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Windows Are Rolled Down

Summary:

Jiang Cheng finds there are different ways home.

Notes:

Prompt: LXC, JC and NMJ falling asleep together with their heads on the other's shoulder/head in the backseat of the car while their friend is driving.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng opens his eyes, just a crack, when he hears Lan Wangji say his brother’s name with that note of warning.

“But they’re so cute, Lan Zhan!”

Jiang Cheng hears shuffling from the front passenger seat, and he can picture Wei Ying turning to look back at them. He debates for a few seconds whether he should tell Wei Ying to just shut up, but given that Wei Ying is wholly incorrigible and would likely make a scene once he had a proper audience (Wangji, thankfully, is keeping his eyes on the road, his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel), and given that his loves are dozing against his shoulders in the back seat of Wangji’s Range Rover, Jiang Cheng decides to pretend he’s still asleep.

“It’s not safe,” Wangji says, voice barely carrying over the soft music leaking from the stereo speakers.

“Just a few more photos!”

“I will break your legs,” Jiang Cheng says then, eyes still shut as he shifts to rest his head against Mingjue’s head on his right and to settle Xichen more comfortably on his left.

“I’m sending you the photos now,” Wei Ying says, over Wangji’s insistent turn around, please!

“Just a sec, Lan Zhan!”

“No drive thru,” Wangji says sternly.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying whines.

“Can we still get ice cream?” Jiang Cheng asks, careful not to shift again or startle Mingjue or Xichen.

“Yes, of course,” Wangji demurs.

“Lan Zhan, the injustice!”

Jiang Cheng smiles as Wangji rolls down the windows and Wei Ying’s complaints are carried away on the warm summer breezes. He drifts in and out of sleep, secure and content after a day in the sun, spent with people he loves (and Wei Ying), after a rare chance to be young and carefree, a chance to just be.

Xichen’s hand tightens around his arm and he nuzzles against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “I want a peanut butter cup Blizzard,” he murmurs.

Mingjue stirs beside Jiang Cheng and turns to press a kiss against Jiang Cheng’s neck. “I want to go home,” he complains.

“We’re almost home,” Jiang Cheng says, though truly, he thinks, home feels a lot like this, here, now.

Notes:

Title from a song by Amos Lee

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