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.
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.