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He’d never admit it to anyone, but Jiang Cheng is kind of proud when he heads into the outro of the song and his voice hasn’t cracked once.
It’s one of the simpler pleasures of living alone for the first time, free from his family home and university dorms where teasing words and prying ears left his throat tight and the notes strangled. As a recent university graduate trying to escape the strings his parents’ purse came with, he can’t afford much; his apartment is more than a little rundown and barely 40 square meters. But the age of the building has its upsides, namely thick walls that more than compensate for any peeling paint in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. And it’s his.
Well, technically it’s his weird landlord’s who refuses to do any maintenance, but it’s more his than anything Jiang Cheng’s had before in his life.
So he celebrates his apartment that he rented with his money, by singing his heart out to an invisible, adoring audience as he packs for his first ever work trip. He channels his best vaudeville starlet and gives the last couple lines his all, shimmying with a pyjama shirt before dropping it with a flick of his wrist into his almost-packed bag. He relishes the last belt, exaggerating the vibrato and finishing with a spin and a dramatic back bend into a chair.
“I didn’t know you liked show tunes.”
Jiang Cheng has never stood up so fast in his life. His back cracks a little, but there’s too much adrenaline rushing through Jiang Cheng’s veins for him to feel anything but sheer horror.
The voice is deep and painfully familiar. It belongs, paradoxically, to the one person he most often wants to see and the one person he would give anything not to be seeing right now.
Nie Mingjue stares at Jiang Cheng, eyes wide. Which is fair, because Jiang Cheng is sure he’s a ridiculous sight to behold. Nie Mingjue's broad shoulders take up most of the doorframe, but Jiang Cheng thinks he could still make a quick exit through the window.
As Jiang Cheng’s life passes before his eyes, his brain makes a valiant attempt to sort through the rubble and determine how this happened. Why is Nie Mingjue here? More importantly, how long has Nie Mingjue been here? And how did he even get into Jiang Cheng’s apartment?
Nie Mingjue doesn’t have a key. Jiang Cheng would know if he had ever given Nie Mingjue a key. He’d know because he’s had a huge, soul-crushing, all-consuming crush on the other man since the moment he met his best friend’s intense but kind and extremely attractive older brother in college. It had been the final nail in the coffin of Jiang Cheng’s already-flimsy dreams of being strictly heterosexual.
Unsurprisingly, Nie Mingjue doesn't appear to feel the same way about his little brother’s scowling, awkward friend. It’s not that Nie Mingjue isn’t nice, or anything. On the contrary, when they've talked he's always leaned in to listen to what Jiang Cheng has to say and asked all the right questions to get Jiang Cheng rambling on about himself.
But Jiang Cheng can count on one hand the number of times he’s been invited over to Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue’s shared apartment. The times he did go over, Nie Huaisang was always ushering him out the door the moment that Nie Mingjue arrived home, quick to suggest they get out of Nie Mingjue’s way. Jiang Cheng got the memo fast and stopped suggesting they hang out at the Nies’; he’s far too familiar with being in the way with his own family and he’d rather not have a second family finding him underfoot.
Despite this, they’ve still managed to run into each other occasionally, at the store or in the neighborhood gym. It’s just enough contact for Jiang Cheng to witness him upbraid a creep at the weight rack or overhear a booming laugh all the way across the room or catch a dimpled smile from Nie Mingjue (still so warm, even when he’s only being polite). In other words, it's just enough to stoke the flames of Jiang Cheng’s painfully one-sided feelings.
These public run-ins (that Jiang Cheng already mentally replays far more than he should) aside, they aren’t close. They’re certainly not close enough that Jiang Cheng would have presumed to give Nie Mingjue a key to his apartment, or even ask him over.
Belatedly, he realizes he’s been standing frozen for too long, Nie Mingjue’s words still hanging in the air between them. Nie Mingjue seems to have forced himself to stop gawking, leaning casually against the doorframe as he waits for Jiang Cheng to respond. He’s got one arm propped on the doorframe, but his relaxed posture isn’t really an improvement for Jiang Cheng, considering his new position and fitted grey t-shirt rather unfairly show off the curve of his bicep. He's so effortlessly put together and cool, a stark contrast to Jiang Cheng's frenzied mess of a life.
Jiang Cheng supposes he should just count himself lucky that Nie Mingjue has taken pity on him and hasn’t made fun of him, or started laughing. It’s not really Nie Mingjue’s style, but Jiang Cheng thinks that if any situation warranted it, it would be this.
Jiang Cheng wishes fervently that he could have at least been caught singing something cooler. Jiang Cheng is no Freddie Mercury, but his voice isn’t a complete embarrassment. In another world, he could have been casually singing some sort of… Smiths or Kurt Vile song to himself, or at least a serious baritone musical number rather than straining to hit high notes meant for a coquettish mezzo-soprano.
He doesn’t even like the song he was singing that much! The only reason he knows it at all was because Wei Ying had played Billy Flynn in high school and had sung music from the entire musical around the house constantly. Well, that and he and Huaisang had watched the movie drunk last week. At Jiang Cheng’s request.
Jiang Cheng struggles to say something, do something, explain why he was tangoing with a sleep shirt. Is it plausible to say he was possessed?
Jiang Cheng’s only conclusion is that Nie Mingjue has to die. That’s the only way out of this.
It’s going to be hard, because the man is all muscle (Jiang Cheng knows—he’s looked more than can reasonably be considered polite) and has a number of centimeters on Jiang Cheng. Plus... there’s a good chance Jiang Cheng would faint the moment he actually tried to touch Nie Mingjue. Jiang Cheng swallows, tries not to think about that.
Oh god, Jiang Cheng realizes with a jolt, he still hasn’t said anything.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Jiang Cheng demands in a choked voice, and Nie Mingjue straightens, pushing off the door frame with the decency to look a little sheepish.
Why am I like this? Jiang Cheng wonders with a wince, not for the first time. He's never been alone in a room with Nie Mingjue before, and of course this is the impression he’s going to make. Singing Chicago and being rude.
Jiang Cheng always leaps to the offensive when he feels trapped. Because that’s how you get people to like you, and it’s always worked for him in the past. By which he means, it’s never worked, and he’s never managed to string together more than three dates with the same person, let alone someone as devastatingly attractive as Nie Mingjue.
“Sorry to barge in—I was told that you’d left yesterday,” Nie Mingjue apologizes, and he seems to mean it. He holds up the mini spray bottle, comically small in his large hand. “Huaisang told me he was supposed to water your plants while you were gone and he gave me your key and begged me to do it for him because he was ‘in a flow.’”
At that, Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue roll their eyes in sync, both far too familiar with Nie Huaisang’s inhuman ability to get out of any and all chores. When Jiang Cheng asked Nie Huaisang to water his plants, he'd honestly resigned himself to an apartment full of dead plants. This weeklong conference is his first work trip for his first job that he got without using family connections; he isn’t going to muck up Lan Qiren’s trust in him for anything, not even his beloved orchids.
It looks like Jiang Cheng underestimated Nie Huaisang; he at least had the “decency” to outsource the job to his older brother, even though he got the dates wrong and Jiang Cheng now gets to experience this particular brand of hell.
Shame. Now Nie Huaisang will have to die as well.
Jiang Cheng mentally schedules the murders for the week after his return.
“Well, I didn’t. Leave yesterday, that is,” Jiang Cheng’s words are clipped and strained. “My flight is in a few hours and I was just… packing.”
He was not just packing.
He knows it, Nie Mingjue knows it.
There’s a silent stand-off for a minute, as Jiang Cheng waits to see if Nie Mingjue is going to call him on it.
Mercifully, Nie Mingjue clears his throat after a moment and moves on. “Of course Huaisang got the dates wrong. He’d never have let me come over otherwise.” Nie Mingjue shakes his head ruefully. “Now that I’m here, I’m happy to finish up watering if you don’t mind me being in here while you finish up.”
Nie Mingjue steps further into the room, picking up a watering can as he does. He heads to the planter in Jiang Cheng’s window and starts to water the plants there as if he hadn’t walked on Jiang Cheng performing a one-man show.
Don’t mind him? Jiang Cheng thinks furiously. How the fuck is he supposed to do that? All he does is mind Nie Mingjue. He spends half his waking moments wondering what the other man would look like smiling down at him or be like on a date or feel like—
The point is, Jiang Cheng is physically incapable of being in a room with Nie Mingjue without knowing exactly where he is at all times.
But he can’t very well tell Nie Mingjue that, can he? So, instead, he pretends like he isn’t a 22-year-old man who was just shaking his ass and belting his heart out without so much as a backing track.
He gets through folding the last of his shirts into his suitcase in unbearable silence before Nie Mingjue clears his throat.
“You’re a very good danc—”
“Don’t,” Jiang Cheng cuts him off, face aflame. Can’t Nie Mingjue just finish watering and leave Jiang Cheng to stew in the humiliation of embarrassing himself completely in front of his crush in peace? There aren’t even that many plants in here!
Jiang Cheng risks a glance up and sees that Nie Mingjue has, in fact, finished watering the plants. But rather than leave, he stands awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Unable to meet his eyes, Jiang Cheng quickly looks down again and busies himself with neatening his now-packed suitcase. But even after he can no longer justify fidgeting with its contents, he looks up to see Nie Mingjue still standing there, as if he’s waiting him out. Jiang Cheng furrows his brow.
Nie Mingjue looks… nervous, which is strange because last time Jiang Cheng checked, singing about being a sexy murderess was not the same thing as actually being a sexy murderess.
They wait in a strange stand-off for a moment before Nie Mingjue tries to speak again.
"So, you like musicals?”
Why won’t he let this go? Jiang Cheng had always thought of Nie Mingjue as a just and righteous person, but maybe he's misjudged the man.
“…sometimes,” Jiang Cheng manages.
“I don’t know much about musicals. Only recognized that one you were singing because Huaisang’s been playing it all week,” Nie Mingjue sort of rambles, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.
Jiang Cheng’s not really sure what he’s supposed to say to that. He knows it’s not the most traditionally masculine of interests and he’s starting to feel the horrible, familiar pricks of self-loathing at the back of his neck.
Nie Mingjue seems to sense that he’s said something wrong, though, and he rushes to derail Jiang Cheng’s train of thought. “I like that you’re into them, though! It’s—you’re a good dancer and it’s really impressive you know all the words. You look… you look good in your element. I just mean that I’m not that knowledgeable about that stuff.”
Nie Mingjue pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. “But if you like, I know someone who could maybe get tickets to see a musical?”
This is the least confident Jiang Cheng has ever heard Nie Mingjue sound and it’s baffling, if endearing. Also…
“…are you just talking about Huaisang right now? He’s already offered me his extra tickets for the season.”
Well, at least now Jiang Cheng isn’t the only person in the room who’s bright red.
“I—yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”
“What do I say to you asking your brother to get tickets—that he’s already offered to me—to go see a musical?” Jiang Cheng clarifies, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is Nie Mingjue going with this?
Nie Mingjue sets down the watering can and rubs at the furrow between his brow with his index and middle fingers.
“What do you say to me asking my brother to get tickets that he’s already offered you to go see a musical together. With me. After you get back.”
Oh.
That’s… not where Jiang Cheng thought this was going. This isn’t even a situation he’d considered possible.
“It doesn’t have to be Chicago,” Nie Mingjue amends.
Jiang Cheng has really never had good control of his mouth, because the words that come out of it next are, “well that’s good, because the touring company isn’t coming here anyway.”
The corner of Nie Mingjue’s mouth twitches, and he looks… fond.
“…so?” Nie Mingjue prompts. He’s standing still, hands clasped in front of him, but Jiang Cheng can see that one of his thumbs is worrying at the cuticle of the other.
The implication that Nie Mingjue might be interested in him is both thrilling and hard to swallow. It’s something out of one of his wildest fantasies, and Jiang Cheng has never received anything that good without there being a catch. Jiang Cheng turns the offer over in his mind, trying to figure out if this is some kind of cruel prank or joke based on him being caught singing. But everything he's seen about Nie Mingjue suggests that he's never been cruel or a trickster, or really anything but forthright. After a lifetime of trying to guess what his parents want from him and being pranked by his brother, it might be the thing Jiang Cheng likes most about him.
Tentatively, Jiang Cheng nods, flashing Nie Mingjue a shy smile.
Nie Mingjue’s face breaks into a broad smile, but there’s a determined look in his eyes.
“That’s—that’s great. I promise it’ll be great. Thank you for the chance.”
An even more shocking possibility occurs to Jiang Cheng: does Nie Mingjue think that Jiang Cheng might not be into this? That he’s doing Nie Mingjue a favor?
That, Jiang Cheng cannot let stand.
“Maybe,” Jiang Cheng ventures, “we could do dinner before the show?”
It’s the smallest of risks, but it does the trick. Nie Mingjue’s face lights up, dimples appearing on both his cheeks. Jiang Cheng is sure his face is doing something similar, sure he’s wearing some sort of dopey expression. But hey, what’s a little more humiliation at this point?
Nie Mingjue takes a tentative step towards Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng mirrors him. It doesn’t take long before they’re less than half a meter apart, Jiang Cheng’s heart lodged firmly in his throat.
From this distance, Jiang Cheng has to tilt his head up slightly to meet Nie Mingjue’s eyes. He can make out a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of Nie Mingjue’s nose, although he has to go a little cross-eyed to do so. Between them, the air is heavy, and it feels like they’re going to—that they could—
Nie Mingjue bends down and Jiang Cheng can smell the light spiciness of his cologne, and then, suddenly, he can taste mint chapstick and feel the gentle press of Nie Mingjue’s lips.
It’s chaste, but far from tentative and good, so good.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes flutter shut and he melts into it, regaining his wits enough to kiss back for a second before Nie Mingjue pulls away. Jiang Cheng is pleased that Nie Mingjue looks as dazed as he feels.
“…Jiang Cheng,” Nie Mingjue whispers, and there’s awe in his voice as he reaches up to cup Jiang Cheng’s face. His hand is rough against Jiang Cheng’s cheek, but Jiang Cheng turns his head into the palm anyway.
Eager for more, Nie Mingjue leans down for another kiss. Before he can close the space between them, though, Jiang Cheng’s phone buzzes with a text letting him know his taxi has arrived. He fumbles with the phone for a moment, almost dropping it twice as he tries to text back that he’ll be there in a moment. He’s too giddy from the kiss and his hands are shaking. Nie Mingjue places a steady, heavy hand over his.
“Let me give you a ride to the airport. It’s on the way,” Nie Mingjue offers.
"It’s 40 minutes in the opposite direction," Jiang Cheng points out.
"Let me give you a ride to the airport," Nie Mingjue repeats, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's on the way."
And, well...
“Yeah, that's—yes.” Jiang Cheng stutters out an acceptance, texting to cancel the taxi with half-formed sentences before he surges up for one last kiss.
It's not the last kiss, as it turns out. There are a few kisses as they drag his bag down to the curb, a slightly dangerous number at red lights on the way, a handful at the airport, and countless more when he returns.