"What are you doing?" Jiang Cheng asks, brows furrowed while shijie frowns at him. She admonishes him with a quiet, "A-Cheng, shush," and smiles at Wei Ying, brighter than the sunshine sparkling off the water. She asks, gesturing at his wrists, "Do you like them?"
"What do I like?"
Her eyes twinkle. "Your robes."
Before Wei Ying can answer, Jiang Cheng says, "They're my old robes."
"Just until Wei Ying's are finished," shijie says, like this is such an awkward thing, but Wei Ying truly doesn't mind. Even if they were not his first, it's been made clear they are his now and they're nice, so much nicer than what he wore before. Besides, he kind of likes that they were Jiang Cheng's first. It just means they've been well-cared for and can maybe care for Wei Ying in return.
Wei Ying, caught, tucks his hands behind his back and grins back. Here, the boldness of such an expression doesn't find him getting chased off the street and into a stinking, dirty alley, shadowed even at midday. He is still getting used to it, the way he need only fear the near impotent shouts of one person, so much less stressful than anything he experienced before. If he's punished here, at least he won't be made to leave the shelter of Lotus Pier. He would suffer anything to avoid such a state again. "They're fine," he mumbles.
And truly, he does not suffer here at all. As shijie leads the two of them to the docks, he can't say he remembers ever being happier.
In fact...
"Oh, they're fine. Something's got to be wrong with them. You keep touching them," Jiang Cheng says, accusatory and suspicious as he crosses his arms and blocks Wei Ying's way. "Is there something wrong with them?" Wei Ying can almost see Jiang Cheng's pride ruffling itself at the thought that Wei Ying might think there's anything wrong. "You have something against them?"
Wei Ying's skin flushes. His carefully brushed and tidied hair tickles at his cheeks as he shakes his head, startling him. Always before, it stuck to his skin, lank and heavy. He's not yet used to wearing it in a ponytail. He's not yet used to any of this. "No. Nothing's wrong. They're great."
"Your belt is crooked." The trouble with his belt is it's too big, but nothing can fix that overnight, not with how thin he is.
Drawing in a deep breath, Wei Ying scrambles to fix--
There's nothing wrong with his belt, but it's too late to hide his hands again; Jiang Cheng's already snatching hold of his wrist and dragging him forward.
"A-Cheng!" shijie says again, voice gently exasperated. "Enough. Let A-Ying go."
"Tsch." Jiang Cheng's mouth pinches in a scowl. "They're fine. Why are you being so weird?"
"I'm not," Wei Ying insists. He yanks his hand out of Jiang Cheng's hold and pets the fabric wrapped around his arm. Unlike what he wore before, it's soft and smooth and smells nice. He likes touching it, likes that it shines under the sunlight and that the weave is so tiny that he can't pick and pick at the threads until the fabric frays, likes that it keeps him cool and swishes around his legs and is such deep, rich colors. When winter comes, he's certain he'll like whatever is provided for him then, too. It will protect him from the cold and the sleety rain that sometimes falls or keep him warm and dry or both. "I said they were fine."
Jiang Cheng's clearly not convinced. He plants his hands on his hips and arches one eyebrow. "You're a disciple of Yunmeng Jiang now. You can't walk around acting like a baby who doesn't know how to wear clothes."
"I know that."
"A-Ying, you're not a baby." Shijie's not that much taller than him, but she bends a little to meet him eye-to-eye and tugs on his clothing, settling the seams over his shoulders, smoothing the sleeves, lingering on the hems as Wei Ying's done. "A-Cheng, A-Ying is still adjusting."
Wei Ying bites his lower lip to keep it from wobbling. He's not the type to cry, has never been that way, but his eyes prickle anyway. Jiang Cheng's right. This behavior isn't worthy of the chance he's been given. He owes Uncle Jiang so much and the last thing in the world he wants is to embarrass Madam Yu.
"Tell me," shijie says.
"It feels nice," he admits, running his thumb over the fabric one last time. "I never..."
Her smile gentles, drawing the answer from him like so much poison.
"I've never worn anything this nice before," Wei Ying says. "That's all." Shijie's right. He's not used to any of this. It's almost a compulsion, his need to stroke the fabric. It's so soft and comfortable compared to what he wore before. How could he not want to touch it as often as possible? It's lucky Jiang Cheng hasn't noticed the way he sometimes presses his face to it after he's washed up and changed into his night clothes.
He should... not do that anymore. Jiang Cheng is right. It's unbecoming.
Squaring his shoulders, he looks at Jiang Cheng and then at shijie. He can't find the right words, but he promises that he won't make things difficult. If pretending he doesn't care about what he's wearing is what he needs to do, he will.
For the most part, he succeeds in hiding his preoccupation, though it never fully goes away. Even into adulthood, he rarely pays much attention to the different sensation different sets of robes make him feel.
The second time he's caught, it's because he's slipped into one of his husband's inner robes after, well... after, audaciously nude beneath the silken fabric, not even his trousers separating him from the tender brush of fabric over his heated skin, and Lan Zhan is watching him placidly from the bed as he gasps in quiet, simple pleasure. Though a frisson of shame bubbles up from within him--will he ever fully leave his past behind him and the memory of coarse, itchy rags that barely covered his body appropriately--he shoves it down and tells himself it would be more improper to retrieve a cloth without any clothes on at all.
"Don't look at me, shameless man," Wei Wuxian says as he clutches the robes closed. He is teasing, of course, and he is not. Next time, he'll keep his own close at hand, save himself the trouble.
"Why not?" Lan Zhan asked, teasing him right back.
He doesn't have it in him to explain, but when he can bring himself to meet Lan Zhan's eyes, there is no request for one there, only the same simple joy Wei Wuxian had felt in donning Lan Zhan's clothes to begin with. There is no one in this room he needs to impress, no one who will look down on him for enjoying something that everyone around him can and does take for granted.
"Because," is all he says.
Within a few days, Lan Zhan's ordered sets of robes for him in fabrics that more closely align the ones the Lan Sect sources, all in the shades Wei Wuxian favors, of course, but just as luxurious. All Lan Zhan says on the matter once they're properly put away is, "I should have considered the matter sooner."
On occasion, he still chooses to wear his husband's things.
Ever since he was small, he's always rather liked it, sharing such things with those he cares about.