dumbshow | highly new, slightly improved open post

That was once.

[It was certainly more than once. Should they sit up? Probably to drink, but he's also exhausted. He killed a lot of people today, his muscles are aching . . . life is hard.]

You babble endlessly. I fall asleep because you won't ever shut up about your newest fan . . .

[With an effort, he tips his head up, then hoists himself up on one elbow. His other hand is still wrapped loosely around Huaisang, and he's unwilling to release him. Hm.]

Come on, hurry up. It's hard enough I'm going to have to do this one-handed.

[Will he hold himself up awkwardly with no hands? Yes. Such is the power of a stupid crush.]

[That's very cute in a stupid way, Jiang Cheng, but Huaisang is going to sit up to drink. He does it sighing, hauling himself up to kneeling, like he's a prim little second son and not an emotional wreck who's going to get drunk on this old timey rail liquor.]

Poor Jiang-xiong, having to wait a minute.

[Still, if he's ready to collapse, Jiang Cheng who actually fought today must be even worse... Huaisang opens the bottle and casually pats his lap as he takes a drink (wow, it's cheap). Come rest here, they'll take turns.]

[Wait hey no?? He scowls, this is not what he wanted, but nevertheless, it's happening, and he's left empty and alone. Again: he suffers.]

You should be more grateful! I saved you today.

[Are they at the stage where they can joke about it? Let's find out! He sighs sharply, perhaps just a bit too theatrically, making sure everyone in the world knows what a hassle it is for him to just, hm, come over and lay his head in Huaisang's lap. This is fine. If he's flushing, it's because of the drink. Of which he hasn't had any yet, god--

But it's more comfortable than he'd have thought. His lap is soft, and the view is indulgent, because he's got every excuse to just stare up at Huaisang. One hand lifts, waving impatiently.]

Multiple times.

[Huaisang could just pour the rest of this liquor right onto Jiang Cheng's face from here and he would deserve it, but he'll resist the urge. He hands him the bottle instead, idly smoothing back his hair. They aren't as desperately close as they were a moment ago, but Jiang Cheng in his lap is... a nice thing.

Jiang Cheng is also a prick, but Huaisang has made peace with that years ago.]

And you yelled at me. [VERY rude!!] I'm grateful for everything besides that.

I'll yell at you as much as I want.

[But he turns his head just slightly, pushing into that touch, even as he puts the bottle to his lips. It is disgustingly sharp, bitter all the way down his throat, but the good thing is he won't need much more than a mouthful or two. His eyes squeeze shut, there's a hesitation, and then he swallows.]

Hm. Your hair looks better like this.

[Braided back in the style of his clan, he means. Huaisang is in his direct eyeline, it's hard not to think it.]

Of course you'd say so.

[Bias... Ah, but he can't keep his hair like this forever, can he? Imagine having to explain that to Xichen while begging to be excused from battle— impossible.]

Next time I'll have to do yours. I don't think it will suit you, though...

[Next time, like they're ordinary people with time to kill.]

You might as well do it now.

[Might as well, he's in the perfect position. Also, a little more morbidly: he may die before he gets back to Qinghe. It's something he's always known, of course, but something that seems to press a little more heavily on his mind now that he's made a promise to see someone after all this is done.

Another swig, just so his head is well and truly spinning, before he shifts impatiently. It just occurs to him that, hm, was that an insult? Rude??]

What do you mean, it wouldn't suit me?

[He's not going to do anyone's hair if they're going to get all fussy and tipsy at him, good god— Huaisang touches his cheek; stop getting impatient. The inevitably of Jiang Cheng passing out mid-sentence is growing closer with every sip of that terrible alcohol, he knows it.]

It would be my hair around your face. That doesn't sound right at all!

[Come on!! Huaisang's hairstyle is an art, specifically an art that is way too, hmm, too many parts simultaneously soft and ostentatious to suit Jiang Cheng's whole... essence. It wouldn't hit right.

He can play with his hair, however, tugging out the pretty pin and simple ties and running his fingers through it. What if he stays here at step one...]

What about the robe? How do I look in purple?

[He huffs, but turns out touching his face is a perfect way to get him to hush. He blinks lazily up at him, and then there's fingers in his hair, god, this is perfect. Too perfect? Maybe, but he's too drunk to grow insecure and paranoid about what might go wrong.]

Hmm. Better than you do in green. Seems like the Jiang clan suits you better.

[Hmm. He reaches up, his hand drifting more sluggishly than he means it to, til he can brush his fingers over the curve of Huaisang's cheek. It's an idle thing, an absent touch done simply because he's always a little preoccupied with the way Huaisang looks and he lacks the reasoning to remember why he never goes through with such a thing.]

I'm right. You know I'm right.

[Ah... Jiang Cheng, ever the weakling when it comes to alcohol. Huaisang thinks... that he needs to drink more himself before he can tackle the very concept of Jiang Cheng emphatically insisting he looks better in his colors, and Jiang Cheng has had enough anyway, so don't mind him gently freeing the liquor bottle from his grasp and taking a sip of his own. Mm, it's so not good—]

Maybe you are. Maybe I should go home with you after the celebration at Qinghe.

[Haha just kidding... unless? Unless more liquor, and tilting his head just so into Jiang Cheng's clumsy touch.]

Ah, but I bought most of my fans to match Nie colors... Jiang-xiong, those are expensive! Too expensive to replace them all with purple accents!

Paint over them, you're an artist.

[That's not how fans work at all, Jiang Cheng, holy shit. He seems to realize it a moment later, because two fingers drag towards Huaisang's lips, gently preventing him from pointing this out.]

I'll buy you new ones.

[Is he not Sect Leader? Is he not Sandu Shengshou? That's sure what they call him now, and so yes, he will declare this. He'll buy Huaisang new fans, and never mind that he has no home and virtually no money to speak of. It's fine.]

So long as you come home with me. Not-- not after the war. Months after. You'd be useless with a hammer . . .

[Because he has to rebuild . . . hmm, but the thought of Huaisang wandering the halls of Lotus Pier sparks something warm in him, something content and peaceful. Yes, his soul whispers, yes that's perfect, and never mind all the reasons he'd normally give for balking.]

[Oh— and he would have pointed it out, fair, but Jiang Cheng's fingers are an effective way to stop that, ah, yes. Huaisang almost doesn't catch the rest of what he's saying, mind wandering away immediately with thoughts he can't very well be blamed for having in a moment like this. Jiang Cheng's touch against his lips and how many other places Huaisang wants him to trail his fingers down, how easy it would be to pull his hand away and duck down to kiss him—

But no, no. No. He's fine just tilting his head away from Jiang Cheng's hand so he can speak again. Please.]

I would, I would, I'd just get in the way. [ew...work] Then come back for me when you're finished, and you can take me home.

[It's fine to say, because Jiang Cheng is drunk, so it's easy to tell that this is some... some silly drunk thing. It's alright for Huaisang to drink just as much and indulge in a sweet little fantasy, isn't it? Probably. He'll studiously not think about it in the morning, as is polite.]

All right.

[A perfect plan, clearly. His fingers, so cruelly denied Huaisang's mouth (and he'd known it'd be soft, well done Jiang Cheng, absolutely realistic fantasizing), instead move to idly slide down, following a meaningless pattern against Huaisang's neck, absently trailing down his chest, before falling to his side once more.

It takes him a few seconds.]

You want Lotus Pier to be home?

[Huaisang chugs the rest of the liquor— no, but he feels like that might help, if the way even the slightest touch leaves him aching, skin on fire. It's all he can do to look down at Jiang Cheng and memorize this moment for when it's inevitably over; Jiang Cheng's fingers against his skin, his fingers still curled into Jiang Cheng's hair, that upturned gaze dark and— what? Wanting? Hopeful? Just drunk?

Honest, if nothing else. Jiang Cheng can look at him honestly and ask him something like that, and so Huaisang can only lean into it and return the favor,]

I want to be where you are.

[And yes, yes, his brother's health and the future of the sect are high priorities, but as for what he wants... well. Well it sinks in, what he's just said, and half drunk or not, that's— ah, fuck. He makes a face and looks away.]

It— it's probably time to get some rest!

Wait--

[He has a feeling he just missed something important, and for the life of him, he doesn't know what. The world is all soft and dim now, the edges fuzzy in ways they never are when he's sober. Everything seems so easy, so why is Huaisang suddenly demanding they go to bed?

His eyes are growing heavier by the second. His fingers are curled in Huaisang's robes, and he tugs impatiently, like that will help. It's hard to remember anything, hard to remember what he's chasing after, so--]

Stay-- stay with me tonight.

[They have to move again? Ugh. What if he just sleeps in Huaisang's lap, that sounds ideal . . . he rolls over, facing him, his eyes closing firmly.]

[Oh— did he miss it? Huaisang blinks, thinking he must have - and trying to stave off the disappointment he feels for a moment, because isn't it better that Jiang Cheng doesn't hear his stupid, selfish feelings...? If Jiang Cheng doesn't hear him, he'll get over the new rush of these old feelings much more easily. Or it's fine to pretend he will.

Still, for a sloppy drunk, Jiang Cheng is being sweet enough to make his chest ache. Huaisang cups his cheek, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. Mm...]

You drive a hard bargain, Jiang-xiong. I'll stay, I'll stay.

[Because he was... soooo thinking of leaving. Please.]

Good.

[It's doubtful he'll remember any of this come morning, honestly. Or if he does, it will be in fragmented pieces: memories that make him shiver in embarrassment and pray that Huaisang doesn't remember how he babbled at him, touched him, acted like an absolute idiot by declaring he looks so much better dressed in Jiang colors . . .

Or maybe he'll just wake up with a headache, draped all over Huaisang. That works too.

Xichen is sensible; by mid-morning, Nie soldiers have been evenly distributed among the other clans, and Jiang Cheng is offering a gruff goodbye. It's perfectly casual, perfectly easy, and if either of them think about the evening before, they don't show it. He's glad to see the back of him, honestly: a battlefield is no place for someone like Huaisang.

Now, at least, he can stop worrying.

The war ends, and with it comes a hollow sense of peace. He feels no relief as he watches the last of the Wens hunted down and rounded up; he feels nothing, really, save for a vague sense of exhaling for the first time in nearly ten months. He attends the meetings he's supposed to, the celebrations, says all the right things and does just what a sect leader ought to. Ignores all the whispers about him, the comments that perhaps he's too young (he is), but oh, he'd done so well in the war-- nothing compared to Wei Wuxian, of course, but still.

Lotus Pier is rebuilt. He oversees it all, every plank of wood and iron nail, and when the paint has dried and the citizens of Yunmeng slowly creep back, Jiang Cheng still feels nothing. But that's fine. Feelings are pointless; all that he ever needs to do is fulfill his responsibilities.

And sooner or later, those self-same responsibilities takes him to the Qinghe. It's been, what, two months since the war ended? Something like that. And it's not that he hasn't thought of Huaisang, god, no, but everything's been so busy . . .

But he thinks of him now, as he wears his token in his hair and bows towards his brother, still recovering but alive. His glare is as fierce as ever, but his words are grudgingly respectful, and Jiang Cheng can't ask for more than that. Honestly, he's barely focused on Sect Leader Nie; the moment it's respectful to do so, he heads for the halls, looking for a particularly western chamber. He might not know the keep well, but he at least knows where Huaisang lives.

Lived, maybe. It feels as though it's been months since he's last seen him; perhaps he's changed his habits. Perhaps he's forgotten. Things are different in wartime, perhaps he's not--]

Nie-xiong.

[Perhaps he's just as Jiang Cheng has continuously imagined him, sitting in an airy room, a brush held in one hand, painting something or another. Jiang Cheng stands in the doorway, caught between simply walking in and having some sense of propriety.]

[It's a hasty exit, if nothing else. Huaisang has only a small handful of disciples to take him home, and Xichen is gracious, and Jiang Cheng— doesn't mention a thing about their evening alone, which is likely for the best. Huaisang doesn't mind; he's exhausted still, and eager to return to Mingjue, and being around Jiang Cheng right now is too distracting for the middle of a war zone.

So he goes, and Qinghe is quiet and still until Mingjue wakes, and then there's nothing but planning to take care of after that; long distance war for Mingjue, who resents having to keep out of battle and has to make his opinions known about it somehow, mostly in stern letters. Huaisang puts himself in charge of overseeing the celebrations, mostly so Mingjue won't cancel them entirely for not wanting to do it himself. It's something to do! It's uplifting, planning for celebration and victory and the long, long life ahead of his older brother.

If anyone has any comments they want to make about his shoddy battle performance, they don't make it. Not at Qinghe, anyway; Huaisang is sure someone will bend Mingjue's ear about how his little brother could barely pick up a saber and cowered behind the Jiang boy the whole time, but for the time being Mingjue knows only that Huaisang tried at all. The looks Huaisang catches his brother giving him are hard to parse, caught somewhere between pride and concern. Of course his brother can't just talk to him about his emotions. That would be silly.

Still. Maybe he'll get it out of him himself one of these days, but later; the war is done and the parties pass, and after some weeks things start to settle into a new normal. Different, yes— but better than it has been for a while.

Huaisang doesn't expect Jiang Cheng to simply appear in his doorway, though, so when he hears his name spoken suddenly he startles, hand smudging the lines he's putting to paper and wrinkling it, to boot. He makes a short noise, irritated—]

You spoiled it! The door is there to be knocked on, you—

[Ah. Ah, not a disciple... His protest dies on his tongue; he's staring. Ah??

(He does notice the pin, though.)]

I didn't know you were coming!

By the time I wrote you, I'd be here already.

[Surprise? His expression is unreadable right now, his arms folded over his chest somewhat defensively. But he comes in, closing the door behind him, so at least whatever happens, they can do it in private.]

I have something of yours.

[He does not apologize about the painting. He will not.]

[It would have been polite to write, first. And second, he has ink on his hand now, so allow him to put his brush down and fuss with that while Jiang Cheng lurks over there by the door.]

Well, come over here and let's see it, then. You can tell me about Lotus Pier.

[This is a social visit and not Jiang Cheng being awkward and then leaving, yes? Come here.]

[Hmm, maybe he'll just lurk around the door like an awkward loser? The thought has its merits. But no, he'll come towards him, kneeling carefully next to him. His hands go up to his hair, tugging a pin free-- and he looks like a bit of an idiot with his hair hanging around his face, but whatever.

He doesn't answer right away. Just stares steadily, a little too hard, at Huaisang as he fusses with his hands.]

Why should I tell you?

[Here we go, and his soul is screaming, panicking, blurting that he could still stop this. He could. But he's been with Huaisang for, what, three minutes, and he's already felt more in that time than he has over the past two months.]

You said you wanted to come back and see it, didn't you?

[Seeing Jiang Cheng now is almost a little odd— things were certainly dire the last time they were together, and now it's so peaceful... But it isn't awkward until Jiang Cheng says that— You said you wanted to come back and see it.

Oh. Huaisang goes still, wondering what he should take from this without even looking at Jiang Cheng— is he going to tease him about that? Worse than that possibility, he remembers it? That night is a halfway pleasant blip in an otherwise long stretch of misery, true, but Jiang Cheng had been drunk enough to fall asleep in his lap! What gives!

Huaisang twists his fingers together and puts his hands in his lap. Oh boy. Okay.]

I— did? [No, no, come on Huaisang--] I didn't think you remembered.

[He remembers a lot less than he'd like, and the bits he does remember make him go a little red in embarrassment. He'd had his fingers on his mouth . . .

What else had they talked about? He genuinely can't remember. But he does remember that statement, and his muddled, idiotic confusion afterwards. I want to be where you are, he'd said, and oh, god, but he still has no idea how to deal with that as a concept, how to even begin to interpret it, but--

I want to be where you are, and on its most basic level, he understands, because it's what he wants too. The screaming rage and constant doubt that's always blazing in his heart is only ever quiet around Huaisang, who looks at him and, impossibly, seems to like what he sees. There's no competition, no desperate need for approval or bravado, no wondering when the other shoe will drop, when Huaisang will see who he really is and leave him for someone better--

He knows who he is. He's seen him at his worst, his most cowardly, his most pathetic. He's watched him slaughter countless Wens; held him while he cried from the shock and terror of war. He's easy, in a way no one else ever is. Not simple, but his complexities fit naturally against Jiang Cheng's own.

I want to be where you are, but they'll start with: come back to Lotus Pier with me.]

That's not an answer.

[Huaisang hums, not looking up at him still. He's been caught, then, Jiang Cheng remembers just enough to question him about his intentions or whatever they should call it, and Huaisang's heart pounds painfully the longer he sits here and says nothing. Here he's been, lazing his days away at Qinghe, and it isn't a bad life. His brother is here. He's safe here, he can more or less do as he pleases...

But Jiang Cheng is always somewhere else. Huaisang can't pinpoint the moment Jiang Cheng's absence started to weigh on him as much as it has in recent weeks, but he isn't so foolish as to not know his own heart. No, of course not- he knows what he wants. That part is easy, it's expressing it (well, sober) that gives him pause.

Idly he lifts a hand to touch his lips, the way Jiang Cheng had that night— and then he looks at him, because what is a serious conversation without absolutely torturing himself?

First,] Your hair looks ridiculous like that.

[It's still not an answer, he knows, he knows--]

I would like to see Lotus Pier with you.

[He opens his mouth to start snapping, so thank god that isn't the only thing Huaisang notices. He's having feelings again, like some kind of twelve year old, and Huaisang wants to talk about his hair, oh my god--

It's easier to get worked up about that than focus on what he says next. Because that's terrifying, even more so than a polite brush-off or mild rejection. That's a confirmation, that's a yes, and suddenly the future seems both bright and full of peril.

He should push more. He should confirm it, or ask more: do you want to stay with me, do you want to be with me, and by the way, how exactly do you mean it, because I've thought a lot about kissing you, but a promise to go to one's home isn't a promise to kiss, perhaps we're just really good friends--]

Good.

[They'll start here, though. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting down to where Huaisang's mouth, but then:]

Don't criticize if you're not going to help me fix it.

[Will this be easier if they're not staring right at each other? Maybe!]

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