Work Text:
Jiang Cheng didn’t look up as the last of his apprentices left the studio for the day. The bell jingled softly as the door closed but he remained focused. Or tried to at least. Calligraphy wasn’t a great outlet for the burning that he tried to keep down every day, swallowed up every time it tried to rise again until he choked. It was destructive, not respectable or mature so it stayed burning a hole through the pit of his stomach.
He cast a glance at the digital clock displayed by Zidian. S was a better outlet but it was hours away and his hands were shaking now.
A deep breath.
He dipped his brush back into the ink and raised it above the piece he was working on.
A few hours. He could manage that. Keep it in for another hour, finish his work, make dinner with Jin Ling, have a quiet night in before tucking the boy in and indulging in his favorite outlet.
A few more hours.
Another deep breath.
The brush comes in contact with the paper, the line smooth, flowing easily into the character.
The bell at the entrance jingles again and once again Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother to look up. He waits for whatever forgetful apprentice to find what they are looking for and to leave him to his solitude.
He dips his brush back into the ink and finishes the character he had been working on as he heard his apprentice sitting down behind him and began to open a bag.
Maybe not an apprentice then.
Then the playing began and he did not need to turn around to know the other person was facing away. He should have known it was Lan Wangji. He resolutely faced forward, familiar now with the strange ritual they had seemed to occasionally fall into. He let the other man play as he worked, the guqin singing quietly into the space between them.
It was an odd thing, to be sure, but it seemed to work for both of them. Jiang Cheng couldn’t be sure as to what the other man got from it but he was grateful to not be left alone to his thoughts, to have someone else who understood the grief and anger even after all of these years. He felt like he could breathe again.
They still, of course, detested each other. A single word from either of them would break the tentative truce between the two. Simple eye contact was enough to fracture the illusion of the meeting, reminding both participants who they were currently occupying the space with. But so long as both stayed quiet, eyes low, sitting together seemed to numb the pain, if just a little. It was easier to choke back the fire when he knew someone else was burning from the inside with him.
Jiang Cheng finished his commission. Lan Wangji heard the familiar shuffle of washing brushes and cleaning the work space and brought his song to an end before putting away his guqin. Both rose, eyes downcast, and made their way to the back patio. Lan Wangji sat quietly, knowing it would be only a few moments before the other came out with tea. The cup, as always, was placed next to him, never handed to him.
It was the final part of their ritual. Once they both finished their tea they would each set their cups down. Lan Wangji would leave as silently as he came in.
But even holding the teacup his hand still had the smallest shake. His mind still felt a bit too on edge to go home to his nephew. He took a sip before putting his cup down, breaking their unspoken rule.
“Jin Ling placed first in his intramural competition over the weekend.”
Why the fuck did he say that?
“Lan Jingyi performed in the school’s music festival earlier this month. He played beautifully.”
Oh shit? Was this working?
“I would expect nothing less of him, what did he play?”
Common ground apparently came directly from the young rascals that had more or less reintroduced them to each other in the start.
Both kept their eyes staring into the yard, or low to their cups. They were healing, it was enough to talk.
The two finished their tea, still avoiding each other's gaze. Jiang Cheng took the cups. For the first time they said goodbye as Lan Wangji left.
Contemplating the moment later as he walked home Jiang Cheng realized the shake had left his hands and his breath came easy. He would still be attending S. Nie Huaisang had already chosen their outfits. It no longer felt it was the only escape he had.