hi!!!! i'm a little late for the ask game but if you still feel like writing, what about some fluffy food related xiyuan(i think that's the ship name kfaj;sfkfs) ?? idk I'm waiting to eat rn and it's just nice thinking of them fooling around during mealtimes or something :) ofc no pressure or anything!! <3
Sorry this took so long! I was unfortunately head empty when this response came in, and I ended up just drafting a scene from my outline for my WLW Xiyuan modern AU that happened to include food and was mostly fluffy 😭 So sorry. I think it stands well on its own though
"I'm home," Wuxi calls into the apartment. When she steps inside, there is no Beiyuan splayed out on the couch, napping, a book covering her face. There is no Beiyuan laying on the floor, scrolling endlessly through her phone with a never-tiring arm raised above her head. There is no Jing Beiyuan in the living room at all, in fact.
It's getting dark earlier, which means there is no natural light coming in from the windows. But the blinds are already drawn. Jing Beiyuan always draws them as the sun starts to set, claiming that everyone will be able to see them with the lights are on while it's dark. Wuxi wonders why it would be such a bad thing. They don't do anything particularly private in the living room.
Though there's no one in the living room, though it's dim and empty, beyond it is a warm, golden glow coming from the kitchen.
There's a loud clatter--something falling to the floor--as Wuxi toes her shoes off and bends over to pick up a pair of house slippers.
A voice comes from the same direction, calling, "Wuxi!"
A head peaks out from around the corner. Jing Beiyuan throws a brief grin her way before immediately ducking back into the kitchen.
She's just barely put her house slippers on before there's more rummaging in the kitchen--a rip of a paper towel, something being wiped down. The floor again, probably.
Wuxi can't restrain the warmth that bubbles up in her chest. This is what she's wanted for a long time, now: Jing Beiyuan, in her home. Jing Beiyuan, in a home that was once Wuxi's, but is now her own. She aches fiercly when Jing Beiyuan accompanies her to pay respects to her teacher, and aches still when Jing Beiyuan goes with Mo-ayi to help sell her produce, or goes to watch Enen for the day.
Does she know how much that little girl adores her? Does she know how much Mo-ayi enjoys her company? Mo-ayi loves to claim that she only keeps Jing Beiyuan around because her pretty face brings in more business. Does she know how untrue that is?
Wuxi has wanted this for a long time, now: Jing Beiyuan, making a place for herself in Wuxi's life. She hopes Jing Beiyuan feels like she has a place.
She does, she does. Wuxi wants her to know.
When she enters the kitchen, the first thing she notices are the dishes set out on the table. Porkbelly, fried tofu with green onion, pickled vegetables, stir-fried caggage. There's still steam coming off of the dishes.
When she glances over, there is no trace of whatever Jing Beiyuan dropped on the floor. There's only Jing Beiyuan, spooning broth from a large pot on the stove into two bowls.
Without looking, Jing Beiyuan says, "Sit."
Wuxi almost does. But when she looks over, there are no chopsticks or spoons out on the table. Of course, this is what Beiyuan forgets. Still warm, now brimming with fondness, Wuxi takes two pairs of chopsticks and two spoons from the kitchen and brings them with her over to the table. She sets it while Jing Beiyuan makes her way over carefully, two bowls of noodle soup in hand.
When she takes her seat diagonal from Wuxi, Wuxi can't help casting one last glance at the floor.
"Did I startle you?" she asks.
Jing Beiyuan shakes her head, blowing at the bowl of soup she then places in front of Wuxi. "No. I burned my hand and dropped the spoon."
"Ah." She looks closer at Jing Beiyuan's hands, and finds no visible marks. Not a serious burn, then. Or not even a burn at all--just hot.
Wuxi murmurs her thanks for the food. She feels Jing Beiyuan's eyes on her when she picks up her chopsticks. She looks up, and watches an unreadable smile make its way onto Jing Beiyuan's face.
"'Thank you'? That's all you have to say, after this wonderful wife has served dinner?" she says. "Brat."
"You did not cook this." Wuxi has a sneeking suspicion that she might find dirty plastic containers in the sink, and more in the refridgerator, full of more noodle soup.
Jing Beiyuan picks up her own chopsticks, gesturin with them in Wuxi's direction. "I never said that I did. You're right; I didn't cook all of it."
Wuxi doesn't smile, but it's a near thing. She looks out over the table again, and can certainly guess which dishes were actually made by Jing Beiyuan. She sighs. "Thank you; the arrangement is nice. The tofu is fragrant, and the cabbage looks good," she ammends.
There's a slight upturn to Jing Beiyuan's lips as she takes a piece of tofu and places it in Wuxi's empty bowl. And what else can she do, but eat it obediently?
It really... isn't anything special. It's not bad.
"Naturally, a house wife excells in mediocre cooking," Jing Beiyuan says, placing several pickles in her own bowl.
"What house wife? A house does cooking and cleaning, both of which you hate."
Jing Beiyuan smiles, then. It reaches her eyes, making them into half-moons. "Ah. You're right. Most house wives are more skilled than me."
Though she can only read maybe half of Jing Beiyuan's expressions on a good day, Wuxi does not miss the note of truth in her voice. Wuxi's brow knits.
"You don't have to be skilled, or work, or do chores," she murmurs. "I just want you to be here. That will always be enough for me."
Wuxi will work so that Jing Beiyuan never has to again. Wuxi can clean, and she can prepare meals, just because she knows Jing Beiyuan hates doing it.
Jing Beiyuan sighs, setting her chopsticks down. The thin smile lingers on her face, but it no longer reaches her eyes; she looks aged, suddenly. Wuxi bites her own cheek. She hates this expression most of all, she thinks, on Jing Beiyuan's face. She can never tell what, exactly, it means.
"Wuxi, tell me. What role do I have here?"
Wuxi blinks up at her. What role? What role must she have, what role does she expect? What use is there for roles between Wuxi and Jing Beiyuan? "I don't understand," she says honestly.
Jing Beiyuan huffs. "You insist I'm not a guest, and yet I'm always treated like one."
"I don't mean to," she says. "I want..." I want my home to be your home. "I just thought... maybe you would be happier, without so many responsibilities." They can afford it. Wuxi makes enough money--has enough money saved up--to provide for both of them comfortably.
Jing Beiyuan nods. Then she smiles, and it looks a bit wistful at the corners. "I know. I'm spoiled, and you keep spoiling me."
As if that's that, Jing Beiyuan picks her chopsticks back up, reaching over to give Wuxi more of the tofu.
"Do you want to do more cooking?" Wuxi asks, hesitant.
"I don't know. Do you want me to?"
She asks it casually, almost off-handed. Her tone, and her face, are bland, unreadable to Wuxi. She swallows, staring down at the food Jing Beiyuan has given her. Cooked for her.
"I'd like to eat whatever you cook me," she says. It's true.
Jing Beiyuan's lips turn upward--it's genuine. Or, more genuine than the one before. "Be careful, Little Venom. I might make you."
Wuxi grins. "Okay. You should."
She'd eat anything--mediocre, plain, or bad--to make Beiyuan smile like that again.
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