Chapter Text
Friday does not begin peacefully, or with the mind-numbing relief that comes from being bombarded habitually by the irritating Good morning da-ge ~ messages. It’s Friday, and per his living arrangements and the fact that there are 3 people on the agenda who would like to use the car, he has to either fight and lose Feiyan and Auntie on the front lawn or negotiate slash bribe and probably toss out his dignity in the process of it.
The sad and bothersome fact is that none of the interested parties really or truly need the bloody car. They all keep up this pretense because all Nies are spiteful and sadistic scums of society and they thrive off being able to oppress their fellow relatives. He’s less sadistic and more spiteful on principle of every-bloody-else in his goddamn family sharing a singular genetic strain of Sadistic Asshole, so in the interest of decreasing the current world’s level on sadism, he’s taken it within himself to be three times as spiteful to tip the scales back to balance.
The Aunt Woman is inspecting her magnolia freak tree without her glasses, a reprise from yesterday and everyday before that, squinting up at the sparse leaves and buds, hand on her hip. Mingjue carefully tiptoes around the coiling hose his cousin is swinging around, that is spitting out cold water at supersonic frequency at the poor vegetable patches and the sturdy daisy lumps.
“Ahem,” he clears his throat, announcing his presence, as if he is greeting the supreme royalty of this land and immediate offshore territories, and not his own family.
If anything, Feiyan starts walking further away from him, and his aunt starts mumbling to herself.
“Your Royal Highnesses,” he states, flat, unimpressed, and definitely resigned to his fate. Auntie reacts immediate, as if her instincts include the genetic coding that holds the instructions of React To Others Referring To You As Royalty, Regardless of Tone.
“Wait, hold,” Feiyan holds up a hand, as she hobbles back to the tap and twists the water off. Wiping her hands on her gardening overalls, the resident woodcarver spreads out her palms like Buddha accepting prayers from his loyal devoters, nodding as if she ascended to godhood in the five minutes she spent hosing down the marigolds. “I’m going to pretend that we don’t know what you’re asking for and let you plead your case first.”
“You don’t even have an early morning class,” he states, a note of accusation in his voice.
“Neither do you, ge, your first class is at 11, ” Feiyan points out, neither triumphant or sympathetic.
“A tragedy, that I also need it,” aunt pitches in, floating to them.
Mingjue and Feiyan both frown at their aunt.
“Why,” he frowns. It’s not a question. It’s a judgement. She does this every Friday but she has weird reasons to steal the car from them and it gets weirder with time.
“I get seniority dibs,” she replies, haughty, chin tipped to at least the fourth level of the Heavenly Court. The twitch in his left eye is developing slowly into a full on eye infection if left on the inevitable - that is, him resigning to the persisting demonic influences of his aunt and cousin, the two Furies.
“I don’t care, I want the car,” Feiyan waves her off, daring to challenge the seniority claim at the early hours of 6.37 on a Friday morning, hand on her hip. “I’m not lugging three bags of timber home through the public transport system.”
While she’s the youngest physically there, the baby of their clan, they’ve been treating Feiyan the drawling menace as self-sufficient since before her birth, because she was conceived self-sufficing in the womb. There are very little feats that Yanyan ever actually ask her family to complete for her if she herself cannot technically complete them all herself beforehand. The implication of her considerable strength being trumped by her favourite object ever on this living earth - pieces of cut timber - is simply crushing, and he can feel his hardened, spiteful heart thawing and exiting through the drainage system. No. Nooo don’t succumb, don’t succumb to the inevitable.
Feiyan frowns, a tiny little twitch to her bunched up eyebrows, and he hears the Demon Aunt sighs, resigned. He didn’t even get to hear her bullshit excuse of why exactly she wanted the car this week.
“Why do you need the car then, da-ge?” Feiyan turns big, sorrowful kicked cattle eyes, eyes that her girlfriend too has a hard time to refuse and that kid is more rock than human, and he can feel his resolve fling itself down the freeway two kilometres away from their house.
Well, there goes that Pick Up Plan.
“Wanted to pick Xichen up and ask his uncle if he could come and spend the night,” he shrugs, figuring it’s pretty much useless now to deny his schemes. He might as well get Feiyan to pick up Xichen at the rate things are barrelling headfirst towards.
His aunt gasps first, entirely theatrical and with zero empathy.
“Spend the night?”
Feiyan tuts her tongue. “So forward, gege! And you’re not even ‘dating’!”
He raised A-Sang off his back. He knows nothing good comes from gege when this brat or the other brat say the word.
Just because he can’t grasp a lot of social niceties doesn’t mean he can’t hear distinguished air quotes when they are deliberately presented to him. This demon brat grew up with him, she has a guide book on how to irritate him and get what she wants from him, so he’s going to not address it and UNO reverse card her.
“So when you do take the car, brat, and I’m not going to fight you on it, just come to the front of the music hall and pick the both of us up. He has a cello case and I’m not letting him lug that through public transport,” he holds up a hand as she no doubt would have launched into a whole lamentation about the unfairness of her own family and he does not have the emotional endurance to deal with it. “Just as I won’t let you lug your timber through public transport. Take the car, Yanyan. I’ll text Xichen about the change in plans.”
Aunt has gone completely quiet, which is never a good sign, on virtue of how she operates. When she’s quiet, he just knows a round of bullshit is arriving. Unfortunately, in the past, that figure of speech had been literal on one historical traumatic occasion and now he takes it upon himself to keep all things literal when speaking to Auntie.
“You know we have spare keys of the car, honey,” Auntie smiles, sharp and intimidating. Feiyan throws her a furtive look, confusion flickering across all her facial muscles, until she reaches knowledge transcending human comprehension.
“Yeah, gege,” Feiyan matches his aunt’s grin.
He frowns on instinct, because he made a promise not to glare or growl. Also there is a bet riding on the intensity of his stare and he can chalk it up to astigmatism when he is frowning rather than the facts being twisted to a glare when they hold the Holy Kitchen Trials prosecuting his crime of Having a Severe Face.
“I don’t understand. And you can’t say everything flies over my head, because you weren’t literal, and I can hold you against that -” he is stopped mid-rant as Feiyan holds up a hand, a loop of dangling keychains and the car key jangling in the bundle. “What.”
“I’ll drive you to uni and then I’ll catch the train back,” she shrugs, spins the bunch of keychains around in a loop around her pointer finger. “I’ll take the car first, then I’ll come back with my woods.”
He cringes, distaste visible. “Don’t say woods in my presence. It makes me want to hurl. It also makes you sound like you're a forester."
She shrugs. “Take it or leave it, ge. And how could you accuse me of such a crime? I'm a responsible recycler."
He glances between the two harpies, because a deal this convenient cannot have been construed out of thin air and granted approval on the basis of the two of them exchanging eye contact.
“What’s the catch.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand.
“Let me prepare the house for your ‘friend’,” Aunt smiles, intending to project ‘sweet’ and ‘matronly’, but her smile ends up looking too saccharine for him to buy it completely.
“And?” He knows them. This can’t just be it.
“Let him sleep in your room!” Feiyan claps slaps him on the shoulder, nodding as if they’ve communicated more than that sudden demand.
He eyes her, feeling irritation twitch at all possible muscles on his face. “Where else is the guy meant to sleep? On the kitchen floor?”
Giggling in tandem, the chthonic demons don’t make eye contact, but somehow manage to giggle in the exact same pitch.
“Okay ge, deal is sealed,” Feiyan holds out a dirt-streaked hand. “No tricks.”
He squints between the two of them, painfully aware of all the traps laid out before him but he can’t see them and he’s too scared to take the deal
But he is Scary Senior Nie who always keeps his words, like a respectable person of society would and the remaining pillar of virtue left in this lawless household.
“I’m not shaking your hand,” he flicks a disappointed stare at the proffered hand, which feels like a trap. “And I’m taking the car keys in the kitchen. Don’t steal food when I’m cooking it.”
He pins Auntie’s glasses onto the top of her head and drops his handkerchief onto the palm of the cousin demon, before marching escaping back inside before they can start chasing him and jumping onto him.
“Be good in class, ge!” Waves Feiyan from atop of Yin Jiu’s head, and Mingjue sends a sympathetic prayer Upstairs for the Nice Ancestors Who Passed On to look after the poor dear who unfortunately strapped herself to his harpy of a cousin.
“Be careful,” he tuts from afar, watching them until they get on the bus, Jiu’s hand a protective curl around the small of Feiyan’s back, his cousin dipping her head to listen to her girlfriend.
Cute. But he would rather die before he hack that out loud to Feiyan.
It’s been a few days too quiet without the sparse friends and juniors he keeps at arm’s length bothering him. Yeah, Qing-er is busy normally, but he’s firm on her exceeding the human minimum requirement of sleep and passing on days without the need for rest, so there is no logical explanation of her silence, at all.
Su She is dodgy at best and an evasive criminal at worst, and he’s not too fussed about when he hears about that one. However, Mianmian had been too quiet and he’s concerned as to whether she died or somebody died at her hands and she is in hiding.
“Oh? Nie-xiong!” He hears a cheerful chirp, as an old acquaintance, Wei Wuxian, bounds into view, curls flying at the speed of him sprinting at Mingjue.
He barely gets to lift a hand in greeting when he gets a chest full of enthusiastic and boisterous curls. Patting placatingly, and also trying to find a way out of being entirely engulfed in 182 centimetres of Wei Wuxian, he hacks out a hello, limbs twitching in the hold.
“Hey kiddo,” he wheezes, as he’s mercifully released from the bone-crushing hug. It is only common sense to assume that this is a Jiang family tradition and that Chengcheng would hug just as hard, but he can’t find it in him to feel bad for his didi when he envisions the brat being given a welcoming hug from his beloved Chengcheng. Sacrifices must be made for love. A-Sang will just have to suck it up.
By virtue of the Tall Gene in his blood, he still is taller than the other kid brother he ended up accidentally raising along with his cousin and actual brother, but Wei Wuxian had always been larger than his physical height, talking with his entire body and appearing to be much bigger than he has any right to be.
“Aiya, you’ve gotten so handsome, daxiong~,” trills the boy, patting at his cheek. “Look at this face!”
He doesn’t have time to lodge in a customary laugh to appease the excitable bundle of boyish energy who is gently vibrating in place - he has half a mind to keep a hand on Wuxian at all times lest he starts floating to the atmosphere when he’s not looking.
“You’ve grown too, kiddo. No baby fats anywhere,” he grins, the gesture crooked and teasing now, as he pulls on the tanned skin of Wuxian’s cheek. “Look at you, golden boy.”
Wuxian beams, pleased that he noticed his tan and also the lack of baby fats in his cheeks. This kid grew way too quickly - suddenly he’s all tall and filled into his bones, languid and easy in his posture, even as his demeanour still retains the flounce and excitement of childhood.
“Wanna hear a secret though, daxiong?” The boy leans in closer, and he tips his head, nodding once. “A-Cheng got invited to sleep over at your place tonight.”
He feigns shock and betrayal at not being disclosed such vital information, though he knows it’s going to happen sooner or later.
“No. Really?” He puts a hand over his mouth, dramatic and over the top. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Wuxian giggles, muffling his laugh against a closed fist to his mouth, eyes scrunched up in moon crescents.
He looks like his dad when he does that. Wei Changze. The man who stole at least half the breaths in Yunmeng and Yi City.
“They move so fast, the young ‘uns,” Wuxian moons, plastered against his arm. “And what about you? I heard about, well, I know about Lan-daxiong and his little round robin habit, but what are you doing getting all caught up in it?”
He doesn’t know how Xiao Zhan can even consider leaving this little firecracker to go off popping into another person’s presence without him looming nearby and supervising. Mingjue isn’t quite too sure when exactly did Xiao Zhan eased the burden of babysitting Wuxian off Chengcheng’s shoulder, but he’s not exactly complaining, because it means less work for the both of them and the rest of the world.
"I'm in it to end it," he tells the boy honestly. Wei Ying cocks an eyebrow up, artistically curved. "Hopefully."
Sighing, and continue to squeeze his biceps, Wei Ying bemoans loudly at the carpark.
"Fighting fire with fire. That's such your style, daxiong."
He doesn't bother with prying him off, because if there is any force he should not throw fire at, it's this one. He is paying some mind to how Xiao Zhan might react when he sees this, because these two come as a package deal wherever they aren't separated by classes and the will of the gods, and it's common for Lan Zhan to sprout up like an unannounced lichen to accompany his Wei Ying.
It's sweet, in the same vein as it also being severely threatening. These two brats are rapidly catching up to him in height and he knows Xiao Zhan carries his boyfriend everywhere like a personal carriage and horse ensemble, so he isn't doubting that he will be knocked down in a fight against these two.
"I'm flattered you know how I operate, and I'm flattered you're feeling me up," he acquiesces, hand still loosely in reach around Wuxian. "But wouldn't the boyfriend -"
Xiao Zhan looms in the near horizon, eyes stormy, but the gold cease thundering when he spots where his beloved is. The little minor detail of Mingjue's arm safeguarding the kid from flinging himself off into the stratosphere must have evidently been sidelined when the number one life priority is safe and bouncing his way to throw his hands around the Lan boy's neck, nuzzling close.
The boyfriend should be okay with him, generally, because he knew of the crush since before Xiao Zhan could conceptualise what a crush is and he had been a confidante before he had to move. He was da-ge before Xichen could claim that title by birth right, a fact he did not hesitate in bringing at every possible occasion.
"We're all good?" He asks the lovebirds, still entwined around each other, Wuxian giggling into Xiao Zhan's shoulder.
He gets only a nod in return, courtesy of how much Lan Zhan loves words and speaking on a general basis, but his eyes are warm, arms comfortably resting around Wuxian's waist.
"Where'd you run off to, leaving this brat all alone?" He hefts up his bag, leaving enough room for Wuxian to swing arms lest he needs to, as they stroll to the engineering building, his personal prison space.
"I was walking Brother to class," is the solemn answer.
He snorts, completely out of reflex. "What is he, the Queen Mother of the West?"
Wuxian is too busy trying to walk and braid Xiao Zhan's hair at the same time, a feat everybody long stopped in trying to talk him out of. It's not like Lan Zhan hates it. He's bending his head and everything, so his beloved doesn't have to hop to reach his head to tuck a Jiang braid in.
Xiao Zhan considers the proposition, all the while tipping his head down for the monkey boyfriend.
"I suppose he could be," he blandly comments, at zero sympathy for his brother. "I had a matter that needed urgent resolution, therefore his counsel was needed."
Oh yikes. He forgets too that Lan Xichen is a firstborn son, most likely going to have to ease the pain of shouldering the management of the prestigious Gusu academic institutions. He knows things, had probably done them too, when it comes to management and ensuring logistics are carried out smoothly.
"Management," Wuxian shudders, and Xiao Zhan wastes no time in putting an arm around his shoulder, tucking the boyfriend into his side.
Mingjue tries very hard to not cringe at that.
"Thank the Gods I don't have to do the same," he equally winces, though he has no boyfriend to tenderly wrap their arms around him because of the whole He's Taller Than Most situation, so he'll just cry about it where he is.
"Aren't you the oldest?" Wuxian leans forward to frown at him.
"Yeah, and I'm shit at management, so I'm working it through with the other three," he shrugs, shameless about passing off responsibility in equal dosage in his communist household, holding true to the original Marxist principles. "Actually, it's four now, counting the girlfriend."
Both Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan turn to him, interested eyes similarly tuning in to his face. He flinches, just barely managing to pat the twitch back down.
"What."
"The girlfriend...is that yours or Huaisang's or your aunt's or your cousin's?" Wuxian asks, hiding the malice behind his row of smiling teeth.
Oh gee, this kid. Protective as always.
He rolls his eyes, putting a foot through at the closing glass doors.
"My cousin's. You know I don't bat for the other team and didi ...has Chengcheng. Now run off. Let me suffer by my own," he shoos them away, stopping Xiao Zhan at the last minute.
"A-Zhan!"
Lan Zhan snaps back to him, back ramrod straight.
"At ease, kid," he laughs, easy. "I'm picking up His Royal Highness, Queen Mother of the West this afternoon, so you don't have to worry about him, okay? I'll be good, promise."
Xiao Zhan waves him away.
"I'm not afraid of whether you'll be good to him or not, because you will be. I'm thinking on whether he'll be good to you."
Wei Wuxian laughs so hard he almost flings himself off onto the road and Lan Zhan has to reel him back because he is a catch too valuable to let drifted out to the wide sea where he’ll feast on the other fish to attain ungodly powers to destroy the patriarchy.
“Don’t be mean to him,” he chides, meaning absolutely none of the severity of his words to either Lan brother in question.
“Oh. Well,” Xiao Zhan shrugs and nods at him, arms locked around his boyfriend as they see him off to class, Wuxian vibrating excitedly in the stoic boy’s arms though he makes no crazed man’s attempt to escape. Mingjue has his suspicions towards the unruly Wei Wuxian finally settling down long enough to not incur the wrath of his ancestors to strike down upon him and killing everything but him.
“Monosyllables don’t make you cute, A-Zhan,” he curls his lips, easing his way into the lecture hall. “Now scram.”
Wei Wuxian tips his chin up to look at his boyfriend, eyes strangely serious.
“I don’t know, da-ge,” he drawls, “I think when he speaks like that, it’s hot.”
He closes the door behind him and storms away, far enough to not catch the tail end of Wei Wuxian’s demonic, dead bones raising cackle.
On a scale of, like, scary things on campus, Nie Mingjue, or as the people refer to him - Scary Senior Nie - ranks at a firm fourth place, before the creepy underground hallways but after having to explain to the vice chancellor why a particular club needs more funding again. It’s good that Senior Nie keeps to himself and mostly glares at his work, not at people - even if his group members are incompetent and he has to carry the team to a distinction mark. He’s good like that.
But it could be the perpetually scowling face and the deep set eyes, with his shirts unbuttoned at the collarbone so his tattoos are peeking out, the war march footsteps - the guy just looks like he’s about to throw hands at every possible opportunity and it does not help that he’s Huge. Massive. Tall. Tall, tan and terrifying. The Good Three T’s.
University is a different phase of life where nobody gives a fuck about who is doing what or wearing what kind of clothes, because everyone is running on the same level of no sleep and has absolutely no energy to care about anything other than not failing, so nobody is really out there gatekeeping who should the promiscuous Lan Xichen dates. Guy dated a lot of people. The population has more people he dated than people he hasn’t. Doesn’t really make a difference to anyone who he dates. Whatever, that’s his own problem.
People say they don’t care, but quite a lot of the people will do a double take when the names of ‘Nie Mingjue’ and ‘Lan Xichen’ are brought up in the same sentence. Nooo, don’t conflate the two separate worlds, keep them apart.
It’s...well, it’s Scary Senior Nie. The people are sure the guy doesn’t understand the concept of romance at all, with how gruff he is as a person and how flirting attempts skyrocket over him despite how tall he is. The concept of romance is tragically lost on him and he doesn’t quite get pursuers, just really curious idiots who think it’s funny to ask him out and for him to then escort them out with a glare.
Lan Xichen may be the speed dater across the province, but he’s still a Lan boy, the Lan boy, in fact, the Lan-est boy they’ve got on campus since Lan Wangji fucked off to the more selective education college with his scum boyfriend, Wei Wuxian. He’s a Lan boy. He’s cute and fluffy and blue and smiley. He holds doors open, waits in line, walks his dates to classes and their homes and steals mothers’ hearts.
Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue aren’t...involved.
Engineering students beg to differ. They might have tried to start up a betting pool, but that got shut down pretty quickly on the intervention of Su She threatening to tell Senior Nie on them, or worse, tell Nie Feiyan and the get rich scheme got scrambled away, stat. Somehow younger Nies are scarier than their senior, and if Nie Feiyan wasn’t so automatically friendly, she would be ranked at a solid third on the Scary Ladder List.
Someone who saw Lan Xichen hanging out around Nie Mingjue swore up and down that Senior Nie had accosted their resident Lan boy and contracted them both into the terms and consequences of The Arrangement. Others testified as to how many times exactly, with an accompanying tally board, of Senior Nie screaming sunshine like one would yell their adversary’s name across the hallway as Lan Xichen walked away from him. Senior Nie! He has class too! Let him pass his grades that he paid a hefty tuition fee for!
Nevertheless, the people are still divided on their respective opinions of the exact nature of this Arrangement between the two men, because when they corner them, they get vague answers! Which answered zero of the questions asked! They neither denied or alleged to the rumours held against them and it’s so aggravating!
What exactly is the nature of their relationship?
Orchestra students are leaving the practice rooms, lugging cases that sometimes are the same size as their height. Lan Xichen is helping the double bass schmuck put his monstrosity of an instrument back in the cupboard and bail for the day, his own cello case lying flat on the ground.
“You’ll be right, xuezhang?” The first years ask the Lan boy, tipping up their heads in concern.
As usual, they’re greeted with the customary - “Thank you for your generous offer, but I think I got this today. Hurry now, leave while you can” - with the accompanying bright smile and the cheery wave goodbye.
Lan men don’t drive, because they either get chauffeured or they catch the train like the rest of the poor, undeserving humanity. Both Lan brothers arrived this morning from the bus, so that will be where the Lan boy will be heading back on, with his clunky cello case.
From a flute player, he really should have stuck it with woodwind, because the largest they will get is the bassoon, so that’s not really an inconvenience compared to the fucking cello. But noo, Perfect Lan Xichen has to explore other musical facets that aren’t woodwind instruments and upon his middle school years, had to pick the cello. A violin wouldn’t do. A cello. That’s a good fit.
He’s exiting the music hall with multiple people shooing him out the door, not wanting to see him trip over his face while lugging this big ass case to the bus stop, about 500 metres away, which would just be three times the distance for Lan Xichen and his big, stupid, dumb fuck cello case.
A car pulls up against the kerb, no doubt picking up another lucky music student, until the window rolls down from the front seat, as the driver window is tossed open, Nie Mingjue stepping out languidly like he’s in a Volkswagen commercial and not getting out of a nicely kept SUV. What a fuck off car. Obviously the Nie Clan would opt for this and nothing less standoffish.
Leaning on the top of the driver window, Senior Nie drawls, aviator catching onto the sight of Lan Xichen struggling with his case. “Sunshine!”
Several voices echo in equal measure of shock. Sunshine? Sunshine? That’s so...so intimate! How could he voice such a brazen nickname in a public place?
“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen returns, voice pleasantly surprised to see the Scarier Nie. “I remembered seeing Yanyan with the car today.”
“Took it off her, she’s over at A-Jiu’s,” Senior Nie takes the case off Lan Xichen’s grip, hefts it up, flexing a lot with his tight shirt hugging his sizeable forearm that is the size of someone’s thigh somewhere, opening the passenger seat and easing the case in, with all the fluidity of someone who is used to lugging heavy things about.
“Ah,” Lan Xichen comments, mild and pleased. “Where are you taking me to?”
Senior Nie replies without missing a beat, checking his watch. “Local garbage tip. I’m throwing your body there after I feed my birds from your remains.”
Lan Xichen giggles, not a tad deterred from the biting remarks. “Charming, da-ge.”
Rolling his eyes, Nie Mingjue shoves at a shoulder, fingers brushing against the cloud-patterned ribbon brushing the back of Lan Xichen’s neck, before marching back to the driver’s side of the car, only tossing back his head to yell at Lan Xichen when he’s halfway through folding himself in the seat -
“Get in, sunshine. We’re driving to your place.”
The people are appalled. The people are beginning to see why Lan Xichen had been mostly avoiding people. It’s because he’s been meeting up with Nie Mingjue and...and fraternising with him...and...doing whatever courting ritual this is! Unscrupulous! Absolutely unacceptable! Lan-xuezhang, this man is brutish! He’s big! He’s scary! He threatened to murder you vicously?!
Lan Xichen heeds none of the squawking protests and happily swings himself into the passenger seat, even waving a happy goodbye to his fellow orchestra members, who watch the entire ordeal play out like a very slow-mo train wreck - inevitable and too horrible to turn their eyes away. Their jaws have never been able to close since.
Seriously though! Senior Nie and their Lan boy? Dating? Dating?
What has the world come to to conjure up of that kind of pairing?
“Maybe Lan- xuezhang won’t date as much anymore when he’s out and about with Senior Nie,” the flutist, Ning Yingying, hums thoughtfully.
No more, Ning-xiaomei, no more! Speak no more of this evil and it will not harm us!
“You’re all so dramatic,” Ning Yingying sticks out a tongue. “Let them be happy! I root for them!”
Please spare the common people of this realisation. Let’s just go back to ignorant bliss!
“As you wish,” she snorts, trotting away happily.
Lan Qiren stares at the car parked in front of his residence, back at the childhood playmate of both his nephews, a considerable favourite in the eyes of his mother, sister-in-law and brother, and looks to his nephew who stands at a respectful distance away, hand amazingly not occupied with his cello case.
“Young Master Nie,” he starts, not even a note of pretense disdain in his tone. “What an unexpected entrance.”
“Professor Lan,” Nie Mingjue bows, the perfect posture of a well-raised boy - she knows Nie Zhengshi and her hellish temperament, along with the perfect bundle of happiness, Nie Huaisang. It’s a surprise Nie Mingjue turned out with any sense of decency, coming from such a discordant household. He doesn’t have any heart to outright dislike this boy from the beginning - he’s a friend that he had steadfastly rooted for Xichen since they’ve been friends.
“How can I help you?” He stares, knowing that Xichen wouldn’t be this well-behaved and docile if he doesn’t want anything. “No, you can’t have him outside of his curfew.”
“I was actually going to ask for permission for him to stay over at my home. I’ll return him tomorrow in the afternoon, if wise teacher permits it so,” Nie Mingjue keeps his stance respectful, deferential to the obvious senior in this exchange, and Lan Qiren is pleased that at least there is a brat somewhere who at least respects authority. His two wayward nephews long lost that trait. It’s their Mother’s and his own Mother’s influences.
Over the years, the Lan core rules have relaxed quite a bit with the changing times, and wayward as he is, Lan Xichen is still a rule-abiding boy who was raised to adhere to all of the rules except ones he can ignore due to conflict with others or extraordinary circumstances. Sleeping in a friend’s house isn’t expressly forbidden per the rules - Wangji had done that plenty of time with that pest Wei Wuxian, and he’s still as uncorrupted as he had always been. It’s not a violation of anything, and to be honest, Lan Qiren is a little bit sick of seeing Lan Xichen smile in that unnerving way of his and following him around everywhere like a sad little duckling.
“As long as he adheres to all the core rules, he is free to leave to wherever he wishes to,” he rumbles back, hoping Nie Mingjue can hear please be his friend in his easy dismissal. “I expect him back before dinner tomorrow, Young Master Nie. 5 sharp, or else you can stay over next time you want to bug him beyond curfew.”
Nie Mingjue raises his head, a smile on his face.
“It’s not a really bad trade off, Wise Teacher, but I understand your terms.”
“Good,” he raises a brow. “Xichen, pack what you need.”
He reaches over to relieve the Nie boy of his cello case burden, but he is surprised at Mingjue’s refusal to relinquish his hold on the case, even following close to Xichen’s light footsteps to his room, only passing off a quick bow to him before disappearing to his nephew’s room.
Ah. It’s like nothing changed at all. Eleven years, yet they’re the same.
“Be good to him please, Xichen,” he sighs, and he has a feeling he’s not the only one who said that today.
The Gremlin Council looks ready to start losing its collective brain cell on Xichen the minute they enter the front door, Yanyan nearly flinging herself to catch a good look at the infamous ‘boyfriend-not-boyfriend’ for her cousin to willingly steal the car to escort him back and forth between their respective residences. Huaisang waves from the kitchen counter, sitting on it with a clothing peg in his hair, scrolling on his phone, blasting folk songs on the Bluetooth speaker. The Aunt Creature is trying to creep back to the kitchen area, but Mingjue is hopping on a foot and throwing himself bodily between his aunt and imminent kitchen fire.
“Back! Back!” He hisses, like he’s talking to Whale and not to his own aunt. “Oi, hag, go show sunshine where his room is. Let me cook.”
Xichen is exchanging pleasantries with his cousin, who understands that physical closeness is a temporary no with this one, but she’s not deterred. She’s stubborn that way. At least she’s not crowding him like he’s a zoo novelty, directly exported from the exotic Orient to parade before to the curious eyes of the civilised West.
“He’s so pretty,” Yanyan gushes, alternating between blinking very fast at Xichen, and telling him, throwing petals at his direction. “You’re so pretty, Lan-xiong!”
“Xichen is fine,” sunshine laughs, probably used to Wuxian acting in pretty much the same vein.
“No, you don’t understand, pretty people usually avoid our Bear Man over there,” she gestures to him vaguely, but there’s nothing vague about her insult. “Or is he to your tastes?”
Lan Xichen tips his head to one side, bright eyes lightening in amusement.
“You could safely conclude so, my dear. He is very much to my tastes.”
“The room, Yanyan,” Mingjue stresses, and hears A-Sang looks up from his phone.
“Chen-ge,” his didi grins from the barstool. “Sorry I can’t come over, I have to be here to taste test the food.”
“Translation: he’s there to steal all the food and for ge to season everything the way he wants,” Yanyan leans over conspiratorially, easing down to offer a hand to take off the travel bag Xichen is holding lightly in his grip. “To your room, Xichen-ge?”
“Isn’t it just your room, da-ge?” Huaisang frowns.
He shrugs, tying back his hair so it sits a bit higher on the back of his head. “His room, my room, what’s the difference. We share everything anyways.”
There is a beat of silence, but that could be because Xichen is too busy trying to react appropriately to the Bear Grylls poster on his front door to do trivial things like pay attention to what he says, but no, someone else heard.
Two someone elses heard, in fact. The Aunt Harpy and Demon Brother descend onto him like revengeful ghost spirits latching on a flesh offering, happily tearing what’s left of him to shreds.
“We share everything, huh,” Aunt grins, all sharp teeth and blood.
“You know you’re just essentially saying - What’s mine is yours, right,
gege?”
Huaisang crows from his seat and he throws a spoon, barely missing the head.
Dinner was an Ordeal. For sure.
He’s just glad they escaped that food fight with their lives intact and sanity mostly attached. He bullied didi into letting him feed Whale after dinner, cradling the bowl of bird seeds in his left arm while leading Xichen out into the back garden with the other. Yanyan was too happy to wash the dishes while Facetiming her girlfriend, blabbering back and forth in two distinct dialects but somehow perfectly understanding each other. It’s a goddamn miracle, that’s what it is. Aunt Woman is on her post-dinner pool diving expeditions, so she’ll be back after 9, so it’s just the four of them at home.
“Thank you for the food today, da-ge,” Xichen tells him, mouth hovering under his ear even though the two centimetres setting them apart really don’t do jackshit.
“Mn,” he hums, clicking his tongue to summon the demon bird. “Whale. Come out. I have food.”
The leaves rustled overhead as something moves through them. He just knows Huaisang trained this little demon version of him, wings complementary, to terrorise new people to their home, and Whale has since taken on that terrible habit of habitually swooping at people like a magpie.
“Your pet is called Whale?” Xichen giggles into the curtain of leaves separating them.
He shoves at the boy. “It wasn’t my idea, shut it. And I can’t just not cook you your vegetarian meals, I know you don’t eat anything else, picky eater brat. You’re just as bad as A-Sang, I swear.”
Whale bomb dives for about three times and is disappointed to see that neither the new guest or the old owner had reacted magnificently to his stunts, settling to the low branch of the willow tree as he regards them both with beady eyes, beak jutted out in reminiscent of a pout.
“Whale, this is sunshine,” he gestures between the two of them, arms still loosely linked with Xichen’s. “Sunshine, the menace, Whale. Yanyan named him and we thought it was hilarious, so now he’s a bird with the name of a fish.”
He extricates the bowl of bird seeds from the crook of his elbow, clicking his tongue softly. With his other hand, he guides Xichen’s hand to the half of the bowl that hangs unsupported, so that both of them are holding equally onto the bowl. Xichen goes quiet, not even daring to breathe, as Whale lifts up his head, eyes tilting in interest at the offer of food, and regards the offering with equal parts distrust but also amusement.
“Be good and eat, or starve,” he finds it fit to mention, and the bird flaps its wings once, then takes off, sliding in the air to clamp its claws onto the rim of the bowl, shoving its face in the bowl of food.
“What an animal,” he remarks fondly, stepping closer so that Xichen is a line of heat along the left side of his body. “Sunshine? You right?”
Xichen had gone quiet from glee, but he’s smiling softly at Whale, even offering a finger for the demon to approach, then rub his beak affectionately against. What a scene ripped straight from a Disney princess movie.
“Hi Whale,” sunshine giggles, the sound scratchy and childish under the curtain of leaves.
Whale slips into the bowl of bird seeds and tries to peck Mingjue’s eyes out when he hacks a lungful of cackles at the idiot’s clumsiness.
Xichen is still staring at the ‘Improvise. Adapt. Overcome’ stylised poster A-Sang made that he just painted his own brother’s face over it, but Mingjue thought it was hilarious, plus it was made with him in mind, so he framed it and hung it there.
“You can commission him for a portrait for yourself too,” he murmurs, tossing through his wardrobe to look for his pyjamas.
“It’s a very good look on you,” Xichen giggles, as he traces the exaggerated frown in the frame. “I guess we’ll know how well you’ll cope when we’re out in the wild.”
He smirks, tugging off his jumper. “Funny you mentioned that actually. We’re hiking tomorrow.”
Lan Xichen clasps his hands together, delighted, the perfect picture of innocence. “Will you start a fire with only two rocks?”
“I wasn’t kidding about feeding you to Whale, brat. Watch it.”
“But your pet bird loves me. And your cousin too. How will you live with yourself with my murder on your hands?” Xichen teases back, easing the door closed, as he takes one step, then another, closer and closer to him.
“Who said I’ll kill you myself?” He pulls down the pyjama top, feeling his messy ponytail come loose from the top of his head and it’s all falling like an impending avalanche. “I have connections.”
Xichen’s eyes twinkle. “Terrifying, da-ge.”
He shrugs, sidestepping the boy to get to the light, kicking blankets onto the couch. “I have connections. Best not to cross me.”
“This is why everyone thinks you’re in a gang, da-ge,” he hears a huff of a laugh and rustling of sheets, before turning and seeing Xichen settled in, a habitual space reserved for him.
“Take up the whole bed. I’m taking the couch, sunshine,” he flops his wrist about, gesturing to the rest of the bed.
The Lan boy blinks, remembering what time they reside in, and mulishly rolls over, stomach down to the bed, huffing out a loud pop of a breath. Rolling his eyes, he steps over to the bed, rolling the child back and properly tucking him in, too used to this antic from when they were younger and Xichen was feeling particularly spoiled and wanted to be tucked in by his da-ge. Same exact version, only taller and heavier.
“Come on, in, in,” he herds, palm pushing at a shoulder. “I do not want to manhandle you, Lan Xichen. Get in or I’ll make you.”
“I’ll go to sleep if you give me a goodnight kiss,” Xichen peeks up, light eyes mischievous. “Mama used to kiss me goodnight. That’s how I’m able to fall asleep without you tucking me in. Now you have to fill in her shoes.”
He knows it’s a thinly veiled rib at their separation, but he’s not going to approach that topic any time soon, not when they need to haul ass to bed, so he decides to just play along and keep the crowd happy and functioning.
“I’m wagering a bet saying that she never stopped, she just does it outside of range of Lan Qiren’s hawk gaze. Fine, you impossible thing, a kiss goodnight,” he leans down, mouth hovering a breath away. Sunshine had rolled back onto his back, eyes blinking in anticipation, shoulders tucked into his neck.
Xichen has his eyes open until their mouths touch, barely a brush of lips together, and he closes his eyes, the tension leaving his frame.
“Pretty sure you’re meant to indulge me on this contract, not the other way around,” he mumbles into the space between their mouths, wanting to greedily gulp down every breath Xichen holds for himself.
“Ah, well,” there is a languid stretch, almost feline in the curving of the eyes in a smile. “Sometimes I should be allowed to be spoiled by my da-ge.”
“Saying da-ge will not get me to do anything for you,” he scoffs, pushing himself off, before he points to his mouth. “Oh yeah. No mouth herpes.”
Xichen stares at him for a heartbeat before breaking into delirious giggles, muffling his laughter with the back of his hand, chest shaking with the buildup of his mirth.
He steps away, rightly satisfied that he had completed his not-boyfriendly duties for the day. Time to conk out and then, tomorrow, he’s going to have to Bear Grylls the heck out of the second last date.
And no, he still hasn’t been able to approach the Big Question yet.