highly new, slightly improved open post

[appliances]

assorted morons

☆ @ the muselist

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme ☆ little steps meme ☆ affectionate physical contact meme ☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy ☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU ☆ melodrama is ultimate tier ★ SHIPPING AND FUCC: ☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh ☆ things I am not into: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character ☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty ☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[disposable]

[Jin Guangyao wonders about Xichen more than is appropriate; how could he not, when the news of Wangji's punishment reaches Lanling? Wangji, he knows, is steely and stalwart— he worries considerably less or not at all about the younger Lan brother, but Xichen... upright and good, too good, Xichen must keenly feel the pain of his only brother.

But there is no time for sympathies in their world, and pity is impoliteness; Lanling makes no formal acknowledgement of Lan Wangji's fate as it would simply be too shameful to point it out, but word spreads. Jin Guangyao has business to attend to, work to do, but he still wonders how Xichen is doing when he has an idle moment.

So, then. He receives the letter with practiced impassivity, humbly bowing before his father to request his blessing to travel to Cloud Recesses. Not because he wants to, or rather, not because anyone would care what he wants— his own opinions factor into the discussion not at all, simply a frank deliverance of the news that he's been requested elsewhere. His assurance that he will not slack in his duties is given, and he's off.

He can keep his expression calm and blank on the journey. Up the pathway, waiting at the door, but when he sees Xichen his lips part in silent reverence and his eyes shine— not long enough for anyone to notice save perhaps the man himself, as of course, Jin Guangyao immediately holds out his arms, hands joined, to dip into a deep bow.]

Gusu Lan's friendship with Lanling Jin is no indulgence, [he says, crisp and polite, face turned down to the floor.] Jin Guangyao is honored to be received personally by Zewu-Jun.

[And like, if the gaggle of Lan and Jin servants milling about could just get out of here, that would be great. The corner of his mouth twitches, almost giddily impatient, but he's still looking at the floor. Xichen, free him.]

[xiaosolo]

It's all right.

[It's their dance now, isn't it? Guangyao bows and Xichen interrupts, because they are brothers now, and there is little need for that kind of formality. Except of course there is, and so each time they do this, the two of them moving so fluidly it's as if it was rehearsed.]

Thank you, that will be all, [he tells the servants, and there's a lot more bowing and murmuring, but sooner or later, they're left alone. The door slides closed, and Xichen closes his eyes in quiet relief.]

It is good to see you.

[Soft, and he manages a slight smile as he approaches him. Hands absently run over Guangyao's arms, as the noise of outside fades and they're left completely alone.]

I . . . you must have heard.

[disposable]

[The seconds tick by before the servants leave, and if anyone thinks it odd that Jin Guangyao holds himself in this bow for this long, as they're exiting, well. Jin Guangyao is finally learning to keep his head down like his mother isn't much of a fresh, new bit of gossip about him.

It doesn't matter, anyway; when he straightens up and Xichen's hands are there, warm through his layered robes, he cannot think of anything else. He smiles, because it's good to see Xichen as well (it always is), and when he next bows his head it's in sympathy.]

I did. How is Lan Wangji? [And he looses his hands to clasp one of Xichen's forearms, briefly; How are you?]

[xiaosolo]

Broken.

[The word slips out, too vulnerable and too emotional, but far more honest than he'd been a moment ago. He leans his weight forward, pushing lightly against that clasp-- not for long, but just enough.]

He does not speak. He barely eats. He simply lies there.

[And I made him like this. He couldn't possibly object, there was no way, but still: he was the one who had the power to stop things, and he hadn't.]

I do not know if he will recover.

[disposable]

He will, [Guangyao's reply is immediate, and maybe he believes it and maybe he doesn't, but his eyes when he looks up at Xichen are surely genuine. Wangji is strong, true enough, but it's Xichen's wellness that actually matters.]

This will not be his fate.

[He shifts to step forward, touch light against Xichen's elbow this time to urge him to turn, to not just stand here steeping in misery.]

He has you.

[xiaosolo]

For all the help I have been these past few years.

[Had it not been him to encourage that friendship? Had he not enabled Wangji? Or maybe it's just that he didn't disapprove strongly enough later on. Does it matter? The relationship still happened, and now here they all are.

He turns, entirely at Guangyao's urging, moving until he's kneeling just where the other places him. His head is bowed forward, and he waits until Guangyao is settled, seated, before he asks:]

Did I do the right thing? Should I have stopped them?

[He doesn't know anymore. Or-- he does, but then it feels too terrible to bear. His gaze is too beseeching, too needy for that external validation, because he is too soft-hearted to bear this easily.]

[disposable]

[Mercy, Guangyao thinks; it's mercy that Xichen craves to lessen his guilt if not eliminate it entirely. He sits Xichen down at the low table and takes the spot to his right for himself, lips pursed in serious thought.

Because of course there is a line he mustn't cross. He could tell Xichen precisely what he wants to hear and make it sound like it came from within, that Xichen knew it all along. Not only that, but that he, Jin Guangyao, understands him so very, very deeply— better than anyone else ever has or ever will. Xichen is vulnerable, and the power in Guangyao's hands as he folds them carefully in his lap is staggering.

But.]

I don't know.

[Xichen is too good for him, Guangyao knows, curling his fingers more tightly so that he isn't tempted to disfigure such pristine goodness with his sordid touch.]

Xichen's intentions are well-meaning. Wangji is headstrong, but everyone knows he was raised well.

[Perhaps it is... everyone else... who is wrong? About everything??]

[xiaosolo]

[It's an honest answer, at the very least, and that means more than he thought it would. He doesn't know, and how could he? There's no easy answer. There is nothing else he could have done, and what guilt he feels is entirely personal. So what is there to say?]

But it takes only one mistake to lose your way, no matter how you were raised.

[And Wei Wuxian was firmly down the wrong road, of that Xichen is (reasonably) certain. His mouth tightens-- but ah, he notices the way Guangyao's hands are twisting. Of course he does. He notices a lot when it comes to Guangyao.]

Ah . . . I apologize. I did not just call you here to listen to my problems, I promise you.

[disposable]

[He smiles thinly and says nothing about losing one's way. Has he ever had a way to lose? His upbringing has left him with very little besides something dark and churning, but— Wangji. Xichen.]

It's alright. I... [Ah, can he offer his unconditional support? Is that one a line he can approach?] I'm glad you would ask for me.

[Because things are exhausting at Carp Tower and Xichen's presence is a balm on his restless mind, of course, but one doesn't say it.]

Is there something else?

[xiaosolo]

Of course.

[Of course he would. Nie Mingjue is comforting in a solid sort of way, dependable and endlessly admirable in his rigidity, but there's a softness to Guangyao that suits Xichen.

Mm. Those fingers are still curled, and without thinking he reaches for his hand, smoothing them out gently.]

I thought . . .

[Ah. Wel. How does he . . . what does he say to that? A few things come to mind, but the excuse he offers is:]

. . . if you wished to stay for a few days, I could continue to show you the guqin.

[That's as good an excuse as any.]

[disposable]

[Ah, and it's so much more than Guangyao expects, all at once. He knows Xichen cares for him, he would have to be blind not to, but he could have- and would have- been satisfied with that gentle confirmation alone. One simple of course is enough, and so—

When Xichen reaches for him, touches his hand, invites him to stay—

Guangyao makes the same expression he'd made at the door, glad just to be near him again. Understated, perhaps, but unmistakable.]

I would like that. [He would literally stand to bow a second time, but Xichen's hand is on his, and heaven forbid he lose that.] As long as Zewu-Jun doesn't scold me for being too busy to practice since the last time.

[He just needs so much guidance....]

[xiaosolo]

We shall see. I'm certain your fingers will remember what to do soon enough.

[The best and worst part about Xichen is he absolutely only means that in the cheeriest, chastest of ways. Which doesn't mean he isn't thinking of other things, but-- hm, not so filthily.]

You don't give yourself enough credit.

[He's still just gently holding his hand, it's fine.]

[disposable]

[Xichen. Guangyao doesn't laugh, but almost; something like that out of the mouth of Xichen is charming at the best of times and torturous at the worst, and he prefers to think about the former.]

For my guqin skills, the credit is all yours.

[And— hmm. He doesn't move to hold Xichen's hand more boldly, but covers it instead with his other one. This is so much.]

Show me your favorite song. I'll practice it properly.

[xiaosolo]

[It's a lot, for them, and yet it isn't, all at once. It's the overlooking of rules and roles in favor of something more affectionate, and yet they don't actually put a name to it. They don't ever make reference to it. It's just . . . little moments like this, things that Xichen knows he oughtn't take pleasure in, but does anyway.

He's struck cold suddenly with the thought: is this what it was like for Wanji? Because of course he knows his brother, knows how good he is. He never once would have willingly trusted evil, no, but at the same time . . . it's easy to spot temptation when it's flashy and gaudy. Harder when right and wrong are muddled together, as was the case with Wei Wuxian.

But Guangyao-- Meng Yao, still, quietly, in the back of his mind, no matter how his father renames him-- is different. He's sweet. Clever, oh, yes, remarkably so, and driven, and yes, perhaps he's a little, hm, more efficient than Xichen would care for him to be, but his heart is good. He's sure of it. It's moments like these that convince him, after all. What is there to gain but affection in this? Taking his hand, soothing his guilt and distracting him from his grief . . . surely no one could lie about such things. Not this well. Not when his eyes shine so sweetly and his expression is so sincere.

(And that, there, is the mistake he makes again and again. Guangyao is sincere right now. It's just that he doesn't look at everyone like that, does he?)]

You'll practice it to perfection, and then I'll be left with nothing to offer you as thanks.

[He emerges from his dark thoughts with that, offering another little smile that doesn't quite reach. But his hand pulls back, so he can stand and find wherever it is the Lans store their host of practice instruments.

The thing about guqin is that it's not actually that hard to play at first. There's only so many notes, after all; it's easy for the beginner students to learn the songs and memorize the patterns. The hard part comes later, when it's the art of precision: putting too much pressure on one string or failing to remove a finger too swiftly, and suddenly the feeling of the song, the intent behind it, will falter and change utterly. It's note after note of precise fingerwork, and thus an instrument both admirable to play and utterly maddening to learn.

Which is why, naturally, he's the one to play Song of Clarity for Mingjue. It would be an awful thing if someone were to get it wrong, right? Even a few notes would change the meaning. Haha . . .

Anyway. The point is: it's easy to teach the notes of his favorite song, and of course Guangyao picks it up so very quickly, because he's far cleverer than anyone gives him credit for. But less so to teach the emotion, to convey the precise way he needs to flick his fingers or pull back-- and so it's easier to simply sit next to him, occasionally putting his hands over him.]

Sliding. Like that-- yes, very good.

[Does he need to teach it like this? No, of course not, he's taught too many juniors to need to. But . . .

It's soothing. He'd taught Wangji like this, back when he was so small and everything was so much easier. Huddling around him, watching the way his tiny face would wrinkle in frustration before smoothing out into determination once more . . . it's a happy memory, and it's one he enjoys remembering now, as he once more leans in, his arms going around Guangyao as he guides his hands along.]

Harder. Not all melodies are delicate. If there's no harshness, the sweeter parts won't mean as much.