Work Text:
It’s Ouyang Zizhen’s 20th birthday celebration, and Jin Ling is about ready to blow a fuse and slash a table in half with his father’s sword.
Patience, Jin Ling reminds himself, Patience. Don’t pick meaningless fights. This isn’t worth it. He breathes in deeply and quietly through his nose, trying to channel Lan Sizhui’s bottomless well of inner peace and tranquility. You’re doing great, the imaginary Sizhui in Jin Ling’s brain cheers him on. Now let’s clear your mind of all murderous thoughts and think of a nice, happy place...
It doesn’t work.
Unfortunately for Jin Ling, the pleasant din of conversation thrumming through the large, brightly lit banquet hall he is presently standing in proves too big of an obstacle for his most recent goal of astral projection. Astral projection, that is, from his current predicament of being assailed by an onslaught of... flirtations. From one of Ouyang Zizhen’s apparent legion of friends, judging by the amount of people milling about the hall around Jin Ling. He resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, instead settling on curling one of his hands into a tight fist.
It’s been several minutes too long now since this foolhardy friend of a friend—Li Yu, as the young man had confidently introduced himself—had sidled up to Jin Ling, and Jin Ling is baffled. Of all the young, surely eligible people in this hall to pursue romantically, why pick him? Jin Ling knows that he’s not exactly the best catch; disregarding his famously prickly personality, he finds it hard to fathom why anyone would want to approach him when all he’s done at this party so far is spend an unnecessary amount of time brooding silently at a cup of wine in his hand. If he were Li Yu, he’d definitely give himself a wide berth, but alas. Shaking himself from his reverie, Jin Ling reluctantly tunes back in to the drone of Li Yu’s dulcet voice.
“I must confess, Sect Leader Jin,” the other man is saying, voice dripping with honey. He seems blind to what Jin Ling knows must be an increasingly stormy expression clouding his face. “If I had to say one thing I adore about you, it would be that I adore… more than one thing about you.” He leans forward and looks up coyly through his lashes at Jin Ling.
Privately, Jin Ling thinks that’s quite a feat considering Li Yu is several inches taller than he is. “I see,” he responds tonelessly. He reluctantly discards his half empty wine cup on the table beside him; better get rid of it now before he succumbs to the temptation of crushing it in his hand. “That’s… good to know.”
“I’m glad you think so, Sect Leader Jin!”
Nodding along mechanically to whatever new nonsense Li Yu is now gabbing at him, Jin Ling considers the possibility that he’s gravely misreading the situation. He’s well aware that he’s no expert in romance. (He resolutely ignores Lan Jingyi’s voice chiming, “Expert? You’re not even a novice!” that echoes through his head). So it isn’t too far-fetched of an idea for him to be misinterpreting Li Yu’s intentions behind that beatific smile of his, but with each passing minute of Li Yu casually inching closer and closer into his space, Jin Ling grows more and more sure that Li Yu is indeed shamelessly, openly flirting with him.
After all, Li Yu, with his dark, wavy hair and perpetually smiling mouth, has not stopped singing Jin Ling’s praises for the better part of a half hour now, waxing poetic on everything from Jin Ling’s looks, clothing, swordsmanship, leadership skills, and even, at one point, the care with which he supposedly lavished on Fairy, as evidenced by—in Li Yu’s own words—“her pristinely manicured paws”. Jin Ling may be naive to matters of the heart, but if this wasn’t a terribly executed example of wooing, as Zizhen would call it, then Jin Ling doesn’t know what is. And he’s spent enough time in the presence of the Baling Ouyang Sect’s heir to have a basic idea of what it would mean to court someone.
(Though, to be fair, none of what Li Yu has said so far has objectively been all that bad, nor even that unique to Jin Ling’s ears (save for the comment on Fairy, perhaps). In the four years since he had unexpectedly taken on the mantle of Lanling Jin Sect Leader, Jin Ling has begrudgingly grown accustomed to fielding both the slimy ingratiation and barbed words of those seeking to undermine his authority from within—as well as outside of—his sect. As such, he is no stranger to empty platitudes and underhanded praise).
No, Jin Ling notes with a grit of his teeth, it’s the fact that Li Yu has been subjecting Jin Ling to the slowest, subtlest, yet most deliberate once over he’s ever had the misfortune of experiencing in his life. And he’s the leader of a twice-disgraced, obscenely wealthy cultivation sect, for goodness’ sake! He’s used to being leered at in all manner of ways. Or at least he thought he was. It’s made his conversation with Li Yu—if one can even call it that, considering Jin Ling has only really contributed a series of polite grunts and curt answers that he’s seen his Uncle Jiang Cheng do when he needed to be amicable but had no real intention to be—into an exercise on restraint. And heaven knows Jin Ling hasn’t got an infinite amount of that.
“If I may,” Li Yu declares suddenly, staring Jin Ling straight in the eyes with all the brazen foolishness of a young bachelor shooting his terrible shot, “the rumors really do you no justice, Sect Leader Jin.” He draws himself up and adopts a redolent smile, quirking his head a bit to the side. His curls fall and frame his oval face winsomely; the picture of innocence. Seeing this, Jin Ling stiffens, instinctively bracing for the worst.
“When I heard that the young master of Carp Tower was going to be attending Young Master Ouyang’s birthday celebration, I had expected to find someone as magnificent as the delicate flower embroidered on your golden robes.” Jin Ling’s eye twitches as Li Yu gives his clan’s crest, and, in the process, his chest, an appreciative look. “But after this most wondrous gift of a meeting, I must say, Sect Leader Jin is even more… exquisite than I could have ever imagined.”
Reaching up to swipe a lock of hair away from his own face, Li Yu’s smile grows ever wider, a hint of teeth peeking between his lips. “Even the loveliest of all the young mistresses that I have had the pleasure of meeting—and I assure you, there have been many,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively as Jin Ling suppresses a grimace, “could not hold a candle to Sect Leader Jin’s sublime… character.” And then, as if uncaring for his life, he rakes his dark eyes down Jin Ling’s figure, making it very clear exactly what he thought of Jin Ling’s “character”.
That does it, Jin Ling thinks savagely, fingers itching to unsheathe Suihua. He’s earned this. I’ve endured this torture long enough. Closing his eyes and releasing a long, slow breath, Jin Ling sends out one last thought into the ether, hoping that it miraculously reaches his friend: Zizhen, you need to find better friends.
Across from him, Li Yu trudges on, oblivious to Jin Ling’s train of thought. “It may be presumptuous of me to ask so soon after our first meeting, but seeing as Sect Leader Jin and I have gotten to know each other so well by now, mayhaps Sect Leader Jin would consider allowing me the luxury of his company tonight in my ch—“
“Young Mistress Jin!”
Jin Ling almost drops Suihua in surprise.
A boisterously loud voice has just interrupted the execution Jin Ling was about to commit. And it sounded right next to his ear.
Li Yu cuts himself off abruptly as Jin Ling flinches away from the sound, but not before a strong arm wraps itself around his shoulders and holds him loosely, but firmly, in place. Jin Ling knows without looking who has just draped himself all over his person just from the furnace-like warmth now enveloping half of his body and the tightly corded muscle born from years of handstands he can feel on the arm weighing him down. Jin Ling lets out a breath and, without meaning to, relaxes. He’s grateful to be able to break eye contact with Li Yu—who finally drops his smile and looks, Jin Ling notes with satisfaction, slightly miffed.
“Lan Jingyi.” He turns to squint at his friend.
“That’s me!” Lan Jingyi chirps, grin sloppier and cheeks pinker than they usually are in the warm yellow light of the banquet hall’s fires. “How’s my least favorite sect leader doing?” He smiles mischievously at Jin Ling, seemingly unaware of any third party he may have interrupted with his appearance.
Jin Ling elbows him viciously on the side in retaliation. “I wouldn’t know,” he hisses, “the Lanling Jin Sect has little in the way of dealings with Sect Leader Yao, and I see no changes to that in the future. Now, get off me, you big oaf!”
Jingyi blinks, and then bursts into surprised laughter, exclaiming in a mock scandalized tone, “Sect Leader Jin!” He barely budges from Jin Ling’s half-hearted attempts at dislodging himself and instead presses Jin Ling closer to his side, raising a hand to ruffle the younger sect leader’s hair. Jin Ling squawks at him, batting his hand away. “You really shouldn’t be airing out such controversial opinions about your fellow sect leaders like that! Someone might take it the wrong way!”
“‘Controversial’ my foot,” Jin Ling retorts, rolling his eyes. It isn’t exactly a secret that Sect Leader Yao is nowhere near the top of the list of Most Popular Sect Leaders that Zizhen swears up and down supposedly exists in the dark annals of the junior cultivators’ rumor mill. “You asked about your least favorite sect leader, not mine.” Jin Ling clears his throat decisively and lies through his teeth, “Of which I have none, of course.”
“Fair enough,” Jingyi acquiesces, “I suppose I should be touched that the esteemed Sect Leader Jin knows me so well, then.” He shrugs, smiling with an ease that instantly prompts an answering twitch to the corners of Jin Ling’s own lips. He catches himself before his mouth can form the approximation of a smile it was surely about to attempt and schools his face into a scowl instead. Judging by the knowing gleam in Jingyi’s eyes, however, Jin Ling's defenses were too little too late. “Would you happen to know how my favorite young mistress is doing, though?” He has the gall to wink at Jin Ling, smile curling up catlike at the edges.
In lieu of answering and falling for the obvious bait—Jin Ling has grown, okay, he’s a whole nineteen years old now—he reaches up to flick Jingyi on the forehead, taking care not to touch his ribbon. (Okay, maybe he hasn’t actually matured that much, at least not when it came to Lan Jingyi. He can’t help it though; Jingyi is... frustrating). He recoils with a cry not even a second later when Jingyi, as if expecting the attack, actually tries to nip at his fingers. “Gods,” Jin Ling huffs, cradling his hand close to his chest, “are you an animal?!” He had expected Jingyi to swat at his hand, or, as he usually did, retaliate with clever words, not... bite him.
“No,” answers Jingyi seriously, “I’m a person. With teeth. See?” And he grins wide at Jin Ling, teeth flashing white.
Ignoring this nonsensical answer, Jin Ling pauses and takes stock of how Jingyi has been glued to him since the start of their conversation, like a particularly clingy monkey. He carefully studies his friend’s flushed face, observes his bright, almost glistening eyes, and eventually arrives at a conclusion. He’s seen this look before.
“Lan Jingyi...” Jin Ling says slowly, as if speaking to a child, “are you drunk?”
“Nooo,“ Jingyi hedges. Jin Ling lifts his eyebrows at him. “Okay, maaaybe a little bit,” he amends, eyes drifting over to where Jin Ling suddenly remembers Li Yu is standing, oddly silent. He stiffens and feels a blush climbing its way up his ears, appalled that he’d been so absorbed in paying attention to his friend that he’d forgotten his previous conversation partner’s actual existence, and also because Jingyi is now casually tucking back a lock of Jin Ling’s hair, as if it were totally normal to be this close and affectionate in front of a stranger. Jingyi’s fingers gently graze the curve of Jin Ling’s ear, which is now, Jin Ling thinks wildly, probably, most likely, one hundred percent on fire. Personal space and propriety, he recalls, is a distant concept to an inebriated Lan Jingyi; Jin Ling really should have realized his friend was drunk sooner.
“Ahem,” Li Yu clears his throat. Jin Ling swallows and swivels his head around to face him, cheeks likely an incriminating shade of red and mouth already open to explain... whatever he and Jingyi were doing; he hasn’t decided yet.
He is saved from coming up with what most likely would have been a truly ridiculous excuse when Jingyi opens his big mouth, and, in a voice just barely short of yelling—which, at point blank range of Jin Ling’s defenseless eardrums, basically amounted to bellowing—says, “JIN LIIIING, pay attention to meeeee—"
Jin Ling clamps a hand over his friend’s mouth.
“Silence,” he commands, glaring back at the audaciously put-upon look Jingyi levels him with, as if Jin Ling was the one inconveniencing him. He sighs, straightens his back, and turns to address Li Yu, who now has a look of consternation on his face, eyes darting back and forth between Jin Ling and Jingyi in front of him.
“My apologies, Young Master Li,” says Jin Ling, in that stern Sect Leader Voice that his Uncle Wei Wuxian had once simultaneously laughed at and praised him for, “I’m afraid Young Master Lan here is in need of my assistance at this moment, in light of his"—and here he narrows his eyes reproachfully at Jingyi—“disgracefully inebriated state.” When it looks like Li Yu is about to protest, Jin Ling barrels on in a way that he hopes brooks no argument, “It has been a pleasure to speak with you. If you’ll excuse me; until next time.”
And with that, he temporarily releases his hold on Jingyi to bow in farewell to the taller, befuddled boy, before turning on his heel and hauling his swaying friend away by the collar. In the distance, he spots some intricately patterned tapestries that he knows leads out to a balcony overlooking the Ouyang estate’s gardens, and, reasoning that both he and Jingyi could benefit from some fresh air, begins walking brusquely in that direction.
“Wait,” protests Jingyi, stumbling from Jin Ling’s careless grip. “I can walk by myself!”
Rolling his eyes, Jin Ling ignores him and speeds up.
As they make their way across the room, Jin Ling spots Zizhen, the birthday boy himself, talking animatedly to a throng of his friends and guests, Sizhui included. The three of them make eye contact just as Jingyi twists himself around to sling an arm over Jin Ling’s shoulders yet again, feet no longer dragging but surprisingly keeping up with Jin Ling’s brisk pace. Jin Ling makes a gesture like throwing back a cup of alcohol and points to the tapestries, before waving a hand in Jingyi’s general direction as a broad summary of events for Zizhen and Sizhui, who have now completely abandoned whatever conversation they were previously involved in to blink curious eyes at them. Jingyi, for his part, waves enthusiastically at his friends.
Seeing Jingyi’s happily flushed face, Zizhen makes an ‘o’ of understanding with his mouth, while Sizhui’s eyes curve into crescent moons as he laughs from behind a hand and nods at them. Jin Ling blinks, a little surprised that Sizhui doesn’t immediately beeline over to him and offer to take Jingyi off of his hands (as he so often does). He quickly waves the thought away, however, deciding that Sizhui probably needed a break from his Head Disciple duties anyway, and sends his friends a brief smile in goodbye. Turning back towards his destination, he skirts by a large wooden table topped with plates of food and jars of wine and reaches the rich blue tapestries that obscure the paper doors leading out to the balcony in no time.
Having noticed Jingyi’s quiet compliance and suspicious return of motor control since their parting from Li Yu, Jin Ling doesn’t bother being gentle as he slides open the doors with his free hand and foot. The door makes a bit of a bang when it bumps against the frame embedded into the stone walls of the hall, but the sound is barely discernible in the cacophony of the room.
“Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling reprimands with no small amount of amusement as he hauls them both onto the small balcony, shutting the doors behind him with his foot, “you’re not actually drunk, are you?”
Caught red-handed, Jingyi snorts as they step out into the cool night air, crisp and refreshing against their warm skin. The balcony is just big enough to comfortably fit the two of them, providing a stunning view of the rhododendron maze that the Baling Ouyang estate was known for several stories below.
“No, I’m not,” Jingyi admits, turning to face Jin Ling and sticking his tongue out impishly. “I just saw a young mistress in need of a rescue and dutifully swept in, like the righteous young man I am. Where’s my thanks, hm?”
Jin Ling swats at the grin on his friend’s face. “Don’t call me that,” he protests out of habit.
In truth, he’s fully accepted the nickname as a term of affection by now—partly because he knows Jingyi’s never going to stop, and partly because he secretly likes being addressed so fondly—but he’d rather die a thousand deaths than admit that to anyone out loud, particularly his Uncle Wei. He shudders at the thought of all the undoubtedly strange and weird nicknames his uncle would come up with, if he were to learn that Jin Ling genuinely enjoyed it. He’s fine with just A-Ling, thank you very much.
(Although, he rather suspects Jingyi is aware of his fondness for nicknames, somehow. He hasn’t called Jin Ling out on it yet so far, nor has he referred to Jin Ling as anything else other than his official titles and, whenever the opportunity strikes him, “Young Mistress”, but Jin Ling knows Jingyi is more perceptive than he lets on, sometimes. He likes to think that’s because Jingyi is just as afraid as he is to break the reassuring comfort of their well-worn routine, four years into their hard-won friendship. Otherwise, the only other reason he can think of is that Jingyi just doesn’t want to indulge him on this one thing, which seems unlikely.
Of course, there had been that one time he had called Jin Ling “A-Ling”, seemingly out of the blue. But he hasn’t done it since, so Jin Ling has given up hope and sadly chalked that up to a fluke.)
Jin Ling is glad to have escaped Li Yu, though, at least for the time being, so he magnanimously inclines his head and murmurs, with as much dignity as he can muster, “Thank you, Young Master Lan.”
Jingyi beams and tweaks Jin Ling’s nose. “You’re most welcome, Sect Leader Jin.”
Curling his lip in warning, Jin Ling growls, “I will break your legs and your hands if you don’t—"
“Okay, okay,” Jingyi laughs, drawing back with his hands raised and palms out in surrender. “I’m not drunk—yet—but I have had a few cups of wine, so forgive me if I’m a little bit more tactile than usual with my dear friend whom I missed very, very much. You know how I am when I’m, as you described it, disgracefully drunk.” He punctuates the statement with a hiccup that is most definitely for effect.
Jin Ling squints at him distrustfully. “I don’t like that tone. It smacks suspiciously of untruths to me.”
“You wound me, Young Mistress! ” Jingyi clutches at his chest dramatically. “I sent you a letter nearly every week since our last meeting months ago! And still you doubt my sincerity?” He pouts, terribly, cutely, at Jin Ling. It’s extremely unfair.
“Sometimes I miss the days when all you ever did was bother and annoy me,” Jin Ling laments with a sigh, crossing his arms and averting his gaze.
“And sometimes I miss the days when you would blush as red as a tomato and run away like a bat out of hell whenever someone so much as said anything a little nice to you,” Jingyi responds without missing a beat. “Oh wait, you still do that now!” He cackles as he readily blocks the embarrassed smack aimed at his arm and once again childishly sticks his tongue out at Jin Ling. “Also, I never bothered you, Young Mistress; you bothered me.”
Jin Ling scoffs, but doesn’t argue, focusing instead on willing his blush to go down with sheer willpower. It had taken him a lot of time and unwilling introspection, back when he was younger and quicker to lash out, before he realized that Jingyi rarely ever sought to purposely hurt him in the early days of their acquaintanceship. He had almost always snapped in response to Jin Ling’s admittedly less than stellar behavior. This realization had been instrumental in propelling them from the category of people who sort of tolerated each other to friends who would probably take a sword to the chest for the other. Jin Ling understands this now. He understands, but.
He bumps Jingyi on the side with his shoulder, much more softly than the force with which he had tried to hit him earlier, pulling a face and sticking his tongue out at his friend to indicate playfulness. Jingyi grins, delighted, and shoves him right back.
(Maybe, Zizhen had once said during a visit to Lotus Pier, the both of them dipping their bare feet into the warm waters at the docks, Maybe you don’t have to be nice to him.
Because that had been the whole problem, hadn’t it; the whole heart of the matter. Jin Ling hadn’t wanted to be nice, in the same way that Sizhui was nice—all charming, warm smiles and gentle hands—but he had, contrary to popular opinion, wanted to be friends with one very loud, very difficult Lan Jingyi.
I think he likes bantering with you, Zizhen had mused idly, picking up a lotus flower with his toes.
Bantering, Jin Ling had repeated, flabbergasted.
Bantering, Zizhen had echoed, voice solemn but eyes twinkling with mirth.)
They take a couple of steps forward and come to a stop at the balcony’s railings, both gazing out in momentary silence onto the dark red sea of rhododendron that flourished all about the Ouyang estate’s massive garden. Jingyi leans forward to rest his forearms on the railing, still keeping close enough for Jin Ling to feel pleasantly warm all along his left side, arms a hair’s breadth away from touching. He wishes the late summer wind were chilly enough to cool him down further, but the breeze that floats by is barely a whisper on the damp skin on the back of his neck.
“It has been a while since we’ve last seen each other,” Jin Ling admits, wondering how much time Zizhen normally spent in his garden. He seemed like the type to be fluent in flower language. Jin Ling will have to ask him what rhododendrons mean one day. “It’s... It’s nice to see you too, after so long. I guess.” He clears his throat nervously, and thinks, very hard, about how Zizhen probably has scrolls upon scrolls of self-written poetry about the very flowers Jin Ling is currently trying to light on fire with his mind, face turned away from his companion. He expects the boisterous laughter that comes from Jingyi, so his blush thankfully only flares to a barely noticeable bloom of pink on his cheeks.
“I’m glad,” says Jingyi. He reaches over to pinch Jin Ling’s left cheek, smile going soft when Jin Ling turns to glare indignantly at him. It startles Jin Ling enough to tamp down on the hiss that had just been about to bubble out of his mouth. “You didn’t reply to my last letter, you know,” he continues, “I thought you’d forgotten to, or accidentally lost it in the piles of whatever official documents you sect leaders have to sign and stamp all day.”
“I have it!” Jin Ling hurries to reassure him, blinking rapidly to get the afterimage of Jingyi smiling softly at him with half his face illuminated by moonlight out of his mind. “I’ve read it! I haven’t lost a single one of your"—Jingyi raises his brows—“a single one of my f-friends’ letters, I’ll have you know.” Quickly, he regroups and lifts his chin imperiously, looking down his nose at Jingyi. “I’ve just been busy. You’ll get your response soon enough, Lan Jingyi.”
“Oh, I should be so lucky,” Jingyi drawls, rolling his eyes and withdrawing his hand from Jin Ling’s face.
“You should,” Jin Ling sniffs. “You are.”
“That’s very sentimental of you, though, to keep all of your friends’ letters like that.”
“What,” mumbles Jin Ling defensively, “there’s nothing wrong with that!”
“There isn’t,” Jingyi placates him, “I just thought—well, you’re a practical person, so maybe... I just kind of assumed you’d throw away the letters after you’d received and replied to them.” He shrugs.
Jin Ling frowns and tilts his head to the side, confused. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’d have no further need for them?” Jingyi guesses, slowly growing unsure of himself. “They’re frivolous? A distraction from more official documents you need to but hate sifting through?” Jin Ling stares at him for a beat, face a blank mask, and then unceremoniously bonks him on the head lightly with a fist. “Hey, ow, what was that for?!”
“Are you stupid?” Jin Ling shakes his head, exasperated. “When have I ever said any of that?”
“Not you,” mutters Jingyi, rubbing at his head. “Sect Leader Jiang.”
“What? He’s never said any of that either!”
“But he would!”
“Okay, true,” Jin Ling admits, thinking fondly of his grumpy, cantankerous uncle and mentally deciding to write and mail him a letter soon. “But more importantly, the letters are a good way for the Lanling Jin Sect to further strengthen its ties with potential allies. Through, um, friendly correspondence with foreign disciples and all that.”
“Jin Ling,” Jingyi says gravely, placing a solemn hand on Jin Ling’s shoulder, “I’m hardly the best liaison for an alliance with the Gusu Lan Sect.”
“No,” agrees Jin Ling, “But Sizhui is.”
“Jin Ling,” cries Jingyi, betrayed.
“Quiet, you,” Jin Ling cackles, taking the hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m obviously pulling your leg. And you know as well as I do that you’re just as indispensable to the Gusu Lan Sect as Sizhui is, being known, as you are, even amongst the common folk, for your bravery—”
Sensing tomfoolery, Jingyi protests, alarmed, “Wait, stop!”
“— your heroism, your strength, and, oh! Your mettle!”
“Jin Ling, oh my gods.”
Tapping on his chin thoughtfully, Jin Ling adds, “Not to mention, your handsome, boyish looks and roguish—“
“WOW, OKAY, NO,” Jingyi all but screams, face red and flaming. He grabs at Jin Ling’s shoulders and shakes his guffawing friend, sufficiently mortified. “That was awful. I can’t believe you just did that. You have to warn me next time, you fiend! My heart wasn’t ready.”
“Next time?” Jin Ling crows. “There is no next time, you fool! You’ve just squandered your only chance to hear me sing your praises! Deal with it and perish,” he snickers with relish as Jingyi gazes at him, mouth agape.
A second more of Jin Ling chortling passes by before Jingyi lunges at him.
“Wait, no!” Jin Ling shrieks, but he is too late. Rough, warm fingers have already begun their tickle attack. For a minute or so, they struggle back and forth along the length of the balcony’s railings, Jin Ling occasionally getting a hand in and succeeding in wringing out a laugh from Jingyi as well. Jingyi, however, having had the element of surprise, is clearly winning the battle.
“Jingyi, please,” gasps Jin Ling, “I will gut you right here, right now, if you don’t st—oof!”
“Okay, sorry,” wheezes Jingyi, sticking out a hand to prevent Jin Ling from toppling backwards onto the floor. He seizes the younger’s wrists hurriedly when it looks like Jin Ling is about to tackle him once more. “We’re done, I swear! No more tickles!” To demonstrate his goodwill, he opens his arms wide and allows his billowing white sleeves to aid him in capturing his squirming friend into a big, warm bear hug.
Jin Ling struggles for about a total of five seconds before eventually wilting like a flower and going limp in his friend’s arms. “Is this the alcohol,” he asks morosely, peeking sideways at Jingyi, “Has it finally started to kick in?”
“No?” Jingyi blinks, untangling his fingers from Jin Ling’s ponytail and shifting so that he’s leaning back against the balcony railings. “I told you, I didn’t actually drink that much. I feel completely lucid.”
Jin Ling narrows his eyes. “Uncle Wei says that Hanguang-Jun also seems to be, to some extent, completely lucid when he gets drunk. And then he does insane things, like steal chicke—”
“Anyway!” Jingyi interrupts hastily, “I am very much fine and not drunk. A little tipsy, perhaps, but mostly!” And here he squeezes Jin Ling tighter, cackling at the enraged squeak that earns him. Calming down a bit, he grins at the boy in his arms, and Jin Ling makes a face of anguish at how much Jingyi resembles a bright, little sun against the frosted blue backdrop of the night sky. And then Jingyi opens his mouth and delivers the final, finishing blow on Jin Ling’s poor heart with his next words, “Mostly I just wanted to hug my irritable Young Mistress Jin, whose presence and dreadfully short fuse I really, truly have missed very, very much.”
“I—you—!” Jin Ling splutters, brain and face overheating. Unable to find the right words, he flaps his hands frenetically and wiggles about like a worm. All while Jingyi continues to laugh, not unkindly, at him. Aghast and thoroughly pleased, Jin Ling decides that the only thing he can do now is mournfully dip his head down to bury his face in Jingyi’s shoulder, muffling a string of obscenities in the snow white folds of the Gusu Lan Sect robes as he hides his awfully red face. “This is evil,” he mutters into the curve of where he thinks Jingyi’s collarbone must be, “I missed you too, you insufferable demon.”
“Nice,” Jingyi remarks casually, running his fingers through Jin Ling’s hair, “I already knew that, of course.”
“You should invite me out to a night hunt,” Jin Ling mumbles dolefully, “So I can have an excuse to meet up with you and the others more often.”
“No, you first,” Jingyi returns, “I don’t need to be accused of absconding with the illustrious Sect Leader Jin and barring him from his much more important duties more than once, you know.”
“Oh, fall into a ditch, Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling groans. Turning his head away from the line of Jingyi’s throat and casting his eyes towards the moon, Jin Ling is suddenly caught in a moment of melancholy, remembering the angry bickering of their early teenage years and marveling at how the playful bantering of their later developing friendship has somehow led to... this. Whatever this was.
Jingyi’s heartbeat thumps against where Jin Ling is pressed chest to chest with Jingyi’s horribly firm torso, the older disciple’s cheerful voice echoing in the air around them and settling over Jin Ling like a soft, warm blanket. After some time of listening to Jingyi chatter on about a handful of new junior disciples he’d recently been tasked with mentoring, Jin Ling finally manages to wrangle the rhythm of his frantically beating heart down from the thundering high of a racehorse’s hooves to the much more sedate and familiar cadence that his heart likes to adopt whenever he feels mildly embarrassed, which is, regrettably, quite often. He steels himself, then, and with a feeling of grave resignation, lifts his own arms, which had been resting on the balcony’s railings, to wrap them around Jingyi’s middle. He contemplates, for a brief moment, vindictively squeezing Jingyi hard enough to garner a squeak, but then thinks better of it, instead forcing himself to relax completely, and carefully, sincerely hugs his friend back.
He expects Jingyi to gloat and tease him lightheartedly. He does not expect to hear Jingyi stutter in the middle of a sentence and stiffen up like a stone statue for several heartbeats, before unwinding, slowly and deliberately, in Jin Ling’s arms.
Suddenly, Jin Ling finds that the calm he had just painstakingly gathered mere moments ago is rapidly dissipating like so much mist through his fingers. He notices things now; things like how Jingyi’s breath is warm, almost uncomfortably so, and tickles the side of his neck. Things like Jingyi’s steadily rising heart rate, and how, at some point, he’s moved one of his hands down to clasp at Jin Ling’s waist, touch feather light and barely there, and positioned the other to cup the back of Jin Ling’s head. He’s quiet now, just holding Jin Ling, and, as if waking from a dream, Jin Ling is abruptly, acutely aware of how they’ve been attached to each other for virtually the whole night. How long has it even been since Jin Ling had last seen Li Yu and practically escaped into the night with Jingyi? Definitely longer than is really appropriate for a sect leader and a senior disciple of another clan, no matter if they were close friends or not, to spend this much time together. This much time embracing one another. Feeling the panic beginning to balloon in his chest, Jin Ling shivers and slowly raises his head to look questioningly at his friend.
Jingyi is already staring at him.
His dark eyes are alight with little pinpricks of stardust (gods, sometimes Jin Ling truly regrets spending so much time with Zizhen), and Jin Ling desperately hopes the dim, silvery light of the moon is enough to wash out the blush spreading high on the apples of his cheeks because he can’t find it in himself to look away from Jingyi’s frightfully serious gaze anymore.
It’s a look that Jin Ling is unused to receiving from Jingyi. Heavy and intent, like Jingyi wants to eat him—and Jin Ling shudders guiltily at how much he likes that thought—but also honest and fearlessly vulnerable, which is so quintessentially Jingyi that Jin Ling almost lets out a hysterical laugh in surprise. Not for the first time, however, Jin Ling instead finds his breath stuttering in his throat at the sight of his friend, at the gleam of Jingyi’s eyes and the slope of his nose as his face is illuminated in equal parts by the icy blue light of the moon and the gentle orange firelight of the banquet hall seemingly worlds away from them.
“A-Ling,” Jingyi murmurs lowly.
Jin Ling startles, caught off guard by the nickname and still reeling from the sudden, electrifying shift in mood. His heart lurches painfully, and Jin Ling wonders at the emotion clamoring inside his chest, at what terrible creature has made its home in his ribcage and is now scrabbling to get out. He tries to communicate his concern to Jingyi, but his whole body is paralyzed and flushing with a wretched kind of heat as he watches Jingyi lean in closer and closer. Am I dying, Jin Ling thinks through the haze in his mind, eyelids falling to half mast, Is this how I’m going to die?
“Jing—”
“—yi! Jin Ling!” Ouyang Zizhen calls happily from the entrance of the balcony, “Come join us for some—oh. Oh my—gods, JINGYI!"
“I really am sorry,” Zizhen apologizes the next day, helpfully holding onto Jin Ling’s bow and quiver as the latter bends down to tie his bootlaces.
“Why are you sorry,” Jin Ling mumbles, embarrassed. He pats down the wrinkles of his golden tunic with unnecessary force as he straightens up, taking his bow and quiver back from his friend. “It’s not like any of it was your fault.”
“That’s right,” affirms Jingyi with a nod, his ponytail swinging merrily behind him as he strides up to the entrance where Zizhen is seeing his guests off. Sizhui glides in after him a moment later. “It was Young Mistress Jin who threw me off your balcony, after all.” Jingyi grins and laughs brightly at his gawking friends, as if he were telling a funny joke and not recounting the very real fact that Jin Ling had literally thrown him off of Ouyang Zizhen’s four story tall balcony just the night before.
What had ended up happening was, after Zizhen’s sudden appearance, both Jin Ling and Jingyi had been so spooked that they had immediately snapped apart and pushed away from the other with the speed and force of a single, booming thunderclap. Unfortunately, neither young master had taken into account the fact that Jingyi had been leaning back against the balcony’s railings and, with the combined arm strength of two healthy and hale, up-and-coming cultivators, accidentally sent him toppling backwards off the balcony.
Jin Ling, on the other hand, had landed on his butt and stayed there, mouth open and body frozen in shock. Behind him, Zizhen had panicked noisily and dropped the precariously balanced cakes in his hands. And Lan Sizhui, who had accompanied Zizhen to remind Jingyi of their approaching bedtime, had been the first to react, unsheathing and mounting his sword at record-breaking speed to dive down and rescue his fallen friend from what surely would have been his flowery grave.
“Sizhui,” Jingyi presently told his long-time friend, “I owe you my life.”
“No thank you,” Sizhui declines politely, aiming an amused smile at his fellow Lan disciple. “Why don’t you help me restore some old books in the Library Pavillion for the next couple of weeks instead?”
“Deal!” Jingyi cheers, relieved that Sizhui hadn’t chosen a more punishing task. (For him; Jingyi is quite certain that no task is really punishing enough for the immaculate Lan Sizhui).
“You wouldn’t have to do that if you had just mounted your own sword yourself,” Jin Ling scoffs from beside them, a petulant pout to his lips. With Jingyi and Sizhui already making plans, he doubts a night hunt will be easily scheduled for all of them in the future, what with his own obligations as sect leader and Zizhen’s continued training to inherit the same position.
“Well, I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t pushed me off the balcony first!”
“Please, you pushed me first! It was self defense!”
“I did not!”
“Did too!”
Shaking his head fondly at his two bickering friends, Sizhui turns to bow respectfully to his gracious host and friend. “Thank you, Zizhen, for inviting us.” He smiles, heart feeling light and airy. “It was a lovely celebration, and it’s been wonderful to spend time with you.”
Bowing back with an equally joyful smile, Zizhen replies, “It was my pleasure! I’m beyond thrilled that you were all able to come, honestly.” He hadn’t been sure of how things would turn out when he sent the invitations months ago, but as luck would have it, all three of his closest friends not only were able to come, but had provided him with a most entertaining evening. There was only one problem…
Placing his hands on his hips and turning to survey Jingyi and Jin Ling’s continued squabbling, he sighs. “I’m afraid they’ve misunderstood my meaning, though.”
“Oh?” Sizhui queries, tilting his head at him. He thinks he knows where Zizhen is going, and he has to fight to keep his smile from devolving into endless laughter.
Slumping his shoulders, Zizhen answers, “I’m not sorry about Jingyi falling off the balcony—now that I think about it, that really was quite funny—I’m sorry about how, I think,” and here he leans in closer to Sizhui’s ear and lowers his voice, “that we may have interrupted something. Something...”
“Momentous?” Sizhui supplies, the smile wobbling on his face.
“That’s one way of saying it,” Zizhen muses, nodding sagely.
Sizhui hums. “I’m sure they’ll figure it out eventually.”
“One can only hope.”