Work Text:
“So,” Jiang Cheng says carefully, “are you gonna tell Mingjue-ge and your dad what really happened to this?” He traces a finger along the ridge of the cast on Huaisang’s left leg before returning to the task at hand, painting Huaisang’s toenails a vibrant emerald green. He’s impressed, and a little jealous. When Jiang Cheng broke his arm, Yunmeng healers wrapped it in a hard plaster shell, but Huaisang’s broken ankle is held in a sturdy cast that looks like the segments of a butterfly’s wing thanks to Qishan’s new 3D printer. Huaisang is also lucky that he broke his ankle while visiting Wen Ning, and that his father is a lot more gentle than Jiang Cheng’s mother, who saw the cast -- as well as forbidding the healers to help him along -- as fit punishment for Jiang Cheng’s carelessness.
“No,” Huaisang says curtly.
Jiang Cheng looks up from his work and frowns.
Huaisang studiously ignores the look and appears to focus on the book in his hands. Unfortunately, the book is one on saber lore, so Jiang Cheng just sits back and waits.
“Those toes aren’t going to paint themselves, A-Cheng,” Huaisang says, poking Jiang Cheng in the ribs with his right foot.
“Why aren’t you going to tell them?” Jiang Cheng presses as he resumes his work on Huaisang’s toes. “They’re not gonna be mad.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Huaisang snaps.
Jiang Cheng bites his lip to keep from snapping back at Huaisang. He might not have learned to keep his temper in check around Wei Ying, but Huaisang is another matter. If something has broken down his usual good-natured chill, Jiang Cheng can wait until Huaisang is ready to tell him.
Huaisang pointedly ignores Jiang Cheng for another five minutes -- a personal best, Jiang Cheng thinks -- before he tosses the book aside and heaves a deep sigh.
“Would you tell your parents if you broke your ankle because you stole Qing-jie’s six-inch stilettos, A-Cheng?” He crosses his arms against his chest and flops back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “Would you tell your mother?”
“They aren’t gonna care,” Jiang Cheng says with as much conviction as he can muster. “Well, they’ll care because you got hurt and they don’t want you to get hurt, but they won’t care about how.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I wouldn’t tell my mother because her spies would beat me to it. Or Wei Ying would open his big dumb mouth.”
“A-Cheng.”
“Seriously.” Jiang Cheng caps the bottle of nail polish and sets it aside. He puts Huaisang’s right foot on the pillow in his lap and starts to massage the soul, smiling to himself as Huaisang lets a satisfied little sound slip out. “Your dad is the coolest.”
“Really?” Huaisang sits up and leans back on his elbows so he can look at Jiang Cheng. His usual air of mischief is tamped down, replaced by --
Huaisang is afraid, Jiang Cheng realizes. He shifts Huaisang’s legs off his lap before he scoots over to settle on Huaisang’s right side. He tucks Huaisang into his side and gives him a tight hug.
“So you were goofing around with Qing-jie’s heels and fell over? It’s really not a big deal,” Jiang Cheng says.
“Really?” Huaisang asks again, voice small. “Because what if it brings up questions that I can’t answer?”
“Ah.” Jiang Cheng strokes Huaisang’s arm as he thinks for a moment.
Huaisang is widely known to be coddled and protected by his family and the whole of the Qinghe Nie sect. Art lessons over saber practice. The aviary he built on the roof of Nie Manor. Huaisang doesn’t fit the mold of Traditional Nie Cultivator, but it’s never been a problem before, at least as far as Jiang Cheng can see. But he’s also noticed a shift in Huaisang since they started high school, tentative forays into explorations of his identity. Jiang Cheng only cared insofar as it made Huaisang happy, but he also heard the whispers of their peers. And while it was easy to dismiss assholes like Wen Chao as general assholery, he concedes that it might still sting. That it might put little cracks in Huaisang’s confidence and make way for other doubts to wiggle in.
Jiang Cheng squeezes Huaisang tightly and kisses his cheek.
“I guess that would be scary,” he admits. “And uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable,” Huaisang scoffs. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what else to say, so he simply holds onto Huaisang. Eventually, Huaisang sighs and eases into Jiang Cheng’s embrace.
“Can I just tell them I tripped down some stairs because I got distracted by, I don’t know, a fucking butterfly or something?”
“Mm.” Jiang Cheng kisses his cheek again. “A dragon swallowtail?”
Huaisang huffs a little laugh. “You never got over that butterfly phase, did you?”
“They’re cool!” Jiang Cheng bristles. “And they look like spirit messages! And--”
Huaisang claps a hand over Jiang Cheng’s mouth, and Jiang Cheng instinctively retaliates by licking his palm.
“Oh, gross! A-Cheng, that’s --”
“Shut up, you’re being a jerk!”
Huaisang sits back and pouts at him. “So rude, A-Cheng! So cruel to a poor invalid.”
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take pity on you for exactly two more weeks.” He pokes Huaisang gently in the stomach, eliciting a giggle. “And I’ll go along with whatever story you want, okay? A-Ning will, too.”
Huaisang’s smile softens. “Thank you, A-Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng takes Huaisang’s hand in his. “And look, you know I’ll support you, whatever you need, whatever you want to do, right? And if you ever feel like talking about, um, things, you know you can tell me anything, right?”
Huaisang’s smile brightens. “Yeah, A-Cheng. I do.” His grin turns sly. “And if I wanna make out to distract myself for a while?”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes again, but he lies down immediately and opens his arms for Huaisang. “When am I ever gonna say no to that?”
Huaisang bends down and kisses Jiang Cheng. “Awesome. But maybe you could lock the door first?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, his cheeks heating as he blushes. “Yeah, there are definitely a few questions I not prepared to answer with regards to, um, all this.”
“Right?” Huaisang shifts so Jiang Cheng can get off the bed. “Now hurry up. We’ve got about forty minutes until da-ge comes to get us for dinner, and I have plans for that mouth of yours.”
“You’re terrible,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he obediently locks the door. He hurries back to the bed and lies down again. Huaisang gently lies on top of him and runs a hand through his hair.
“I know,” he says. He kisses Jiang Cheng. “But you love it.”
“Yeah.” Jiang Cheng swallows hard. “I do.”