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eleanorfenyxwrites · 8 months ago

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Quality Time

[Main Fic] [Lavender and Free Love Series]

Behold, the thing I randomly finished last weekend and finally had time to edit today! Almost 2 years after the original fic was posted, here's the promised 'Lan Wangji takes A-Yuan shopping' extra scene for my 1970's artist AU 😌

--//--

As a general rule, Lan Wangji and Wen Qing don’t tend to play host.

Their home is certainly nice enough. Modest, but elegant and tastefully decorated in a fairly even mix of their individual personal tastes. Thankfully Lan Wangji’s preference for asceticism doesn’t seem to bother Wen Qing much, though she does tend to soften his influence with touches of her own. Slightly haphazard stacks of books on their otherwise impeccable bookshelves when she’s in the throes of a new research project, or a wine-red throw blanket for the sectional when he would typically choose white. On the rare occasion that Lan Wangji considers what their house must seem like to outsiders, he thinks that they’ve adequately created the image of two people happily in love sharing a life together, but typically neither of them are too keen to have their personal lives observed so closely by the near-strangers they work with who would attend such things as house parties hosted by two of the most unapproachable professors in their entire university.

That being said, Wen Qing’s family is an entirely different matter, and Lan Wangji hasn’t yet minded playing host to any of them who pass through their door (though he will admit that he has a preference for their current guests as well as Wen Qing’s grandmother).

Mere moments after he shuts the front door behind him, he feels a gentle tug of tiny fingers on the leg of his trousers. “Rich-gege, up please,” little Wen Yuan says sweetly in the way of toddlers (where ‘please’ sounds more like ‘peas’ and is paired with a grabby hand up at him in clear expectation of being held). Lan Wangji bends without hesitation to scoop the boy up onto his hip, where he promptly clings on with tiny fists in his nicely starched collar, and Lan Wangji offers the boy a smile in return for his wide grin, tongue just barely poking out between his little teeth.

“A-Yuan, you shouldn’t call him Rich-gege,” Wen Qing admonishes from the sofa, her brother beside her and the both of them cradling cups of tea. They’re clearly in the middle of supervising A-Yuan’s playtime judging by the way the perpetually tidy family room has apparently been hit by a tornado made of multicolor wooden blocks and a small menagerie of stuffed animals.

“I do not mind,” Lan Wangji reassures, as he always does. He turns his attention back to A-Yuan tugging insistently on his collar. “Hello A-Yuan. Have you been good for Popo and your Ning-ge since I saw you last?”

A-Yuan nods vigorously as Lan Wangji carries him into the kitchen and the boy starts lisping through a story that Lan Wangji has some difficulty following but that seems to be about a game he played with Wen Popo the day before. The rules of it as explained by A-Yuan are as incomprehensible as one would expect, but he makes a point to hum at the right moments as he pours himself a glass of water one-handed and sips at it as he listens.

A-Yuan is still chatting away when Lan Wangji sets the empty glass in the sink and returns to the living room to settle down in the arm chair to the left of the sofa where he re-settles A-Yuan more fully on his lap so they can look at each other as they ‘talk’. A-Yuan is an excellent conversational partner, as far as Lan Wangji is concerned; he never seems to need much feedback in order to continue.

When A-Yuan runs out of new stories to share for the time being, Lan Wangji helps the boy down off his lap so he can go back to his blocks only to find himself otherwise alone with his brother-in-law.

Wen Ning is a quiet man, unlikely to fill silences or to necessarily want them filled for him, and so Lan Wangji simply unbuttons his suit jacket and gets comfortable, one leg crossed over the other primly as he watches A-Yuan play and listens to the sound of Wen Qing muttering to herself over something in the den around the corner, most likely one of her new lesson plans that she’s still aggressively editing.

When the sun has nearly set and A-Yuan’s activity — which is now directing Wen Ning to move his stuffed animals through some sort of self-written and -directed theatrical play with the building blocks forming the ‘stage’ — has become interspersed with glances towards the kitchen, Lan Wangji stands to go find Wen Qing where she’s hunched over their shared desk scribbling furiously in her notepad.

“Would you like to go out for dinner?” he offers after a gentle knock on the door frame. “It has not begun raining yet, we will likely beat the storm.”

“Hm? Oh. Dinner already?” she sighs when she glances up and out the window to her left. “That’s alright, Popo sent them with enough food to feed us all for the entire weekend if we want to stretch it that far. The fridge is about to burst.”

“Mn. I will begin heating it, I believe A-Yuan is hungry.”

“I’ll be right in.”

Lan Wangji simply nods and turns to head back out through the sitting room to the kitchen, slippers quiet on the carpet. He’s methodical and precise as he withdraws enough containers from the fridge — glass casserole dishes and startling amounts of obviously new Tupperware both (Wen Qing has so far avoided every invitation to a Tupperware Party but her grandmother has apparently not been so fortunate) — to provide them with more food than they’ll likely need. He knows that A-Yuan apparently doesn’t remember the brief stint he spent going hungry before moving in with Wen Popo, but Lan Wangji is still painfully aware of it anytime it’s his responsibility to take care of the boy.

Dinner passes happily, A-Yuan’s cheerful chatter softening the silence that might have reigned without his presence. The moment he’s finished with his food he clambers his way into Lan Wangji’s lap and it’s impossible to keep a tiny hint of a smile off his lips as he tucks one arm securely around A-Yuan’s waist to hold him steady and continues eating with the other hand. Wen Qing’s admonishments for him to get down fall on conveniently deaf ears, and when Lan Wangji simply snuggles him a little closer she gives up with a fond sigh and returns to plying Wen Ning with another helping of vegetables.

Lan Wangji can feel A-Yuan growing more relaxed as his chattering peters out into yawns and, most likely, blinks that are getting longer and longer, and so when they’ve finished eating he takes A-Yuan upstairs to get him changed into his pajamas and tuck him into the side of the guest bed further from the door, leaving Wen Ning plenty of room to get settled in easily when he retires later.

And all of it feels so natural.

As Lan Wangji has grown and matured into adulthood, he’s come to terms with the fact that very few things, if any, can be truly black or white. Despite what he’d thought he’d learned at his uncle’s knee, nothing in this life can be conveniently divided in two. Us versus them. This versus that. Right versus wrong. Black versus white. It all sounds so good in theory, nice and clear cut. But it isn’t real. As much as he doesn’t care for the messiness of it all, he’s learned over the years (thanks first to his brother’s gentle teachings and later his own experiences) that there are always exceptions, there are always contradictions.

As a young man recently thrust into the wider world of a public university education, he’d learned that lesson the hard way, and utterly in silence, when he’d long accepted the truth of his sexuality but was finally at the age to hold it up against the harsh reality of his yearning for a family of his own someday. The two desires can’t possibly coexist, yet he’d wanted them both. A man to share his life with, and a child or two to raise together. It hadn’t taken him long to tuck both desires neatly away in a mental box he shied away from at all costs, but now with at least part of the equation in front of him it’s becoming more difficult to keep everything else in the box with it.

Though A-Yuan had been the first to go to bed, the rest of them aren’t far behind him and Lan Wangji is still turning the issue over and over in his mind in ponderous investigation far past the time he would usually fall asleep as he listens to Wen Qing’s breathing even out and deepen on the other side of their bedroom.

The storm that had been threatening all day finally breaks in the small hours of the morning as he lies awake, first with rising winds that shake the trees and knock branches against the window and then, all at once, with a crack of lightning and a nearly instantaneous boom of thunder that feels as though it shakes the house down to its foundations.

“A-Zhan?!” Wen Qing gasps as she sits straight up, eyes wild in the stark white flash of the next bolt of lightning.

“I’m here,” Lan Wangji soothes — to this day he isn’t entirely sure why Wen Qing is afraid of storms, only that she is and, though it doesn’t happen often, it’s something that she requires his help with when the storms are particularly vicious. He’s already slipping out of bed as the next peal of thunder rolls through and he hurries to wrap her heavy dressing gown around her shoulders and pull it tightly around her arms, treating it more like a blanket rather than trying to push her to wear it properly.

“A-Yuan! A-Zhan, you have to help A-Yuan,” she pleads next, a little more sense creeping into her wide eyes though she’s clearly still afraid. She slips one hand free of the robe to grip at his wrist, and whatever she’s about to say next is cut off by the boy in question wailing from down the hallway.

Lan Wangji gently extricates his wrist from her iron-tight grip with a little squeeze to her fingers as he says, “I will get him, stay here.” The moment he’s free, he stands and strides from their room and down the hall. The lights are still off in the guest room but the lightning is thick and fast enough that Lan Wangji doesn’t need them to see A-Yuan sitting up in bed scrubbing at his face as he cries. Lan Wangji keeps calm, of course, but that doesn’t stop his heart from jumping in his chest, nor from breaking in the next moment in response to the raw, screaming cry that sounds like it’s coming from the tiny depths of A-Yuan’s soul, heedless of Wen Ning’s attempts to comfort him.

“I’m here,” Lan Wangji says, his arms already reaching for A-Yuan who practically flings himself off the foot of the bed and into his chest. Lan Wangji catches him easily, cradles him close with a protective hand pressed to his head, one ear blocked by his chest and the other under his palm in an attempt to muffle some of the noise of the storm. “Wen Ning?”

“J-jiefu — I’m alright. It’s only jiejie and A-Yuan..”

“Mn. A-Yuan may sleep with us tonight,” he offers, and when another burst of light flares through the window he spots Wen Ning nodding quickly, sitting up straight and staring at him with wide eyes.

“You are sure you’re fine?”

“Yes, jiefu,” Wen Ning is quick to reassure, barely stammering this time over the title. “I can sleep through it.”

“Mn. Come find us if you cannot. I can make calming tea.”

Wen Ning offers another furious round of nodding that Lan Wangji returns with a single nod of his own before he turns to take A-Yuan back down the hall to the room he shares with his wife. He nudges the door open carefully with his foot to reveal Wen Qing still sitting huddled in the robe, though she’s at least turned on the little lamp next to her bed, the red silk scarf draped over it diffusing the light enough to not be too bothersome.

“Wen Ning is fine,” he reports, nudging the door shut again softly with his heel behind himself. “A-Yuan is frightened.”

“Popo told me a few weeks ago that he’s still afraid of rain,” Wen Qing sighs softly and extends a hand from her terrycloth cocoon to reach out for them. Lan Wangji crosses the room to sit on the edge of her bed so she can reach A-Yuan’s hair to pet gently as the boy continues to shake and cry pitifully into Lan Wangji’s pajamas. “He’ll feel better with a bit of soothing-“

“I will do it.”

Wen Qing levels him with a look that he meets without flinching. Wen Qing is as stubborn as he is, but she’s also exhausted and clearly still a little rattled herself, so this time she caves first with a huff and a glare at the wall on her other side. “Wangji, it’s too much-“

“It is not too much. I have said I will treat your family as mine. I promised.”

A-Yuan turns more firmly into his neck. He’s still wailing, though he seems to be losing steam quickly, hiccuping sobs interrupting each outburst for longer and longer. The matter settled to his satisfaction, Wangji stands slowly from the edge of Wen Qing’s bed to pace in slow, steady circles in the open space between their halves of the room, gently bouncing A-Yuan’s fear-sweat-sticky weight and murmuring softly to him. He doesn’t know the sorts of stories people tell to children to soothe them, so he simply begins reciting the first of his own lectures that comes to mind: an examination of the symbolism of the four gentlemen beginning with East Jin dynasty literature and progressing onwards through time. It’s far from a nursery rhyme (though he does deign to recite certain relevant rhyming passages where necessary for context or illustrating a point he’s made) and it’s hardly the sort of material a child as young as A-Yuan would likely find entertaining, but that’s fine. The goal isn’t to entertain, the goal is to soothe him until he stops flinching and whimpering every time lightning flashes with its accompanying rolls and booms of thunder or, barring that, remind him throughout the entire ordeal that he isn’t facing the storm alone.

“What a ridiculous husband I have,” Wen Qing eventually murmurs, surprising Wangji into pausing mid-stanza. He finishes the couplet before he turns to face her, one eyebrow raised in silent question. His palm is growing unpleasantly overstimulated from the constant circuits of it over A-Yuan’s back but he doesn’t stop, and as he stands there in the middle of their bedroom with Wen Qing’s sleep-fuzzy gaze on him he feels a little silly. He must not be doing this right; A-Yuan is still crying, though he’s quieter than before, and Wen Qing looks like she’s trying not to laugh at him from what he can see of her in the dim red glow of her covered lamp.

“Mn?”

“Mhm. You’re good with him, Wangji. It’s ridiculous you ever worried the universe wouldn’t allow you to have the child you want so much.”

Lan Wangji finds himself startled again; he’s never heard before that Wen Qing has any sort of belief in cosmic or divine power, whether God, gods, or the mysterious desires of a semi-sentient universe, the great cosmic balancing scales of karma.

“The universe simply is,” he finally says, feeling out of his depth with such an esoteric subject when there’s already so much else on his mind. “My worries lie with mankind, not any higher entity. It’s the laws of men that decide whether or not a man like me may have a child, not the universe.”

“That’s true,” Wen Qing yawns. “Go lay down with him, he’ll calm down some more when you hold him under the covers.”

Lan Wangji blinks at that and now he really does feel silly. Of course, he should just lie down. When he was a boy, after the loss of his mother, the only thing that would soothe him when the nights felt endlessly long and terrifying was crawling into bed with his brother under the cover of the darkest hours. It was only in the safety of the soft, dark cocoon under the blankets, squished between his brother and the wall, that Lan Wangji had felt like he could let go of all the feelings he was always told to hold so tightly in his chest that his whole little body ached with it. Lan Xichen had hugged him and told him not to cry, but he hadn’t said it like their uncle had; he’d said it like he understood why he couldn’t stop himself, and that that was okay too. Lan Xichen had soothed him when Lan Wangji couldn’t do it on his own anymore, and although grief had still made him tongue-tied and serious as a child his brother had loved him — does love him — wholeheartedly.

Lan Wangji turns without a word to return to bed, settling down carefully on his back with A-Yuan perched on his chest and pulling the covers up over them both. Wen Qing clicks her light off when he’s settled in, and there in the dark Lan Wangji finds himself unexpectedly confronted with the old yawning ache in his chest. It’s always been there for as long as he can remember, but he’d learned how to grow around it, the shape of it becoming as familiar as his own hands, or his face in the mirror.

It’s a fact of Lan Wangji’s life that he only knows how to carry love like grief, but as A-Yuan relaxes and falls asleep on him, finally soothed even as the storm continues battering at the windows, he finds himself more determined than ever to ensure little A-Yuan never has to learn how to do what he did.

–//–

Jenny hates summer break.

Summer break means no classes. Summer break means long, dragging shifts at the department store where people talk to her like she’s just some stupid kid and kick her around from department to department, since she’ll never be there long enough to pick a position and claim it for herself like the others.

Most of the time she gets stuck in Children’s Clothing, which is actually fine. Kids are funny, and she likes talking to them like adults to see them light up like little Christmas trees. It annoys the moms and delights the kids, but as much fun as it is it just reminds her that if she had her way she’d be studying to be a schoolteacher. Even with the painful reminder, though, it’s more fun than being stuck in Women’s Clothing or, heaven forbid, Men’s. She shudders involuntarily to think of it, fingers snapped at her like they’re calling a dog and being made to fetch this tie or that, these shoes or those, and tell them it looks good no matter what in order to stroke their egos enough to make a sale. Ugh.

She’s just here for the summer to make enough to pay for her apartment during next school year, she doesn’t really need the extra commission money the rich assholes from the suburbs can shell out. She’d rather have to pick up a second job, honestly, than stoop that low.

As has become a habit when bemoaning her current situation in life, her thoughts turn towards Professor Wen. One of these days she’s going to get up the courage to ask her how she managed to get to where she is, and take every single little piece of advice to heart. If she has to go into something “worthwhile” to please her parents, then she’d like to do it like Professor Wen. People respect Professor Wen, even if they don’t like her very much. (Though Jenny maintains her private opinion that anyone who doesn’t like Professor Wen is just afraid of her and/or jealous of her.)

Jenny sighs and muses on the incredible force of nature that is a 5-foot-nothing Asian woman in a pantsuit standing there with her arms folded, stone-cold glaring as she tells the president of the university to his face, in no uncertain terms, that she will absolutely refuse to teach the new incoming med students a single page of their textbook if the nursing students aren’t also allowed to sit her lectures. It had been clear to Jenny and all of her classmates that Professor Wen didn’t want to teach the new medical students at all, but since that clearly wasn’t an option it looked like she was going to use the opportunity to make sure the women in the field weren’t swept under the rug in the process.

God she’s just the best. All the boys in Jenny’s class are terrified of her, Jenny and her group of friends love her, and she thinks that says all anyone needs to know about the goddess that is Professor Wen.

Her wandering attention snags on a bit of movement at the entrance to the department and she suddenly remembers there’s actually one more thing to know about Professor Wen, and it’s very important — she’s married to the most beautiful (yes beautiful) man Jenny has ever seen, which is exactly as it should be. Professor Wen shouldn’t have to deal with some random man who snaps at her and expects her to give up her career to stay home and take care of him, she deserves someone exactly like–

“Professor Lan,” she calls, more startled than anything to see him so unexpectedly. Her surprise at seeing him only grows when she glances down and sees a toddler hiding shyly behind his trouser leg, holding onto cream-colored linen in both fists like his life depends on it.

“Jennifer,” he greets, apparently as obstinate about refusing to use her nickname as he’d been when she’d taken his Introduction to Classic Chinese Literature lecture as a freshman. “How are you?”

“Groovy, thanks,” she replies, trying and failing to tamp down her curiosity. There’s no way Professor Wen and her husband have a child, there’s just no way, but the boy currently peeking at her with one wide eye around Professor Lan’s knee is clearly familiar with him. It’s also clear that he isn’t going to let Professor Lan walk any further into the department without causing a fuss, so she makes the executive decision to step out from behind the checkout counter and approach the pair so they won’t have to try to hold a conversation from across the department.

“My wife informed me you had taken summer work here,” Professor Lan says when she’s stopped a few steps away. “Do they treat you well?”

“Well enough. It’s just a short gig so it doesn’t matter much,” she shrugs, privately marveling over Professor Wen not only remembering her plans for the summer but sharing them with her husband as well, who Jenny hasn’t really interacted with at all in the years since she finished his class.

“It matters,” he disagrees, placid and calm as ever. “We may require your assistance, if you are available.”

“Yeah of course I am!” she’s quick to reassure. “I didn’t know you and Professor Wen had a kid.” Alright so her curiosity got the better of her, whatever!

For the first time since he stepped into the department, Professor Lan looks down at the boy clinging to his trousers and rests a gentle hand on top of his head, petting his hair gently as the boy hides his entire face in Professor Lan’s leg to avoid their combined stares.

“A-Yuan is her cousin. He is visiting.”

“Ahhh I see. Is Professor Wen with you?” She can’t quite keep the hopeful note out of her voice but she refuses to be embarrassed by it. It’s a valid question, too! The other shoppers, who have snobbily declined her help to browse on their own for the moment, are all mothers either shopping on their own or with their children in tow; it makes sense that Professor Wen would want to spend time with her cousin and take him shopping even if she would be the only woman in the store with her husband with her as well.

Except apparently not, because Professor Lan says, “She is at home,” and Jenny swears she sees some heads swivel towards them out of the corner of her eye. She can just see it now, these nosy suburban housewives scenting fresh meat and offering up their unwanted advice or criticisms for a man shopping for a child alone — Professor Lan would hate that, and Professor Wen would probably be upset about it, too.

“Oh that’s good,” she chirps a little pointedly, and when Professor Lan’s eyebrow twitches up just a little bit she glances at the nearest nosy housewife inching her way closer like she’s desperately interested in the rows of tiny denim overalls. Professor Lan follows her gaze and she sees his mouth tighten like it did anytime someone in her class gave a particularly obtuse answer to one of his questions during a lecture. She continues, still just a little too loudly, “Professor Wen works so hard, I’m glad she’s getting to spend some time relaxing this summer! I heard about her having to come up with an all new syllabus for the med students, I was worried she wouldn’t get a holiday, and it’s nice for Yuan to get to spend some time with you!”

Professor Lan thankfully seems to realize what she’s done as his mouth softens again as he gives his usual, “Mn,” that she always takes to mean he’s heard but has nothing further to add (or argue with).

Reasonably sure that the moms have been put off by the knowledge that she wholeheartedly supports Professor Lan being the one to mind a small child for the day, Jenny drops down to one knee to direct her attention to the boy once more peeking at her from the safety of Professor Lan’s knee.

“Hello, Yuan” she says, nice and quiet — and then she waits.

No one ever really listens to kids, she’s found. The amount of times she’s seen people talk at them or over them like they don’t have little lives and thoughts of their own is sickening; she always tries to be someone kids feel like they can talk to and actually be heard, even if adults think she’s a little nuts for trying.

Professor Lan, unsurprisingly, stays quiet and lets her do it; he’s got a hand on top of the boy’s head, still, but he doesn’t try to force him to face her directly, or tell him to respond. He’s as quiet and steady as she would expect him to be, and eventually her patience is rewarded with the tiniest little, “Hi,” she’s ever heard.

“My name is Jenny. Are you scared of me?”

A-Yuan studies her for a long moment before he tips his head back to look up at Professor Lan.

“Jennifer is Qing-jiejie’s student,” Professor Lan says, and Jenny tries not to look too excited to have understood how he’d referred to Professor Wen. It’s been a while since she took his class and had the luxury of free time in which to study Chinese culture even though it’s got nothing to do with her future career, but it’s good to know her fleeting interest in picking up at least a little bit of Mandarin hasn’t gone completely to waste.

Her extremely minimal knowledge of it isn’t enough to make sense of the question the boy rattles off next, though, but she doesn’t mind. She glances at Professor Lan for a translation and is surprised all over again to see him smiling more than she’s ever seen before, his entire face softened by it (even if it’s still a smaller smile than other people would give).

“I do not know,” he responds to the boy in English. “She may. Would you like me to ask her for you?”

The boy nods but he doesn’t hide again, so Jenny’s willing to count that as a success.

“A-Yuan has asked if you will hold his hand to take him to the clothes that will fit him.”

Jenny very carefully doesn’t let her excitement to do exactly that show on her face. She smiles, nods once, and says, “Of course, I’d be happy to,” as she stands up to her full height again. She holds her hand down to A-Yuan, who takes it very cautiously at first and then a little more firmly when she curls her fingers around his snugly but not so tight he can’t pull away if he wants to.

“What kind of clothes do you like, A-Yuan?” Jenny asks him as she starts walking slowly into the department, and she’s pretty sure she sees Professor Lan’s shoulders relax under his ever-present suit jacket. “We have clothes you can play in like you’re already wearing, or we have fancy clothes like your Uncle Lan is wearing, or we have nice soft pajamas..?”

As it turns out, A-Yuan is only shy at first. As Jenny shows him every single piece of clothing they have that’s blue, at his request; as she helps him try on little tennis shoes to match; and as she takes care to make sure none of the gossiping, glaring moms get close enough to be able to say anything judgmental to Professor Lan about letting a child have so much of a say in what he wears, A-Yuan chatters happily with her in a confusing mix of English and Mandarin that Jenny tries her best to keep up with in spite of her limited vocabulary. When she can’t, Professor Lan gently prompts A-Yuan to try again in English if he can, or translates for him patiently if he can’t.

It’s altogether a much more enjoyable way to spend the day than she’d expected upon waking up that morning. She’d enjoyed her walk from her summer accommodation into town of course, admiring the way everything always looks so clean and fresh after a good downpour like they’d had a couple hours before dawn, but the nice weather had just made it even more difficult than usual to dredge up enthusiasm for work. Seeing Professor Lan (and A-Yuan) and discovering that he (and, she assumes, Professor Wen) shares her unusual belief that children deserve to be listened to and consulted about their own life is such a welcome change from the usual rhythm of her days. Of course the enormous commission she gets when A-Yuan eventually tires of shopping certainly helps as well, and after all of that it really is just the cherry on top when A-Yuan pouts to be picked up and stoic, scholarly, buttoned-up Professor Lan immediately scoops the boy up into one arm to leave the other free to hold their staggeringly large haul.

“Do you need help carrying this all outside, Professor Lan?” she asks, trying not to laugh. (Who knew he would be such an affectionate pushover??)

“No need, I will manage.” He looks entirely relaxed as he begins threading his free arm through the looped handles of the bags, unbothered by their heft. “A-Yuan, please say thank you to Jennifer for helping you today.”

A-Yuan dutifully picks his heavy head up off of Professor Lan’s shoulder to wave at her and yawn as he says, “Xiexie Jenny-jiejie.”

“You’re welcome, Yuan-didi.” She says it carefully, wary of mispronouncing her tones, but Professor Lan nods at her in clear approval of her attempt and that’s more than good enough for her.

“Will you assist Professor Wen next year with her practical lab work?”

Jenny blinks, surprised once again that Professor Wen must have mentioned her to Professor Lan, even in passing. “Ah..I’d really like to! I’m not sure if I can though, I know the position is competitive..”

“Hm. You applied?”

“Yeah, of course! It’s better to at least try, right?”

“She will accept your application. She values your work and your input.”

Professor Lan leaves it at that, nodding his thanks and hauling their bags off the counter with the noisy rustling of paper to settle them in the crook of his arm not occupied by a toddler in need of a nap. Jenny manages to pull herself together enough to say goodbye and wave to A-Yuan waving at her sleepily over Professor Lan’s shoulder, but to say she’s poleaxed by such quiet, unshakeable confidence in her — from both of them — would be an understatement. She’ll never in her life understand how anyone could dislike those two; they’re the best professors in the whole damn university and everyone knows it.

(In the fall, on the first day of classes, Jenny walks into Professor Wen’s Advanced Physiology lecture and has to brace herself against a thoroughly unexpected smile, soft and warm in a way that lights up Professor Wen’s whole face.

“Jenny, welcome back. I’m looking forward to your help with the biology practicals this year.”

It’s at that moment Jenny officially decides she would move heaven and earth for Professor Wen and her husband, and when they have to take a day off in November to sign A-Yuan’s adoption papers Jenny nearly can’t teach the lessons Professor Wen left her in charge of as her excitement threatens to get the best of her.)

#the untamed fanfic #1970's America Artist AU #The Sculptor #Lan Wangji #Wen Qing #Wen Ning #Wen Yuan #and a bra-burning feminist OC who's WQ's biggest fan

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