dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

[Ah. They blink stupidly at each other for one long, heartstopping moment, with Jiang Cheng's heart in his throat and his cheeks going hot-- and then, thank god, Huaisang bows, and the world starts moving once more.]

All right, all right--

[If only because surely people are starting to stare, maybe. Or maybe because his heart just leapt in a distinctly unpleasant way when he'd thought for half a second that Huaisang had suspected what was flashing through his mind.

So here, take your damn fan, and he gently shoves him back, glancing away.]

You painted it yourself?

[Huaisang moves back to his side gratefully, for both his fan and his, ah, dignity? Something like that. He needn't open the fan to check for damages, it's not like Jiang Cheng did anything to it, but he opens it anyway - instead to show him the painting: birds, obviously. A hazy landscape, a wispy-looking tree in the background. Behold... his art(tm).]

This one, I did. I bought the best ink I could find and told my brother it was for studies.

[of course.]

Of course.

[Honestly, he's more surprised Nie Mingjue didn't question the lie. Or maybe he knew precisely what his brother was doing and decided to pick his battles; he's a renowned strategist, after all.

Anyway: birds. Trees. It's very meaningful and very poetic and, honestly, fairly well done. Certainly better than anything Jiang Cheng could come up with: his attempts at calligraphy, never mind artistry, are . . . hm, blocky? Angry? It's just bad. He scoots forward, a little interested despite himself, if only because it's strangely jarring to see something that Huaisang is good at.

He doesn't mean it badly. It's just that he's so awful at schoolwork and cultivation; it's easy to forget there's more to life than that, and that yes, everyone has talents. There's a pleasing delicacy to the lines drawn there, each minor brush stroke seemingly done with deliberation.

It's a nice fan.]

How often do you--

[Hm.]

You should show me how you paint them.

[Show him how you paint, babe, let him watch you in your natural habitat. Or something. It's just that he can't get the idea of Huaisang being not only competent but clever in something; sue him for wanting to see it.]

[Huaisang's interests are quaint as far as the rest of the cultivation world is concerned, and that's being generous. An irritating distraction, an airhead boy wasting his time reading poetry and painting flowers and birds when he ought to be doing something else. Sure, it's in the perfect cultivator's image to be well-read, and passably decent at the arts— Huaisang has known Lan Xichen most of his life, and there is no other perfect blend of poise and power he can think of, for one. But where Mingjue leans too far into cultivation, Huaisang swings the opposite, and combined they would be one force to be reckoned with, but separately...

Well! It's always a pleasant surprise when someone takes genuine interest in his talents. Huaisang knows Jiang Cheng; specifically, he knows Jiang Cheng cannot tell a lie to save his life, and so his gruff expression of muted curiosity is genuine. It makes Huaisang smile, a soft thing he directs down at the fan after a moment. Ah.

It's nice to be seen, that's all. Admiration for his talents usually comes with a gentle suggestion that he leave art to someone else...]

When we're exiled to the library for a month for punishment, I'll show you a thousand times.

[Which is yet another jab at how they're going to be in so much trouble for wasting the day away out here, but it also sure does sound how it sounds, and Huaisang snaps the fan shut maybe too abruptly.]

I— I'll show you how to paint a lotus!

--!

[That's a silent choke, his body jerking minutely in the split second of silence before Huaisang hastens to clarify. And that's the exact order it goes in, which is why Jiang Cheng assumes in the next second that the explanation is because of him and his stupid reaction.]

Obviously.

[He says it too sharply and sits up, glancing around, ears red and a fierce scowl on his face.]

How-- how hard can it be?

I know you've seen a lotus before...

[Do not cheapen his art with your futile attempt at sounding cool and capable, boy. Huaisang can't look at him; he has a very sudden interest in looking out at the water instead, ah yes, the river, he's read poems...

Give him a moment to collect himself, in which he is still not looking and so has no idea that perhaps Jiang Cheng would also like a minute to collect himself. Perfect crime.]

...Well, even if we don't get sent away to the library, I can show you.

Fine.

[Nobody's flustered, nobody's upset, it's fine, they're just two dudes sitting in a boat three feet apart because they're not gay!

Maybe it's not such a shock he rows them back not too long afterwards. They probably could have made it back in time if they'd rushed, but they don't, and Jiang Cheng doesn't think too much on why that is. It's fine that they stay out until past sundown under the pretense of searching for Wei Wuxian, and if they drink a little, so be it. It's fun-- and while the Cloud Recesses are a fantastic education, they don't put

It's worth it, he thinks three days later. Not that he really wants to be here, of course, but they're unsupervised, which means they can goof around a bit. Or, hm, maybe draw lotuses? But how to bring that up without acting like he's been thinking of constantly for three days, that's the question.]

Do you think they actually count if you've done it the right number of times?

[Surely literally anyone has better things to do. He settles back with a sigh, releasing his sleeves.]

[There's not even a remote chance Huaisang has done any work these past three days. He might have copied a line or two, definitely no more than a handful before he pushed all the work to the side and began his mad quest to find anything else at all to entertain himself with. They're in a library! There are scrolls and books about things besides how great it is to follow rules in here somewhere.

So it's been a long couple days. Besides the occasional well-deserved break from being bored to tell Jiang Cheng that he's bored (important), Huaisang is running out of conversation topics at an alarming rate...]

Lan Wangji will, [he says, looking up from the work he's not doing.] Because my brother will ask his brother to make sure.

[This is why Huaisang and Wangji aren't really friends, in the end. Shocker.]

[At least his mother never does that, Jiang Cheng thinks. That's something, although admittedly not much.]

Too bad.

[It's time. This is their last day here, and sure, he could just ask him after their detention, but this is the only viable excuse he's got. And after the near-disaster on the boat, he doesn't want to give Huaisang any more reason to think something's up.

So:]

Weren't you going to show me how to draw?

[—Oh right, the drawing. Huaisang makes a face like he forgot, which he did not, but each time he thought to bring it up he remembered that stupid, stupid thing he said on the boat and went to look through more forbidden books.

But if Jiang Cheng is just going to ask, that's different! He perks up, going from sitting there looking haggard (from the perils of copying) to enthused in about a second.]

You want to? Then come here, come here—

[He scoots to the side, making room at his table for Jiang Cheng to come and sit beside him. He has some fresh paper and ink and brushes all ready to go right here, you know, from pretending to copy lines... He'll live with the brotherly disapproval circle bearing down on him, surely.

He passes Jiang Cheng a brush as soon as he's settled. Hi, it's time.]

Draw a lotus for me first.

[Hm. He knows what a lotus looks like, obviously, but it's one thing to know it and another to draw it. He hesitates for a few seconds; then, holding his sleeve back, he draws . . . ehhh, it's okay. It's a rudimentary lotus. It's recognizable, kind of.]

. . . shut up.

[At least huffing over that means he doesn't obsesses over, hm, the way Huaisang is right there, all lithe limbs and delicate fingers, his eyes far too bright as he glances over at him. How is Jiang Cheng meant to draw when Huaisang looks at him like that? God.]

[Oh, it's cute... Jiang Cheng being bad at art shouldn't be something that makes him more attractive, and yet? Here they are. Huaisang stifles a laugh hastily--]

I didn't say anything! —Wait here.

[And there he goes, off to the Shelves not to retrieve a nasty book but to go past to the obscured window, where a purely decorative branch of plum blossoms was probably supposed to stay on the windowsill there? The Lans can deal with Huaisang moving the decor around later. This, he places on the table in front of them.]

It's not a lotus, but... [But watch him draw this with his own brush, on his side of the paper; quick strokes and longer, smoother ones; a light touch for the delicate blossoms; curves and shapes that come together into the whole picture of a blooming branch before long. He gets a little lost in it, honestly, and the few ink smudges he winds up with on his face from not paying attention to his other hand are definitely not as ridiculous as when he literally taps the inky brush against his tongue to keep it moist. Like, just don't judge him for that, alright. It's art.

He has a point to make as he puts the finishing touches on this stick related to Jiang Cheng's ugly lotus, which is this:] You're just drawing what you think a lotus looks like. To make it look right, you have to look past what you think it should be.

[Ta-daaa... Draw this stick, honey.]

[It's honestly much more interesting when he's not the one drawing. Huaisang has talent, all right, and much like watching a sect leader is always more interesting than watching a rookie stumble through exercises, so too is watching Huaisang. Jiang Cheng watches him closely, fascinated by the process.

Or, well. He means to, anyway. But then he notices the bits of ink vivid against his skin, and it's suddenly very hard to focus on anything else. The brush-on-tongue thing sort of jars the giddy fantasy, true, but he's too addled by their proximity to care.]

Uh-- right.

[Hm. Does he want to paint? Honestly, not really. So, instead:]

You've got ink all over your face.

[Obviously that's the most important thing here. He reaches over, two fingers catching against Huaisang's jaw, tipping his head over to face Jiang Cheng. It's an automatic movement, and it won't mean anything unless he makes it mean something, which means stopping, which means he's just got to keep going and pretend he isn't internally shrieking at himself.

So. Wiping his face. Right. Yeah. Friends do this all the time for each other, it's nothing.]

[Huaisang very nearly reaches up to wipe his face with his sleeve, which would be another fun thing everyone could point at to call him a clueless cultivator, probably— so on the one hand it's lucky that Jiang Cheng interrupts by turning his face. Lucky indeed.

But Huaisang drops the brush in surprise, which splatters ink across the spot that was supposed to be for Jiang Cheng's stick drawing. Touching his face like this is so, ah, bold? So forward, or it would be in the very specific scenarios Huaisang has daydreamed once or twice, not like this. He can feel his face heating up slowly but surely, and he's certain the look on his face is less than flattering... definitely not up close like this, good god-]

You, ah— You don't have to...

[Well, the easy confidence he had for painting is gone now, replace by complete buffoon hours.]

[He's flushing. Why is he--? Well, there's one reason he can think of, but it's assuredly not that, so. Heat, maybe. It is warm in here, he thinks, utterly unbiased.

But he's started this. Attempt the impossible and all that, surely he can get through it without making a fool of himself.]

It's fine.

[Gruff, but he's gentle as he runs a cloth over the curve of his cheek, slowly swiping the ink off his face. Huaisang's skin is soft, he notes absently. He's still got his fingers against his jaw, guiding him to tip his head this way or that. He hates himself a little for how he's enjoying this, but not enough to stop.]

Just keep still.

[It's good to have it confirmed, the fact that he's somehow fallen for the absolute dumbest boy on the planet. That's nice. Huaisang is at a loss, part of him shouting that he should have pulled away thirty seconds ago and another part of him declaring it's too late now to do that! He screwed up!

So he keeps still, in that he sits there with his mouth shut tight in a thin line, red to his ears. Underneath the mortification he has to admit - it's not unpleasant to have Jiang Cheng touch him this gently, not at all. Still, it's someone else wiping his face for him, and that's... appropriately embarrassing.]

I could do it myself, [is his eventually murmured protest, but there's no force behind it. Just... just let the record show he's a big boy who knows how to clean his own face, thanks.]

And get ink on your sleeves, and then you'd be back here tomorrow, and I'd have to put up with your complaining.

[So shut up and let him finish. He's almost done, anyway; what bits remain will have to be scrubbed off. And that's . . . it's a good thing. Huaisang doesn't need him pawing at his face, he scolds himself, and drops his hands.]

Say thank you.

[Oh, whoop, not that sorry.]

[this guy????]

After you complained about me like that just now? I don't want to.

[He reaches up to rub his own hands over his face the moment Jiang Cheng lets him go, like perhaps he can aggressively force himself to stop blushing— it's no use, but at least he isn't getting more ink on himself since he dropped the brush. Little victories!]

You're so harsh, Jiang-xiong...

[Kinda feelin' it... don't @ him.]

Someone has to be.

[In their little trio, he means, but it comes out tart and dry. Still, he's smirking, utterly pleased with himself now that he seems to have gotten away with it.]

Give me the brush.

[How dare he smirk at a time like this. Huaisang huffs, indignant but not too indignant to retrieve the brush and hand it over. Draw a really good stick, smug prick!!]

Are you going to try again?

[He doesn't bother to answer; instead, he takes the brush, settling in with a haughty air. How had Huaisang done it? Not just the memory, but the picture in front of him . . . his smile fades as he starts.

It's . . . an attempt. Better than his failure of a lotus, but not anywhere near what Huaisang was. It's a stick with a few petals, stiff against the fluidity of Huaisang's drawing. But it's recognizable, so there, he did it, he is amazing, thank you.]

There.

[Ah, well, Huaisang watches him work, admittedly more interested in the way his hands move than the drawing. It's an interesting contrast, he thinks - Jiang Cheng holding a paintbrush so clumsily, the complete opposite of the way he holds a sword. There's... absolutely no grace to this, but it doesn't change the fact that Jiang Cheng has nice hands.

He blinks and darts his gaze to the picture, a crooked smile spreading across his face when he really takes it in. Aw, it's still kind of bad... He loves it.]

Ah, better, better... You didn't smudge it at all!

[Sooo impressive.]

You don't have to patronize me, you know, I know it's not . . .

[It's not good at all, and something in the pit of his stomach drops. Did he really think making a fool of himself was the way to go? Showing off his incompetence, that's really impressive, boy . . . with a little huff he offers the brush.]

Just-- here. Show me again, or-- or draw something.

Jiang-xiong, it's a compliment! It's better than the first one!

[Also a compliment? Kind of? Listen, he's a snob. He can't exactly put into words why Jiang Cheng being kind of bad at art is actually so, so endearing for a whole host of reasons, so he waves his hands a little placatingly and reaches to take the brush back. And if their fingers brush, that's an accident, and he definitely does not linger.

(He only lingers a little.)]

Ah- what should I draw?

Er--

[Honestly, he's still a little worked up over the brush, the ink, touching Huaisang, and now their fingers brushing together-- he can't think, is the point.]

Me? Or-- I don't know, a plant, or something.

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