Work Text:
The clouds overhead are just beginning to part by the time Wen Ning is done attending his morning recitations. Fridays are his favorite days, and he’s looking forward to meeting up with his friendly TAs after a nice, quiet lunch.
He’s readjusting his backpack as he walks across the tree-lined quad, watching the other students around him mingle on the grass, when he spies a familiar face.
“Jin Zixuan?” Wen Ning calls, and the other man turns. Up close, he looks… weird. Startled? Confused? Perhaps a little depressed? Wen Ning hasn’t seen him in a few months, not since the start of the semester, but they’d gotten pretty close in their first two years of university, hitting it off surprisingly well as randomly-assigned roommates.
Zixuan’s hands are held close to his chest as if he’s cupping something fragile. When he realizes who’s calling his name, he nods in greeting. His hands stay in the same rigid posture. “Hey.”
Wen Ning tilts his head in concern. “Are you doing okay? You seem… preoccupied.”
Jin Zixuan sighs. “Look at this,” he says, then extends his hands carefully.
When Zixuan opens his hands wide enough to see, Wen Ning holds his breath, expecting to see—a baby bird? A fancy Jin heirloom, encrusted with gems?
Instead, Wen Ning sees a purple flower, with absolutely no explanation for Zixuan’s reverence. When he looks closer, he notices that it’s a polyester hairpin. Even stranger.
“Jiang Yanli let me borrow it last month for my still life drawing class,” Zixuan says, still holding it as if it were made of hand-cut crystal. “I said it was pretty.”
Ah. That explains quite a bit more. “Were you trying to compliment her, Zixuan?” Wen Ning asks gently. He remembers Zixuan’s all-encompassing crush quite well.
“I may have panicked,” Zixuan says, avoiding eye contact.
So that’s a solid yes. “At least you’re on friendly speaking terms these days,” Wen Ning says, recalling Zixuan’s previous attempts. “Can’t you just give it back in class?”
“I tried that the second week I had it,” Zixuan said. “I opened my mouth to tell her thank you, but then she smiled at me and then I asked to hold on to it.”
“Ah,” Wen Ning says.
“And then a week later,” Zixuan says, when Wen Ning has clearly understood the severity of his dilemma, “She asked me how my drawing was going, and then I realized that I really should use it as a prop. Since I’d had it for two weeks already.”
Wen Ning nods sympathetically. “And then?”
“Two weeks ago,” Zixuan says, “She saved me the seat next to hers.”
“Couldn’t talk at all, eh?” Wen Ning says, patting Zixuan’s back as Zixuan shakes his head mutely.
“She’s so pretty up close,” Zixuan says mournfully. “Like, so pretty. There are literal stars in her eyes. Her hair is like silk. She smells so nice.”
“How did you talk to her earlier?” Wen Ning asks, a little confused how Zixuan had managed to get her hairpin without getting distracted.
“It was easier when I was just passing her to go to my seat on the opposite side of the lecture hall,” Zixuan says defensively. “There were like, two rows between us! I could hide!”
The idea of his tall, willowy friend hiding behind a desk pops into Wen Ning’s head. He snorts.
“When I sat next to her,” Zixuan continues, “I just sweated. The entire time. My entire shirt was soaked through by the end of class, and I’m sure she thought I was the most awkward person in the world.”
While that assessment wouldn’t be untrue, Wen Ning can see how mortified Jin Zixuan is. That can’t be the end of the story though.
“Did you get to talk to her last week at least? Maybe… smooth things over? Say hi?” Wen Ning figures that being optimistic can’t hurt.
Zixuan nods. “She saved me a seat last week too.”
Wen Ning looks at him, eyes wide. “She did? That’s promising!”
Zixuan sighs. “She dropped her pen at the beginning of the lecture and when I tried to get it for her, I got my arm stuck in the lecture seat. I managed to fish the pen out with my other hand but…”
Wen Ning smothers a grin with his hand. It’s funnier imagining the whole drama from Yanli’s perspective, especially if she likes Zixuan enough to save him a seat despite literal years of awkwardness. “How long did it take for you to get unstuck?” he asks, when he’s sure his voice won’t give him away.
“The whole lecture,” Zixuan says, wincing. “Yanli ended up finding a classmate who carried lotion in her bag, and they ended up greasing my forearm out of the lecture seat.”
“You attended the whole lecture with your hand stuck in the seat?” Wen Ning clarifies.
Zixuan holds out his arm. It’s still red. “This was from yesterday,” he says.
Wen Ning sucks in a breath of air through his teeth. “Ouch.”
Zixuan sighs. “But, on the plus side,” he says, voice picking up a little, “Yanli touched my hand! Willingly! She was the one to put the lotion on and everything! She called me her hero for saving her pen.”
“Oh?” Wen Ning says. “Were you able to thank her for being your hero afterwards?”
Zixuan droops. “I think I just looked at her really pathetically. I can’t really remember.” He’s still holding the flower.
“Okay, buddy,” Wen Ning says, when a few more moments have passed in silent mutual contemplation of Yanli’s hairpin. “Let’s go to lunch—your treat—and figure out a plan. She’s clearly still talking to you, so you’ve still got a fighting chance.”
“You think so?” Zixuan asks, lighting up. “I didn’t mess it up too badly?”
Wen Ning thinks about all the things Yanli has endured—the terrible awkwardness, the accidental insults—and how she’s still saving him a seat. “Lunch first, friendo. But you’ve got a shot.”