Title: Write Me a Way (But Don’t Write Me Off)
Fandom: The Untamed | Modao Zushi
Pairing/Characters: Jiang Cheng / Lan Huan, Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying, Lan Huan & Lan Zhan, background Wei Ying / Lan Zhan
Rating: NR (probably T?)
Warnings: idiots in love
Word Count: 1,914 words, 5 / 5 (Chapter Directory)
Summary: Modern college AU, set ~somewhere???~. Lan Huan slowly finds himself falling for Jiang Cheng, who is (maybe) related to Wei Ying, who is (definitely) dating Lan Zhan, and none of them are (probably) in the mob.



“—These pitiful excuses for poems,” Professor Shen says from within the lecture hall. “I know that my assignment guidelines were clear, so the fault lines with you. You will redo them, properly, though I would prefer that you withdraw from the class altogether so that I never have to suffer through reading your poorly framed thoughts again. Now get out.”

It’s the same speech that Professor Shen had given in the other section, and the students leave the hall with the same silent alacrity, heads ducked down low and bodies caved in, that Lan Huan’s peers had that morning. And there is Jiang Cheng, gripping the strap of his backpack with white-knuckled fingers.

Lan Huan approaches and guides him down the hall with gentle hands. “Let’s talk about it,” he says.

Impossibly, Jiang Cheng’s grip on his backpack briefly seems to tighten. “Sure,” he says through gritted teeth. “I love to talk about what a fuck-up I am.”

Lan Huan finds an empty classroom and pulls him in, shutting the door behind them. “Everyone got poor feedback,” he says calmly. “So if you’re a fuck-up, at least you’re in good company.”

Jiang Cheng slams his bag down onto a desk and whirls to face Lan Huan. “Oh yeah? What would you know about getting a shit grade? What was your feedback, then?”

“Professor Shen complimented my use of organic ink and paper, as it would make it easier to turn my poem into compost, which was the only way for it to show any appreciation for nature.” Lan Huan keeps his tone mild as he repeats the words that had been carved over his hard work in beautiful green calligraphy. The truth is, he’s still somewhat brittle over it, and even though he’s had hours to settle and recover from the harsh criticism, the thought of showing this feedback to Uncle makes his soul quail, so when he sees Jiang Cheng’s jaw drop in outrage, he feels a little gratified.

“How dare he?” Jiang Cheng explodes. “Your poem was beautiful! It was perfect, it was poignant, it was everything a poem should be. It gave me chills! I’d like to see what poem could be better than yours!”

“It was a poem written by a student for a class,” Lan Huan corrects, blushing at the praise. “Of course there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, fine, sure, even masters can improve their art. But where in his criticism did he tell you how to improve? That’s what bothers me so much! I mean, fine, I know my poem wasn’t that great, but somewhere in my feedback I’d like actual action points, you know? Not just—not just this!” He grabs a paper from his backpack and shoves it at Lan Huan.

Is this for nature or nurture? Your argument is unclear.

Lan Huan’s eyebrows shoot up. His lips twitch.

“Shut up, it’s not funny!” Jiang Cheng runs his hand through his hair, pacing.

“I’m not entirely sure this counts as criticism,” says Lan Huan thoughtfully.

“He’s saying my topic is completely fucked, and he simultaneously managed to slip in the hint that my poem is more like a philosophical diatribe than a poem!”

Lan Huan says drily, “Professor Shen really is a master. Even his assignment feedback is all layered metaphors and allusions.”

Jiang Cheng screams into his hands.

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Huan sighs. “I don’t know what kind of feedback everyone else got, but no one left that classroom with a smile. I don’t think Professor Shen is the kind of teacher to hand out positive feedback, even if his student were Li Bai.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Yeah, I guess, I just…” He sits on the edge of a desk, looking down at his hands gloomily. “I thought I had something special, I guess. I know you did.”

Lan Huan steps forward, hesitates, and tentatively settles his hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “You did. You do. And now we’ll work on our poems some more, and we’ll have something even better.”

Jiang Cheng looks up and him, and it occurs to Lan Huan belatedly that they’re very close, now. His fingers are tingling where they’re touching Jiang Cheng, and the sensation rises up his arm and rushes through his body like a tsunami.

“Lan Huan, I—”

“Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng jerks upright, and Lan Huan steps away hurriedly. A young woman has entered the classroom, looking at them curiously. Lan Huan’s stomach, which had just been fluttering in elation, takes an abrupt U-turn. This woman is really very pretty.

“Professor Ning,” Jiang Cheng greets stiffly, and Lan Huan relaxes slightly. “I’m sorry, are you teaching in here now? We were just going over our feedback from our class.”

“Is that shizun’s nature poetry class?” asks Professor Ning brightly. “Oh, he said that your poem was very good!”

Jiang Cheng’s face flushes bright red. “What? He said that?”

“Well, no, but you need to learn to read between the lines with shizun. He’s a very complicated soul,” she adds sagely. “Here, let me see your poem. Is this it?” She pulls the page from Lan Huan’s grip without waiting for any response, and nods. “Yes, I recognise your penmanship. How lovely, Jiang Cheng! And look, shizun didn’t even ask for a rework! He always asks for a rework.”

“But in class, he said that we all have to do one.”

“That would have just been a general announcement. He always writes ‘redo’ or ‘just withdraw’ on everyone’s submissions, and he tells them what to fix to get a passing grade. But here, he didn’t even write down a grade, because he was too upset that he couldn’t deny you full marks!”

Jiang Cheng looks questioningly at Lan Huan, who shrugs in bewilderment. “Mine didn’t have any directives on it, either,” he says, digging through his own bag for his poem. He holds it up so that they can both see it.

Professor Ning nods thoughtfully as she reads his work. “It’s very good. You’re very talented. No wonder you and Jiang Cheng are such good friends!”

“I’m very fortunate to have caught Jiang Cheng’s attention,” Lan Huan agrees easily, and Jiang Cheng elbows him.

“Professor Ning, are you sure we don’t need to resubmit?” asks Jiang Cheng.

“Yes,” says Professor Ning. “But if you’re not sure, why don’t you ask shizun directly?”

Jiang Cheng’s unimpressed face mirrors Lan Huan’s own reaction that that suggestion.

“Oh, you two! He isn’t that scary! Come on, I’ll go with you.”

And before they can protest, she hustles them out of the room and back down the hall, leading them to the wing holding the faculty offices. “Shizun!” she calls, brazenly walking through the open door beside the tasteful nameplate declaring this to be the office of Dr. Shen Qingqiu. “I have some students with a quick question.”

Inside the office, Professor Shen is seated behind his desk, reclined back and sneering at the man sitting opposite him, who is gripping the arms of his chair tightly enough that the vinyl lining is starting to tear.

“Yingying,” says Professor Shen, his voice softening from a dao to a butterknife. “It’s rare that I’d rather speak to students, but given my current company…”

Professor Shen’s guest stands up stiffly. “This isn’t over, Shen Qingqiu,” he warns, but the way he stomps out of the room seems to invalidate that statement.

Professor Shen rolls his eyes. “Why do we even have a physical education department?” he asks rhetorically. “Well? What do you want?”

Professor Ning gives them an encouraging smile.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. Lan Huan wants to applaud him for his bravery. He still can’t make his throat muscles move enough to swallow, never mind convince them to make noise. “Professor, you stated during class that we should redo our poems, but—”

“That was a general announcement. If I wanted a resubmission from you, I would have written it on your assignments.”

“...Oh. So, we—”

Professor Shen’s eyebrow twitches. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No, professor. Thank you for your time, we’ll be leaving now. Thank you, Professor Shen, Professor Ning.”

Jiang Cheng grabs Lan Huan’s arm and they hurry from the office as Professor Ning giggles behind them.

They’re halfway across campus, checking behind them nervously, when the absurdity of the situation seems to click and they both start laughing.

“So he liked my poem?” asks Jiang Cheng wonderingly. “Why couldn’t he just say that?” He kicks a tall piece of grass as they walk.

Lan Huan nods commiseratingly.

“Lan Huan,” says Jiang Cheng hesitantly. “I know I sort of—I’m sorry for how I acted, before. I got angry, and I sort of—I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Lan Huan tilts his head to the side, thinking back through their conversation. “I’m honestly not sure when you mean,” he confesses.

Jiang Cheng looks away. “I acted like you don’t know what it feels like to—I don’t know. Be bad at something. Be criticized. I know that’s not true, even though I don’t know how anyone would ever be able to find something to be critical about you.”

“Ah,” says Lan Huan. “Thank you for the apology, I suppose, but I wasn’t offended. Perhaps if you’d kept digging at that point instead of switching to singing my praises,” he adds in a faux thoughtful tone, and Jiang Cheng snorts.

“There’re a lot of praises to sing,” he says softly, and Lan Huan feels that tingly feeling rising again. “But with me, you should know… I get angry sometimes. I try not to, I’m trying to be better, but I get angry, and I say things I don’t mean. Or sometimes, I say things I mean too much.”

Lan Huan nods slowly. “So in the moment, you’ll shout, but if you have time to stew, you’ll release a confetti attack?”

Jiang Cheng laughs. “I can’t believe you still got into my car after you saw that. Never mind that we were in the middle of the woods.”

“I was very nervous about it,” Lan Huan admits.

“You’re very nervous in general,” says Jiang Cheng, but when he says it, it somehow doesn’t sound like an accusation or an uncovered flaw.

“Yes,” says Lan Huan. “I’m very nervous, and you’re angry, and we’re both trying to be calm. It’s a good thing we found one another. Who else could put up with us?”

Jiang Cheng frowns. He reaches out to carefully take Lan Huan’s hands in his, and he says, very deliberately, “You don’t have to put up with anything. You’re amazing, and you never, ever have to settle.”

“I like you, Jiang Cheng,” says Lan Huan mildly. “That’s not me settling. That’s how I feel in every particle of my being. I feel consumed by how much I like you.”

“Yeah?” asks Jiang Cheng, smiling now. He squeezes Lan Huan’s hands gently. “I like you, too.”

“You make me feel brave,” Lan Huan continues, whispering now.

“You make me feel kind,” says Jiang Cheng.

“You are kind,” argues Lan Huan.

“And you’re brave,” Jiang Cheng shoots back easily.

They stand there in a university courtyard, smiling at one another, as the light breeze blows leaves in little flurries around them, lost for a moment in their own little world.

“Hey,” says Jiang Cheng. “Want to write a poem with me?”

“Very much,” replies Lan Huan.

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