Work Text:
The dusk sky is clouded over in shades of peach and violet, throwing an uncomfortably apocalyptic filter over Lotus City - straight out of a movie, Jiang Wanyin thinks dryly. Xiyu Feicui - Nie Huaisang, he really has to get used to that - snorts beside him, because of course he does, because he’s a fucking telepath and can hear all Jiang Wanyin’s fucking thoughts and now really isn’t the time to be spiraling over this again. The two of them - Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang, Sandu Shengshou and Xiyu Feicui - are standing, shoulder-to-shoulder, facing a gaping hole in the side of a fucking high-rise building. An honest-to-fuck hole - it looks like someone aimed at the building with a rocket launcher and hoped for the best. They’re pretty confident that their target is in there, some cardboard cutout villain who Jiang Wanyin thinks worked at some kind of mega corporation before being slighted by the CEO, as their targets tend to be. He’s not really sure. They blur together after a while.
The two of them are taking a minute to rest and recharge - Xiyu Feicui’s jade Amplifier is flickering dangerously in his arm-guard, and Jiang Wanyin knows that Nie Huaisang is wearing a fucking binder under those silver robes, which is definitely not safe. (He knows about the binder because the two of them had to change in the same cramped bathroom stall, in a hasty effort to arrive on the scene as professional-looking operatives of the Agencies. Jiang Wanyin had to hyperfocus on something while that was going on, because otherwise he would have focused on other things altogether which he really should not have been thinking about when the object of that focus was a) telepathic and b) present. So - ‘I wonder if binding is painful’. ‘I hope he’s taking care of himself’. He’s not entirely sure that Nie Huaisang didn’t see right through him anyway, but he could only try.)
Now, Jiang Wanyin shakes out a crick in his shoulders and darts another sideways glance at Xiyu Feicui - his partner isn’t gasping for breath any more, and the stuttering flicker of his Amplifier has evened out into a steady, pale green glow. “You ready to go again?” he says, and then kicks himself for his phrasing.
Luckily, Xiyu Feicui doesn’t tease him while they’re wearing masks - or at least not as much. “Whenever you are,” he returns. There’s a focus in his eyes behind the mask that Jiang Wanyin has only seen him wear once or twice when he’s not in costume, and it occurs to Jiang Wanyin that he is one of a maximum six people who is able to look at Nie Huaisang and know what he looks like when he’s about to fight for his life. (The ‘six’ number is Agency-regulated.) Jiang Wanyin clears his throat - in an effort to distract himself, more than anything else - and summons his Zidian ability to the tips of his fingers. Twin coils of violet lightning unfurl from his fists.
“Let’s go then,” Jiang Wanyin says quietly, slipping into his own operative headspace, and the two of them move towards the hole in the building in practised unison.
Their progress is short-lived. The hole is half-centred on a hallway, which results in some awkward wriggling until the two of them can drop lightly into the somewhat worse-for-wear hallway and look around. At least their suspicions are confirmed immediately, that the person they’re chasing did in fact come this way.
A little further down the hallway is a barrier of loose rubble. It looks carefully and deliberately constructed, as though someone had stacked the chunks of debris together to create as impenetrable a barrier as possible - and it would have been impossible to do so quickly, surely.
Jiang Wanyin approaches it, Xiyu Feicui at his shoulder, and pokes at the blockade to make sure it’s not an illusion. “It’s blocked,” he points out unnecessarily. Suddenly it clicks. “That person had a - had one of those new telekinetic prosthetics, didn’t they. Fuck.”
“It doesn’t look that heavy,” Xiyu Feicui says skeptically, moving towards the worst of the debris and giving a chunk of ceiling an experimental shove. It does move, just barely. “You’ve got enhanced strength, right? Help me with this.”
Jiang Wanyin gives Xiyu Feicui - Nie Huaisang - a doubtful stare. “Are you sure? I doubt even the two of us together could -”
Xiyu Feicui squats a little, gets a grip on one of the largest pieces of debris, and picks it up in perfect deadlift form. Which is horrible and awful, just as a concept. And a personal attack to Jiang Wanyin specifically. And, huh, why is his mouth so suddenly dry?
But wait - it gets worse, because all at once Jiang Wanyin remembers that it is Nie Huaisang under those robes. Noodle-armed, narrow-shouldered Nie Huaisang, who struggled with moving small boxes up the stairs but who can apparently shift large chunks of building debris without effort. The idea that that Nie Huaisang is the same person as Xiyu Feicui - they don’t even look like the same build, are the robes designed to hide his shape or something? - it takes Jiang Wanyin some time to process, because seriously, what the fuck.
Xiyu Feicui, who just effortlessly deadlifted a large piece of the fucking ceiling, who is actually Nie Huaisang, looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Jiang Wanyin from beneath his mask. “I can hear you thinking,” he says, “and I mean that literally. Save the thirsting for later.”
Jiang Wanyin blinks hard, opens his mouth, and attempts to say I’m not thirsting, get over yourself, let’s move this fucking debris out of the way and get to the part where we fight to the bad guy. You know. Collected, somewhat irritated superhero stuff, as one would expect from the formidable operative Sandu Shengshou.
What comes out is “Uh. Okay.”
Which. Fuck.
Xiy - Nie Huaisang beckons him over with a shoulder, and Jiang Wanyin comes where he is bidden, flushing deep red. “This is ridiculous - look, we can talk when we’re no longer actively chasing a target, okay?”
“That sounds … good.” Jiang Wanyin gives the blockade a kick for good measure, to show off just how focused he is. It fucking hurts and the rubble barely shifts. But Nie Huaisang doesn’t have to know that.
Telepathic. Right. He does, in fact, have to know that.
It doesn’t take them long to clear the hallway, once the two of them actually apply effort to it - Jiang Wanyin’s innate abilities technically include a degree of strength, and both of them have the basic cocktail of low-level enhancements that they gained upon official Agency induction. Jiang Wanyin is mostly able to keep his brain on track, which is a blessing. His mind wanders occasionally, but he thinks, and very aggressively too, that he cannot be blamed for losing focus somewhat when Nie Huaisang is wearing Agency robes and grinning at him from behind a fucking mask.
Nie Huaisang has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t - Jiang Wanyin did eventually read that file on Xiyu Feicui, and his innate central ability is a constant telepathy that involves his mind perceiving the thoughts of those around him as aural input. Or, as he once put it, “shut the fuck up, Jiang Wanyin, you are thinking very loudly right now and it’s obnoxious”. The problem is - Jiang Wanyin isn’t sure, himself, what there is to know. Because he’s not stupid enough to have things like crushes, is not a blushing goddamn schoolkid - but there may be. Ah. Some merit to the ‘blushing’ part.
Nie Huaisang has to know, and he’s been - merciful enough, Jiang Wanyin supposes it must be, to avoid the topic. Which must be indicative of his disinterest. Which is fine, really. So what if he’s perhaps the one person that Jiang Wanyin could have - might want - would be able to choose, if he wanted -
Anyway.
The job comes first. Jiang Wanyin rubs his eyes behind his mask, refocuses, and hurries down the hallway after his partner-in-crimefighting.
They capture the villain, or whatever. That’s not what’s important here.
The important part is - Xiyu Feicui draws Jiang Wanyin aside after they hand their captive over to the Yunmeng Agency’s liaison agent and complete their address to the public. “Let’s get coffee,” he says. “In the usual place. Meet you in ten.”
“Xiyu -” Jiang Wanyin begins, but Xiyu Feicui has already turned the corner and made for a secluded corner in some alleyway, somewhere he can don his street clothes and shed his robes. Jiang Wanyin sighs, ducks out of sight of the crowds, and does the same. His Amplifier is low on charge anyway, and he doesn’t think it can keep up the boost to his stamina much longer; getting something to eat is probably for the best, even if it’s an overpriced café meal. The moment he removes it from its place on his ring finger, underneath his glove, he feels the energy drain from his limbs.
Ugh.
He is so fucking tired.
Ten minutes later, Jiang Wanyin collapses into a corner seat across from Nie Huaisang, too exhausted to even bother with the crisis he was planning on having. “Hi,” he greets the table, which - oh, his head has sunk onto it at some point. That’s concerning. He didn’t notice. “Hhrgjjkkjhdsmhhg.”
“How did you even say that out loud,” Nie Huaisang marvels, and pokes at the top of Jiang Wanyin’s head with the end of a pencil. Oddly enough, it parallels Xiyu Feicui’s habit of poking Jiang Wanyin with one of his (closed) fans. Jiang Wanyin resists the urge to tilt his head into the touch. “Wake up. I’ll buy you a coffee. It wasn’t that bad, right?”
“I don’t remember the last time I slept,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles, but pulls himself obediently (if begrudgingly) upright. He’s telling the truth. There was that explosion last night, and the night before that he was patrolling, and - the workload’s been better since Xiyu Feicui moved over from Qinghe and began to operate, but he’s still tired in a way that cuts to his bone.
Nie Huaisang clucks his tongue. “It was my night to patrol last night, and I had the explosion handled. You shouldn’t have come out.”
Jiang Wanyin quashes the swell of instinctive panic at the words ‘come out’, trying to focus. “It’s habit,” he admits. “From when I was the only -” He darts a glance around the shop. “The only one. I was halfway across the city before I remembered you existed.”
It’s nice, actually, now that he’s gotten over even attempting to lie to Nie Huaisang. He’ll see right through him anyway, so there’s not much point. Even if it’s disconcerting, sometimes, to remember that the (very pretty) tiny (charming) idiot in front of him is actually a telepathic superhero clever enough to orchestrate the downfall of Jiang Wanyin’s entire city if he sees fit.
“Right! About that,” Nie Huaisang says quickly, and sets his pencil down on the table between them with an audible click. Why does he even have it? “About the - pretty thing. I mean. Uh.”
Oh god. Jiang Wanyin is too tired for this, and also - Nie Huaisang is oddly flustered?
“Yes - I am, ah. You know,” Nie Huaisang adds, an aside, “how good I am at talking in circles? If there’s a needlessly complicated way to convey my point without ever having to say it, you know I’m going to.”
Jiang Wanyin doesn’t bother grousing ‘get to the point’ out loud - Nie Huaisang can hear it either way. “I’ve noticed, yeah,” he sighs.
“I’m not going to do that! I know you have a crush on me,” Nie Huaisang says, very forcefully.
Jiang Wanyin kind of - deflates. “So what,” he mutters ruefully. He’s given up on denying this, even to himself, at this point.
“If I get you a coffee, will you say yes when I ask you out?”
Jiang Wanyin takes a moment to think that over. “Yes?” he tries. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying very hard to be direct here,” Nie Huaisang moans, and slumps onto the table. Which is fair. It’s a nice table, and Nie Huaisang is probably tired too. “Jiang Wanyiiiiin. I am asking you on a date.”
Oh.
“Uh, okay,” Jiang Wanyin agrees. “That sounds nice. Let’s do it.”
“I’ll text you,” Nie Huaisang says through a dopey grin, and closes his eyes. Jiang Wanyin watches him for a minute before realising he’s just - fallen asleep like that.
Which is a very good idea, honestly.
Jiang Wanyin closes his eyes. The last thing he says before surrendering to his own exhaustion is an “ugh”, the purest expression of sentiment, which he feels resonating into his very bones.
He wakes up - an indeterminate amount of time later, in an unfamiliar environment, and panics, sitting upright immediately. The - he’s on a bed. Not the same place he fell asleep - holy fuck, he fell asleep in a random coffee shop - holy fuck, he fell asleep right after Nie Huaisang asked him out, which, what -
“Shush,” grumbles a voice from his general chest area.
Jiang Wanyin blinks hard, trying to take in his surroundings, and - that’s Nie Huaisang, clinging to his waist like a limpet. He thinks he short-circuits for a minute.
“What the fuck,” he says with feeling, and tries to scoot away. The arms around his waist tighten. And. Uh. Apparently Nie Huaisang has muscles. Which is fine, really.
Seriously. This Is Fine.
Nie Huaisang makes another grumble, which is - god save Jiang Wanyin, he’s yearning now, could this get any worse - very cute, and rolls over. “I woke up before you and carried you back here,” he groans, “you needed the sleep, I wasn’t waking you up, it’s fucking - too early is what time it is. Can I go back to being asleep now.”
“You asked me out,” Jiang Wanyin says stupidly.
“Ughhh. Yes, I did that.” Nie Huaisang sounds faintly bemused, like this is news to him. “Well done me. I’ve been avoiding doing that for months now.”
“You have?”
“Shush. Sleeping,” Nie Huaisang repeats, and then, softer, after a pause, “I can take the couch, if you’d prefer.”
Jiang Wanyin assesses the situation as it stands, which goes something along the lines of Nie Huaisang is cuddling me and I just want to go back to sleep and holy fuck I am IN Nie Huaisang’s BED - Nie Huaisang whines and covers his ears - and comes to a decision. “Nah,” he says brusquely. “This is - this is fine.”
“That’s what you say when you’re repressing your gay feelings,” Nie Huaisang retorts, and then gropes blindly for Jiang Wanyin’s face in order to cover his mouth and stop him from replying. It’s weirdly familiar. Physical touch is a necessity between Xiyu Feicui and Sandu Shengshou, but not something they tend to indulge in as civilians; regardless, Jiang Wanyin knows the exact motion well. It's strange to feel Nie Huaisang's actual fingers when he does it, rather than the cloth of his gloves.
“We can talk about this when we’re running on more than two hours’ sleep each,” Nie Huaisang says, which is … very wise, actually.
“I like you a lot,” Jiang Wanyin says, because it feels important.
“I know,” Nie Huaisang mumbles. Jiang Wanyin elbows him, hard, in the ribs. “Okay! Okay, fine, I like you too - now shut up and let me sleep!”
“It’s your turn to patrol tonight,” Jiang Wanyin mutters rebelliously. “You’ll have to get up eventually.”
Nie Huaisang shrugs. Jiang Wanyin can feel his shoulders against his stomach. “But not yet,” he replies, all too smug. “For now, I get to have this.”
Oh.
“We get to have this,” Jiang Wanyin says quietly, and watches as Nie Huaisang breaks into a delighted, satisfied smile.