#pwalt11

day 11: domestic/poly, ft. han ying/jin zixuan

"This is very domestic," Han Ying observes.

He is standing in the corner of the private kitchen as if he's a palace guard, which to be fair he has spent a lot of time being. Straight-backed, hands clasped behind him, Han Ying manages to wear his Jin-gold robes more like a soldier than any disciple has before.

Aware of his own limitations, he will be first to admit he has never been extremely good at the disguise and infiltration part of this job, not like Zhuangzhu, but he is still perfectly competent or he would not have been assigned here. And truly, when he is in public, his mask is passable. Here in this--this cozy setting, though...well, he's just not used to it. Even after an entire season spent living adjacent. So the indolent affability he put on in the dining hall this afternoon slips away, replaced with something more rigid and comfortable.

In spite of his own stiffness, Han Ying's observation is not incorrect; Jin Zixuan at least is in a rare state of undress with his fine outer robe off and his sleeves held back, hair tossed over his shoulder, bustling around the small lamplit space.

It's not the first time Han Ying has seen him like this. In the few weeks he's been in Lanling, he's already noted how natural Jin Zixuan looks when cooking or gardening; it's truly obvious enough that even one not trained by Zhou Zishu himself in observation couldn't miss it. Jin Zixuan takes to such things with as much poise as he does swordplay or archery--his awkward, stilted manner sloughs off and the light of purpose sparks confidence in his eyes. It's good to see.

He has many nights thought fondly, and with some small humour, about the drastic difference between Jin Zixuan in this setting to anywhere else. It is, however, the first time Han Ying has felt at ease enough to comment on it.

"Indeed," Jin Zixuan responds with a small smile. Han Ying counts such a smile as a personal victory, even if it is given to the chopping board.

That ought to be the end of it but Jin Zixuan turns to face Han Ying abruptly. He takes a short breath, then opens his mouth to say something--and lets it out in a rush instead. He takes another one, tries again. "Han Ying. You're not on duty tonight."

Before Han Ying can even open his mouth, Jin Zixuan cuts him off with a shake of his head. "I don't mean--I mean, don't go. Just--you're not on duty right now. Sit down."

It is something caught between an invitation and an order. Han Ying does not take orders from Jin Zixuan, or anyone in Jinlin Tai, in fact, except as a cover. They do not even have the power to dismiss his services or send him away, though they of course believe they do. He answers only to Zhuangzhu--oh, and Wangye, of course, not that Wangye has any notice or care of such trivial details as this mission.

The earnestness in Jin Zixuan's eyes says that this is not intended as an order at all, though, in spite of his tone. As an invitation, a plea, it's almost worse. Han Ying feels his shoulders tense and he sets them with purpose.

"I am on duty until such time as Jin-gongzi no longer requires Tianchuang's assistance."

"No," Jin Zixuan says firmly. "Not tonight. And don't call me gongzi, please."

Han Ying does not want to have this argument. He also does not want to move from his defensible place in the corner or give up his familiar cordiality. In no way does he want to be made to bring his mask in here, too, play his character even in the one place he can set it down just for the sake of a young lord's comfort. A rare luxury, perhaps, when undercover, and one he should be less attached to, but he'd truly thought, of all people, that Jin Zixuan would not ask such a thing from him. He is saved from a response by a small commotion on the stove.

Jin Zixuan turns to see to it; the bubbles simmer down. Stillness is an awkward reprieve, but it allows Han Ying a moment to think.

Tonight, Jin Zixuan said. Tonight is not always.

Jin Zixuan's forearm flexes when he grips the wooden spoon and as Han Ying's eyes get lost tracing the path of it up to Jin Zixuan's lips his mind presents him with other details he had failed to piece together.

Sit down.

The table just beyond the kitchen is tucked in a drapery-hung nook--this whole place being something of a nest, evoking the feeling of a small cottage more than a suite in a grand place like Jinlin Tai. The only way to sit without leaving the room is to sit at the table. Which has, as is customary, been set for two places.

With a thoughtful sort of hum, Jin Zixuan reaches for a jar of some herb or spice. Han Ying does not recognise its purpose in flavour but he absently registers it as Not Poison.

"Is Jiang-guniang joining you this evening?" Han Ying asks, blunt.

They dine together a few times a week but it is not unusual for Jiang Yanli to be absent at this point; when they are not both cooking, she is often sent for only after the table is ready. Jin Zixuan seems glad enough to be joined by her, but still skittish of being simply observed by her. Luckily he has no such reservations about his guard. In fact, frequently he will step over and feed Han Ying this or that from his wooden spoon, or make him take a bite of something from his fingers, asking for his opinions so he can better impress his intended.

Jin Zixuan bites his lip, not looking up, and Han Ying knows at once that he is as much of an idiot as Qin Jiuxiao always laments. He still blinks at the sound of the simple, "No."

"Oh," Han Ying breathes. He doesn't mean to. It happens anyway.

Whatever his face looks like, when Jin Zixuan does finally meet his eyes, must be reassuring because Jin Zixuan grins, soft and sweet. Han Ying basks in it.

And then, finally getting around to perhaps what he should have started with, Jin Zixuan asks, "Han Ying, will you have dinner with me tonight?"