The room is only filled with the noise of scribbling and the one of breeze, gently shaking the white curtains, as Wanning grades a pile of tests, brows framed by long bangs furrowed in concentration. Sometimes he'll stop, slightly press his lips together, as he gives it an extra thought and then the scribbling and highlighting will start again. It's so silent that he can hear Mo Ran's steps as he marches towards the classroom, he can sense his bad mood even by the sound of his feet, usually so light and graceful when practicing fencing and now just stomping unhappily.
Mo Ran is a gem, there's so much potential in him, unbridled. He needs to be led, taught, lest it's all wasted by people who humour him and indulge him, letting his ego take over his growth. One of them is his fencing coach, that pours constant praise like gasoline on fire, not caring how the fire will burn bright at first and then just fizzle out, not even leaving embers behind, only ash. And then what of all that Mo Ran could've become? Only the thought makes Wanning want to kick that guy.
Mo Ran's on time, a miracle in and of itself. But then he starts complaining and the door slams shut and whatever little truce his timeliness had brought, vanishes. "What's the use of fencing, then?" Wanning asks in return, gaze still on the papers. "By the same reasoning, it's not like you're going to duel people on the street." He counters. "There's more to everything than just the motions." He hums and he finally raises his eyes.
It's disbelief at first: what's with him? Not only his jacket is nowhere to be seen, but what about his tie? What about those buttons? Annoyance laps at his guts and it shows in the sharpness of phoenix eyes. "Where do you think you are?" He hisses and and he has to give it to him: he's gutsy. In all the wrong ways, but he's gutsy. If it's all done specifically to bother him, well, Mo Ran is as successful as always.
"You're not at your fanclub's, fix yourself." It's frosty as best as he looks away again, gathering the papers so he can find the materials for the other's practice. Mo Ran is handsome in a way that's just as straightforward as him, it's hard not to stare. The more you look, the longer you would, because every detail makes his features more exquisite. And it's exactly because everyone looks at him, that Wanning tries not to. He can only imagine the ferment that those few undone buttons have caused.
"The faster you make yourself look presentable and do what's asked of you, the faster you'll go back to your beloved fencing teacher." And he doesn't care to hide his distaste for his coach in the thinness of his lips. He finally stands from his desk to walk around it and leans against its front, as he reaches up to his own hair. Soon between his teeth there's the very simple white band that always holds his ponytail in place, while long fingers fix all stray locks and he ties it hard again, the length of it grazing against his back. Having such long hair is already uncommon, he fully expects Mo Ran to point out it's not proper in retaliation one day, so he tries to prevent that by keeping it as neat as possible.
The smell of haitang captures Mo Ran's attention. It haunts him, that scent, with how it always lingers around Chu Wanning, and Mo Ran can't tell if it's his natural scent or his shampoo or cologne or something else. And not being able to determine that has driven Mo Ran crazy. He wants to grab Chu Wanning and pull him closer and sniff it out, or shake him and demand to know. It would be grounds for expulsion, suspension, or another shitty, stupid punishment, so Mo Ran has kept his hands to himself, but the desire to do it never seems to wane.
Just like the desire to sink his hands into his teacher's hair. It's too long for regulation purposes, and considering how rule-abiding Chu Wanning is, it's always a shock to see even a few hairs out of place. So Mo Ran keeps quiet as Chu Wanning walks around the desk, fixing his hair. The anger rises, warring with the desire until they're one terrible combination of hormones that Mo Ran can't keep straight. Doesn't see the need to untangle them.
Mo Ran might not be the brightest person, but he's been reading people all his life, so the look of distaste doesn't go unnoticed. Such a pity, to see a look like that on a beautiful face. It makes him smirk, staying right where he is, in front of the desk and mere steps away from Chu Wanning. He folds his arms over his chest, affecting a cocky attitude, refusing to back down from his teacher, even though Chu Wanning is intimidating. "Why do I need to look presentable, laoshi? It's just us in here, and it's after class."
Nothing works like that, of course. Mo Ran knows he's expected to remain presentable until he goes home unless he's dressed down for fencing practice. "You're so strict and boring. No one else would care, I'm just missing a tie." As though that isn't bad enough, but it's more than that. The buttons, the missing jacket resting on top of his book bag. "Maybe I lost it earlier." Although that's a lie, and a bad one; it spills out of the pocket of his jacket, plainly obvious to see if Chu Wanning glances that way.
"As for fencing, it'll help get me into university. Isn't that important? You keep going on about the importance of a good education." And he does generally pay attention in class, even if he's not the best student. "Calligraphy won't do that unless you think I'm going to go on to write poetry for a living or design wall scrolls." The implied eye-rolling is obvious in his tone, so casually dismissive of the idea.
"You can ignore my unbuttoned shirt and I'll do this calligraphy, and then you'll be rid of me, Chu-laoshi."
"I don't deserve for you to look presentable, like you do for the other teachers?" He asks, tone heavy with rage. He knows exactly that Mo Ran pushes and prods on purpose just to make him react, but he's always had a bad, harsh temper and it gets the best of him all too quickly. It's led to corporal punishment quite a few times and even now his hands itch to just throw a piece of chalk into his head. He knows he quickly regrets it, though: it's all too rough and it pushes Mo Ran even farther away. And even deeper in his coach's arms.
The offhanded comment stings and it shows in how he momentarily lowers his gaze: he knows he's worthless and boring, but he's been earnestly doing his best to try and lead Mo Ran down the best way possible. His hand shakes and he shuts it in a tight fist.
"Calligraphy is mind over matter." He explains and his tone is softer than usual, while he tries his best to exert patience. From that close it's impossible not to notice that Mo Ran keeps the tie in the pocket of his jacket, but Wanning holds the sigh that wants to be let out and fills the distance between them -- Mo Ran has grown even taller, he muses. He's a little bigger than him now, it makes one wonder just how he'll look like once he's an adult.
"It's setting everything aside and focusing solely on the stroke, without worrying about outside forces or unrelated problems." His long fingers flip the collar of Mo Ran's shirt up and then they fish the tie out of its hiding place, smoothing the creases. "When you're older and you find yourself in a predicament, I hope you can stop and, just like you didn't let the rest distract you while drawing characters and held the pen with your own strength, you can rely on your mind to solve it and don't get swayed by others." He doesn't dare looking at Mo Ran in the eye while revealing the train of thought that led him to pick this activity for him. He wraps the fabric with the school colors around the other's neck, trying not to let his gaze linger on those undone buttons: what he's doing right now is already out of line, fixing his shirt would be almost obscene.
"And I mused it could give you some respite from the pressure and how you're always pushed to win." It's even quieter, if possible, a murmur, because he's baring his mind to Mo Ran, whom he knows doesn't respect him and doesn't like him: he expects to be laughed at, at least. Or for more harsh words to leave his mouth. Graceful hands in the meantime knot the tie neatly, and he folds and adjusts the collar again, only now stepping back. "And your handwriting sucks." He exhales loudly from his nose, like a dragon.
He turns to his desk and his bag and starts going through all the papers and books he's carrying, obviously in random order so it's nearly impossible finding the material he needs for calligraphy. "Who says I want to be rid of you at all?" He comments distractedly while piling a few books up and it's obvious it slipped from him and he didn't even realize, too focused on his 'creative chaos'.
"Why does it even matter?" It hadn't even been a deliberate slight, simply a desire to be free of the constraints of his stupid shirt and the fucking tie that sometimes felt like it was strangling him. But now that Chu Wanning has posed it, he'll run with it. "We can't all be like the esteemed Chu-laoshi, perfect every minute...."
His words trail off as Chu Wanning approaches, mouth going suddenly dry. The problem is, Chu Wanning is gorgeous. Cold and austere but beautiful, perhaps even prettier than Shi Mei, and Mo Ran isn't unaffected by that. He has never been completely unaffected, first thinking Chu Wanning was beautiful and kind, then discovering his terrible temper and harsh words, harsh words he knew were directed at him and angered by that. And still, he hadn't been able to ignore the fact that Chu Wanning was beautiful— and as he grew older, started to understand the shape of his desires, he hadn't been able to ignore just how fuckable he was.
Here, like this, with Chu Wanning slightly shorter than him, all of that visceral desire rushes to the forefront of his mind. He doesn't want to want Chu Wanning. Shi Mei is more his taste, kind and gentle and beautiful, bringing him food after he's been disciplined, tolerating everything Mo Ran is, loud and often uncouth. But he can't ever picture anything remotely sexual with Shi Mei, whereas he can easily picture bending Chu Wanning over a desk and making him beg.
It's distracting enough that he almost doesn't catch what Chu Wanning is saying, and he has to struggle to pull his attention back to his teacher, eyes narrowing as he fixes the tie. Something about being pushed too much, mind over matter. None of it seems all that important, not when he has Chu Wanning close enough to smell him, the scent of haitang rising from his neck. But he sounds almost gentle, the kind man Mo Ran thought he saw in Chu Wanning initially, and Mo Ran feels almost relaxed.
Until he shatters it with the comment about his writing.
"Can't even do this properly," he mutters as Chu Wanning adjusts his collar, and Mo Ran is left to button his shirt, glaring at him. He angrily reaches for his jacket, sliding it on and straightening it out, even going as far as buttoning it up properly. "Do I meet your requirements now, Chu-laoshi?" he asks, voice biting. "And what do you know about the pressure to win?" Chu Wanning has always presented a flawlessly perfect image, poised and precise and pristine, and it's always made Mo Ran want to pull him down into the dirt, get him messy. The desire to do that is strong now, and even though his tone is harsh, he genuinely is curious about what Chu Wanning knows about being pushed. How he's always expected to win. As far as he can tell, Chu Wanning is perfect, making him even angrier. Things probably came to him— there had been no need to fight and push and win, just to survive, like Mo Ran.
He scoffs again. "Why wouldn't you want to be rid of me?" he asks. "Even I know I'm a pain in your ass." Cursing is likely to get him in trouble, but he's already in punishment. "Not that I'll let it happen." And where did that come from? he wonders as the words leave his mouth. He should want to leave. It should be a mutual feeling.
What does he know about pressure? About the mere will to survive? What does it matter if he knows everything, if he's suffered too, if he stabbed himself to return his heart to the only family he'd ever known, wanting it back from him? He knows Mo Ran would find a way to hate him anyway, with his talent at rubbing salt on wounds he isn't even aware exist in Wanning.
"I know about people forcing you on a path you didn't choose, until they're let down you're your own person and discard you." He speaks quietly, surprised he would say so much to someone who usually listens so little, or so he believes, and his scar stings just at the mention of that memory.
He doesn't need to explain Mo Ran why he wants to keep him by his side no matter the amount of work and energy, so he stays quiet, while he's squirming underneath his own skin. That question keeps him up at night and it's one he doesn't want to answer even to himself: why is he so interested in Mo Ran? why has he taken so much to heart his growth? why does he find himself going to each and every of his stupid fencing tournaments -- insides twisting when he's in a tight spot, rejoicing when he wins, hurting when he loses?
He's always done his best to keep a distance and yet he feels a pull towards Mo Ran, like a satellite to a much brighter, much worthier planet. He likes to gravitate around him and get some of that sunshine for himself, no matter how deplorable that is.
Mo Ran's words take him aback though and he stiffens, the tips of his ears turning visibly red and Wanning regrets he fixed his ponytail and they aren't covered by his hair. In the middle of all that hatred for him, why does Mo Ran want Wanning to hold onto him?
His mind abuzz, Wanning's long fingers become clumsy and he drops some papers, and he kneels to the floor, fumbling to retrieve them. Only then he realizes he's still close to Mo Ran, his long legs in his line of sight and his figure looming. "Go sit down." He orders, while he gathers homework and tests from around the student's feet, the warmth in his ears not subsiding. "I'm busy too, so never fear: we'll be done quickly today." Such a blatant lie: his personality prevents people from getting close and he hates gatherings, what would he be busy with? But he tends to speak too much today, so it's best if they keep the lesson short.
Those quiet words twist something in his gut, making him look away. Mo Ran's aware he doesn't know anything about Chu Wanning, even if he looks pristine and perfect. Mo Ran likes to think he sprang fully formed into the world, with no faults to find, and only manages to find fault with others, but when he's reasonable, the rational part of his brain functioning, he can acknowledge that it's impossible and that Chu Wanning has a past. A family. Maybe even friends.
It annoys Mo Ran, the idea that Chu Wanning might have a life he doesn't know about, and part of him wants to latch on, ask him what he means, shake him until answers drop from his lips, granting Mo Ran knowledge and understanding. Chu Wanning wouldn't let him, he knows, and that would get him kicked out of school and for all of his insolence and carefree behaviors, Mo Ran has people supporting him, ones who would be disappointed if he failed, and he wants to prove everyone who ever doubted him wrong.
"It's different," he dismisses, because he likes fencing, his coach, and the thrill of a sport. He'd be terrible at team sports, but something like fencing suits him and lets him channel his energy and focus. "I chose this—" he starts, and then Chu Wanning is dropping papers and kneeling, and what the hell is Mo Ran supposed to do with that?
He doesn't automatically kneel to help like he should, a helpful and dutiful student assisting his teacher. Xue Meng would. Even Shi Mei probably would, not to mention the countless other students. But Mo Ran has his teacher on his knees before him, and it's too much. He's but a teenager, helpless to his hormones and the sheer, unadulterated beauty of his teacher: he can feel himself growing hard in his pants, and for once, Mo Ran is incredibly grateful for his jacket. It helps hide the growing arousal. It would be so easy to reach out and run his hands through Chu Wanning's hair, mess it all up, guide his mouth exactly where he wants it to be, and live out the mental fantasy that he shouldn't be thinking about.
Mo Ran flings himself backward, settling into a desk at random, book bag on his lap. "What does Chu-laoshi have to do?" he asks, voice rough. "Grading papers? Staring at the wall?" It's rude, again, but he needs a distraction from the growing desire in his veins.
"It's different." He mutters in return, swallowing a sigh: of course it's all different, he isn't someone as popular or well-liked or supported such as Mo Ran. Mo Ran is worthy of all of it and if he's led this or that way it's mostly out of everyone's love, mostly his uncle's and aunt's.
Wanning's best intention was to be patient and he's really done his best to ignore the better part of Mo Ran's comments today, he even pretended not to hear him use foul language, but this is the last drop, outright rude and all-knowing. It stings even more how Mo Ran can guess right: Chu Wanning has no one who would rejoice if he took a day off or went home early, nobody to keep him company. Once again the teenager is twisting his knife in a wound he doesn't even know is still bleeding.
"That's enough." Wanning hisses out, sharp eyes meeting Mo Ran's now that he's finally sitting. He wants to ask what his student's problem is but he knows it's a pointless question: he just dislikes Wanning, wholly and unrestrainedly. "You've worked hard and earned yourself punishment, congratulations." He speaks coldly, finally all his papers organized and he stands back up and settles them into his bag, picking one for today. "Next Monday, you'll tidy up my office, no matter how long it takes you." He orders, and even in his anger, he picks a day where he knows Mo Ran has no practice.
"And it's none of your business, but someone's waiting for me." He lies, blatantly, going against everything he believes and teaches. It's just this once: he wants to see Mo Ran's expression, wants to hear whatever insult he'll come up with at that. He smacks the paper on Mo Ran's desk. "Write this out." He circles around him like a shark, eyeing that bag on his lap and he stops at his back. "Won't you put this down?" He reaches for the bag's handles, and his long, loose front locks drag against and past Mo Ran's shoulder, possibly grazing against the side of his student's face without him noticing. The front of his torso ever so lightly presses against the side of his arm and Mo Ran will most likely be surrounded by that scent of haitang he's so bothered by.
"Your office?" Mo Ran exclaims, scowling at his teacher. "That's going to take the entire afternoon and evening." He makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. "Fine, whatever. Can we just get this one over with?" Before he keeps adding more and more items to his already long list of past and current infractions and their attendant punishments.
At least Monday isn't a practice day, so he doesn't have to try to scramble, clean the office, and then rush back after practice. He's seen the state of Chu Wanning's desk and glimpsed his office; he can only imagine how much work it'll be, and for what? So Chu Wanning can mess it all up once again?
He's still ruminating on that when his teacher says that, those words shocking Mo Ran to his very core, eyes going wide. "Who would be waiting for you?" he demands, almost belligerent. Not that it's impossible— but it's impossible. Chu Wanning is beautiful, but as far as he knows, no one has ever dared approach him. He's never shown interest in anyone before. Has there been something he's missed all these years? Who would even dare?
It isn't until his teacher is leaning over him, dragging his bag away, that Mo Ran snaps back to reality, yelping and trying to reach for his book bag. It's just too late; already, the bag is in Chu Wanning's hands, his obvious erection straining his pants. Mo Ran isn't ashamed of his dick, far too invested in seeking pleasure where he can, but that doesn't mean he wants his teacher to find out that he's hard. Even trying to rationalize it away in his head doesn't quite work, not with that scent surrounding him, Chu Wanning leaning over him.
Mo Ran hunches forward, grabbing the paper, hoping Chu Wanning didn't actually look down at his lap. Why would he, even? He has someone waiting for him. Someone who isn't Mo Ran. Fiddling with the calligraphy brush, he glares at the paper in front of him. "How many times?" he demands, trying to focus on the assignment and not sound like a surly idiot. How many times does he need to write it out, is what he means on the surface, but there's a hidden question in that, one Mo Ran can't articulate. How many times has his teacher gone on a date? Had someone waiting for him? Had sex with someone else?
Wanning hopes it'll only take the afternoon and the evening -- he doesn't know when he last tidied up, or, well, if he ever did. It's starting to lack space to even just walk in with all the books scattered around, the translations waiting, and all the gadgets he needs to finish either making or fixing -- last but not least a toaster that Xue Zhengyong brought personally, cradling it in his arms. The sight was too endearing to reject him.
If he sees the situation drags and it gets late, he'll come up with some excuse to make Mo Ran leave, he guesses. It's not the first time he's played fickle and canceled his punishment in the middle of it.
If he wasn't layered with frost, Chu Wanning would laugh at Mo Ran's scandalized tone at the piece of news, wondering who could ever be waiting for him, implying who could ever be so stupid, have so much bad taste. It's so true, he could only laugh.
Instead he lets it out through his grip on Mo Ran's bag, knuckles turning white for a fleeting moment, luckily oblivious to his student's problem, before he slowly sets that on a closeby chair.
Wanning looks back at him, blinking slowly, the question sounding weird and Mo Ran's tone sounding even weirder: when has he ever asked how many times did he have to copy it? Usually he just waits for Wanning to tell him that's enough work. "Until it's legible, I guess." He replies and he misses the other side of it completely, probably because, out of all people, Mo Ran should be the least interested. If Xue Meng had heard such a lie, he'd have certainly asked all about it while laying claim over all of Chu Wanning's time and attention. But if anything Mo Ran should be happy if Wanning had anyone waiting, since it means less time the teacher gets to spend with him.
"Ah, not like that--" He comments softly, Mo Ran's bad mood over this class probably bleeding in how he's painting strokes and he's barely started, but it already looks wrong. Wanning approaches him from the back again and wraps his hand around his student's, freezing cold as always no matter his long sleeves and tightly buttoned up shirt in any season.
"Your fingers will ache if you push too much and hold it too tightly." He has a flashback of his teacher, how Chu Wanning's calligraphy was never good enough for him: for a moment the pain of kneeling in the same spot over the span of days and writing for hours the same idioms settles back into his joints and his wrist, nerves on fire all across his hand to the point he couldn't stretch his fingers out without crying. He doesn't want to be that kind of teacher to his students and he doesn't want to be that kind of person. But he's terrified the years go by and he resembles him more and more.
He's so lost in teaching properly that he doesn't consider it could be inappropriate, or Mo Ran could find it actually disgusting, being touched by the man he hates: one hand gently pries away Mo Ran's from the brush, his left holding the tool in place while he explains. "If you squeeze it, it will hurt and you may get callouses." He touches the first joint of Mo Ran's forefinger, to signal where they might appear.
Wanning's hands have callouses all over to be fair, but it doesn't matter anymore, nor it ever did: it wasn't hands that were pretty to begin with. Besides his teacher's harsh ways, he's always worked on gadgets, getting cut and burnt and it was never a problem. But Mo Ran is a different story.
He readjusts his student's hand around the brush delicately. "Guide it, but not with too much strength, let the line flow." And so he holds his repositioned hand again and demonstrates how the brush should run on the paper, the trait and motion graceful. Only then he steps back, straightening up. "Try again, please."
It should disgust him or annoy him or embarrass him, the way his teacher touches his hands, and some part of Mo Ran is annoyed by it because he hates being in that room, focusing on something pointless and ridiculous like calligraphy, having to deal with Chu Wanning. But his hands are cold— and something in him hates that, why does Chu Wanning let himself get so cold? whoever is waiting for him better warm them up— and his touch gentle, for all the callouses on his hands.
But the larger part of him loves it, albeit reluctantly, unacknowledged. When he first saw Chu Wanning, he thought he was beautiful and kind and had wanted all of his attention. He's not that different from Xue Meng, although he knows his cousin is much more innocent in wanting their teacher's regard. Mo Ran's desire for his attention might have started out innocent, but nothing about his feelings, from his anger to the burning desire in his veins, is innocent anymore. Chu Wanning would be horrified. Everyone would be horrified. Part of Mo Ran is annoyed with it; why should he want his prudish teacher?
But all Chu Wanning does is demonstrate how to hold the brush; no harsh reprimands, a certain amount of concern in his voice that Mo Ran is sure he's only imagining. Why would Chu Wanning care if he gets callouses? They're just hands, and Mo Ran's always been good working with his hands, so it's likely he'll end up with them. It makes him want Chu Wanning's attention again, always. And as his teacher softens, so does Mo Ran.
He writes another character, and he does try this time, but it doesn't look neat— exactly as intended. He looks at Chu Wanning from beneath lowered lashes, his dark eyes gleaming purple, and gives him a woebegone smile. "Can laoshi show me again?" he asks, practically wheedling.
It's stupid. He knows it is, and knows Chu Wanning is just as likely to tell him to stop fooling around and focus. And he should, as the sooner he focuses, the faster he'll get this done and be free of this classroom and his teacher and the thoughts that drive him somewhat mad. (The sooner he leaves, the sooner he can handle the still-present erection in his pants; or, at the very least, he can get away from Chu Wanning and his every present scent and cool demeanor he wants to wreck and start thinking about things other than fucking his teacher.)
But Mo Ran is simple: he wants attention and affection, even from someone he dislikes. So he waits, cheeks dimpled, to see if Chu Wanning will take his hand again, and show him how to write the characters.
It's utterly unfair for Mo Ran to look the way he does when he smiles and be aware of it. Chu Wanning's heart trips and falls in his dimples every time, the way his long eyelashes frame the peculiar hue of his eyes and it would be a lie saying he doesn't like when they're on him. He's tempted to play right in his palm, when he receives this kind of attention, and it terrifies him.
He's a ridiculous, disgusting old man, for staring at that smile and wishing he could have it for himself, wishing Mo Ran could like him, even a little bit. He's so tired of all this antagonizing —but he perfectly knows it's just because of his terribly stubborn, unlovable personality. Mo Ran surely wishes he would've been different and Chu Wanning too, wishes he could've been someone worthy of his pupil's affection.
He stiffens and huffs from his nose, like it's unbecoming for a young man to try and coax others the way Mo Ran is doing it. "Don't play around, Mo Weiyu." He scolds him, but, as it often happens with Chu Wanning, the edge of his words doesn't carry over to his actions. Standing behind him, he bends forward to wrap his hand around Mo Ran's again, crowding him without realizing. His chest hovers the other's back without touching it, his ponytail slips forward and may tickle his student.
He leads his hand again, this time awfully aware of the heat coming off Mo Ran's body, as always the two of them on opposite ends of the spectrum. He holds him for longer this time —when have Mo Ran's hands become this big, that it's difficult for his own to enwrap it completely?—, enough to draw a string of characters, until the flowing, rather than dragging, quality of the motion has hopefully become clearer to him. His ponytail must graze against the other's ear when he straightens up again. "There. Focus." He's proud of himself for sounding as stern as always and not as breathless as he feels.
Whatever hopes Mo Ran has of his erection going away on its own die off the moment Chu Wanning leans over him. His long hair tickles his shoulder, and he has to resist the urge to shiver when that scent hits his nose again. Mo Ran is so hard he feels like a stiff wind might make him come, like some sort of joke, and he has to focus on breathing while Chu Wanning holds his hand, afraid he might breathe in too deeply and then come, or perhaps stop breathing altogether.
It would be so easy to grab him and bend him over the nearest surface and lean over his teacher and be the one invading Chu Wanning's senses, but he can't. He likes Shi Mei, and all of this reaction to Chu Wanning is just... pent-up nerves and frustration and attraction to Chu Wanning's physical body. Nothing more. Mo Ran can hold off until he's out of detention.
Attempting to focus on the calligraphy is difficult, but he does manage since the other option is to have Chu Wanning leaning over him again and again, and there is something about Chu Wanning that inspires Mo Ran to learn. Despite his temper, Chu Wanning's always been patient when it comes to things like this, taking time to explain things to Mo Ran when he'd been genuinely confused. Mo Ran knows he's not book smart, not the type to get into a grand university without assistance— hence the fencing— but Chu Wanning's never treated him as something lesser.
He doesn't say anything right away when his teacher straightens up and it takes him a moment to gather his wits about him, feeling caught adrift. Eventually, he rubs the back of his neck and smiles at him, some of the antagonism dripping away from him. It'll be back, he's sure of it, but in this moment, there's something a little delicate.
"Thanks, laoshi," he says, and repeats the characters. His handwriting is nowhere near as neat as Chu Wanning's, but it's slightly better, and he finds it easier to write them now, letting his hand flow rather than pushing the brush. Much like how he'd flow with a sword in his hands, lunging at his opponent, guiding the match, rather than brute-forcing something.
Chu Wanning's eyes soften at the edges in the shadow of a smile, that can be spotted only by someone who knows him well enough to catch the ever minute shift of expression. He likes seeing Mo Ran relax and he likes when he understands what he's explained, because he gains a light in his eyes. Mo Ran has endless potential, that's why Chu Wanning fights so often with his fencing teacher —because he's not one of those people whose only chance at a brighter future is clinging to a sport. He can be anything he sets his mind to, because he's brilliant and determined; Mo Ran himself just forgets it sometimes. And Chu Wanning enjoys patiently teaching him and making him remember that.
"No need." He replies quietly when he's thanked and he walks to the side of the desk now, watching as Mo Ran puts his lesson into practice, humming pleased at the result. "Very good, Mo Ran." He compliments him and he reaches to pat his shoulder in appreciation, before he remembers himself —he's definitely touched him too much today, it's a wonder Mo Ran hasn't shown disgust yet—, and he pulls back, just removing some lint from his student's jacket. Unlike what many think, Chu Wanning is not stingy with praise, when it's deserved. He just doesn't like making a big scene over achievements, as much as he doesn't like making a big scene in general, to be fair.
"When you're done with that sentence, you can go." He declares softly, while pacing in the opposite direction, putting some distance between them. He's been too close for too long, it's unbefitting. He turns his arm wrist up, to check his watch: Mo Ran shouldn't be late for practice, if he puts the same effort he's put so far and finishes it off neatly. There's no need to keep him there for longer and make him boil in resentment for missing his beloved fencing, when they've miraculously reached a truce today.
People praise Mo Ran for many reasons, but often it feels hollow and unimportant. It's not always unearned, but it feels that way sometimes. Chu Wanning's praise is different; when he says it, it's because it was earned, through hard work and progress. Mo Ran grins at him, feeling mollified, the resentment in him minimal. He's still hard, and he still can't help but think about his teacher in ways that he shouldn't be— how he'd like to hear Chu Wanning say those words while doing something else— but it's softer now, easier to handle.
Until Chu Wanning steps away. He should be happy to get out of there, and Mo Ran mostly is, but it feels wrong somehow. Of course, Chu Wanning doesn't want to keep him there, he has someone waiting for him.
Thinking about that will be dangerous, Mo Ran knows, so he focuses on finishing the sentence as instructed. It's definitely not as good as Chu Wanning's calligraphy, but then very little can match his handwriting. But it's better than anything Mo Ran's written recently, and he feels an odd sense of pride over it.
"Done," he says, and makes a show of packing up, although the calligraphy supplies are Chu Wanning's, and he leaves them in a neat, orderly row on the desk. He can be tidy and polite when he wants to be, and it shows. "See you tomorrow, laoshi."
He escapes after that, quickly departing the room before Chu Wanning has a chance to look at him closely and see the problem he's still having and disappears to go handle that. He has to deal with it before fencing practice.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Mo Ran is a gem, there's so much potential in him, unbridled. He needs to be led, taught, lest it's all wasted by people who humour him and indulge him, letting his ego take over his growth. One of them is his fencing coach, that pours constant praise like gasoline on fire, not caring how the fire will burn bright at first and then just fizzle out, not even leaving embers behind, only ash. And then what of all that Mo Ran could've become? Only the thought makes Wanning want to kick that guy.
Mo Ran's on time, a miracle in and of itself. But then he starts complaining and the door slams shut and whatever little truce his timeliness had brought, vanishes. "What's the use of fencing, then?" Wanning asks in return, gaze still on the papers. "By the same reasoning, it's not like you're going to duel people on the street." He counters. "There's more to everything than just the motions." He hums and he finally raises his eyes.
It's disbelief at first: what's with him? Not only his jacket is nowhere to be seen, but what about his tie? What about those buttons? Annoyance laps at his guts and it shows in the sharpness of phoenix eyes. "Where do you think you are?" He hisses and and he has to give it to him: he's gutsy. In all the wrong ways, but he's gutsy. If it's all done specifically to bother him, well, Mo Ran is as successful as always.
"You're not at your fanclub's, fix yourself." It's frosty as best as he looks away again, gathering the papers so he can find the materials for the other's practice. Mo Ran is handsome in a way that's just as straightforward as him, it's hard not to stare. The more you look, the longer you would, because every detail makes his features more exquisite. And it's exactly because everyone looks at him, that Wanning tries not to. He can only imagine the ferment that those few undone buttons have caused.
"The faster you make yourself look presentable and do what's asked of you, the faster you'll go back to your beloved fencing teacher." And he doesn't care to hide his distaste for his coach in the thinness of his lips. He finally stands from his desk to walk around it and leans against its front, as he reaches up to his own hair. Soon between his teeth there's the very simple white band that always holds his ponytail in place, while long fingers fix all stray locks and he ties it hard again, the length of it grazing against his back. Having such long hair is already uncommon, he fully expects Mo Ran to point out it's not proper in retaliation one day, so he tries to prevent that by keeping it as neat as possible.
no subject
Just like the desire to sink his hands into his teacher's hair. It's too long for regulation purposes, and considering how rule-abiding Chu Wanning is, it's always a shock to see even a few hairs out of place. So Mo Ran keeps quiet as Chu Wanning walks around the desk, fixing his hair. The anger rises, warring with the desire until they're one terrible combination of hormones that Mo Ran can't keep straight. Doesn't see the need to untangle them.
Mo Ran might not be the brightest person, but he's been reading people all his life, so the look of distaste doesn't go unnoticed. Such a pity, to see a look like that on a beautiful face. It makes him smirk, staying right where he is, in front of the desk and mere steps away from Chu Wanning. He folds his arms over his chest, affecting a cocky attitude, refusing to back down from his teacher, even though Chu Wanning is intimidating. "Why do I need to look presentable, laoshi? It's just us in here, and it's after class."
Nothing works like that, of course. Mo Ran knows he's expected to remain presentable until he goes home unless he's dressed down for fencing practice. "You're so strict and boring. No one else would care, I'm just missing a tie." As though that isn't bad enough, but it's more than that. The buttons, the missing jacket resting on top of his book bag. "Maybe I lost it earlier." Although that's a lie, and a bad one; it spills out of the pocket of his jacket, plainly obvious to see if Chu Wanning glances that way.
"As for fencing, it'll help get me into university. Isn't that important? You keep going on about the importance of a good education." And he does generally pay attention in class, even if he's not the best student. "Calligraphy won't do that unless you think I'm going to go on to write poetry for a living or design wall scrolls." The implied eye-rolling is obvious in his tone, so casually dismissive of the idea.
"You can ignore my unbuttoned shirt and I'll do this calligraphy, and then you'll be rid of me, Chu-laoshi."
no subject
The offhanded comment stings and it shows in how he momentarily lowers his gaze: he knows he's worthless and boring, but he's been earnestly doing his best to try and lead Mo Ran down the best way possible. His hand shakes and he shuts it in a tight fist.
"Calligraphy is mind over matter." He explains and his tone is softer than usual, while he tries his best to exert patience. From that close it's impossible not to notice that Mo Ran keeps the tie in the pocket of his jacket, but Wanning holds the sigh that wants to be let out and fills the distance between them -- Mo Ran has grown even taller, he muses. He's a little bigger than him now, it makes one wonder just how he'll look like once he's an adult.
"It's setting everything aside and focusing solely on the stroke, without worrying about outside forces or unrelated problems." His long fingers flip the collar of Mo Ran's shirt up and then they fish the tie out of its hiding place, smoothing the creases. "When you're older and you find yourself in a predicament, I hope you can stop and, just like you didn't let the rest distract you while drawing characters and held the pen with your own strength, you can rely on your mind to solve it and don't get swayed by others." He doesn't dare looking at Mo Ran in the eye while revealing the train of thought that led him to pick this activity for him. He wraps the fabric with the school colors around the other's neck, trying not to let his gaze linger on those undone buttons: what he's doing right now is already out of line, fixing his shirt would be almost obscene.
"And I mused it could give you some respite from the pressure and how you're always pushed to win." It's even quieter, if possible, a murmur, because he's baring his mind to Mo Ran, whom he knows doesn't respect him and doesn't like him: he expects to be laughed at, at least. Or for more harsh words to leave his mouth. Graceful hands in the meantime knot the tie neatly, and he folds and adjusts the collar again, only now stepping back. "And your handwriting sucks." He exhales loudly from his nose, like a dragon.
He turns to his desk and his bag and starts going through all the papers and books he's carrying, obviously in random order so it's nearly impossible finding the material he needs for calligraphy. "Who says I want to be rid of you at all?" He comments distractedly while piling a few books up and it's obvious it slipped from him and he didn't even realize, too focused on his 'creative chaos'.
no subject
His words trail off as Chu Wanning approaches, mouth going suddenly dry. The problem is, Chu Wanning is gorgeous. Cold and austere but beautiful, perhaps even prettier than Shi Mei, and Mo Ran isn't unaffected by that. He has never been completely unaffected, first thinking Chu Wanning was beautiful and kind, then discovering his terrible temper and harsh words, harsh words he knew were directed at him and angered by that. And still, he hadn't been able to ignore the fact that Chu Wanning was beautiful— and as he grew older, started to understand the shape of his desires, he hadn't been able to ignore just how fuckable he was.
Here, like this, with Chu Wanning slightly shorter than him, all of that visceral desire rushes to the forefront of his mind. He doesn't want to want Chu Wanning. Shi Mei is more his taste, kind and gentle and beautiful, bringing him food after he's been disciplined, tolerating everything Mo Ran is, loud and often uncouth. But he can't ever picture anything remotely sexual with Shi Mei, whereas he can easily picture bending Chu Wanning over a desk and making him beg.
It's distracting enough that he almost doesn't catch what Chu Wanning is saying, and he has to struggle to pull his attention back to his teacher, eyes narrowing as he fixes the tie. Something about being pushed too much, mind over matter. None of it seems all that important, not when he has Chu Wanning close enough to smell him, the scent of haitang rising from his neck. But he sounds almost gentle, the kind man Mo Ran thought he saw in Chu Wanning initially, and Mo Ran feels almost relaxed.
Until he shatters it with the comment about his writing.
"Can't even do this properly," he mutters as Chu Wanning adjusts his collar, and Mo Ran is left to button his shirt, glaring at him. He angrily reaches for his jacket, sliding it on and straightening it out, even going as far as buttoning it up properly. "Do I meet your requirements now, Chu-laoshi?" he asks, voice biting. "And what do you know about the pressure to win?" Chu Wanning has always presented a flawlessly perfect image, poised and precise and pristine, and it's always made Mo Ran want to pull him down into the dirt, get him messy. The desire to do that is strong now, and even though his tone is harsh, he genuinely is curious about what Chu Wanning knows about being pushed. How he's always expected to win. As far as he can tell, Chu Wanning is perfect, making him even angrier. Things probably came to him— there had been no need to fight and push and win, just to survive, like Mo Ran.
He scoffs again. "Why wouldn't you want to be rid of me?" he asks. "Even I know I'm a pain in your ass." Cursing is likely to get him in trouble, but he's already in punishment. "Not that I'll let it happen." And where did that come from? he wonders as the words leave his mouth. He should want to leave. It should be a mutual feeling.
no subject
"I know about people forcing you on a path you didn't choose, until they're let down you're your own person and discard you." He speaks quietly, surprised he would say so much to someone who usually listens so little, or so he believes, and his scar stings just at the mention of that memory.
He doesn't need to explain Mo Ran why he wants to keep him by his side no matter the amount of work and energy, so he stays quiet, while he's squirming underneath his own skin. That question keeps him up at night and it's one he doesn't want to answer even to himself: why is he so interested in Mo Ran? why has he taken so much to heart his growth? why does he find himself going to each and every of his stupid fencing tournaments -- insides twisting when he's in a tight spot, rejoicing when he wins, hurting when he loses?
He's always done his best to keep a distance and yet he feels a pull towards Mo Ran, like a satellite to a much brighter, much worthier planet. He likes to gravitate around him and get some of that sunshine for himself, no matter how deplorable that is.
Mo Ran's words take him aback though and he stiffens, the tips of his ears turning visibly red and Wanning regrets he fixed his ponytail and they aren't covered by his hair. In the middle of all that hatred for him, why does Mo Ran want Wanning to hold onto him?
His mind abuzz, Wanning's long fingers become clumsy and he drops some papers, and he kneels to the floor, fumbling to retrieve them. Only then he realizes he's still close to Mo Ran, his long legs in his line of sight and his figure looming. "Go sit down." He orders, while he gathers homework and tests from around the student's feet, the warmth in his ears not subsiding. "I'm busy too, so never fear: we'll be done quickly today." Such a blatant lie: his personality prevents people from getting close and he hates gatherings, what would he be busy with? But he tends to speak too much today, so it's best if they keep the lesson short.
no subject
It annoys Mo Ran, the idea that Chu Wanning might have a life he doesn't know about, and part of him wants to latch on, ask him what he means, shake him until answers drop from his lips, granting Mo Ran knowledge and understanding. Chu Wanning wouldn't let him, he knows, and that would get him kicked out of school and for all of his insolence and carefree behaviors, Mo Ran has people supporting him, ones who would be disappointed if he failed, and he wants to prove everyone who ever doubted him wrong.
"It's different," he dismisses, because he likes fencing, his coach, and the thrill of a sport. He'd be terrible at team sports, but something like fencing suits him and lets him channel his energy and focus. "I chose this—" he starts, and then Chu Wanning is dropping papers and kneeling, and what the hell is Mo Ran supposed to do with that?
He doesn't automatically kneel to help like he should, a helpful and dutiful student assisting his teacher. Xue Meng would. Even Shi Mei probably would, not to mention the countless other students. But Mo Ran has his teacher on his knees before him, and it's too much. He's but a teenager, helpless to his hormones and the sheer, unadulterated beauty of his teacher: he can feel himself growing hard in his pants, and for once, Mo Ran is incredibly grateful for his jacket. It helps hide the growing arousal. It would be so easy to reach out and run his hands through Chu Wanning's hair, mess it all up, guide his mouth exactly where he wants it to be, and live out the mental fantasy that he shouldn't be thinking about.
Mo Ran flings himself backward, settling into a desk at random, book bag on his lap. "What does Chu-laoshi have to do?" he asks, voice rough. "Grading papers? Staring at the wall?" It's rude, again, but he needs a distraction from the growing desire in his veins.
no subject
Wanning's best intention was to be patient and he's really done his best to ignore the better part of Mo Ran's comments today, he even pretended not to hear him use foul language, but this is the last drop, outright rude and all-knowing. It stings even more how Mo Ran can guess right: Chu Wanning has no one who would rejoice if he took a day off or went home early, nobody to keep him company. Once again the teenager is twisting his knife in a wound he doesn't even know is still bleeding.
"That's enough." Wanning hisses out, sharp eyes meeting Mo Ran's now that he's finally sitting. He wants to ask what his student's problem is but he knows it's a pointless question: he just dislikes Wanning, wholly and unrestrainedly. "You've worked hard and earned yourself punishment, congratulations." He speaks coldly, finally all his papers organized and he stands back up and settles them into his bag, picking one for today. "Next Monday, you'll tidy up my office, no matter how long it takes you." He orders, and even in his anger, he picks a day where he knows Mo Ran has no practice.
"And it's none of your business, but someone's waiting for me." He lies, blatantly, going against everything he believes and teaches. It's just this once: he wants to see Mo Ran's expression, wants to hear whatever insult he'll come up with at that. He smacks the paper on Mo Ran's desk. "Write this out." He circles around him like a shark, eyeing that bag on his lap and he stops at his back. "Won't you put this down?" He reaches for the bag's handles, and his long, loose front locks drag against and past Mo Ran's shoulder, possibly grazing against the side of his student's face without him noticing. The front of his torso ever so lightly presses against the side of his arm and Mo Ran will most likely be surrounded by that scent of haitang he's so bothered by.
no subject
At least Monday isn't a practice day, so he doesn't have to try to scramble, clean the office, and then rush back after practice. He's seen the state of Chu Wanning's desk and glimpsed his office; he can only imagine how much work it'll be, and for what? So Chu Wanning can mess it all up once again?
He's still ruminating on that when his teacher says that, those words shocking Mo Ran to his very core, eyes going wide. "Who would be waiting for you?" he demands, almost belligerent. Not that it's impossible— but it's impossible. Chu Wanning is beautiful, but as far as he knows, no one has ever dared approach him. He's never shown interest in anyone before. Has there been something he's missed all these years? Who would even dare?
It isn't until his teacher is leaning over him, dragging his bag away, that Mo Ran snaps back to reality, yelping and trying to reach for his book bag. It's just too late; already, the bag is in Chu Wanning's hands, his obvious erection straining his pants. Mo Ran isn't ashamed of his dick, far too invested in seeking pleasure where he can, but that doesn't mean he wants his teacher to find out that he's hard. Even trying to rationalize it away in his head doesn't quite work, not with that scent surrounding him, Chu Wanning leaning over him.
Mo Ran hunches forward, grabbing the paper, hoping Chu Wanning didn't actually look down at his lap. Why would he, even? He has someone waiting for him. Someone who isn't Mo Ran. Fiddling with the calligraphy brush, he glares at the paper in front of him. "How many times?" he demands, trying to focus on the assignment and not sound like a surly idiot. How many times does he need to write it out, is what he means on the surface, but there's a hidden question in that, one Mo Ran can't articulate. How many times has his teacher gone on a date? Had someone waiting for him? Had sex with someone else?
no subject
If he sees the situation drags and it gets late, he'll come up with some excuse to make Mo Ran leave, he guesses. It's not the first time he's played fickle and canceled his punishment in the middle of it.
If he wasn't layered with frost, Chu Wanning would laugh at Mo Ran's scandalized tone at the piece of news, wondering who could ever be waiting for him, implying who could ever be so stupid, have so much bad taste. It's so true, he could only laugh.
Instead he lets it out through his grip on Mo Ran's bag, knuckles turning white for a fleeting moment, luckily oblivious to his student's problem, before he slowly sets that on a closeby chair.
Wanning looks back at him, blinking slowly, the question sounding weird and Mo Ran's tone sounding even weirder: when has he ever asked how many times did he have to copy it? Usually he just waits for Wanning to tell him that's enough work. "Until it's legible, I guess." He replies and he misses the other side of it completely, probably because, out of all people, Mo Ran should be the least interested. If Xue Meng had heard such a lie, he'd have certainly asked all about it while laying claim over all of Chu Wanning's time and attention. But if anything Mo Ran should be happy if Wanning had anyone waiting, since it means less time the teacher gets to spend with him.
"Ah, not like that--" He comments softly, Mo Ran's bad mood over this class probably bleeding in how he's painting strokes and he's barely started, but it already looks wrong. Wanning approaches him from the back again and wraps his hand around his student's, freezing cold as always no matter his long sleeves and tightly buttoned up shirt in any season.
"Your fingers will ache if you push too much and hold it too tightly." He has a flashback of his teacher, how Chu Wanning's calligraphy was never good enough for him: for a moment the pain of kneeling in the same spot over the span of days and writing for hours the same idioms settles back into his joints and his wrist, nerves on fire all across his hand to the point he couldn't stretch his fingers out without crying. He doesn't want to be that kind of teacher to his students and he doesn't want to be that kind of person. But he's terrified the years go by and he resembles him more and more.
He's so lost in teaching properly that he doesn't consider it could be inappropriate, or Mo Ran could find it actually disgusting, being touched by the man he hates: one hand gently pries away Mo Ran's from the brush, his left holding the tool in place while he explains. "If you squeeze it, it will hurt and you may get callouses." He touches the first joint of Mo Ran's forefinger, to signal where they might appear.
Wanning's hands have callouses all over to be fair, but it doesn't matter anymore, nor it ever did: it wasn't hands that were pretty to begin with. Besides his teacher's harsh ways, he's always worked on gadgets, getting cut and burnt and it was never a problem. But Mo Ran is a different story.
He readjusts his student's hand around the brush delicately. "Guide it, but not with too much strength, let the line flow." And so he holds his repositioned hand again and demonstrates how the brush should run on the paper, the trait and motion graceful. Only then he steps back, straightening up. "Try again, please."
no subject
But the larger part of him loves it, albeit reluctantly, unacknowledged. When he first saw Chu Wanning, he thought he was beautiful and kind and had wanted all of his attention. He's not that different from Xue Meng, although he knows his cousin is much more innocent in wanting their teacher's regard. Mo Ran's desire for his attention might have started out innocent, but nothing about his feelings, from his anger to the burning desire in his veins, is innocent anymore. Chu Wanning would be horrified. Everyone would be horrified. Part of Mo Ran is annoyed with it; why should he want his prudish teacher?
But all Chu Wanning does is demonstrate how to hold the brush; no harsh reprimands, a certain amount of concern in his voice that Mo Ran is sure he's only imagining. Why would Chu Wanning care if he gets callouses? They're just hands, and Mo Ran's always been good working with his hands, so it's likely he'll end up with them. It makes him want Chu Wanning's attention again, always. And as his teacher softens, so does Mo Ran.
He writes another character, and he does try this time, but it doesn't look neat— exactly as intended. He looks at Chu Wanning from beneath lowered lashes, his dark eyes gleaming purple, and gives him a woebegone smile. "Can laoshi show me again?" he asks, practically wheedling.
It's stupid. He knows it is, and knows Chu Wanning is just as likely to tell him to stop fooling around and focus. And he should, as the sooner he focuses, the faster he'll get this done and be free of this classroom and his teacher and the thoughts that drive him somewhat mad. (The sooner he leaves, the sooner he can handle the still-present erection in his pants; or, at the very least, he can get away from Chu Wanning and his every present scent and cool demeanor he wants to wreck and start thinking about things other than fucking his teacher.)
But Mo Ran is simple: he wants attention and affection, even from someone he dislikes. So he waits, cheeks dimpled, to see if Chu Wanning will take his hand again, and show him how to write the characters.
no subject
He's a ridiculous, disgusting old man, for staring at that smile and wishing he could have it for himself, wishing Mo Ran could like him, even a little bit. He's so tired of all this antagonizing —but he perfectly knows it's just because of his terribly stubborn, unlovable personality. Mo Ran surely wishes he would've been different and Chu Wanning too, wishes he could've been someone worthy of his pupil's affection.
He stiffens and huffs from his nose, like it's unbecoming for a young man to try and coax others the way Mo Ran is doing it. "Don't play around, Mo Weiyu." He scolds him, but, as it often happens with Chu Wanning, the edge of his words doesn't carry over to his actions. Standing behind him, he bends forward to wrap his hand around Mo Ran's again, crowding him without realizing. His chest hovers the other's back without touching it, his ponytail slips forward and may tickle his student.
He leads his hand again, this time awfully aware of the heat coming off Mo Ran's body, as always the two of them on opposite ends of the spectrum. He holds him for longer this time —when have Mo Ran's hands become this big, that it's difficult for his own to enwrap it completely?—, enough to draw a string of characters, until the flowing, rather than dragging, quality of the motion has hopefully become clearer to him. His ponytail must graze against the other's ear when he straightens up again. "There. Focus." He's proud of himself for sounding as stern as always and not as breathless as he feels.
no subject
It would be so easy to grab him and bend him over the nearest surface and lean over his teacher and be the one invading Chu Wanning's senses, but he can't. He likes Shi Mei, and all of this reaction to Chu Wanning is just... pent-up nerves and frustration and attraction to Chu Wanning's physical body. Nothing more. Mo Ran can hold off until he's out of detention.
Attempting to focus on the calligraphy is difficult, but he does manage since the other option is to have Chu Wanning leaning over him again and again, and there is something about Chu Wanning that inspires Mo Ran to learn. Despite his temper, Chu Wanning's always been patient when it comes to things like this, taking time to explain things to Mo Ran when he'd been genuinely confused. Mo Ran knows he's not book smart, not the type to get into a grand university without assistance— hence the fencing— but Chu Wanning's never treated him as something lesser.
He doesn't say anything right away when his teacher straightens up and it takes him a moment to gather his wits about him, feeling caught adrift. Eventually, he rubs the back of his neck and smiles at him, some of the antagonism dripping away from him. It'll be back, he's sure of it, but in this moment, there's something a little delicate.
"Thanks, laoshi," he says, and repeats the characters. His handwriting is nowhere near as neat as Chu Wanning's, but it's slightly better, and he finds it easier to write them now, letting his hand flow rather than pushing the brush. Much like how he'd flow with a sword in his hands, lunging at his opponent, guiding the match, rather than brute-forcing something.
no subject
"No need." He replies quietly when he's thanked and he walks to the side of the desk now, watching as Mo Ran puts his lesson into practice, humming pleased at the result. "Very good, Mo Ran." He compliments him and he reaches to pat his shoulder in appreciation, before he remembers himself —he's definitely touched him too much today, it's a wonder Mo Ran hasn't shown disgust yet—, and he pulls back, just removing some lint from his student's jacket. Unlike what many think, Chu Wanning is not stingy with praise, when it's deserved. He just doesn't like making a big scene over achievements, as much as he doesn't like making a big scene in general, to be fair.
"When you're done with that sentence, you can go." He declares softly, while pacing in the opposite direction, putting some distance between them. He's been too close for too long, it's unbefitting. He turns his arm wrist up, to check his watch: Mo Ran shouldn't be late for practice, if he puts the same effort he's put so far and finishes it off neatly. There's no need to keep him there for longer and make him boil in resentment for missing his beloved fencing, when they've miraculously reached a truce today.
no subject
Until Chu Wanning steps away. He should be happy to get out of there, and Mo Ran mostly is, but it feels wrong somehow. Of course, Chu Wanning doesn't want to keep him there, he has someone waiting for him.
Thinking about that will be dangerous, Mo Ran knows, so he focuses on finishing the sentence as instructed. It's definitely not as good as Chu Wanning's calligraphy, but then very little can match his handwriting. But it's better than anything Mo Ran's written recently, and he feels an odd sense of pride over it.
"Done," he says, and makes a show of packing up, although the calligraphy supplies are Chu Wanning's, and he leaves them in a neat, orderly row on the desk. He can be tidy and polite when he wants to be, and it shows. "See you tomorrow, laoshi."
He escapes after that, quickly departing the room before Chu Wanning has a chance to look at him closely and see the problem he's still having and disappears to go handle that. He has to deal with it before fencing practice.