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Nie Mingjue is never sure what to expect when he walks into his brother’s art studio. It can be as innocent as a ceramic blue bowl filled with fruit or as perplexing as tufted feathers sprouting from a pool of some oozing, unidentifiable liquid. He knows it makes him look stiff and uncool, but he still has to resist the urge to enter with one hand over his eyes after the time he opened the studio door only to be confronted by a tangle of limbs and other exposed appendages that Nie Mingjue is certain crossed from art to blatant pornography. His brother, naturally, had been utterly unconcerned, simply setting down his paints to offer profuse thanks for the dinner Nie Mingjue had picked up for him.
It took a number of years (and more tears and arguing than Nie Mingjue is proud of), but Nie Mingjue has come around to being supportive of his brother’s chosen career. He’s not quite sure he’s ever going to reach understanding.
His general rule of thumb when he checks in on his brother at his studio is to prepare himself for absolutely anything to be on the other side of the door and to keep his big mouth shut so any confusion isn’t mistaken for judgment.
Nothing could have prepared him for this.
As the door slides open, he is confronted by the most stunning man he’s ever seen, sitting neatly in the center of the room and lit starkly by several carefully placed spotlights.
Nie Mingjue is no stranger to attractive people. He’s best friends with Lan Huan and Meng Yao, for goodness’s sake. But they’re nothing like this, this gleaming model whose body is literally art.
His features are striking: plush, gently parted lips and a prominent, aquiline nose. His dark lashes cast long shadows on sharp cheekbones and his hair, while not exactly long, is a far cry from the generic high and tight Nie Mingjue sports. It frames his face and is shaggy enough that the ends brush the top knob of his spine when his head tilts back. In comparison, his throat is a delicate, long line that makes Nie Mingjue’s mouth go dry.
Nie Mingjue takes it back. The still life orgy that Nie Mingjue walked in on before has nothing on this. This is what pornography should be. Nie Mingjue feels hot. There are a few heat lamps running in the cramped space, but he’s pretty sure that’s not what’s causing him to suddenly feel like his scarf is choking him.
The man is shirtless, twisted so his bare back is exposed to Nie Mingjue. Well—not quite bare. His shoulder and half his back are covered in the largest tattoo Nie Mingjue has ever seen, a sinuous snake weaving its way through three large lotuses. Nie Mingjue’s eyes drink in the way the ink ripples over the model’s muscles, how the snake highlights the sinful curve of its owner’s spine all the way down to a neatly tapered waist. At the sight of it (the size of it, Nie Mingjue marvels), his hands tighten involuntarily on the brown paper bag holding Huaisang’s dinner. Like a lecherous moth drawn to a flame, he lets his eyes drift down, slowly, a little terrified. He’s not sure what he’ll do if the man is…
If he’s not wearing…
The man is swathed in drop cloth from the hip down. Nie Mingjue lets out a shuddering breath, and he’s not sure if it’s from relief or disappointment.
Embarrassingly, his sigh is loud enough that it catches his brother’s attention.
“Ah! Da-ge!” Huaisang exclaims. “Dinner for me? What a nice surprise! Jiang Cheng, go ahead and relax; I think I’ve got what I need.”
Nie Mingjue snorts, trying to offer a rough facsimile of normal behavior, even as he files the name Jiang Cheng away. “Like I don’t bring you dinner here every Thursday.”
Nie Mingjue hands the slightly crumpled bag to Huaisang, turning to this Jiang Cheng with what he hopes is a casual affect. He scolds himself for being disappointed to find that Jiang Cheng is already tugging on a sweater, cut long and with an artistically asymmetrical hem. He looks as otherworldly and effortlessly ethereal as he did when he was posing, and Nie Mingjue’s own standard issue flannel has never felt duller.
“Jiang Cheng, was it?” he asks politely. “You’re one of my brother’s models?”
Jiang Cheng flushes lightly, and that’s a pretty sight too.
“Oh, not usually,” he mutters, “your brother just asked me to fill in. Something about needing one more thing before his show next week.”
“You know about Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang chirps happily, mouth half full with rice. “He’s my friend. I’ve mentioned him to you so many times!”
Nie Mingjue racks his brain, realizing that the name is familiar.
“You’re the sensible one who’s always saving Huaisang from himself,” he says with dawning realization. His comment is rewarded by the prettiest laugh he’s ever heard, even if Jiang Cheng quickly moves to stifle it.
Nie Huaisang squawks indignantly, interrupting. “Not just that! Because he’s the one I’m always saying should model for me! Besides, don’t you think I was right? Didn’t he do a good job?”
Nie Mingjue remembers Jiang Cheng’s lithe form, twisted prettily on the stool and he swallows.
“Yes, you were—” he coughs, stumbling over the words, trying and failing to remember how his brother (or anyone) talks about art. “You were great. You’re—it’s really—beautiful.”
Jiang Cheng tilts his head slightly, eyebrow cocked.
“You haven’t even seen the painting,” he points out dryly, and those sharp dark gray eyes pin Nie Mingjue where he stands like a butterfly to a board.
Nie Mingjue would be more than fine if the earth were to choose this moment to swallow him whole. He fumbles around his brain for an excuse, some quick-witted rejoinder, and only comes up with static.
“Huaisang is very talented,” he manages, which is true, if not particularly germane to the conversation they’re having right now. He takes it as a graceless segue to exit, however, patting Huaisang on the shoulder and mumbling something about seeing him at the show before spinning on his heel and retreating.
--
He buys the painting.
He’s not quite sure what possesses him to do it.
One minute he’s looking up at the piece on the wall of the coffee shop that’s functioning as a gallery for the night, the next he’s at a register forking over his credit card and asking to have it wrapped.
He tells himself that he’s supporting his brother’s burgeoning career. Huaisang is talented, and the painting is beautiful, in ways including—but not limited to—its incredible subject matter. He doesn’t have the vocabulary to articulate how or why, but Huaisang has managed to convey life and emotion onto the canvas with just a few brushstrokes.
He’s not completely sure where he’s going to put it; his brain hasn’t gotten that far. Any of the common spaces of his apartment feel somehow too revealing should he have guests over, and hanging it in his bedroom would be… well, also revealing, albeit in a different way.
He’s just finished handing the signed receipt back to a saleswoman with three eyebrow piercings when he spots the painting’s subject himself, moving through the small clusters of people with the grace of a flowing river. He looks suspiciously like he’s headed to the register.
Nie Mingjue leans over the counter to whisper, “Is there any way you can wrap that faster?”
Jiang Cheng makes it over before she can answer, and Nie Mingjue spins to say hello. Jiang Cheng is wearing a black tank that shows the edges of his tattoo. This close, Nie Mingjue can see a small flick of glittering black eyeliner at the corner of his eyes. It makes his features sharper and even more devastating.
“I thought that was you,” Jiang Cheng says by way of greeting. “Your brother said you might have left already.”
“I was just…” Nie Mingjue motions vaguely to the painting behind him, which the saleswoman has mercifully finished wrapping.
“What did you end up buying?” Jiang Cheng asks curiously, as Nie Mingjue takes the package from the saleswoman.
“Oh, just a painting,” Nie Mingjue describes helpfully.
Jiang Cheng’s shoulders tense a little at that, and he nods stiffly. “Got it,” he says, “I’ll let you get to it then.”
Nie Mingjue’s heart sinks, painfully aware of just how disinterested he sounds. Before he can help himself, his arm is shooting out to stop Jiang Cheng.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m a little off my game right now,” he apologizes. “I’m proud of my brother, but I know I stick out in all of this.” He gestures at the gallery around them. “I’m not—I’m not quite sure what to do.”
“No?” Jiang Cheng asks, and his head is cocked again in that way that makes Nie Mingjue want to run his thumb along the edge of his chin, see if he could cut himself on its angle. “What would you normally do? If you weren’t surrounded by ‘all of this?’”
Nie Mingjue pauses, considering. Imagines the coffee shop is just a coffee shop, that he hasn’t seen the man in front of him half naked. “Well,” he says slowly, “I’d tell you that I noticed you, and that I’m interested, and that I’d like to take you out for dinner. Lay my cards on the table.”
“Just like that?” Jiang Cheng asks softly. Nie Mingjue can’t quite read the look in his eyes, but he doesn't sound disappointed.
“Just like that,” Nie Mingjue confirms.
“Then I think… I think you should do that,” Jiang Cheng says, and Nie Mingjue doesn’t need to be told twice.
Nie Mingjue leans the wrapped painting carefully against the wall before taking Jiang Cheng’s elegant and slightly cold hands in his and guiding him a couple feet away from the register and the smirking saleswoman. Nie Mingjue looks Jiang Cheng squarely in the eyes, heart pounding loud enough that he's sure Jiang Cheng can feel it where they touch. Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull away.
“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Mingjue says firmly, and Jiang Cheng’s breath hitches in a very promising way. “I think you’re beautiful and interesting and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met. I’d like to go on a date with you and get to know you more. If that works out, you should know I’m very bad at casual arrangements and 'seeing how things go.' Would you like to get dinner with me?”
A smile blooms across Jiang Cheng’s face, shy but unguarded.
“Yes, yeah,” Jiang Cheng agrees, and Nie Mingjue’s heart swells. “That sounds good—better than good, really.” He pauses. “What are you doing tonight?”
It takes them five minutes to say goodbye to Huaisang. They end up at a stuffy Italian restaurant, each underdressed in their own way, with the wrapped painting tucked neatly under the table between them.