Chapter Text
“Who is that guy?”
“Who? ...Oh, him? I think he’s the new waiter I heard about, Jiang Cheng’s friend—remember Jiang Cheng?”
“Hmm... Was he the one who went on to law school?”
“Right, right! This is his... friend, I think?”
“You think?”
“That, or maybe this is his brother? But Nie Huaisang said they have a different family name, so I think they’re just friends.”
“Brothers! Well, they can’t be brothers. They look nothing alike!”
“Yeah...” A snicker. “That’s because this one knows how to smile!”
“Mmm, he sure does...”
It’s the dreamy, lascivious tone of this last comment which finally pulls Lan Wangji around to look. The two young cooks are both leaning on their counters, staring across the restaurant at a slim young man who is bouncing around the restaurant at Mo Xuanyu’s heels.
Lan Wangji finds himself staring, too.
The hair is the first thing that catches his eye. It is, technically, up in a ponytail, as their regulations require; however, that ponytail is so wild that it almost looks as if his hair weren’t pulled back at all. Strands curl around his face, ears, and neck, then tumble down over his shoulders and cling to the shiny red fabric of his shirt.
Once you look past the hair, the next thing you notice are the legs. They aren’t anything extraordinary, if Lan Wangji is being objective... But if he is not being objective, they are long, shapely, and encased in black denim which is entirely too tight. The young man is currently facing the entrance, and unfortunately it gives Lan Wangji a captivating view of his—
Lan Wangji coughs and jerks his eyes away. There, the blowtorch he needs is on the counter next to Jingyi; he can take it and go.
...Interesting that the young man is a server, though, when Jiang Cheng—and his sister, Jiang Yanli—were both hosts. The two roles require significantly different skillsets.
“Gossip less,” Lan Wangji says, scolding himself along with the two line cooks, “clean more.”
To be entirely fair to them, the two young men jump into cleaning as soon as Lan Wangji mentions it. And also to be fair to them, it is the slowest time of the day: two o’clock, nearly the end of Lan Wangji’s shift.
Lan Wangji is an early riser, so when his brother, Lan Xichen, asked him to cover the early shift at the Xianxia Taproom and Café, Lan Wangji had readily agreed. It wouldn’t hurt anything, he had reasoned, since it was during the school holidays, and the extra money would be nice.
That was almost eight years ago. Lan Wangji soon finished school, and left the restaurant for another job afterward.
He was back in the kitchen again in less than six weeks.
The quiet of the early-morning kitchen is too seductive: no customers yet, not at that hour, and almost no coworkers, either. The only people in the building, from the start of his shift at six o’clock until ten, when the lunch crew begins to arrive, are usually Lan Wangji, Jin Guangshan, one host—often Mianmian, of whom Lan Wangji approves—and two bartenders, who at that hour are more like baristas. Aside from, occasionally, Jin Guangshan, all of those people leave Lan Wangji alone, and since he works strictly in the kitchen, the customers all leave him alone, too.
That means that all Lan Wangji has to do is make pastries and start the soup of the day; he doesn’t have to talk to anyone.
It is bliss.
Looking at the Xianxia T&C’s newest server, though...
The young man has turned around now, bouncing after Mo Xuanyu towards the back. He must be getting the introductory tour. Mo Xuanyu will likely take him through the host area and the patisserie case first, then the bar area, then the dining room; Lan Wangji therefore has plenty of time to assess his own surprisingly powerful reaction to the young man—and what is his name, anyway?
...Why is Lan Wangji so focused on the stranger? It can’t simply be raw physical attraction, can it? That seems improbable; Lan Wangji has never felt an attraction of this sort before.
Curious...
Lan Wangji pulls the safety from the blowtorch and clicks it on, then methodically begins browning meringues. He has work to do; no time for maudlin pondering of unknown characters being introduced into his place of work.
The meringues toast and darken, their swirls like the wild dark curls bursting out of the stranger’s ponytail, their smell rich as caramel and sweet as the first light of dawn...
Lan Wangji keeps his head down, his face turned to his work, and if his ears are flushed, it must certainly be due to the heat of the torch and the ovens.
After all, what else could it be?