Work Text:
Cloud Recesses was always so damned cold. Jiang Cheng fought back the urge to pace the narrow wooden walkway in front of the Hanshi. If he remembered correctly, there was some ridiculous rule against needless fidgeting. Or something. Whatever it was, pacing was probably not allowed in Cloud Recesses. Miracle enough that one was even allowed to breathe here.
He sighed, watching his breath form a cloud in front of him. His gaze wandered to the door of the Hanshi. He hadn’t knocked yet. He wasn’t nervous or anything like that. Why would he be? It was just a visit. Besides, it wasn’t possible to be nervous around Lan Xichen. The guy only knew how to smile and be patient.
Only… He bit his lip, still staring at the door. If it wasn’t possible to be nervous around Lan Xichen, then why was his heart racing? Why was he standing out here in the cold, not even having knocked to announce his presence?
His hands curled into fists, the curved edges of Zidian biting against his fingers. Because this whole thing was stupid. That was why. His idiot brother’s idiot idea, and he felt like an idiot for even listening. He nearly spat, though if he did so, Lan Qiren would likely materialize out of nowhere and beat him for sullying his precious sect grounds.
Giving up, he finally started pacing instead, his boots thumping against the dark wooden planks.
Like a hobby would help “channel his energy and calm his temper”. If it was that easy, he would have tried years ago.
“Make it something artistic, and women might like you better!” Wei Wuxian had chirped, grinning like it was the best advice in the world.
Jiang Cheng sniffed, shaking his head. He doubted it would make him more attractive to women, either. It wasn’t his fault that none of the female cultivators he dated met his standards. Why should he waste his time with any of them? They weren’t who he wanted.
Wait. He stopped, swallowing as a shiver ran through him. If they weren’t who he wanted, then… who did he want?
The sound of a door opening made him jump, and he whirled around to see Lan Xichen stepping out of the Hanshi, light and graceful, like sunlight slipping through the clouds. He was certainly a ray of light in this dreary place.
“Sect Leader Jiang,” he greeted. A smile sat on his lips, even as confusion drifted through his gaze. “How long have you been here?” Lan Xichen’s eyes roamed over his guest, catching on Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, rosy from the chill air.
Jiang Cheng gave a quick bow. “Not long,” he lied, his eyes dropping to the snow-dusted walkway. It was littered with his footprints.
Lan Xichen’s smile flickered for a moment, as if he’d detected the lie. “Please, come in,” he invited, reaching out to rest his hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm. His smile flickered again when he felt chilled fabric under his fingers. He didn’t comment, though he did give Jiang Cheng a concerned look. “I have finished setting up for our lesson. Let me get you some tea before we start.”
Jiang Cheng frowned, nearly jerking away as long, graceful fingers brushed against his arm. “That won’t be necessary. Let’s just get started.” He tilted his head down, hoping that his bangs would hide the worsening flush on his cheeks. If Lan Xichen noticed, he’d blame it on the cold.
The other sect leader frowned. “Please take a moment to warm up. I’m afraid that you will find it difficult to paint if your hands are cold.” Lan Xichen’s touch lingered, as if he wanted to warm Jiang Cheng’s chilled hands himself. Finally, he turned, busying himself with setting out tea at a small table.
At another table nearby, an array of supplies waited. Pots of paint and cups of water, an assortment of brushes and two clean white canvases.The table was full, but all of it was so neatly arranged that it didn’t look cluttered.
They sipped their tea, making small talk as Jiang Cheng's hands warmed. It wasn’t too long before all of him was warm. The chill of the room was nothing compared to the warmth of Lan Xichen’s voice. All it took was one glance from those bright eyes, a simple smile, and one felt as if they were standing in Spring sunlight. Did Lan Xichen have any idea the effect that he had on people? Or… was it just him? It couldn’t just be him. Please don’t let it just be him… He swallowed down his tea, not wanting to think that one over too much.
Once they’d both finished and his hands were no longer stiff with cold, Jiang Cheng rose and followed Lan Xichen over to the canvases. The Lan Sect leader gazed down at them with an open fondness, as if they already displayed something beautiful.
Jiang Cheng could only stare at him. Was there anything more warm, more wonderful than Spring sunlight? Because if so, he might have found it. He looked away quickly when Lan Xichen spoke. He’d die if he was caught staring like that.
"A simple landscape should be a good starting point. Both relaxing, and an opportunity to gauge your ability," Lan Xichen stated, smiling as he picked up a brush. He nodded at Jiang Cheng to stand at his own canvas.
“Uh-huh…” Jiang Cheng did as he was told. He stared at the expanse of white. There was still time to run before he embarrassed himself.
A quiet laugh drew his attention away. "Please Sect Leader Jiang, you’ll do fine. Try to enjoy yourself. This is a lesson, but I will not be grading you. Think of it as an exploration, if that helps."
"Call it what you want," Jiang Cheng muttered. "It won't make it easier."
Lan Xichen cocked his head, looking infuriatingly amused. "Don’t be so quick to doubt yourself. You are capable of amazing things, Sect Leader Jiang."
Jiang Cheng swallowed, looking away. To be praised so openly… Lan Xichen always had something good to say, though his words were always sincere. The Twin Jades of Gusu made a point of never lying.
Even so, he had to be skeptical with this one. "Hmph. I don't think that painting will be an addition to my list of feats," he commented drily, casting a glare at the assembled brushes.
Lan Xichen tilted his head. "You never know. With a little guidance, you may find that it will be.” He lifted his brush as if making a vow. “And guidance is where I will step in. I will not leave you to struggle."
Jiang Cheng wanted to laugh, to snap that everyone eventually left him in one way or another. He bit back the comment. Lan Xichen was trying to help him. And, according to Wei Wuxian, he was helping Lan Xichen. The man had been slowly coming out of seclusion, but he still kept to himself. Somehow, Wei Wuxian had deemed him suitable company to help with that. His brother and his crazy ideas. The worst part was that, more often than not, those crazy ideas actually worked.
"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," Jiang Cheng muttered, picking up a brush.
Lan Xichen dipped his own brush into a pot of paint, his eyes closing as he flashed a smile. "I am well aware."
Fifteen minutes in, and Jiang Cheng knew it was fucking hopeless. Lan Xichen was next him, creating art, and he had only succeeded in a few lines and scribbles. Somehow, his utter inability to follow the simple directions given to him did not annoy Lan Xichen in the slightest. The man had more patience than he did.
He scowled at the brush quivering between his fingers. The stupid thing wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. He wanted to be able to follow Lan Xichen’s lead, but his desire held no sway over his utter lack of skill. All of his strokes wavered, the marks jagged and uncertain.
“Paint what is in your heart,” Lan Xichen had advised, when he’d asked what he should start with.
Paint what was in his heart? Yeah. He’d expected a little more practical advice. Start this. Do this, then that. Lan Xichen seemed to have little difficulty painting what was in his heart, but Jiang Cheng…?
He looked at the few hesitant, messy scribbles that he’d made. Yeah, that looked about right. His heart, his thoughts, everything… It was always a fucking mess.
He stole another glance at Lan Xichen’s work. It was a far cry from his. All elegant, effortless lines. A few trailing strokes, a bloom of tinted water here and there, and a peaceful mountain range was produced, complete with wisps of fog. It wasn’t just a picture; it made him feel things when he looked at it. At ease, safe. How in the hell did Lan Xichen do that? And how in the hell did he make it look so easy?
There had to be something he was missing. For a moment, he paused in his own work to watch Lan Xichen. His gaze followed the curve of the other sect leader’s arm as he drew the brush across canvas. The graceful lines of his hands, the length of fingers as he held his brush. The delicate furrow of his brow, even as his gaze remained serene. The longer he looked, the less Jiang Cheng paid any attention to the painting itself. There was a greater work of art in the room.
When Lan Xichen looked up at him, he nearly dropped his brush. Fumbling, he caught it at the last second. By the wrong end. Now his fingers were just as messy as his canvas Swearing under his breath, he wiped the ink off on a nearby cloth.
Lan Xichen stifled a laugh behind his hand and surveyed his work. That pleasant expression didn’t shift at all as Lan Xichen looked over his meager results.
“You seem to be struggling,” he observed, his voice gentle. The sect leader cocked his head, giving a curious hum. “What are you trying for?”
Jiang Cheng grunted. “I’m painting what’s in my heart,” he deadpanned. “It’s what you told me to do.”
Lan Xichen looked at the painting again, his gaze resting on the mess. He tried to stifle another laugh, but the sound rang out anyway. It made Jiang Cheng’s mouth go dry.
“So this is what is in your heart?”
“Yes. And?”
“Oh my…” Lan Xichen gave another ringing laugh, and Jiang Cheng swore he could hear the sound hum through his bones. He tensed up as Lan Xichen came closer, trailing a scent of warm cedar and jasmine.
“I know, I know. It’s a bunch of fu-- Of freaking scribbles,” he grumbled, glaring at his pathetic painting. If it could even be called that.
“Perhaps I should have explained a little better…” Lan Xichen mused, making it sound like it was his own inability that led to this disaster. “Paint what makes you happy. Something that brings you joy. Something that you wish to share with others, or…” His voice dropped, and it was like he was sharing a secret. “Or something that you wish to capture for yourself. That is how one produces art.”
Jiang Cheng nodded, even though he felt like that kind of stuff was easier said than done. His focus rested more on that cozy, comforting scent that clung to Lan Xichen.
“Think about it for a while, and then try again,” Lan Xichen coaxed, reaching out to give Jiang Cheng's shoulder a pat. The contact had him tensing immediately. Who did he think he was, just… touching him like that!? Fortunately, Lan Xichen returned to his own painting, though the scent of him lingered.
Jiang Cheng sighed. He looked at the canvas. He looked at Lan Xichen. He looked at his brush, held clumsy in his fingers.
He looked back at Lan Xichen.
He took a few moments to watch him work, an idea forming in his mind. Lan Xichen looked like art himself as he painted. It was far more enjoyable watching him work, than trying to struggle with his own endeavors. The man’s entire body was composed of smooth lines. He flowed. The simple sweep of his hand was a joy to watch.
Jiang Cheng swallowed, staring at Lan Xichen’s hands with lightning intensity. Strong and graceful. Capable of wielding a heavy sword with deadly ease, and a tiny paintbrush with delicate precision.
Something that brought him joy. Something that he wanted to capture for himself.
With a deep breath, he turned back to his paints and tried again on a fresh canvas. He tried to hold his brush the same way, to move like Lan Xichen moved. Flowing, strong, with an easy grace. The minutes flew by, and with each that passed, he grew more absorbed in his work.
Yes, yes, he could do this! He glanced up for just a second, just to examine the curve of Lan Xichen’s hands. Then, back down, back to work. It was easier when he had something to look at, something solid to guide the emotion that drove him. He needed a focus, then. They worked in silence for a while, both lost in their efforts, until Jiang Cheng finally leaned back to survey his work as a whole. He frowned.
Well, he had managed to paint something. But it still looked like shit.
It was his lines. They were still ragged. They still lacked confidence. His hands wouldn't stop shaking while he painted. He swallowed, glancing back over at Lan Xichen. It was easier to paint a subject, but maybe just not… this one.
Lan Xichen lifted his head from his own work and looked over. His heart turned into a chunk of ice. Shit, shit, shit, he hadn't even been thinking! He’d just gone for it. Lan Xichen had told him to paint something that brought him joy, and he went and painted the man’s fucking hands! Well, given his lack of skill, maybe Lan Xichen wouldn’t recognize those hands as his own.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he held his breath. For an agonising stretch of seconds, Lan Xichen said nothing. Did he realize? Did he know!? Jiang Cheng was about to explode when he finally heard a hum of pleased acknowledgement. He turned around with such force that he nearly smacked into his companion, but Lan Xichen took a smooth step back just in time.
“You’ve made progress,” he noted, standing next to Jiang Cheng until their shoulders brushed. “Your sense of proportion is very impressive for a beginner.”
Jiang Cheng’s hands clenched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat. He had expected disappointment. He was nearly trained at this point to expect disappointment. Criticism. Disapproval. And he could hear it in Lan Xichen’s voice. There was a faint sense of something at the end of his words. A buildup. Like the feeling of expectancy hanging in the air before rain. He waited for the inevitable blow to his confidence. The statement that he was hopeless, and probably not even teachable, for that matter. From Lan Xichen, it would hurt more than anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would make it any easier to hear.
“It’s funny that hands are your chosen subject, because I feel that much of one’s struggles can arise from how the brush is held,” Lan Xichen continued.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes popped open. He stared at Lan Xichen. The man simply stood there with that pleasant smile. That feeling of having more to say had faded. That was it, then.
“Uh.” That was all that he could manage. Just a grunt of acknowledgement as his mind short-circuited.
A tremor ran through him, and it felt like the ice in his chest cracked a little. He had never been taught like this, with such kind patience. There had only ever been the harsh words of his mother, constantly pushing him toward impossible standards. There had only ever been the hollow acceptance of his father, a constant reminder that he was never quite what was wanted. He had never had his weaknesses addressed in the form of gentle, general advice. They were only ever pointed out or questioned bluntly, and left at that. Left at some form or another of “you aren’t good enough”.
This was so incredibly different.
In Lan Xichen’s eyes, he… he was good enough? Worth his time?
Jiang Cheng clung to those words, to the tranquil cadence of his voice. He wanted to get this right for the sake of his own pride, but… His cheeks flushed. There was another reason, too. One that was becoming impossible to deny.
Feelings that he had tucked away returned, rising up in his chest full-force, and he ached with longing. His hands were shaking again. He let out a hollow laugh, hoping to distract from them.
“Huh. So… How do I fix that?” he asked absently. Shit. And there he went, drawing the topic back to hands.
Lan Xichen had a ready answer. “You might find it easier if you loosen up a little.”
“How in the fuck am I supposed to loosen up?” he asked with a heavy sigh, the words bursting out of him. His eyes widened when he realized that he’d just sworn at Zewu-Jun. “Shit. Sorry.”
And again. Damn it, he was letting this get to him. He was losing his composure. Not that he ever had much in the first place, but that was the problem. Once it wore too thin, there was no hope.
To his surprise, Lan Xichen only chuckled with easy amusement. There was a fond squint to his eyes as they rested on Jiang Cheng’s flushed cheeks. “Try not to grip the brush so hard. Tense hands make for tense lines,” he advised, holding up a finger.
“That explains everything,” Jiang Cheng spat, glaring down at the ground. “There’s no point in continuing with this, then.” He was so focused in glaring at the dark polished floorboards that he didn’t hear Lan Xichen move closer. By the time he caught a whiff of crisp cedar and jasmine, it was too late.
Slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. His head shot up, and he nearly threw a punch with his other hand. He wasn’t used to being touched out of nowhere. Everyone kept their distance from him, and it was for their own sake. Lan Xichen held onto his wrist, entirely oblivious to the distress he was causing.
Jiang Cheng wanted to scream, his heart kicking against his ribs as heat flooded through him. Why the hell did he think it was okay to keep touching him like this!?
Those perfect fingers slipped beneath his palm, coaxing open his fist. The brush of chilled skin against his own hot palms made him shiver, even as they teased him with sweet relief. The cozy little room was suddenly far too small. Lan Xichen was far too close. He couldn’t breathe.
“Let me show you. Just like-- Jiang Cheng?”
He kept his head down as he threw Lan Xichen’s hand off. He didn’t want to see whatever that pleasant expression turned into when he forcefully shoved the other sect leader away. He didn’t look back as he ran out of the room. Lan Xichen’s voice echoed after him, but he didn’t hear what was said.
The cold hit him like a sledgehammer the moment he stepped outside. He sucked it into his lungs, welcoming the lancing pain of it. It was sobering, but it did little to dispel the heat stirring in his veins.
He expected Lan Xichen to race out after him, but the hanshi remained silent and still. He didn’t know if that brought any relief. He didn’t want to think about Lan Xichen standing alone in the middle of the room, his hand still hovering in the space where Jiang Cheng had been. He didn’t want…
He didn’t want any of this.
“Fuck…” he muttered to himself, the noise coming out too much of a whimper. He tilted his head up to the skies, watching the distant clouds scoot across the sky with numb disinterest. He should leave. He should just leave… He hadn’t even come here for the lessons in the first place, had he? A cold laugh crawled up from his throat, puffing his breath into mist before his eyes. No, he’d come because he wanted to spend time with Lan Xichen. Because he’d wanted to just… be near him.
The other sect leader could have suggested literally any other activity, and he would have agreed. Reading in the Library? Sure. Meditating in the Lecture Hall? Great. Handstands for five hours straight? Sign him up.
He was happy to simply be in the man’s presence, and the understanding of what that meant… It rested in his heart like a stone. The weight of it reminded him, this is nothing new. You’ve felt like this for some time. And he hated that even more. Because as time went on, he was finding it harder to deny what he felt.
The longer this went on, the more he didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t know how long he stood out there, freezing his ass off and calling it what he deserved. His damned fingers were numb by the time he heard the soft whisper of a door opening. The voice that called to him felt even softer, even more tentative.
“J-- Sect Leader Jiang?”
It cracked the ice in his chest a little further. Lan Xichen rarely sounded so tentative.
“If I overstepped, then I apologize. I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort.”
He couldn’t… He should be the one apologizing.
“Won’t you please… at least come back inside? Where it’s warm?”
Jiang Cheng let out a shaky sigh. Because he was visibly shaking with cold. Even tentative like this, Lan Xichen’s voice was warm, deliciously coaxing. Everything about him was warm, and Jiang Cheng longed for it so hard that he wanted to sob.
In the end, he couldn’t say no. Because in the end, he could never fucking refuse Lan Xichen.
He stomped back inside, trailing little spots of snow from his boots. There he stood in the middle of the room, glaring off into a corner with his arms crossed tight over his chest. More from the cold than from being pissed. But a little of that, too.
Lan Xichen hovered in front of him, and when Jiang Cheng dared to steal a quick glimpse, the gentle concern in the other sect leader's eyes struck against his ribs like a gong.
"Sect Leader Jia--"
He threw up his hands with a frustrated growl. " 'Jiang Cheng' is fine. We're-- We're friends." Weren't they?
Lan Xichen's cheeks warmed - a truly dangerous sight - though there was a glint of something in the warm amber of his eyes. "Ah. My apologies. I thought that because you were… Because you were so..."
"Pissed?"
That bright laugh. Like the chime of breaking icicles. "Were you?"
Jiang Cheng scuffed his boot through a spot of snow, his fists clenching at his sides as irritation swelled within him. As quickly as it rose, it fell away, and his hands went slack.
"No," he admitted quietly. Or, he was, but it was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything.
"Then… what?"
That patient voice… He wanted to melt into it. He wanted to scream.
"You were doing so well."
"..."
"Jiang Cheng?"
"You were touching me," he forced out, staring at the floor. At his sides, his hands curled back into fists. Somehow, he could still feel the coolness of Lan Xichen's fingers around his wrist.
Lan Xichen stared. "Oh. I see. Then I must apologize again. It is a bad habit of mine," he explained, that grin going a touch sheepish. That glint returned to his eyes again, and Jiang Cheng was reminded of the look on his brother's face when he purposefully provoked him as children. Like poking a stick at a snake. Lan Xichen cocked his head, and he knew he was in trouble.
"And perhaps for you, as well? You touched me quite a bit that night that I spent at Lotus Pier. It led me to believe that you enjoyed physical contact."
Jiang Cheng spluttered, a dozen responses trying to slip out at once.
"You have nice hands," Lan Xichen stated casually, as one would comment on the weather.
Jiang Cheng's mouth fell open in wordless shock. Lan Xichen was obviously trying to kill him.
That smile, though, nothing short of angelic as he wrought utter devastation with his words.
"Do you think the same of mine?" Lan Xichen asked.
The room spun. The words slipped from his mouth automatically. Instant denial. His only defense. "Why the fuck do you think that!?"
Unperturbed, Lan Xichen explained simply, "Because I told you to paint what makes you happy, and you painted my hands."
Jiang Cheng was ready to bolt. He never should have come back in here. He should have stayed outside, freezing his ass off. It was preferable to this.
They stood in silence for a moment. There was only the sound of the wind whistling softly outside, the quick puffs of his own breath inside the room. They sounded too loud in his ears, so he snapped out a response.
"They aren't yours."
"They aren't?" Lan Xichen looked down at his fingers, his gaze hovering over a streak of paint on his thumb. His eyes flicked to Jiang Cheng's painting, resting on a similar streak of ink. A stupid, tiny, damning detail.
Jiang Cheng's cheeks heated even more, his shoulders rising as if he could hide. Shit. He'd just dug himself deeper with that one. That's what he got for lying...
Lan Xichen wasn’t like anyone who Jiang Cheng had ever known, though. He was gentle, so gentle. Like a balm on his infamous temper.
A quiet sigh, and then Lan Xichen dropped that lightly teasing tone. “Jiang Cheng… Do I…”
He’d never heard Lan Xichen sound so hesitant in his life. He had to look up. And once he looked into those honey-gold eyes, he couldn’t look away.
“Do I make you happy?” A quiet, fragile question.
Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to respond. He knew the answer; it was screaming in his head, leaking out of him with every heartbeat, every breath. Yes, yes, yes! But he couldn’t get his stupid mouth to actually say it. It was hanging open, but he wasn’t speaking. Just standing there like an imbecile.
The longer he stood there in silence, the more uncertain Lan Xichen became. It looked like, bit by bit, he was folding in on himself, retreating away. Some part of Jiang Cheng was terrified watching it happen, like Lan Xichen would hide himself away again if he allowed this to continue.
“More than you’ll ever know!” The words rang through the room.
He'd had enough. Of this conversation. Of denial. Of hiding. It didn't matter. This lesson was a disaster, and would probably be the last, anyway. This would probably be the last of their tentative friendship, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t go on like this anyway. It was torture.
“You make me happy, too.”
Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. He would have been able to convince himself that he was just hearing things, but he’d seen Lan Xichen say it. He’d watched those soft lips shape around the words. His heart felt full to bursting just to know it, and suddenly he knew that he’d let the man touch him however much he wanted. Because he made Lan Xichen happy. And he knew that Lans didn’t lie.
Before he knew it, they were in each other’s space. Lan Xichen’s hands - those perfect fucking hands! - rested on Jiang Cheng’s forearms. His own hands were splayed on Lan Xichen’s chest.
And now he had a choice.
He could deny all of this, all of his wants and emotions, and push Lan Xichen away, walking right out of the Hanshi. And nothing… nothing in his life would change.
Or, he could give in. To the desire swirling in his heart, there like it had been that day that he’d looked at Lan Xichen after the Sunshot Campaign, and truly saw him. He could give in to that mellow, beckoning light in those gentle, honey-amber eyes, and pull Lan Xichen closer.
You make me happy, too.
When had he ever been told something like that? Ever? He didn’t make people happy. Simple as that. But here was Lan Xichen, a man who never deceived, smiling at him like he was something special. Hearing that simple statement once, in this fragile moment… He wanted more of it.
Just as he made his decision, he felt Lan Xichen move. Soft lips brushed against his own, a mere breath of distance from a true kiss. And there they waited. Again, Jiang Cheng was faced with the same decision. Well. He’d never gotten anywhere in life from standing still.
Leaning forward, hands roaming up to cup Lan Xichen’s cheeks, he closed that final breath of distance. Lan Xichen’s lips were soft and perfect against his own. And adorably clumsy. Brushing too light, then pressing too hard, everything about the moment was awkward.
And he loved it.
When they pulled away, Lan Xichen gave a breathless laugh, and Jiang Cheng didn’t think that he’d ever seen the man blush so hard. Truly the opposite of his brother.
“My apologies. I’m not very good at this,” Lan Xichen murmured with a nervous chuckle.
Jiang Cheng smirked, his heart feeling lighter than it had in so long. “Neither am I. But we can learn. If you want to try a few lessons together?”