, I realized we could go on a nature hike! Companionship and poetry!”
“And you came along on this hike as well, for your own poetry?” asks Uncle, looking back to Jiang Cheng.
“No,” says Jiang Cheng. “I went on a hike by myself like a normal person who actually wants to get my work done and not get distracted by the human incarnation of drama.” He says this with such a blandly polite tone that it takes Lan Huan several blinks before he finds himself smiling down at his half-empty teacup.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying splutters. “Who exactly is the more dramatic of the two of us, huh?”
“Still you,” says Jiang Cheng, taking a sip of water.
“Lan Zhan doesn’t think I’m dramatic, do you, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan picks up Wei Ying’s teacup and spills it straight into Wei Ying’s open mouth. “Quiet,” he says.
Wei Ying somehow doesn’t even cough, instead beaming at Lan Zhan.
Jiang Cheng frowns at them and then looks at Lan Huan, his eyebrows raised quizzically and his lips quirking upwards. Lan Huan’s heart starts racing at the sight, and he wraps his fingers more securely around his teacup. “That totally meant that Lan Zhan thinks Wei Ying is dramatic, right?” he asks lowly.
“Totally,” Lan Huan agrees solemnly, and Jiang Cheng’s answering laugh feels like a benediction.
When Lan Huan looks back at Uncle, Uncle is squinting between him and Jiang Cheng. A darting glance to the side reveals that Lan Zhan is doing the same. Wei Ying is simply smiling brightly.
“Hmm,” says Uncle ominously, and the conversation continues to trod forward in the same stilted manner as before.
Lan Huan leads Jiang Cheng back to his room after lunch and hovers by the door uncertainly. The thought of closing the door makes inhabiting the small space of the room together strangely intimate, but leaving the door open not only leaves them vulnerable to interruptions—Wei Ying is here, after all—but also may send a message. Lan Huan is vaguely aware that characters in high school romances are always supposed to leave the door to their bedroom open when there’s a chance of romantic intrigue, but typically close the door when spending time with their stolidly platonic friends. If he leaves the door open, will Jiang Cheng think he has expectations of their time together? They aren’t high schoolers, or teenagers, but Lan Huan is aware that he is… sheltered. Living in Gusu, every interaction and activity he participated in was chosen and controlled, and now that he has more volution to choose his own path, to spread himself out to see how he fits into the world, the confused reactions he receives from his adherence to his sect’s traditions have caused him to retreat back under the umbrella of Uncle’s watchful protection. He wants to learn, to spend time with people, to feel the world around him, but he doesn’t want to do it alone.
“I don’t mind if you leave the door open,” says Jiang Cheng, glancing up at him from where he’s been digging through his backpack. “Are you worried it’ll get stuffy in here?”
Lan Huan smiles at him. Jiang Cheng has such a marvelous ability to see perfectly normal explanations in every abnormal action. It makes Lan Huan feel as though maybe he’s not so strange after all. “The room can get a little hot,” he says apologetically.
Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Back when Wei Ying and I were kids, he used to have bad nightmares, and we tended to share a bed after them, even when it was the middle of summer.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes flick up over Lan Huan’s face and then away again. “He’s a cuddler,” he adds, deadpan. “Trust me, I could work and sleep through an inferno.”
Lan Huan laughs softly. “I wonder how he and my brother will manage,” he says wistfully. “A-Zhan used to be unable to sleep unless the room was practically freezing.”
Jiang Cheng’s lips quirk up, and Lan Huan loses a moment, distracted by their shape. “They’ll get used to it.” Lan Huan blinks himself out of his daze, trying to remember what they were talking about. “They seem pretty into each other. I can’t see something as small as that being what breaks them up.”
“I know A-Zhan is,” Lan Huan says carefully. “I don’t know Wei Ying well enough to gauge.”
Jiang Cheng nods his head thoughtfully. “For someone who’s so loud, he can be difficult to read sometimes, I guess. He shows what he’s feeling, but not everything he’s feeling. Even after all this time, he thinks he has to hide it when he’s sad or hurt.”
Lan Huan has never been more curious about Wei Ying before. He isn’t sure what kind of past Jiang Cheng seems to be referring to, and he isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask. “I think we all get like that sometimes,” he says instead. Then he hesitates. “He is serious, though? About A-Zhan? It’s just… in our, uh, family, we don’t really date around. So if Wei Ying isn’t serious, then I’m worried that A-Zhan might be… hurt.” Devastated, more like. “I’m not sure he isn’t already planning the wedding.” He smiles as he says it, as though it’s a joke and he hasn’t found Lan Zhan’s scrapbook of bridal magazine cutouts.
Jiang Cheng looks at him for a long moment, his face blank. “That might be a problem,” he says, and Lan Huan’s heart drops to his feet before Jiang Cheng says, “because Wei Ying has already planned the wedding, along with their first ten anniversaries.” He raises an eyebrow at Lan Huan teasingly. “What if their aesthetics don’t match?”
Lan Huan huffs out a laugh, feeling limp with relief. “Oh dear. Perhaps a compromise? We’ll handle the venue, you’ll handle the food?”
Jiang Cheng leans toward him conspiringly. “Trust me, Lan Huan,” he says. “You do not want Wei Ying to handle the food.”
At the end of the day, poems written and shared and edited and reshared, Lan Huan walks Jiang Cheng to the door, feeling—something. He doesn’t want Jiang Cheng to leave, but he’s worried that too much time together might overwhelm whatever affection Jiang Cheng feels for him. And he’s worried about himself, too. Being with Jiang Cheng is glorious, and it makes him feel giddy, like he might bubble over. These feelings are so different from his baseline that it’s probably a good idea for him to pause and meditate, to process and decompress and understand.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying and still cloistered away in Lan Zhan’s bedroom doing… whatever they do when they’re alone, and Uncle had disappeared after lunch, probably to the garden, so Lan Huan is thankfully alone to say his goodbyes to Jiang Cheng.
“You’ll be fine to get home from here?” asks Lan Huan, not sure of what he should be saying, and hoping to delay Jiang Cheng’s departure as long as possible.
“I think I’ll manage,” says Jiang Cheng drily, before he grins up at Lan Huan, looking even more heart-wrenchingly beautiful than normal. Jiang Cheng fingers his backpack strap for a moment, then asks, “I’ll see you around on campus next week?”
“Just try to get rid of me,” Lan Huan replies, smiling, before he processes the words he just spoke and flushes. “That is, of course if you don’t want to see me, I won’t bother you, I only meant—that I hope we’ll—that I’d like to see you.”
Jiang Cheng laughs, and the tension in Lan Huan uncoils. “I’d like to see you, too, Lan Huan,” he says easily. “I think I’ll pass on trying to get rid of you.”
“Thank you,” Lan Huan replies as primly as possible. “I appreciate it.”
Jiang Cheng snorts, and then he’s turning to go, and in that moment, Lan Huan can’t bear to see him leave, can’t bear the thought of the long hours he’ll spend this weekend revisiting every word and gesture they shared and wondering how Jiang Cheng took it, what he thought of Lan Huan, if he’ll decide now that he wants nothing to do with Lan Huan again, despite just saying, just affirming that he wants to see him, Lan Huan can’t stand—
What is he supposed to do when he gets like this, again? Honesty, honesty—
“Jiang Cheng,” he calls out, his voice too loud, given that Jiang Cheng had barely passed over the threshold. “Jiang Cheng,” he repeats, more quietly. “I meant it, what I said. I like spending time with you, but I hope you’ll always be honest with me, and that you’ll never, never force yourself to be pleasant with me if you don’t want to.”
Jiang Cheng has turned back to look at him, and something sparks in his pretty eyes that sears. Fury, Lan Huan thinks, but it’s gone before he can be sure, and Lan Huan can’t read the expression that takes its place.
“No one has ever accused me of false pleasantness before,” says Jiang Cheng, and his tone is… strange. “Lan Huan,” says Jiang Cheng more loudly, more firmly. “I like spending time with you. If I ever don’t, then trust me, you’ll notice.”
Lan Huan nods slowly, his eyes darting across Jiang Cheng’s face, trying to parse his expression. “I apologise for… nagging on this point. It’s just that people haven’t always been forthright in the past, and even beyond that, I get… nervous, sometimes.” The understatement feels like a lie, but he smiles through it. “And I know I’m strange, by the standards here. I don’t really understand why anyone here does what they do. But you make me feel more normal.”
Jiang Cheng barks out a laugh. “What, in comparison?”
He doesn’t sound offended, but Lan Huan hurries to say, “Of course not, no, I just mean that… the way you treat me. When I do things that are strange, that other people say are strange, you act like they’re normal. It’s very… nice. It makes me feel less… nervous.”
Jiang Cheng’s gaze feels intense, like it’s burning through his skin and bones and straight into the esoteric ebb and flow of his thoughts. “I’m glad,” he says. “That I make you feel less nervous.” He falls silent, the fire in his eyes not letting up even for a second. Finally, he adds, slowly, as though he has weighed and reweighed his words, “It feels good to spend time with you, too. You make me feel more interesting, more worthy.” He smirks. “Also not as a matter of comparison.”
Lan Huan smiles helplessly. He catches himself tilting toward Jiang Cheng like a flower toward the sun, and he pulls himself upright firmly. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he says. Another almost-lie. Lan Huan doesn’t remember the last time he felt such unadulterated joy, flowing from the core of his being and tingling outward through his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his fingertips, his toes.
“Anyway,” says Jiang Cheng, turning jerkily to the side as though struggling to look away. The thought makes Lan Huan feel—good. “I’m leaving now. Seriously. See you next week, Lan Huan. I’ll text.”
And then he’s striding down the drive, the streaks of colours from the setting sun behind him making him look like the romantic hero from one of the novels that Lan Huan pretends to have never read.
Lan Huan doesn’t linger in the doorway, watching the empty drive. Not for long, anyway. Not for long enough that Uncle should have been able to pop up behind him so suddenly, silent in his house slippers. Uncle must not have been in the garden after all. Uncle must have been here, Uncle must have heard—
“What a nice young man,” says Uncle, looking at Lan Huan thoughtfully. Then he nods his head sharply and says, “Close that door and come help me with dinner.”
“Yes, Uncle,” says Lan Huan meekly, and he darts one more glance back at the sunset before he gently closes the door.
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings: idiots in love
Word Count: 2,207 words, 4 / 5 (Chapter Directory)
Summary: Modern college AU, set ~somewhere???~. Lan Huan slowly finds himself falling for Jiang Cheng, who is (maybe) related to Wei Ying, who is (definitely) dating Lan Zhan, and none of them are (probably) in the mob.
Lan Huan isn’t a good judge of mood when he’s already feeling tense, but he’s pretty sure that it isn’t just him. Lunch is awkward.
And that’s before they stop eating and are allowed to speak again.
“And how did you meet?” asks Uncle blandly as he serves the tea. “In class?”
“Ah, not quite,” says Lan Huan nervously. “We attend different sections of the same nature poetry course.”
Uncle’s eyes narrow. “How fortuitous that you met at all, then,” he says.
“We both happened to be looking for inspiration for our projects at the nature reserve at the same time,” says Jiang Cheng. “Though we probably wouldn’t have run into one another despite that if Lan Huan hadn’t been with Lan Zhan and my brother at the time.”
“Your brother?” Uncle looks deeply suspicious now. Lan Huan sends off a quick prayer for his star jasmine tree’s safety.
“Me!” chirps Wei Ying brightly, tearing his eyes away from soulgazing with Lan Zhan long enough to break into the conversation. “When Lan Huan said he couldn’t hang out with us because he had a class project, I realized we could go on a nature hike! Companionship and poetry!”
“And you came along on this hike as well, for your own poetry?” asks Uncle, looking back to Jiang Cheng.
“No,” says Jiang Cheng. “I went on a hike by myself like a normal person who actually wants to get my work done and not get distracted by the human incarnation of drama.” He says this with such a blandly polite tone that it takes Lan Huan several blinks before he finds himself smiling down at his half-empty teacup.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying splutters. “Who exactly is the more dramatic of the two of us, huh?”
“Still you,” says Jiang Cheng, taking a sip of water.
“Lan Zhan doesn’t think I’m dramatic, do you, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan picks up Wei Ying’s teacup and spills it straight into Wei Ying’s open mouth. “Quiet,” he says.
Wei Ying somehow doesn’t even cough, instead beaming at Lan Zhan.
Jiang Cheng frowns at them and then looks at Lan Huan, his eyebrows raised quizzically and his lips quirking upwards. Lan Huan’s heart starts racing at the sight, and he wraps his fingers more securely around his teacup. “That totally meant that Lan Zhan thinks Wei Ying is dramatic, right?” he asks lowly.
“Totally,” Lan Huan agrees solemnly, and Jiang Cheng’s answering laugh feels like a benediction.
When Lan Huan looks back at Uncle, Uncle is squinting between him and Jiang Cheng. A darting glance to the side reveals that Lan Zhan is doing the same. Wei Ying is simply smiling brightly.
“Hmm,” says Uncle ominously, and the conversation continues to trod forward in the same stilted manner as before.
Lan Huan leads Jiang Cheng back to his room after lunch and hovers by the door uncertainly. The thought of closing the door makes inhabiting the small space of the room together strangely intimate, but leaving the door open not only leaves them vulnerable to interruptions—Wei Ying is here, after all—but also may send a message. Lan Huan is vaguely aware that characters in high school romances are always supposed to leave the door to their bedroom open when there’s a chance of romantic intrigue, but typically close the door when spending time with their stolidly platonic friends. If he leaves the door open, will Jiang Cheng think he has expectations of their time together? They aren’t high schoolers, or teenagers, but Lan Huan is aware that he is… sheltered. Living in Gusu, every interaction and activity he participated in was chosen and controlled, and now that he has more volution to choose his own path, to spread himself out to see how he fits into the world, the confused reactions he receives from his adherence to his sect’s traditions have caused him to retreat back under the umbrella of Uncle’s watchful protection. He wants to learn, to spend time with people, to feel the world around him, but he doesn’t want to do it alone.
“I don’t mind if you leave the door open,” says Jiang Cheng, glancing up at him from where he’s been digging through his backpack. “Are you worried it’ll get stuffy in here?”
Lan Huan smiles at him. Jiang Cheng has such a marvelous ability to see perfectly normal explanations in every abnormal action. It makes Lan Huan feel as though maybe he’s not so strange after all. “The room can get a little hot,” he says apologetically.
Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Back when Wei Ying and I were kids, he used to have bad nightmares, and we tended to share a bed after them, even when it was the middle of summer.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes flick up over Lan Huan’s face and then away again. “He’s a cuddler,” he adds, deadpan. “Trust me, I could work and sleep through an inferno.”
Lan Huan laughs softly. “I wonder how he and my brother will manage,” he says wistfully. “A-Zhan used to be unable to sleep unless the room was practically freezing.”
Jiang Cheng’s lips quirk up, and Lan Huan loses a moment, distracted by their shape. “They’ll get used to it.” Lan Huan blinks himself out of his daze, trying to remember what they were talking about. “They seem pretty into each other. I can’t see something as small as that being what breaks them up.”
“I know A-Zhan is,” Lan Huan says carefully. “I don’t know Wei Ying well enough to gauge.”
Jiang Cheng nods his head thoughtfully. “For someone who’s so loud, he can be difficult to read sometimes, I guess. He shows what he’s feeling, but not everything he’s feeling. Even after all this time, he thinks he has to hide it when he’s sad or hurt.”
Lan Huan has never been more curious about Wei Ying before. He isn’t sure what kind of past Jiang Cheng seems to be referring to, and he isn’t sure he’s allowed to ask. “I think we all get like that sometimes,” he says instead. Then he hesitates. “He is serious, though? About A-Zhan? It’s just… in our, uh, family, we don’t really date around. So if Wei Ying isn’t serious, then I’m worried that A-Zhan might be… hurt.” Devastated, more like. “I’m not sure he isn’t already planning the wedding.” He smiles as he says it, as though it’s a joke and he hasn’t found Lan Zhan’s scrapbook of bridal magazine cutouts.
Jiang Cheng looks at him for a long moment, his face blank. “That might be a problem,” he says, and Lan Huan’s heart drops to his feet before Jiang Cheng says, “because Wei Ying has already planned the wedding, along with their first ten anniversaries.” He raises an eyebrow at Lan Huan teasingly. “What if their aesthetics don’t match?”
Lan Huan huffs out a laugh, feeling limp with relief. “Oh dear. Perhaps a compromise? We’ll handle the venue, you’ll handle the food?”
Jiang Cheng leans toward him conspiringly. “Trust me, Lan Huan,” he says. “You do not want Wei Ying to handle the food.”
At the end of the day, poems written and shared and edited and reshared, Lan Huan walks Jiang Cheng to the door, feeling—something. He doesn’t want Jiang Cheng to leave, but he’s worried that too much time together might overwhelm whatever affection Jiang Cheng feels for him. And he’s worried about himself, too. Being with Jiang Cheng is glorious, and it makes him feel giddy, like he might bubble over. These feelings are so different from his baseline that it’s probably a good idea for him to pause and meditate, to process and decompress and understand.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying and still cloistered away in Lan Zhan’s bedroom doing… whatever they do when they’re alone, and Uncle had disappeared after lunch, probably to the garden, so Lan Huan is thankfully alone to say his goodbyes to Jiang Cheng.
“You’ll be fine to get home from here?” asks Lan Huan, not sure of what he should be saying, and hoping to delay Jiang Cheng’s departure as long as possible.
“I think I’ll manage,” says Jiang Cheng drily, before he grins up at Lan Huan, looking even more heart-wrenchingly beautiful than normal. Jiang Cheng fingers his backpack strap for a moment, then asks, “I’ll see you around on campus next week?”
“Just try to get rid of me,” Lan Huan replies, smiling, before he processes the words he just spoke and flushes. “That is, of course if you don’t want to see me, I won’t bother you, I only meant—that I hope we’ll—that I’d like to see you.”
Jiang Cheng laughs, and the tension in Lan Huan uncoils. “I’d like to see you, too, Lan Huan,” he says easily. “I think I’ll pass on trying to get rid of you.”
“Thank you,” Lan Huan replies as primly as possible. “I appreciate it.”
Jiang Cheng snorts, and then he’s turning to go, and in that moment, Lan Huan can’t bear to see him leave, can’t bear the thought of the long hours he’ll spend this weekend revisiting every word and gesture they shared and wondering how Jiang Cheng took it, what he thought of Lan Huan, if he’ll decide now that he wants nothing to do with Lan Huan again, despite just saying, just affirming that he wants to see him, Lan Huan can’t stand—
What is he supposed to do when he gets like this, again? Honesty, honesty—
“Jiang Cheng,” he calls out, his voice too loud, given that Jiang Cheng had barely passed over the threshold. “Jiang Cheng,” he repeats, more quietly. “I meant it, what I said. I like spending time with you, but I hope you’ll always be honest with me, and that you’ll never, never force yourself to be pleasant with me if you don’t want to.”
Jiang Cheng has turned back to look at him, and something sparks in his pretty eyes that sears. Fury, Lan Huan thinks, but it’s gone before he can be sure, and Lan Huan can’t read the expression that takes its place.
“No one has ever accused me of false pleasantness before,” says Jiang Cheng, and his tone is… strange. “Lan Huan,” says Jiang Cheng more loudly, more firmly. “I like spending time with you. If I ever don’t, then trust me, you’ll notice.”
Lan Huan nods slowly, his eyes darting across Jiang Cheng’s face, trying to parse his expression. “I apologise for… nagging on this point. It’s just that people haven’t always been forthright in the past, and even beyond that, I get… nervous, sometimes.” The understatement feels like a lie, but he smiles through it. “And I know I’m strange, by the standards here. I don’t really understand why anyone here does what they do. But you make me feel more normal.”
Jiang Cheng barks out a laugh. “What, in comparison?”
He doesn’t sound offended, but Lan Huan hurries to say, “Of course not, no, I just mean that… the way you treat me. When I do things that are strange, that other people say are strange, you act like they’re normal. It’s very… nice. It makes me feel less… nervous.”
Jiang Cheng’s gaze feels intense, like it’s burning through his skin and bones and straight into the esoteric ebb and flow of his thoughts. “I’m glad,” he says. “That I make you feel less nervous.” He falls silent, the fire in his eyes not letting up even for a second. Finally, he adds, slowly, as though he has weighed and reweighed his words, “It feels good to spend time with you, too. You make me feel more interesting, more worthy.” He smirks. “Also not as a matter of comparison.”
Lan Huan smiles helplessly. He catches himself tilting toward Jiang Cheng like a flower toward the sun, and he pulls himself upright firmly. “I’m so happy to hear that,” he says. Another almost-lie. Lan Huan doesn’t remember the last time he felt such unadulterated joy, flowing from the core of his being and tingling outward through his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, his fingertips, his toes.
“Anyway,” says Jiang Cheng, turning jerkily to the side as though struggling to look away. The thought makes Lan Huan feel—good. “I’m leaving now. Seriously. See you next week, Lan Huan. I’ll text.”
And then he’s striding down the drive, the streaks of colours from the setting sun behind him making him look like the romantic hero from one of the novels that Lan Huan pretends to have never read.
Lan Huan doesn’t linger in the doorway, watching the empty drive. Not for long, anyway. Not for long enough that Uncle should have been able to pop up behind him so suddenly, silent in his house slippers. Uncle must not have been in the garden after all. Uncle must have been here, Uncle must have heard—
“What a nice young man,” says Uncle, looking at Lan Huan thoughtfully. Then he nods his head sharply and says, “Close that door and come help me with dinner.”
“Yes, Uncle,” says Lan Huan meekly, and he darts one more glance back at the sunset before he gently closes the door.