10001 Nightmares Party

[Fic] too like the thunder (Módào Zǔshī)

Summary:

"A fine choice, indeed," a smooth, cultured voice says, and Jiang Cheng—in the midst of deciding which ornate vase he's going to steal—freezes, breath hitching.

Notes:

Work Text:

"A fine choice, indeed," a smooth, cultured voice says, and Jiang Cheng—in the midst of deciding which ornate vase he's going to steal—freezes, breath hitching.

Somebody flicks on the light, and he hisses; spins wildly around, stance widening and thanking his former self for putting on a mask. It's the barest basic black one that only covers the lower half of his face, but still. It's better than nothing, he thinks as he stares at the strange man. Older than Jiang Cheng, dressed in a fancy three-piece white suit, with some kind of lining on it that looks vaguely like clouds. Jiang Cheng thinks he might recognize the meaning of such things, that it might be somewhere in the back  of his mind, but he is cold and starving and alone. He does not particularly care to figure it out.

The hall behind it is well-lit now, as opposed to the darkness when he broke in through the front door. It was easy.

It was unlocked.

The man strokes his goatee. It doesn't look anywhere near as stupid as it should, he thinks, his shoulders tensing more and more the longer it takes for anything to happen, gold eyes studying him far too intently. "That particular vase was a gift from an acquaintance who won it an auction. I've never been very fond of it myself, but it's worth a fair amount of money and not something I would pursue with any degree of seriousness. As an object theft, it's well-chosen," is remarked in the calmest of voices.

"Thanks?" Jiang Cheng mutters purely on reflex, faintly thinking he might have been complimented, then shakes his head and clicks his tongue. Squares his shoulders back and spreads out his legs, feet firmly planted on the beautiful hardwood floor. "This is a robbery!" he brashly declares, and grabs his bat from the aforementioned beautiful floor that is so beautiful it warrants another mention, pointing it straight at the man. "Put your hands in the air where I can see them!"

"I believe you already can," the goatee'd man says, blinking his eyes and tilting his head a little, a melodious hum drifting from slightly parted lips, and he fearlessly enters the room, continuing to stroke his goatee. He's got distractedly gold eyes, but Jiang Cheng, who is man on a mission, has no time to notice such things and so certainly does not. In fact, he doesn't notice it so strongly that he's sure it's only a single passing thought. One single thought, he thinks, and then he doesn't notice it at all, ever again. Never again.

The man strains his neck, looking around. "You are alone?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing, a little wrinkle forming between them. "I would think a robbery should at least have a, what do they call it, a look-out man."

Jiang Cheng's eyes narrow. He waves his bat, taking a threatening step forward. The man takes a forward as well, and all of a sudden Jiang Cheng doesn't feel as threatening, slowing to a stop. The man's eyes are a very particular kind of gold, he notes. When they're not straight under the light they shouldn't shine like that and yet somehow they do, and he clenches his hands tightly on the bat. "So what?" he finally growls out but it's entirely too late to mean anything, he already knows.

The man hums. Glances at the vases Jiang Cheng was considering. "Technically," the man says, "It's not breaking and entering unless the door is locked. And the door was not locked, correct?"

"No?" eyebrows furrowing, Jiang Cheng shakes his head. "What-"

"And you have not taken anything yet." It's a statement more than a question but somehow that just makes Jiang Cheng shake his head automatically, bringing to mind faint memories of his schooling. The man looks him over, eyes lingering a beat too long on his chest; the hoodie hangs just a bit too much, makes it entirely too clear he's lost weight recently, and he can't help but feel like the man can see right through. But he doesn't try to cover it up; that'll just make it more obvious, he thinks.

Instead, he sneers and says, "If you call the cops I'll hurt you," doing his best to look down his nose at the man. He's usually pretty good at it, has perfected it over the last few months as sometimes the appearance of arrogance can be the difference between getting a wallet without needing to wave a knife around, and waving a knife around so much he accidentally cuts himself.

Jiang Cheng doesn't like mugging people; but he doesn't much like robbing people either and look where he is.

"No need," the man says, clapping his hands. The sound echoes in the room, and Jiang Cheng twitches; can't help it. The man smiles; it's not a particularly big one, granted, but it's definitely a smile, and his eyes glitter. "My name is Lan Qiren. It's a pleasure to meet you." What, Jiang Cheng things, but doesn't have time to say it before the man continues, "Come, join me for dinner," like that's a logical sentence.

"What-dinner?" Jiang Cheng thinks it's completely justified he's thrown for a loop. This isn't, he thinks, how robberies are supposed to go. He hasn't done very many of them, but he's watched movies and this isn't how things are supposed to go. Sure, he only has a bat, but he's young, he's got a scary face and he's wearing a mask. It should be off-putting, to find somebody like him at home.

But Lan Qiren---which, that sounds vaguely familiar, too---nods, stepping forth and grabbing the bat with one hand, elegant but still large, and the nails glitter in a way that makes Jiang Cheng think they've got transparent nail polish on them---Yanli wore that sometimes, but no, he's not thinking about that---and effortlessly tears it out of his hands. "It's dinnertime," Lan Qiren says, snagging the sleeve of Jiang Cheng's hoodie and carting him out of the room without so much as a by your leave.

Jiang Cheng stares at his empty hands as he stumbles after, feet hitting the floors all wrong, gazes at the pale hand holding onto his dark sleeve. He feels---like a bumbling fool, he thinks. Like he's forgotten how to walk, which is just. No. He can't afford weakness. 

He tries to tear his sleeve out of the man's grip. "No, I'm not eating dinner with you," he snaps, forces it out between clenched teeth, eyebrows furrowing so heavily it almost hurts. Pretends his stomach isn't growling at the thought of real food; he's a fool, he thinks. He can't trust a random stranger whose house he broke into. It might be an assassination plot. He might have walked right into the bears den.

Lan Qiren glances back at him and clicks his tongue, eyebrows furrowing. "Then who will you be eating with? No," he continues instantly, no room for Jiang Cheng to so much as breathe. "I'm not leaving a starving young man to dine on what, crackers? You broke into my home; if that's not a sign you require assistance I don't know what is. Now, are you allergic to anything?"

"I-No, but-"

"There, then there is no reason to hesitate," sounding supremely satisfied to have solved the issue, Lan Qiren pulls him into the dining room where a full meal is already plated for two.

"Are you waiting for somebody? Is there somebody else here?" Jiang Cheng cranes his head, tries to see around the fairly traditional room, but it's well-lit and nobody seems to hiding around a corner.

"Don't be silly," Lan Qiren says, "This is for you."

"You-what-" Jiang Cheng inhales deeply and grouches out, "Do you mean to say you've been home long enough to cook dinner?"

"Yes." Wide-eyed, Jiang Cheng breathes roughly, a pressure in his chest. Lan Qiren strokes his goatee and adds, "It's a big house and the kitchen is well-insulated, with good soundproofing so as to not disturb the rest of the house. It's no wonder you didn't hear it."

"You-" Jiang Cheng's hands flex and he has the overwhelming urge to strangle this man. He's not entirely sure what is happening anymore, doesn't think he ever had. "Was this a trap?" he snaps.

Lan Qiren tilts his head. "Of course not. It's entirely unethical to trap somebody with dearly needed food. However, you appeared hungry, and considering that you didn't damage anything and was peacefully perusing my vases for quite a while-" peacefully, Jiang Cheng mouths to himself, "I thought it prudent to offer something to dissuade you of this course of action. Robbery is quite dangerous business, after all."

Blinking, Jiang Cheng sits. He's not sure when they moved over to table, but he moves into the proper position purely on reflex, hands landing on the table without his conscious thought. Lan Qiren nods, clearly pleased, and says, "No talking while eating." He plates Jiang Cheng's food for him, and Jiang Cheng doesn't quite have the presence of mind to protest. He merely eats, starving stomach growling all the while; it's plain food, nothing like what he's used to even now, but it's gentle on his stomach perhaps all the more for it, and he swallows it eagerly, hunger ruthlessly making itself.

He doesn't end up saying a word the entire meal.

After, Lan Qiren clears the table while Jiang Cheng stares and questions his entire worldview, not entirely sure what to do now. It'd be rude, he thinks, to leave without thanking for the food, but also he came here to rob this place and those rice bowls were easily worth quite a few bucks, he thinks. He might get at least something from them if he pawned them, but if it's rude to leave without thanking your host---inadvertent as it may be---it's doubly so to steal the rice bowls you ate out of.

"Listen," Jiang Cheng when Lan Qiren returns from dealing with the dishes, standing so as to level them into an even field. "Thank you for the food but-"

"You're welcome. I've packed up the leftovers for you. Do you have a place to stay?" Lan Qiren tilts his head. 

"I-I'm not homeless," Jiang Cheng says, and it's only sort-of true. He's not homeless; he's squatting in a perfectly lovely home not that far from here. Ostensibly he's looking after it for Nie Huaisang, but he's not entirely sure Huaisang even actually owns it, or rents it, or anything, so he doesn't quite dare to stay there all the time. He returns to sleep, but only that, always careful to wipe away the traces of his presence.

Lan Qiren nods. "That's good," he says, and sounds like he means it.

They've only just met.

Then Lan Qiren tilts his head. "Still, you require more sustenance than you're obviously getting. I have a big house and a not insignificant food budget; you'll return here for a weekly meal, I think. And then you can meet my nephews. It would be good of you to make friends if you're going to remain."

"Remain? Nephews? Friends?" Jiang Cheng thinks he's glitched out. Reality does not make sense anymore. His worldview has been upended. This ludicrous man is dancing all over it, he thinks, just absolutely recklessly forging on ahead without regard for anything normal like, like, like... Jiang Cheng doesn't even know. His mind is blank with surprise, and it only grows blanker every time he makes the mistake of looking into those gold eyes. They glitter, he notes, then carefully shoves that thought out of reach.

"Yes," Lan Qiren nods, stroking his goatee and pulling Jiang Cheng out of the room. They go to some kind of sitting room, entirely too fancy to count as a normal living room, and Lan Qiren pushes him down onto an elegant white sofa. "Make yourself comfortable," he says, and Jiang Cheng mouths comfortable to himself with the kind of lack of emotion that comes with too many revelations at once. Sitting next to him, though not so close as to touch, Lan Qiren says, "Tell me about yourself."

"I-no?" Eyebrows furrowing, Jiang Cheng slowly states, more in a questioning tone than anything else, "I'm robbing you? I'm not gonna give you identifying information?"

"I already know your face, young man," Lan Qiren reasonably points out, and Jiang Cheng's hand snaps up to his face. Right. Right, he took the mask off to eat, didn't even think about it, and it's not on. Lan Qiren does know his face, could probably describe it pretty well to an artist and get his likeness for a wanted poster. If wanted posters are a thing, still. He's not entirely sure. They are in movies? Lan Qiren says, "My nephews are sensible men. They won't think of any less of you for your circumstances."

Jiang Cheng tries not to gape. He swallows, heavily, stomach still stuck in that pleasantly full sensation he's missed for---far too long. The sofa is soft beneath him, and the light is softer, still. Lan Qiren glows in it; his face is... pretty, Jiang Cheng thinks. The goatee distracted him, but Lan Qiren is pretty. Beautiful, even. He's older, Jiang Cheng is sure not only by the little lines on his face, but by the way he holds himself, the way there is no doubt when he speaks. He's certain of what he says, Jiang Cheng thinks, too. He doesn't know what to do with that. It's been. A while. Since Jiang Cheng was certain of much of anything at all.

He shakes his head. "Look, I should go. I have. Places to be."

Lan Qiren says, "If you must," and Jiang Cheng pretends his shoulders don't tense. Then he forces them to untense. He clenches and unclenches his fists, looking to the floor instead of Lan Qiren's face, shaking his body head to clear his mind. His breath rasps in his throat, and he bites down on his tongue lest he say something he doesn't mean. Lan Qiren adds, after a while of Jiang Cheng noticeably not leaving, "You're welcome to stay the night, if you wish."

"We're strangers," Jiang Cheng snaps. He turns his head and glares at Lan Qiren, standing abruptly in a vain attempt to get some leverage. "You can't treat me like this!" he waves his hands, swallowing the insane urge to add think about your safety and do you treat all would-be robbers like this. The thought tastes rough on his tongue, and he swallows heavily again, staring down at Lan Qiren with clenched fists and chest expanding and contracting far too quickly, too irregularly, all the air caught in his lungs tasting like ash.

Lan Qiren doesn't seem intimidated. Doesn't much seem like he's even noticed they're on different levels, even if he is looking up now. The braid of long, dark hair lies still over his shoulder, and draws Jiang Cheng's eyes to Qiren's throat, to the pale skin and the movement when Lan Qiren inhales to speak. "I do think I am entirely entitled to treat people in my home how I wish. And we are not strangers. You have eaten at my table, and looked at my vases with very discerning eyes."

Pressing his lips tightly together, Jiang Cheng looks away. Over Lan Qiren's head, to the wall behind him. He inhales deep, holds it, exhales. Does it all over again, and again, and again. Until his fists are no longer clenched and he can look at Qiren without glaring. "You shouldn't trust people breaking into your home," he states.

"I don't," Lan Qiren says, Jiang Cheng freezing. He doesn't have to panic before Qiren adds, "I trust you. You have exhibited no behavior I would categorize as dangerous, to me or the house, and you let me feed you. If you wish me not to trust you, you will need to work harder."

Work harder, Jiang Cheng thinks. He shakes his head, breath plopping out of him like a great balloon bursting, and drops back down on the sofa. Presses a hand ot his eyes, and murmurs, "You're incomprehensible," to nothing in particular.

Lan Qiren clears his throat. "A failure of the imagination," he says, and Jiang Cheng laughs. Can't help it. He parts his fingers enough to glance at Lan Qiren, and freezes when he realizes the man is looking back at him, too, eyes soft and gentle and other gooey, squishy words of description and---Lan Qiren is pretty. The goatee sort-of suits him, in an understated way, and his eyes sparkle when they catch the light. He looks pleased, Jiang Cheng, like things are going his way. And not like he's getting robbed.

Fuck.

Jiang Cheng can't steal from him.

"Look," he says, licking his lips and straightening up, glare falling away in favor of the exhaustion that always seems to cling to him these days. "I appreciate this. I really do. You don't need to treat me this kindly, and I am grateful. But I've gotta go. If this place is a bust I need to find another way to make money, so..." he stops, not really sure how to end the sentence. Lan Qiren frowns, too, and so he rushes out, "I need to go. Make money. To live. Thanks, though."

Lan Qiren's frowns doesn't ease, and Jiang Cheng doesn't move, heart in his throat and eyes wide, his gaze stuck on the other man. It's a gentle, easy night, darkness outside and a cozy light inside, and he can't tear his gaze away, inhaling only when his lungs take over, correctly judging him as too impaired to breathe himself. He rasps, and licks his lips, and presses his hands together in his lap, fingers entangling. He doesn't move.

Doesn't leave.

"You will rob someone else?" Lan Qiren tilts his head. Jiang Cheng begins to shake his head, then stops, looking at his lap and his hands and squeezing them shut. Yeah, he probably will. He doesn't have a lot of options. No-one will hire him. He can't afford to poke his head out until the Wen Clan stops hunting him down, anyway, else he'll soon be wanted for drugs or murder or something and vanish into a jail where he'll probably get killed the first night.

He doesn't like robbing people. But if he does his research and is careful, it's normally safe, for them and him.

Lan Qiren hums. "Needs must," he agrees, and Jiang Cheng's eyebrows draw together, gaze rising to meet Qiren's, gaze warm in the low light. Lan Qiren, though, instantly follows it up with, "Well, if it's money you need, there's a simple solution."

"Solution?" Jiang Cheng hates how weak his voice sounds, how it rasps, hoarse, but can't help it.

"I will give you the money you need."

For a second, Jiang Cheng gapes. Then he swallows, shoulders rising, and he squeezes out between numb lips, "You can't just do that."

"Why not?" Lan Qiren asks, blinking, like he really wants to know why he wouldn't be able to just do that. "I have money," he continues, tilting his head and stroking his goatee as he considers, "And a well-organized budget with the room for additional monthly expenditure that won't adversely affect my savings or my retirement goal. I see no reason why I can't give you the money you need."

"But-" Jiang Cheng doesn't finish. He's not really sure why he's protesting, he realizes. Out of some sense that it's impolite, maybe. That he's taking advantage. But. Well. But he needs to take advantage, doesn't he? He's out of food, out of cash, out of friends he can rely on, and family to support him. It's just him, and... it's lonely, maybe. He's cold in that big house he's squatting in, perhaps. Tired of trying to make every buck count, of trying to hold onto his food for as long as possible. Tired, possibly, of just scraping by.

Alone, and lonely.

"I'd be taking advantage of you," he says, raising his gaze again and making eye-contact. Qiren doesn't look away, holds it until Jiang Cheng exhales, hands faintly trembling, and adds, "But if you're okay with that, sure. You can give me money."

Lan Qiren smiles. "Excellent," he says, sounding pleased. His smile is a pretty thing, indeed, transforming his whole face. It's charming, Jiang Cheng thinks, and isn't surprised to find himself being charmed. He exhales, again, and the next breath in a steadier thing, easier on his throat. He relaxes onto the sofa for the first time since he sat, back striking the backrest, and exhales once more, eyelashes fluttering. Pretends his stomach doesn't clench when he sees, out of the corner of his eyes, Qiren watching him. Pretends the warm gaze doesn't ease the trembling in his hands, the shivers running down his spine.

Relaxes, and inhales a steady, deep breath.

Notes:

and then it turned into a sugar baby situation and they lived happily every after while jc rebuilt his family's destroyed company. wohoo!

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#Fandom: MISC - Books #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: AU #Tag: Crack Treated Seriously #Tag: Hurt/Comfort #WC: 1000-5000