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Chapter Text

He’s in his class again. Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is a problem. He’s irritating, he never shuts up, never pays attention in class and still gets graded as high as or higher than Lan Wangji. You can hear him coming a mile away by virtue of his obnoxiously red motorcycle. Walls are no match for the ring of his laughter, and he has a voice like bells. It’s awful. It’s been half a decade, and Lan Wangji has spent most of it trying to figure out if he wanted to throttle him, fuck him, or be him.

That’s a lie. He knows.

Ignoring the enthusiastic waving, Lan Wangji makes his way to the front of the lecture hall. At least, he tells himself as he unpacks, Wei Ying was sitting in the back row, sandwiched on both sides by friends so there would be no chance of him following him up here.

“Lan Zhan!”

Resolutely, Lan Wangji does not turn his head even as a commotion rises, and a figure in red tumbles down the stairs to land at his feet.

Oh god, thinks Lan Wangji. That will probably leave bruises all over his pale, smooth skin. Out loud he says nothing, and only spares (what he hopes to be) an imperious glance at the boy at his feet.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says again, sitting up. The contents of his backpack scatter all across the floor, and he goes scrambling on all fours to gather them before they’re lost in the void of their lecture hall.

Lan Wangji lifts up the desk attached to his seat, careful not to dislodge his pen and notebook, and kneels down. Quickly, he gathers up all of Wei Wuxian’s loose (loose! Lan Wangji could scream) papers and holds them out.

“Ah, thank you!” Wei Wuxian’s smile beams straight into Lan Wangji’s heart. “You’re too good.”

“Wei Ying,” says Lan Wangji. He hasn’t seen him in months.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head with an inquisitive hum.

Lan Wangji stands up and sits back down into his seat. “Rushing down the stairs recklessly is dangerous.”

“But Lan Zhan, I haven’t seen you in so long” – it’s been 68 days since the Chinese School summer potluck, not that Lan Wangji has been counting – “Besides,” he pouts. “Lan-er-jiejie even got out of her seat to help me, and that makes it worth it.”

The man has no shame.

Stiffly, Lan Wangji says: “You do not need to injure yourself to gain my attention.”

Somehow, Wei Wuxian’s smile grows wider. “Could it be…”(oh no, thinks Lan Wangji)” that Lan-er-jiejie will be paying attention to me anyway?”

That is exactly it, although Lan Wangji would die before he’d admit it. “Ridiculous,” he snaps.

“Yes, yes, I’m very ridiculous.” Wei Wuxian slides into the seat beside him even though the entire front row is clear.

“Hush,” says Lan Wangji. “The professor is coming.”

“Hmmph!” says Wei Wuxian, and settles down.

Miraculously, Wei Wuxian manages to keep from chattering into his ear while they’re a mere five feet away from the instructor. He also refrains from his customary off topic questions, infamous for derailing entire lectures and inspiring professors to add new content to exams. The only problem is that he keeps moving. He taps his pencil and jiggles his leg. It’s as though his body has to make up for his mouth’s lack of movement.

The fourth time Wei Wuxian unties and reties the scrunchie in his hair is when Lan Wangji finally snaps. His hand shoots out and pins his thigh firmly down against the plastic seat. “Stop it,” he hisses.

There is no reply, but movement ceases immediately.

When Lan Wangji finally chances a glance over, Wei Wuxian is sitting perfectly straight, stiff as a board. It must be hot for him, wearing a hoodie in the late summer heat. His cheeks are flushed.

*

Depending on how Lan Wangji looks at it, there are two places where it all began. Or maybe three, if he counts his mother’s door, permanently closed in his childhood mind.

But that’s a little depressing, so:

First – there was the Chinese school showcase. Lan Wangji couldn’t perform as usual, nor could he stay backstage to help, much to the dismay of the numerous tiny children he’d taught to feel their qi and hold their first wobbly stances.

About a month before, another student had broken his leg in a spar. Lan Wangji would’ve written it off as an accident except right after, as Lan Wangji gasped a great and silent breath, Wen Chao had stepped in, gripped his arm hard enough to bruise, and hissed, “Stay in your place, bitch.”

After the initial panic, Uncle had sighed as they drove back from the hospital and said, “Well, you can still play guqin for the showcase.” And Lan Wangji had clenched his fists around the soft jersey of his gym T-shirt and said, “No, Shufu,” and Brother sucked in a sharp breath from the passenger seat. The ensuing, uh, discussion had not been pretty.

But Lan Wangji hadn’t been labeled the troublesome, headstrong, American niece by the elders back in Taiwan for nothing, so at the end of day Uncle had agreed: Wangji would not participate in the Chinese school showcase in any capacity, but he was required to attend.

It was a good thing that he did, because about two-thirds of the way through the show he’d seen him. One of two teenage boys in purple, he’d danced through the Jiang Sect forms like a flame on the wind, vibrant and fluid and free. Lan Wangji had watched him, and ached.

Fuck Wen Chao, he’d thought. I want this.

Second – there had been: the muggy summer air, his sweaty sports bra binding his chest tight, Brother tugging the last folds of his Lan Sect robes into place saying, “Alright, turn around.”

So Lan Wangji had, and in the mirror his face went soft and slack at the sight of himself, someone who could almost be a boy. He felt some hallowed edge of his soul slip into place just as Uncle came through the door, saw him, and went as hard and still as stone.

*

“Mei,” says Brother. “The tea.”

Lan Wangji jerks back into awareness just as the water overflows out of the teapot. Hastily, he releases the button on the hot water dispenser and grabs a kitchen rag to dab at the steaming puddle.

Brother sets down his stack of plates and comes over to help. “Are you alright?”

“Apologies,” Lan Wangji says. “I was thinking.”

Brother frowns. “Mingjue mentioned that you seemed distracted earlier.”

Rats. The unfortunate side effect of being tutored in fighting by his brother’s...something (boyfriend? partner? Committed roommate?) since age 15 is that now he has two people nosy and familiar enough to read his moods. He shrugs. “It has been a while.”

“The semester’s going well? How’s the department doing?” The no one is bothering you? goes unsaid.

“Ge.” Lan Wangji picks up the tea tray, a begrudging house warming gift from Uncle, and brings it over to the dining table.

Brother pulls a delicately frosted cake out of the fridge and follows him over. “Alright, alright, I know, you’re much too terrifying for anyone to bother. I just worry for my little sister, all alone in that big, empty apartment.”

Lan Wangji says, “I’ve been thinking of getting some rabbits.”

“That’s lovely,” says Brother as they sit down. “I know you’ve always liked them. Why now?”

Wangji serves himself a slice of cake. “More space.”

“Wangji,” Brother says, with just enough of a whine to show that he isn’t being serious. “You’ve become so cruel in your old age.”

Lan Wangji shrugs. “Your old room is an excellent size. Just enough space for a rabbit pen. Maybe a desk.” He takes a thoughtful bite. “The vintage band t-shirts you left behind could make some excellent bedding.”

“Absolutely not,” says Brother.

Point made, Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow at him.

Brother deflates. “You’re truly alright?”

Lan Wangji nods. “I’m happy that you’re happy here.” And it’s true. The Nies may have been here first, but Brother’s touch can already be seen throughout the house, in the light blue throw on the couch, the variety of sweets in the fridge. When he was showering earlier, he’d been amused to find all of Brother’s beauty products lined up neatly in a new storage rack that Huaisang had been chattering on about only a few weeks ago.

Brother smiles. “Thank you, Wangji.” Generously, he doesn’t call Lan Wangji out on not answering the question. Instead he turns the subject towards the mundane gossip of daily life: Mingjue has been thinking of hiring an accountant to take a look at the gym’s finances, the bakery from down the street has started selling mochi bread, Uncle has been making noise about sending him to Taipei for a short while to coordinate translating and publishing some new cultivation manuals with the Sect.

Lan Wangji is grateful. Brother has never forced him to speak when he didn’t want to, and the things on his mind are unspeakable.

“Oh,” says Brother. “I saw Wei Wuxian the other day.”

Lan Wangji looks up.

Unsurprisingly, there is an amused twinkle in Brother’s eyes. “Apparently, some of the Wens have moved in a few blocks down and he visits often. I didn’t know that he was close with them.”

Lan Wangji forces himself to take a sip of his tea. “Wen Qing and her brother are good friends with Wei Ying.” And then, because his traitorous mouth always loosens around Brother, he mentions: “That’s where he was. At the end of high school.”

“Oh?” says Brother, because he is the worst. “How did you find out?”

“I have lunch with Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang every week,” he reminds him pointedly.

“Really? I heard from Huaisang that-“ The bathroom door opens.

“What about my brother?” A (very) beefy arm wraps itself around Brother’s shoulder. Nie Mingjue pops a strawberry into his mouth before continuing. “Has he been slacking off again?”

“Not at all.” Brother smiles and covers Mingjue-ge’s hand with his own. “Wangji and I were just talking about how –“

“Yes.” Lan Wangji interrupts. “He’s been cutting class to sell dirty paintings.”

“Why that – it’s been two weeks!” thunders Mingjue-ge. Lan Wangji is so glad that he and Nie Huaisang are long past their uncomfortable (and unwilling, on Lan Wangji’s part) adolescent rivalry for Nie Mingjue’s attention. It makes Lan Wangji feel so much less guilty. He sits back to watch the show.

As he watches Mingjue-ge shout (he definitely misses Huaisang) and Brother laughingly soothe him, he can’t help but see them as a perfect set. There’s this awareness to them, to the way they move. Where you push, I pull, says Brother’s hands on Mingjue-ge’s arm. Where you go, I follow, says the sway of Mingjue-ge’s hips. Unbidden, Lan Wangji feels a pang of loss.

He stands. “I should go. The bus only comes once every hour.”

Brother and Mingjue-ge turn as one. “You didn’t drive over?” asks Brother.

“We can give you a ride back,” says Mingjue-ge.

“No,” says Lan Wangji. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s so early.” Brother’s brow wrinkles. “I don’t want you to miss your bus.”

“Mmn.” Lan Wangji gets up and gathers the dishes.

“Ah, no no, Mingjue can take care of that,” says Brother. Mingjue-ge shoots him an amused glance but does not protest. “Come, I’ll walk you out.”

At the doorway Brother hovers as Lan Wangji slips on his white jacket and ties his oxfords. He straightens up and waits.

“You know you’re always welcome here,” says Brother.

Here they go again. Lan Wangji nods.

“Even when Huaisang’s here there’s still another spare bedroom.”

“I know,” says Lan Wangji.

“You’re still my little sister,” presses Brother. “Even if we’re under different roofs, you haven’t lost me.”

“Ge,” says Lan Wangji, softer this time. “I know.”

“Okay.” In Chinese Brother adds, “Get home safe.”

“Mn. I will,” says Lan Wangji, setting down the stairs. When he turns back at the end of the street, Brother has already closed the door behind him.

It’s not that Lan Wangji is jealous. He isn’t. And he is. It’s just – throughout Lan Wangji’s life, his brother has been his one steady constant, and now he also belongs to someone else. He knows that their relationship hasn’t been diminished, but he feels left behind. When he looks at his brother he sees an adult, a real adult, with responsibilities and a career, and a partner who knows him, heart and soul. He lives in a home meant to last.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know if that’s something he can ever have.

Sometimes he looks around his apartment and thinks, I could pack up and leave in an hour, if I needed to.

He turns the corner. The bus stop is just a little past the park. When he gets home he’ll fry some tofu, he thinks. There’s some left over water spinach in the fridge that should be used up soon. Maybe –

“Rich-jiejie!” A small body slams into his legs, nearly knocking him over. He’s gotten so big, Lan Wangji thinks, just before all the thoughts in his head are blown away by loud, excited babble.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian tears across the road with wild eyes and falls to a stop at Lan Wangji’s feet. “You can’t just go running off like that! Hi, hii” he throws an apologetic face up at Lan Wangji. “I’m so – Lan Zhan?”

“Hello,” says Lan Wangji.

“Xian-gege!” shouts A-Yuan. “Xian-gege look, Rich-jiejie!”

“I –“ Wei Ying takes a moment to collect his shock and pack it away somewhere. Lan Wangji can sympathize. “A-Yuan,” Wei Ying says, evidently choosing to focus on the loudest matter at hand, “running off by yourself is dangerous.”

“But Rich-jiejie,” says A-Yuan.

“No buts,” Wei Ying says, straightening A-Yuan’s blue jacket with a decisive tug. “And what is this Rich-jiejie-ing hmm? It’s Lan-er-jiejie.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji lays a hand on top of A-Yuan’s head. “I do not mind.”

“I mind! We can’t have you going around thinking that we didn’t teach him any manners.” Then he huffs: “He likes you so much more than me.”

That is patently false. A-Yuan adores Wei Wuxian and always has, even when he was a chubby-cheeked toddler under Lan Wangji’s watch at Chinese school.

Lan Wangji looks down. A-Yuan beams up at him. His eyes are scrunched into happy crescents, an identical match to Wei Ying’s. “Xian-gege is right,” he tells A-Yuan. “This jiejie is happy to see A-Yuan too, but running away from Xian-gege was dangerous. Jiejie wants you stay safe.”

“And to stay safe you have to listen to me!” Wei Ying scoops A-Yuan up into his arms, bouncing him up a little to make him giggle. “When we’re out in public you have to hold onto me unless I say otherwise. I know you get excited, but you can be excited and still listen to Xian-gege, ok?”

A-Yuan pouts a little and makes little thinking noises. Then he reaches a grubby hand towards Lan Wangji. “What’s Rich-jiejie doing here?”

Wei Ying sighs and makes a little what-can-you-do expression at Lan Wangji.

“I was visiting my older brother,” Lan Wangji tells A-Yuan.

“Rich-jiejie’s gege?”

“Yes.”

“A-Yuan, you’ve met Rich-jiejie’s gege before,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s Lan-gege from Chinese School, we ran into him a few days ago.”

“Oh!” A-Yuan’s eyes light up. “The gege who wasn’t Rich-jiejie.”

Wei Wuxian laughs and pinches A-Yuan’s cheek. “Well done.” To Lan Wangji he says, “He was so upset when he realized it wasn’t you.”

“Mmn. Ge mentioned that he saw you.”

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian waggles his eyebrows. “You were talking about me?”

Lan Wangji ignores him. “And what is A-Yuan doing here?”

“A-Yuan is going to the park!”

Lan Wangji nods. “It’s a beautiful day to go to the park.”

“Xian-gege is coming too.” With a hopeful look A-Yuan adds, “Rich-jiejie come play with A-Yuan?”

Lan Wangji looks at Wei Wuxian, who shifts a little and chuckles awkwardly. “Come on,” he says. “Lan-er-jiejie probably has a lot of important things to do today. She doesn’t have time to come with us.”

“No,” says Lan Wangji immediately.

Wei Ying looks up with wide eyes.

“I am not busy today,” Lan Wangji clarifies. He refuses to look nervous.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says slowly. “You don’t have to do everything he asks you to.”

“I’d like to,” Lan Wangji says, “if Wei Ying doesn’t mind?”

Wei Ying’s smile grows honey slow. “Come to the park with us?”

The bus will be here in 5 minutes. Lan Wangji says yes.

In the end, Lan Wangji misses his 3:15 bus, and he misses his 4:15 bus, and then he has to wait another thirty minutes alone for the 5 o’clock bus, but it’s worth it. When the weather turns chilly, Wei Ying whips a little hat with bunny ears out and pulls it over A-Yuan’s head. Lan Wangji’s knees may go a little weak. Wei Ying is so pretty, and he loves so readily and visibly.

Also, A-Yuan is adorable. Obviously superior to all other children at the park, and possibly the entire world. He spends most of the time asking questions. Why do leaves turn red? Why does it get cold in the winter? Where does the sun go? Wei Ying tries to answer them all, enthusiastically walking through an explanation of chlorophyll and photosynthesis, of the Earth’s rotation and orbit. His explanation of gravity involves Lan Wangji’s handkerchief held taut in the air between them, a sippy cup placed in the middle, and A-Yuan delightedly throwing pebbles onto the cloth just to watch them fall.

Lan Wangji has never had an affinity for physics, but watching them, he thinks he understands a bit more of how an object might find itself caught in the bend of space about a great, heavenly mass.

*

The weeks pass, and the last of the summer heat gives way to the full swing of fall. With the exception of Chinese music ensemble, Wei Wuxian sits next to Lan Wangji in every class they have together. It terrifies and elates Lan Wangji in equal measure. No one sits next to him anyway, but Lan Wangji still finds himself saving a seat for Wei Wuxian every day, if only for the pleased look he sends his way.

The end of October is notable for two things: Wei Wuxian’s birthday on Halloween and the cultivation practical. To the displeasure of many, they fall on the same weekend. When Lan Wangji asks, Wei Wuxian just shrugs.

“I’m not that upset,” he says. “I don’t always need a big party. Plus, this year we’re already having one on Jiang Cheng’s birthday, and he always gets overshadowed by mine.”

Ah. There goes Wei Wuxian’s famed devotion to his siblings. Lan Wangji once caught Wei Wuxian speaking in perfect Mandarin to A-Yuan, even though Lan Wangji knows exactly how many teachers he’d driven to despair at Chinese school – he’d filed their complaints himself. When confronted, Wei Wuxian attempted to dodge the question until he finally relented and confessed that Yu Ziyuan always scolded Jiang Wanyin for his Chinese, and he “didn’t want to make things worse, you know?”

Now, Lan Wangji frowns just as he did then and says, “You shouldn’t have to suppress your own wants to make your brother happy.”

“I don’t,” protests Wei Wuxian. “I really don’t care about having a birthday party. I still get to see everyone on my birthday anyway.”

“Only Jiang Wanyin and Luo Qingyang will be on the night hunt,” Lan Wangji points out.

“And you!”

“Wei Ying deserves what he wants always, but especially on his birthday.”

Wei Wuxian flaps a hand at him in embarrassment. “Ah, Lan Zhan, that’s not true.” Lan Wangji must look unappeased because then he says, “Tell you what, here’s what I really want for my birthday. I want a boon.”

“A boon,” repeats Lan Wangji flatly.

“Yes,” beams Wei Wuxian. “A benefit, favor, or timely blessing. From you.”

“I know what a boon is.”

Wei Wuxian just smiles at him.

“And what is the boon?”

“That’s for me to decide and for you to find out,” says Wei Wuxian. “And you can’t say no when you hear it. I promise it won’t be something sketchy or horribly against your 3000 Lan precepts.”

Wei Ying is a good person. Lan Wangji knows that he wouldn’t take advantage, but knowing him, it’ll still be something excruciating for Lan Wangji. On the other hand, Wei Ying rarely – if ever – asks for anything for himself.

“Alright,” says Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian’s face brightens. “But only if you rank first on the night hunt.” If Wei Ying takes first, he won’t be allowed to hide or downplay his abilities.

Wei Wuxian gapes at him in dismay. “That’s too much – you’re going!”

Lan Wangji squashes down the flattered warmth in his chest. “A boon must be earned.”

“Lan Zhaaaaan.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you can do it?”

Wei Wuxian splutters. “I thought I would be the one talking you into a boon, not the other way around.”

“I’m not giving you a boon, I’m giving you the opportunity to earn one. Anyway,” Lan Wangji does not goad, “I am not concerned.” He tries not to feel pleased when Wei Wuxian laughs.

“Alright, alright how about this: if I rank higher than you on the night hunt you owe me a boon. Deal?” He holds out a hand.

Lan Wangji hesitates for a moment before taking it. Wei Ying’s hand is warm and dry, and Lan Wangji’s palm catches ever so slightly against his calluses. “Deal.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Mark your words, Lan Wangji. I’m gonna blow you out of the water.”

Archly, Lan Wangji says, “I look forward to it.”

*

The night before the practical Lan Wangji finds himself fussing over his packing more than usual. It’s just a two day trip down to the coast. Lan Wangji is bringing a change of clothes, toiletries, his guqin and his sword. It should be easy – it’s not as though the supervising faculty would allow them to do anything truly dangerous, and besides, as some would say, this is hardly his first rodeo.

It’s only that the TA Lan Wangji was assigned under is a Jin, and not one that Luo Qingyang or Jin Zixuan have ever spoken of fondly.

His phone buzzes on his desk. He opens it.

Lan Xichen:

Call uncle!

Lan Wangji calls Uncle.

Uncle picks up immediately. “Wangji,” he says in Mandarin. “I heard the cultivation practical is tomorrow.”

“It is,” responds Lan Wangji in Mandarin as well.

“You’re attending?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“I trust you will perform well.”

“I do not believe it will be difficult.”

Uncle pauses for just a moment before: “Wangji,” he says. “Do not cause trouble.”

“Mmn. I will not.”

Everything will be fine. The practical will be absolutely fine.

*

The practical absolutely does not go fine, and everything is awful.

It starts off well enough. The bus ride there is pleasant. Lan Wangji sits in the back with Luo Qingyang, Jiang Wanyin, and Wei Wuxian, who play games and chatter as the landscape outside melds from the colors of a New England fall into a view of the sea.

The afternoon is spent doing interviews. Thankfully, Wei Wuxian is in the same group as Lan Wangji, and he effortlessly charms the locals into telling them all sorts of local gossip and rumors of drownings.

The evening is for night-hunting. Water ghosts are the general conclusion, and they set out to subdue and exorcise them. Their group happens on one that seems extraordinarily powerful, and when provoked, extraordinarily aggressive. Lan Wangji gets forced to the back of the group by the other men, who seem determined to ignore every word out of his mouth. As they begin to fight, it becomes apparent the ghost’s sense of self has already eroded, and that liberation is out of their reach. It is equally clear that the other students -- with the exception of Wei Ying -- are making it worse. Lan Wangji is about to force his way into the fight, participation grade be damned, when amidst all the shrieking and howling, he hears it:

“Mama!”

He freezes. “Stop.” And then when no one reacts, he says louder: “Stop!”

Wei Wuxian drops to the ground beside him. There’s a purpling bruise on his jaw. “Lan Zhan?”

“Women,” Lan Wangji gets out. “All the victims were women. Was there a child?”

“What?” They dodge a tendril of resentful energy as one.

“A child,” says Lan Wangji. “In the list.”

“A child…the youngest was ten.” Wei Wuxian looks to the ghost in the water. His grim expression cracks, just a little. “Ana,” he says immediately. “Her name was Ana March.”

“And the mother?”

Wei Ying is already hopping back onto his sword. “She’s not far. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Lan Wangji runs back into the fray, dropping his sword and summoning his guqin. He blocks the latest attacks with a strum of a chord.

“Lan Wangji what the hell do you think you’re doing?” It’s the TA.

Lan Wangji begins the opening of Rest.

“This is no place for sentimental-“

“It’s a child,” snaps Lan Wangji. He can already feel the ghost gentling. “Wei Ying is retrieving her mother.” He needs to focus on playing.

Gradually, the ghost begins to settle as Lan Wangji weaves the music carefully about her. A single mistake could set her off again. The oppressive sense of resentful energy lessens.

“Ana,” he says. “It’s alright.”

A figure begins to flicker into existence. Lan Wangji takes a step forward.

“Mom?” the ghost asks.

“Your mother is coming.“ He takes another step. Seawater soaks into his shoes.

The ghost’s face solidifies. “You said you would always come get me.”

The water swirls around his calves. Wei Ying, he thinks, Wei Ying hurry, please hurry. The ghost is restless, and the accumulated resentment of all its victims is fighting Rest.

“You said you would always come get me,” Ana repeats. The energy pulses, and Lan Wangji’s hold on the music grows hard and desperate. “Where are you? Where are you?”

Water splashes. Someone else enters the water. A strum of strings, dissonant and out of sync.

That’s all it takes.

The waves slam Lan Wangji’s legs out from under him. He’s swept out. Water burns down to his lungs, and he can’t tell what’s up or down, only that his waterlogged robes fight his every movement. He can’t tell if the terror spiking through him is his own or the spirit’s. How long has he been under? He reaches out for Bichen, and closes his hand around nothing but water. He reaches again and he reaches out and reaches and -

Something hard slams into his palm. Lan Wangji sends his sword straight back the way it came, pulling himself into the stinging night air.

Bichen slams into the ghost with the full force of Lan Wangji’s spiritual power.

Up close, he can see how the moonlight washes Ana’s eyes light and pale. He can count the freckles splashed across her cheeks. They’re soft with youth.

Resentful energy streams and condenses into Ana’s core. Then it dissipates like smoke.

Lan Wangji drops back into the water.

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Ying, Lan Wangji thinks as he surfaces again. He feels lightheaded.

“Lan Zhan!” More splashing. He sounds closer, and Lan Wangji flails blindly out towards his voice. His fingers brush wet cloth, and suddenly Wei Ying is here tugging him to shore with steady strokes. He gets his feet under him on solid ground, and Wei Ying holds him steady through push and pull of the waves as he doubles over and begins to vomit. His eyes burn.

When his coughing and shaking subsides, Lan Wangji notices that Wei Wuxian has angled his body to block Lan Wangji from view.

He consents to be led to shore.

Everyone is waiting. There’s a stricken young man soaked through and clutching a guqin. His mouth opens to speak, but Lan Wangji ignores him. “Where is she?” His voice is hoarse from heaving.

Every face turns to a dark haired woman at the back beside their furious TA. She covers her silent gasp with one hand.

Lan Wangji feels made of lead. “Ms. March,” he begins. “You have my deepest apologies.”

*

Later, after he finishes giving explanation after explanation and gets scolded over and over by men twice his age, Lan Wangji sneaks out of the cheap hotel the school booked, and after a few stops, rides his sword back to the beach.

When he touches down soundlessly, he finds that Wei Ying has already gotten a fire started.

Lan Wangji says, “It’s unknown if souls still exist after extermination.”

Wei Ying does not turn around. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Silently, Lan Wangji goes to kneel beside him and begins to pull items out of his qiankun pouch. There were no places still open offering fresh produce, but the 24hour convenience store sold apple slices and mixed fruit cups. Lan Wangji also opens and sets out chips and candy he knows A-Yuan likes.

Wei Ying passes him a stick of incense. He lights it and bends his head.

I’m sorry, he thinks. I’m so sorry. You deserved more.

They kneel in silence, dividing stacks of paper money between them and feeding it slowly to the fire. When the fire finally dies away Lan Wangji’s eyes are heavy and smoke stung. Wei Ying gets up with a groan. For a moment they linger, listening to the waves break against the sand.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “How much do you remember of your mother?”

Lan Wangji jerks his head up. The moonlight reveals the gilded lines of his face, and none of its substance. He’s an orphan too, Lan Wangji knows, but they’ve never spoken of it. He turns back to the sea. Thinks of waiting through wind and snow, waiting until his nose went numb and his body went so stiff and cold he thought he would crack apart if he ever moved again.

Soft as the breaking waves Lan Wangji answers, “Just enough to hurt.”

*

They post the night-hunt results in the East Asian studies hallway at 3 pm Wednesday. Their individual evaluations are sent out ten minutes later.

Lan Wangji arrives at 3:15. His advanced music theory seminar on the other side of campus so by the time he gets there, a sizable crowd has already gathered. There’s a flurry of whispers when he’s sighted, and he manages to push to the front far too easily.

His name is nearly last.

Lan Wangji finds that he doesn’t need to see anymore. He turns on his heel and leaves.

*

Normally, at a moment like this Lan Wangji would play music or have tea with his brother. Only, Brother is nearly an hour away, and his guqin has been irreparably damaged. As it turns out, storing instruments properly is hard to do when a terrified spirit is doing its level best to drown you. So he goes for a walk instead.

It’s on his third pass by the greenhouses that Wei Ying falls into step beside him. For once, he remains silent.

When it’s clear that Wei Ying will not speak first, Lan Wangji says, “I owe you a boon.”

Wei Ying stops short. “Do you really think I care about that at a time like this?” he demands.

“A deal is a deal.”

“The deal assumed that we would be graded fairly. It makes no sense the score you got – you’re the one who figured it out, you should be in the top ten at least. Even that Su She guy scored higher!”

Lan Wangji pauses. “Who?”

“Su She.” At Lan Wangji’s blank look, Wei Ying throws his hands up in the air. “Su Minshan, the guy who fucked up your playing?”

Ah. The boy with the guqin.

“What did your individual evaluation say?” Wei Ying presses. “Did you open it?”

Lan Wangji looks away. “There was nothing worth repeating.”

“That means it was full of shit,” Wei Ying snaps. “Show me.” When Lan Wangji makes no move to comply, he repeats. “Show me.”

“No,” says Lan Wangji, and walks away.

Wei Ying splutters. His shoes slap against the sidewalk as he runs after Lan Wangji and swings around to block his way. “You can’t just ignore things you don’t like.”

Lan Wangji can certainly try. He turns around and starts walking the other way.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying throws himself before him, arms thrown out to the side. “Just talk to me,” he says. “Please.”

Fine, if that’s what Wei Ying wants. Lan Wangji pulls out his phone and brings up his evaluations. He holds it out to Wei Ying, who looks shocked, as though he didn’t expect Lan Wangji to actually acquiesce.

“Take it,” Lan Wangji says.

Slowly, Wei Ying lifts the phone out of his hand. “Your eval?” Lan Wangji nods.

He wants to look away. He knows what Wei Ying will see, and he’ll know that Lan Wangji has read the very same words. He can’t bear the thought of Wei Ying looking up, and seeing a new look in his eyes. But he doesn’t. Instead Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying’s eyes dart back and forth, and his lips mouth phrases with increasing fervor.

When he finishes, he looks almost incandescent with rage. “I’m going back to the school.”

Now it’s Lan Wangji’s turn to block his way. “No,” he says.

“No?” Wei Wuxian repeats. “No? They’re saying it’s your fault the hunt went badly when it’s not!” His voice rises at the end of the sentence.

“I am aware,” responds Lan Wangji evenly. He doesn’t move.

“Their criticisms are fucked - none of them have anything to do with your skill or cultivation ability.”

“Not true,” says Lan Wangji. The TA did have a few choice words about his swordwork.

Wei Ying gapes at him. “They can’t talk about you like this. Aren’t you upset? How can you just take it?”

Lan Wangji goes even stiller, if possible. “Take it?” says Lan Wangji. Brother once joked that Lan Wangji’s glare could stop even the bravest men dead in their tracks.

Well, it certainly doesn’t stop Wei Ying now, who barrels on. “Yes, take it!” he cries. “You know they would never say this if you were a –“ He cuts himself off. Swallows.

“If I were a man,” says Lan Wangji, deadly and cold. “Do you think I have ever been allowed to forget?”

Wei Ying’s mouth falls open. The bitterness roiling in Lan Wangji’s chest comes to a boil. Five days ago he put his sword through the chest of a child that should’ve been put to rest. He feels fifteen and locked in place, ears ringing as his leg brakes.

“The things I’ve taken,” says Lan Wangji, “Because I am not a man. Did you think I wanted to?”

“That’s not what I-“

“Isn’t it?” Lan Wangji takes a step forward. Lan Wangji says, “What I want doesn’t matter. There are so many things that I am not allowed to want, because I am not a man.” His hands are shaking, but he isn’t done. He takes another step. “It is pointless for me to demand just treatment when they’ll just exact a worse payment in kind.” Quieter, “You’re the only man left in our class that still speaks to me, even when I’ve made it clear that I’m not here to play nice, or to be fucked.”

Wei Ying’s back hits the side of the building. “Lan Zhan,” he whispers.

Lan Wangji says, “You’re not a fool.” Wei Ying’s eyes are so dark, he feels half crazed and out of his mind, he barely recognizes the words coming out of his mouth, and he leans in and he breathes, “You know it’s not worth it.” Hands come up to land on his arms, Wei Ying’s touch burning through his layers, and-

Lan Wangji pulls back. He’s breathing hard, and he feels cold now that he’s several steps away from the heat of Wei Ying’s body. What is he doing? He needs to apologize for his behavior, that was entirely-

“What’s worth it?” Wei Ying calls.

Lan Wangji’s gaze snaps up. “What?” he says dumbly.

“What would be worth it,” Wei Ying says. He pushes off the wall. Lan Wangji watches the gears turn behind his eyes, watches him get comfortable with some idea he’s turning around in his mind. “What do you want, Lan Wangji?”

“I- I don’t-“ Lan Wangji has lost control of the situation.

Wei Ying gets in his face. “You said there were things you aren’t allowed to want – tell me.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“You promised me a boon,” reminds Wei Ying.

“You said you didn’t care,” Lan Wangji says accusingly.

“I changed my mind,” Wei Ying says. “My boon. Tell me what you think you’re not allowed to want.”

Lan Wangji feels like a bug pinned down for dissection. “I want a lot of things,” he protests. It comes out like a confession.

Wei Ying tilts Lan Wangji’s chin up between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes are painfully kind. “One thing then,” he says. “Tell me one thing you want.”

Lan Wangji can’t tell him. He can’t. But there’s nowhere to hide, and Wei Ying is asking, and he has to give him something, otherwise those eyes of his will flay him apart, as though he thinks if he stares hard enough he’ll be able to reach into Lan Wangji’s chest and pull out all the wishes and hopes and fantasies that he keeps –

He pauses.

“Your motorcycle,” Lan Wangji says. “I want to ride it.”

Wei Ying releases him with an unreadable look in his eye. “A motorcycle ride,” he says slowly. Then he grins, sharp and dangerous. “I can do that.”

*

“Perhaps this was not the best idea.”

Whip fast, Wei Ying snatches Lan Wangji’s wrist in his grasp before he can back away. “Nuh uh,” he says. “You spoke and now I deliver. Don’t tell me you’re chickening out now, what happened to wanting things, hmm? Nothing shameful about enjoying the thrills of life.”

Lan Wangji immediately thinks of Uncle lecturing on the sins of youth: drugs, drink, sex, and fast cars.

“Now,” Wei Ying says. “Put this on.”

Lan Wangji looks dubiously at the helmet Wei Ying holds out. There are flame decals on the sides.

“You’ll probably have to take your hair down,” says Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji touches a hand to the elaborate knot at the back of his head. “There are many pins.”

“I’ll hold them for you,” Wei Ying responds immediately.

Lan Wangji inclines his head. Then he begins the long and arduous process of undoing his hair. Slowly, pin by pin, twist by twist, his hair comes down, falling thick and heavy down his back.

When Lan Wangji places the last of the pins in Wei Ying’s outstretched hand, Wei Ying says, “You really were worried about today.”

Lan Wangji pauses in the process of finger combing his hair out to braid.

“You get more fancy when you’re stressed,” Wei Ying explains.

“I do not,” says Lan Wangji.

“Yes you do,” says Wei Ying. “When you’re happy you wear like three layers and like, tie your hair half up in a bun. During finals last year I saw you wearing seven layers.”

Lan Wangji looks down and counts: the bralette under his sheer turtleneck, his unbuttoned blouse tucked into his trousers, the soft flannel over it, the cardigan open over that, and the large coat he wears over everything. Wei Ying waves his fistful of pins and a hair stick at him.

“Perhaps you have a point,” he concedes. He reaches the end of his braid and frowns. Wei Ying pulls a hair tie off his wrist and offers it to him. “Thank you,” Lan Wangji says.

The helmet goes relatively easily over Lan Wangji’s head, but he does fumble the clasp a bit, prompting Wei Ying to come over and help. His fingers brush along Lan Wangji’s jaw as he fiddles with the straps, and Lan Wangji’s ears heat as he thinks of those same fingers holding his chin. He doesn’t dare look at the reflection of his face in Wei Ying’s helmet, for fear that it reveals too much.

Wei Ying straightens up with a cheerful, “Alright!” He swings a leg over the motorcycle, flips the kickstand up, and holds it steady.

Lan Wangji hesitates. It is…very big.

At Lan Wangji’s look, Wei Ying says, “It’s perfectly safe! I’ve taken tons of people for rides before.”

Lan Wangji climbs gingerly on, trying hard not to imagine some faceless stranger cozying up against Wei Ying on this very bike.

Wei Ying continues blithely, unaware of Lan Wangji’s internal struggle. “Jiang Cheng has refused to get on for four years, which is totally unfair, but Jiejie likes it! Of course, I haven’t taken her in a while cause of the baby. Lan Zhan,” he scolds. “If you sit like that you’ll fall off the moment I accelerate.” He reaches a hand back to haul Lan Wangji’s arm around. Like the tide chasing the moon, the rest of his body follows. Lan Wangji finds himself plastered against Wei Ying’s back, arms looped firmly about his waist, and hips pressed sharply against his ass.

He inhales a noseful of Wei Ying’s citrus shampoo, and for the first time in his life, Lan Wangji sends a fervent prayer of thanks for his lack of certain body parts.

“OK!” says Wei Ying in a high voice. “Cool, cool, you definitely won’t fall off now, um.”

“Is everything alright?” Lan Wangji asks.

“Everything is fine,” Wei Ying responds quickly. He clears his throat. “Uh. It’ll be hard to hear once we’re on the road so, some ground rules: tap once if I’m going too fast, tap twice if you want me to pull over when it’s convenient, tap three times if you need me to pull over ASAP.” He waves a hand towards Lan Wangji’s lower leg. “Move your feet up? No, not that way – ok that’s good. Watch out for the exhaust pipe, I don’t want you burn yourself. Don’t put your feet down when I stop, ‘cause it’ll mess with my balance. And lean with me on turns.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Understood.”

“Ok.” Wei Ying takes a deep breath. “Hold on.”

Lan Wangji’s heart almost jumps out of his chest when they start moving, his arms tightening reflexively around Wei Ying’s waist. He feels more than hears Wei Ying chuckle, and he pinches at his side in revenge. Wei Ying starts them off slow, weaving his way out of the residential and university area.

As Lan Wangji watches the streets fill with people leaving work and classes, he becomes acutely aware of the picture they make: Wei Ying in his black leather glory, Lan Wangji clinging tight in soft white-grey. A boy and girl. Boy and girl – that’s what Wei Ying thinks they are.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes.

Soon enough they leave the evening rush behind as Wei Ying takes them into the tree lined backroads, takes one turn and then another, and then - the open road stretches out before them, long and languid, cradled by the yellow sun, and he guns it.

Lan Wangji had thought it’d be like riding a sword. But a sword is sharp. Delicate. Nothing like this roaring, heaving thing between his legs. To fly on a sword is to fly, period. Lan Wangji knows his sword as an extension of himself. He knows how to shift his weight, how to feed out his energy, how to speed up and how to slow down. He doesn’t have that here. Here, he is entirely in Wei Ying’s hands.

But the freedom feels the same. The rest of the world falls away in blur of colors. Nothing but the pounding of his heart, the wind tearing at his clothes, biting at his skin. He can feel the rumble of the engine in his bones, in Wei Ying’s body, and he wants to swallow the heat of it, let it drip down his throat and hoard it away like liquid gold. He’d never be cold again.

*

The last hints of daylight are fading as Wei Ying pulls to a stop at Lan Wangji’s apartment.

He climbs off with shaky legs, fumbling off his helmet.

Wei Ying shakes out his hair. There’s a tentative smile on his face. “Good?” he asks.

“Good,” Lan Wangji answers, just this side of breathless.

Wei Ying’s smile widens into a grin. “Good,” he agrees. Then the grin turns wicked. “I never thought I’d see the day the incomparable Lan-xiaojie would call anything in relation to me good.” He teases, “Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan, how was the ride hmm?” He flutters his eyelashes. “Was this humble one good for you?”

Heat flares up the back of Lan Wangji’s neck and in his ears. Squashing down his instinctual shout of “shameless,” Lan Wangji reaches out to tuck a strand behind Wei Ying’s ear. His skin is damp and chilled with sweat where Lan Wangji’s fingers brush against it. “Mmn,” Lan Wangji says. “Wei Ying was very good.”

Under the street lights, Lan Wangji almost thinks he sees Wei Ying’s pupils dilate and his breath catch.

Lan Wangji steps in, feeling the same simmering delirium from earlier. He can hardly breathe.

The way Wei Ying’s eyelashes flutter now are a sharp contrast to the affected dramatics only moments ago. His lips part. “Lan Zhan,“ he says. “Lan Zhan, you-“

His phone rings.

Wei Ying jerks away like he’s been burned. Lan Wangji watches him go.

“Wei? Jiang Cheng?” He pulls the phone away with a wince as Jiang Wanyin’s voice thunders out of the speaker. “Yeah, yeah, ok. I’m on my way.” He hangs up with an apologetic look. “I have to go.”

Dumbly, Lan Wangji says, “I should call Uncle.”

Wei Ying shifts a little before he darts his hand forward to touch Lan Wangji lightly. “Don’t let him be too hard on you, okay? You don’t deserve it.” He starts the motorcycle. “You’ll come to the party on Friday?”

Wei Ying’s eyes are open and vulnerable, and without thinking, Lan Wangji nods. “Get home safe.”

Wei Ying smiles. “Goodnight Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji waits until the red tail lights disappear out of sight before allowing himself the luxury of one tiny, internal scream. Then he goes inside and makes tea.

If his fingers are still burning from the touch of Wei Ying’s skin, well. Lan Wangji will simply not think about it. He’s had a lot of practice.

Chapter Text

On Thursday, Lan Wangji has lunch with Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing. It’s an old routine at this point, and for that, Lan Wangji is grateful. They may not be fluent in his silences like Brother or Wei Ying, but Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang still have an understanding. They don’t expect him to be anything but what he is, and he does his best to be clear and honest.

When they meet in the cafeteria, Wen Qing looks at him and says bluntly, “Do you want to talk about the night hunt?” and when Lan Wangji shakes his head, she and Luo Qingyang easily move on to other topics.

Which leads them here:

Wen Qing chokes a little on her coffee. “You’re what?” Luo Qingyang pounds on Wen Qing’s back sympathetically.

“I am attending Jiang Wanyin’s birthday party,” Lan Wangji repeats.

Luo Qingyang frowns. “But you’ve avoided going out since…”

“Since the incident freshman year,” finishes Wen Qing

Studiously avoiding their gazes, Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying asked me.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Wen Qing says. “I see.”

Luo Qingyang jabs an elbow into her side. “Do you know what you’re going as then?”

“Going as?”

“It’s a costume party.”

More of a question than a statement: “It's after Halloween.”

Wen Qing makes a face. “Huaisang insisted.”

“Ah.”

*

Later, after Lan Wangji has fulfilled all his obligations for the day and showered, he considers his closet. He likes to think that he has reasonably good taste in clothing. He enjoys fashion. And, from the social media accounts that Brother forced him to make a few years ago, he has an approximate idea what he is expected to wear at a college party.

It’s only, well – even if he were comfortable, he still doesn’t own much in terms of the showy and tight clothes that most women his age prefer, nor does he have the assortment of props and accessories needed for a costume party. And it has been years since he’s felt unambiguously easy about dressing - for lack of a better term – like a girl. But his understanding of men’s fashion and men’s costumes is both limited and unappealing.

Lan Wangji sighs. He knows who could help.

Nie Huaisang picks up on the first ring. “Oh,” he says, “my god.”

“Good afternoon,” Lan Wangji says, because unlike someone, he was raised polite. And then he says flatly, “Wen Qing told you.”

“Actually Mianmian did, but oh my god.”

Lan Wangji feels like a child with a string tied between their wiggly tooth and a door knob. He slams the metaphorical door. “I would like to request your assistance.”

“Yes, absolutely,” says Nie Huaisang with the air of a man who’s lifelong dream is about to come true.

“I…am uncomfortable, with standard female dress for college parties. And I do not have a costume.”

“Alright, alright that’s fine,” Huaisang says. “You can wear anything you want you know? Do you have any ideas?”

“No,” says Lan Wangji. “I suggested Spock.” He has a blue shirt. Brother probably left behind a Starfleet pin with his Star Trek merchandise. If he hadn’t, he would probably drive all the way over to deliver it himself in the name of making Lan Wangji socialize.

“That’s a perfectly fine idea,” Huaisang says. “But I’m guessing that’s not what you want.”

Lan Wangji stays silent.

“Let’s start with what you don’t want then,” Huaisang says.

Lan Wangji hesitates. “Nothing tight,” he says. “Or too revealing. I…want to look different, but still myself. Just.” He takes a breath. This is Huaisang, he reminds himself. The self-proclaimed ultimate Art Gay. “Something masculine?”

Nie Huaisang pauses. “Come over after class tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll text you some things to bring if you have them. I have an idea.”

*

Wen Qing lets out a low whistle as she steps through the door.

Luo Qingyang hooks her chin over Wen Qing’s shoulder. “Damn,” she says. “All this from a rectangle? Not bad, Mr. Head-Shaker.”

“I did good, didn’t I,” Nie Huaisang says with a satisfied look. He jabs his fan at Lan Wangji’s left shoulder. “A pin here, a belt there, some careful draping. When in doubt,” he says with relish, “go Greek.”

Luo Qingyang and Huaisang fall quickly into an animated discussion about the construction of Greek chitons, and Lan Wangji takes advantage of their distraction to take a closer look in the mirror.

Sometimes, Lan Wangji doesn’t know if he’s allowed to like his body. It doesn’t look the way most people think a man’s body is supposed to. Amongst the women of his family’s home, he’s always felt too broad, too dark. He takes up too much space for someone without the sweetness to ease their way. But looking in the mirror he can’t help but think it can’t be wrong for him to like it, to like this.

The pale fabric and lighting makes his skin glow; turns his hair to onyx, his eyes to amber. It drapes around his curves like a suggestion, not a statement, and falls to his mid-thigh. His body wears his years of training, not as baggage to be stuffed away, but as a crown.

“Lan Wangji,” Luo Qingyang says very seriously. “If no woman tries to jump you tonight, we will have failed as a community.”

“Well, Orpheus?” Nie Huaisang says. “Do you look touched by the gods?”

Lan Wangji hopes his voice shows the gratitude his face cannot. “Excess vanity is prohibited in my family,” he says quietly. “But thank you.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise indeed,” Huaisang beams. “Now for a lyre. Where’s your guqin?”

Luo Qingyang winces.

“It was damaged about a week ago,” Lan Wangji says. “I have yet to secure a replacement.”

If Huaisang picks up on the tension, he doesn’t let it faze him. “No matter,” he says. “We can use Wei-xiong’s guitar.”

“Wei Wuxian plays guitar?” There’s a gleeful look in Wen Qing’s eye.

“I know, I know,” Huisang says. “But actually it was Jiang Cheng’s.”

“That’s even better,” Wen Qing says. “Did he want to look cool?”

“Ah Wen Qing,” he says. “You know I would never betray a friend’s confidence like that.” He pauses. “But yes.” Over Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang’s snorts of laughter, he adds, “He gave up after a week, so now Wei-xiong plays around with it every once in a while. I’ll go get it from his room.”

“You should secure permission before touching another’s belongings,” Lan Wangji says.

Huaisang sighs. “You Lans.” He walks out the open door to hang over the railing and shout, “WEI-XIONG! CAN WE BORROW YOUR GUITAR?”

“YEAH,” replies Wei Ying’s voice. Lan Wangji hadn’t known he was home. “BUT WHY? WHO’S WE?”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT! GO GET THE CAKE!”

“BUT-”

“WEI WUXIAN!” Wen Qing bellows. “GO GET THE CAKE.”

A silence. A sulky, “Fine.” The door slams on his way out.

Nie Huaisang turns back with a beautific grin. “There,” he says. “Now all we need is a laurel crown.”

*

After the crown is dug out from Huaisang’s bins of jewelry and arranged upon Lan Wangji’s head, and the guitar is brought out and then dismissed as too impractical, Lan Wangji, Wen Qing, and Luo Qingyang get roped into setting up. Wei Wuxian is out getting food. Jiang Wanyin has a meeting. Huaisang pleads physical weakness. So the three of them move furniture and put away breakables while Huaisang directs them from the kitchen counter and mixes together a horrifyingly red pot of jungle juice.

Lan Wangji is stretching up to hang streamers when the door opens with a gust of cold air.

“I’m back!” Wei Wuxian blows through the door, bearing an enormous purple cake. He meets Lan Wangji’s eyes and promptly trips over thin air.

Wen Qing dives for the cake. “What the hell - Wei Wuxian!”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji leaps over from his perch on the sofa arm. “Are you alright?“

“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Wei Ying avoids Lan Wangji’s gaze as he waves off his hands. “I’m alright Lan Zhan, don’t worry.” He takes the cake back from Wen Qing. “I’m just - gonna go put this in the fridge,” he says, and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen.

Lan Wangji looks at Wen Qing, who’s clearly biting back a smile. She says, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” and goes back to clearing Huaisang’s collection of avant-garde vases.

Lan Wangji doubts that, but he also doesn’t think Wei Ying would appreciate being cornered and interrogated right now. He goes back to decorating.

People begin to arrive just as Lan Wangji positions the last disco ball in place. Intellectually, Lan Wangji knows it’s unlikely that the entire student population was invited, but it does feel that way. Maybe it was just the entire Asian Student Association and their friends. Nie house parties have become well known in the last few years.

Soon there are people perched on every available surface, while a few tipsy kids in onesies begin dancing. Luo Qingyang gets waved away by a group of girls in matching Sailor Senshi outfits, while Wen Qing melts into the crowd as soon as Jiang Wanyin arrives. More than one person sidles up to Lan Wangji, their eyes scanning up and down his body. He quells their approach with a single look, and wishes that Huaisang had had time to fashion together a cloak for him. Or a sword. Lan Wangji searches through the crowd, but Wei Ying remains nowhere to be seen.

When the party really gets going, he gets conscripted into setting up noise cancellation talismans by Huaisang, who claims it slipped his mind. When he finishes casting the last one in the kitchen, Huaisang presses a bottle into his hand with a wink and says, “He hasn’t forgotten you, you know?”

The post-it note stuck to the bottle flutters to the floor, and Nie Huaisang disappears in the time it takes for Lan Wangji to pick it up. The note reads in a familiar scrawl, “for lan-er-jiejie ONLY!!!”

It’s Lan Wangji’s favorite bottled tea.

(Normally he brews his own and brings it to school, but when he’s tired or running behind he’ll buy a bottle and a steamed bun from the Asian corner store. It’s a rare treat he saves for bad days. He didn’t think anyone had noticed.)

Warmth blooms in his chest. When he slips back into his corner, he’s content to stand back and feel the pounding of the music, the energy in the air. Wei Ying will find him when he finds him.

*

Except he doesn’t.

It isn’t until much, much, later, when most of the crowd is well past tipsy and the cake has been brought out that Lan Wangji sees him, squeezed in beside his brother at the head of the table. Embarrassingly, it takes him the full length of Happy Birthday to process what exactly it is that Wei Ying is wearing. Truth be told, he has no idea what Wei Ying is supposed to be. His mind is too busy turning into a great blue screen of nothing as the sight of Wei Ying’s red skirt barely covering his ass sears itself into his vision. The choker around his neck winks like starlight and his gauzy black shirt draws deep V to his navel, and Lan Wangji is struck dumb with the urge to steal him away so that no one else can see him like this.

But of course, Lan Wangji would never.

Never mind the fact that Wei Ying isn’t his to hoard away. Wei Ying is beautiful. Wei Ying was made to be seen, worshipped. He looks good and he knows it, and with every appreciative look sent his way, he becomes just that much more alive.

It stings, when Wei Ying’s eyes pass over him like oil on water.

Lan Wangji doesn’t stick around much longer after that. Foolish, is what he tells himself. You’ve been foolish. He’d had this, this fantasy - of looking up from the side of the room to find Wei Ying already staring. Of Wei Ying coming up and asking him to dance, and when Lan Wangji would say he didn’t know how, Wei Ying would pull him in with a laugh and promise to show him. And on the dancefloor Wei Ying would hold him close, eyes hungry like Lan Wangji was someone worth desiring.

He feels like a fool.

Lan Wangji steps around a raucous game of cards and slips past two girls kissing on the stairs. It’s a relief when he steps into Huaisang’s room and closes the door behind. The unchanging simplicity of street lights spilling through the window feels like a balm. He’s pulling his clothes out of his bag when four heavy knocks come from the door.

“Whoever’s in there had better be decent when I open the door in three, two, o-“

Lan Wangji throws the door open. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen comically and flick down and up about the room before coming to a stop to the left of Lan Wangji’s face. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I uh, there’s, um -“ He holds up a slip of yellow paper. “Talisman for if anyone tried to get in one of our rooms.”

Lan Wangji blinks in acknowledgement.

“Soooo.” The collar of Wei Ying’s shirt stretches tight across his chest as he scratches the back of his neck. “Why are you here?”

“I have to return my costume to Huaisang before I leave.”

“You’re leaving?” blurts Wei Ying. He tries to back track. “I mean – of course you are, it’s way past your bedtime, haha, I mean: Why are you even still here?” The silence following is even louder than his forced nonchalance.

Lan Wangji says, “You asked me to come.” He doesn’t think he quite manages to keep the accusation out of his voice.

Wei Ying looks down. Quietly, he says, “I did, didn’t I.”

Lan Wangji steps around him. “I have to change.” He enters the hallway just in time to watch the couple from the stairs stumbles into the bathroom and slam the door shut.

Lan Wangji stops. When he turns back around, the wide, curtainless window of Huaisang’s room stares back at him. It offers a perfect view of the partygoers smoking below. And also through the neighbors windows.

“Use my room.”

“What?”

Wei Ying stares steadily out the window. There’s a loud thump and a moan from the bathroom. “Use my room,” Wei Ying repeats. And then he shrugs. “At least it has shades.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Thank you.”

“Ah, it’s no problem.” Wei Ying’s red skirt swirls around his hips as he leads Lan Wangji over to what must be his room. He releases the talisman on the door with a soft flash of gold and flicks the light on for Lan Wangji. He shuffles back into the hallway. “The lock doesn’t really work, so I’ll just, uh, stay out here. Stand guard.”

Lan Wangji nods and closes the door behind him.

Wei Ying’s room is…not quite what he’d expected. It’s small, as student housing tends to be. No bed, just a mattress with clothes thrown across. The desk is a jumble of cups filled with writing utensils and stacks of books and papers. There are cosmetics and accessories scattered across the dresser, but aside from that, there is remarkably little marking the room as his. None of the furniture looks like anything Wei Ying would’ve picked out. There are no posters, no decorations, no knick-knacks displayed anywhere, just a few photos and a child’s drawing pined by the head of the mattress.

It doesn’t look like Wei Ying has made the room to be a home.

But. Lan Wangji is tired and Lan Wangji irritated at Wei Ying, and he knows he’ll think too much about this later anyway, so he busies himself with undressing instead. It seemed so much simpler when Huisang was putting the costume together, but Huisang had had adequate sightlines, and knowledge of dress construction, and Lan Wangji’s hands holding things in place as he pinned and tugged and tied things together. For a moment Lan Wangji considers calling Wei Ying in to help before dismissing it with a shudder. Foolish, his mind whispers. Lan Wangji powers through.

Wei Ying’s face softens when Lan Wangji opens the door for him. He steps forward unprompted to take one end of the fabric hanging over Lan Wangji’s arm, and they match their ends together easily, once, twice, until it folds down into a neat square.

Wei Ying’s skirt poofs around him as he drops down onto his bed, careless of the clothes he sits on and says, “You can leave that here, I’ll make sure Huaisang gets it in the morning.”

Wei Ying, Lan Wangji notices, has no trouble looking directly at him now. He lays the cloth down on the desk, curls the belt up and places it with Huisang’s pin and crown on top. He picks up his bag without a word.

“Wait.” Wei Ying says. “Is something wrong?”

Is something wrong. On any other day, the worst thing he’d be experiencing right now is mortification from witnessing the rhythmic sounds of fucking behind the bathroom door, especially with this particular man, but honestly? Right now he doesn’t care. His leg is sticky from spilled beer. His head hurts from flashing lights and pounding music. When he goes home the borrowed guqin in his bedroom will still feel strange and wrong under his fingers, and Uncle will still be angry, and Brother will continue to be horribly, terribly, concerned at him. He’s tired of people looking at him with pity, and he’s tired of people looking at him with judgement, even as they salivate over the length of his skirt. And he’s tired of this party that he went to, just because a pretty boy asked him to.

“Did I do something wrong?” Lan Wangji says.

“What?”

“Earlier,” says Lan Wangji. “You wouldn’t look at me all night. Now you can.”

Wei Ying gapes at him.

Lan Wangji frowns. “Was it the costume?” That was the one thing that had changed. He feels himself shrivel up further at the thought. “It was”-revealing, transparent, embarrassing- “unusual, but –“

“No!” Wei Ying cries. “I mean yes. But no! It’s not…you shouldn’t feel ashamed, Lan Zhan. It wasn’t you, it was me, all me. I was just - overwhelmed by you.”

“Overwhelmed,” says Lan Wangji. “By me.”

Wei Ying’s cheeks are turning red. “You’re very overwhelming. You’re always overwhelming,” he says lamely. “But especially when you’re literally only wearing a curtain.” With the air of a man determined to meet his execution head on, he says, “I was scared that I’d look at you and everyone would know that I wanted – things.”

“Things?” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying squirms. “Indecent things, Lan Zhan, you don’t need to repeat everything I say. And I’m sorry, you’re right you have to deal with that shit all the time and I never want you to have to get that from me. And, ah - Lan Zhan?” A look of terror passes over his face as Lan Wangji reaches out to close the door with a soft snick.

Lan Wangji says, “I was also overwhelmed.” And so that there would be no mistaking his meaning, he adds: “By you.”

He doesn’t really know who moved first. Either way, one moment Lan Wangji’s finger tips are outstretched, Wei Ying looking up from his bed, tension thick in the air like a tableau, and the next, his back is against the door, his hands are tangled in thick hair, Wei Ying’s body caging him in, and they’re kissing, kissing, kissing. Lan Wangji can feel every place they meet, the press of their chests, the softness of Wei Ying’s middle, the tangle of their legs. Their noses knock together as they adjust into the kiss, and Lan Wangji tastes chocolate cake and cheap alcohol.

Wei Ying groans when Lan Wangji bites at his lower lip, shudders when Lan Wangji’s nails dig into his back. He keeps his hands pressed flat against the door, like he’s afraid to touch him, and that won’t do at all. Lan Wangji grabs his wrists and brings them down to his body, humming in satisfaction when they tighten reflexively around his waist.

Between kisses, because it is so important that Wei Ying knows what their relationship means to him, Lan Wangji gasps, “I don’t, I don’t – ah - I don’t want anything to change, between us.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying murmurs back. “Staying friends, ok, got it.” And then he tries to shove his tongue down Lan Wangji’s throat.

When they finally surface for air: “Friends,” Lan Wangji agrees, and flips them around to slam Wei Ying against the door.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying gasps in a high keen.

Lan Wangji hums as he tongues along the choker at his throat. “Are marks ok?”

“What?” asks Wei Ying, dazed.

“Marks,” Lan Wangji repeats. “Do you mind?”

“Ahh, no yeah, yeah, go ahead.” Good. Lan Wangji bites down at the meat of where Wei Ying’s neck joins his shoulder and smiles when Wei Ying shrieks a little and scrabbles at Lan Wangji’s back for purchase. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji nudges a leg between Wei Ying’s thighs and drags his hands up along Wei Ying’s fishnets to grip under his skirt, just below his waistband. “Tell me what you wanted.” Wei Ying makes a strangled noise and bucks up. Lan Wangji has to close his eyes briefly at the pressure on his clit before he pins him back down. He runs his thumbs along the crease between Wei Ying’s thighs and hips. “The indecent things,” Lan Wangji demands. “Say them.”

Wei Ying whines a little. “Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, I-“ Wei Ying gasps as Lan Wangji tears at his tights. “You looked so hot,” he confesses. “Like a Greek god. I knew you were ripped but your – ah – your legs. I’ve never seen so much of your skin before Lan Zhan, I wanted to, want to, kiss my way up them - you could strangle me between your thighs and I’d thank you, let you ride my face – hngh, oh god, please.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers, overwhelmed. Gets his hand down Wei Ying’s panties and grips at his cock. He can feel himself getting wet as he grinds down on Wei Ying’s thigh, mouth falling open at the heady friction.

Lan Wangji licks and sucks his way across Wei Ying’s chest, learning what makes his breath hitch and what makes him cry out, until Wei Ying hauls his face up and smashes their lips together in open mouthed pants. Wet sounds as Lan Wangji’s hand speeds up, and Wei Ying’s breathing gets faster and faster until he whimpers, “Lan Zhan,” and comes.

Lan Wangji holds him through it and keeps grinding down, chasing the sensation of dissolving softly at the edges, his movements growing more and more frantic until Wei Ying’s hands land on his hips to drag him up, down, and Lan Wangji tips over into oblivion.

When he comes to, it’s to the sensation of lips against his temple, and a hand rubbing up and down his back. Lan Wangji makes a noise, nuzzling his face into warm, sticky skin.

A soft chuckle. “Hello there.”

Lan Wangji stiffens.

“Woah!” Wei Ying lurches forward to catch him as Lan Wangji stumbles backwards. The realization of what they just did hits Lan Wangji like a pair of panties to the face, and Wei Ying squeezes his arms gently. “I can see you freaking out.”

Freaking out is an understatement. Lan Wangji is flipping freaking the fuck out.

“It’s all fine,” Wei Ying continues soothingly. “Friends hook up all the time.”

Wei Ying has sex regularly with his friends???

“Lan Zhan? Are you ok?” Wei Ying is looking at him with concern now. An edge of panic creeps into his voice. “Did I break you? Please don’t tell me I broke you.”

Wei Ying is asking him a question. He should answer. His voice comes out rough. “I am not broken.”

“Oh thank god. Do you – do you want to sit down? Or, you said you wanted to go home right? I can lend you some clothes if you want. I would offer you the shower but”-here, Wei Ying winces-“I’m not sure if you really want to go in there right now, since, you know.”

“Why would I want to borrow clothes,” Lan Wangji wants to know.

“Ah.” Wei Ying’s eyes flick down. Lan Wangji follows his gaze and feels his ears turn red, red, red. Wei Ying lets go of his arms. “Sorry.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “I would appreciate a change of clothes.”

“Fantastic!” Wei Ying steps back quickly and rifles through his drawers, pulling out a pair of sweats and a hoodie. “Here.” Their fingers do not touch as Wei Ying hands them over, and Wei Ying wavers visibly before turning around to give Lan Wangji privacy to change, which is both a comfort and wildly absurd.

The muffled party below isn’t loud enough to cover the sound of Lan Wangji peeling out of his cum-stained clothes. It is excruciating.

*

On Monday, Wei Ying greets him the same as always, which is to say, exuberantly and platonically and without any mention of the things they did to each other the last time they met, which - Lan Wangji can work with. So it’ll be a onetime thing. Lan Wangji can live with that. One time is enough. It’s more than enough.

But he aches a little, when the collar of Wei Ying’s shirt slips to the side, and the hickeys and love bites that Lan Wangji left trailing across him are revealed. He wishes he’d let Wei Wuxian get his mouth on him long enough to have that too – physical proof that for once, just once, Wei Ying had wanted him.

He startles a bit when Wei Ying fixes his dark eyes on him and asks, “So are we still on for Thursday? I need to get back to my coworker about covering her shift.”

He must nod because Wei Ying grins in reply and continues to chatter on. Lan Wangji tries very, very, very hard not to think of how Wei Ying had groaned and cried out when he’d thumbed under head of his cock and twisted his wrist just so.

*

On Thursday the temperature drops to the low 30s, and all the good spots in the library are taken, and the cafe Wei Ying prefers is packed and loud enough that Lan Wangji can barely think, much less hear. The next best coffee shop with adequate tea is a twenty minute walk back the way they came. Wei Ying is shivering.

At the next intersection they pass, Lan Wangji pauses and says, “My apartment is nearby.”

Wei Ying stops with one foot in the cross walk. “Lan-er-jiejie. Are you really offering up your silent sanctum as a study space?”

“Mmn.” He tugs Wei Ying out of the road and back onto the sidewalk.

“You’ve never let me come over before!”

Lan Wangji does not say: Well I already let you come on me, so I might as well let you come over.

Instead he says, “It is the practical option. And you are cold.”

“Still!” says Wei Ying. “You really don’t have to, Lan Zhan. I don’t mind walking back towards school.” When he sees the way Lan Wangji refuses to budge, he slumps a little. “I promise I’ll behave and not cause any sort of ruckus in your home.”

“Doubtful.” Lan Wangji turns away so that Wei Ying cannot see the way his lips twitch at his indignant squawk. “But I don't mind. Come on,” he says. “Don't dawdle.”

Lan Wangji tries not to feel nervous as he lets Wei Ying in through the door. He waits for the inevitable jibes about how boring and sparse his space is, but true to his word, Wei Ying behaves. He accepts politely when Lan Wangji offers him slippers and hangs his (much too thin) jacket (not that it’s Lan Wangji’s place to say anything!) where directed. Lan Wangji almost starts squirming when Wei Ying doesn’t say a thing about Lan Wangji’s bunny slippers and instead, wanders over to the living room to look at the grey couch, the coffee table, and the contents of the shelves. He makes a mental note to hide all romance novels in his room before Wei Ying comes again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “I like your home so much.”

Well Lan Wangji doesn’t know what to do with that, so he hums and goes to the kitchen to make tea and stab some fruit.

When he returns, Wei Ying has moved on from the shelves to study the calligraphy hung on the wall. “Did you do this? It’s beautiful.”

“Brother wrote it,” Lan Wangji says, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

Wei Ying turns, spotting the tea and fruit. “Ah, you didn’t have to.”

“Wei Ying is a guest.” As if Lan Wangji would let Wei Ying go hungry in his own house. “Next time I'll have coffee for you.”

Wei Ying settles on the ground beside him. Honey sweet, he asks, “Next time?”

Lan Wang meets Wei Ying’s eyes as he places a fork and a bowl of cut pears in front of him. “Yes.”

Wei Ying sucks in a breath and makes a face like Jiang Wanyin just stole his favorite video game which, weird, but instead of screaming, Wei Ying just buries his face behind one hand while the other gropes through his backpack for his notebook and laptop. “Start with yaoguai ID?” he says weakly.

“Mmn.” Lan Wangji replies serenely, and opens the relevant texts.

It’s well past sun down by the time they finish working. Lan Wangji thinks about asking Wei Ying to stay for dinner, but Wei Ying has been growing more and more restless all afternoon. When he starts making noises about leaving, Lan Wangji resolves to let him. Wei Ying is pulling on his sneakers and grousing about the oncoming arrival of winter when Lan Wangji remembers.

“Wait.” He retrieves a stack of clothes from his bedroom, pauses, and then adds a thick cream-colored scarf to the pile. When he returns, he holds out the stack.

Wei Ying makes no move to take it.

“I washed everything,” Lan Wangji says, referring to the sweats and hoodie Wei Ying had lent him last week. “I hope that’s alright.”

Wei Ying’s eyes slide from Lan Wangji’s face to the clothes in his hands and back to his face. “And the scarf?”

“You shouldn't walk home cold,” Lan Wangji says. “Think of it as yours until you no longer need it. As a thank you for the clothes.”

“Right,” says Wei Ying slowly. He takes the sweats and hoodie and stuffs it into his backpack. He doesn’t put the scarf on immediately, but he doesn’t try to give it back either. At the door, Wei Ying lifts up the scarf as though he’s about to wrap it around his neck when he stops. Turns. “Lan Zhan,” he says. “Can I kiss you again?”

Lan Wangji’s heart stops. He nods.

Wei Ying’s eyes go dark. He lets his bag slide to the ground. Drops the scarf on top and toes off his shoes. He reaches Lan Wangji in two quick strides, cradles his face between his hands, and leans down to kiss him, slow and deep.

They’re both breathing hard by the time they part. Silently, Lan Wangji takes Wei Ying’s hand, and like the slow cut of a knife, he draws him in to the bedroom.

Chapter Text

So it ends up not being a onetime thing. Which is fine! Lan Wangji can also work with that. (According to Wei Ying he works with that very, very, well.)

Of course, there is a bit of a learning curve.

The first time Lan Wangji tries to blow Wei Ying, he’s unprepared when Wei Ying bucks up reflexively. He rams into the back of his throat, and Lan Wangji ends up gagging and heaving on the living room floor while Wei Ying frantically apologizes, fully clothed with his dick hanging out. Afterwards, when Lan Wangji finishes the water Wei Ying brings him, flushing red all the while, Wei Ying wraps him up from behind and says lowly, “You know, you look very pretty with tears in your eyes,” and Lan Wangji burns with a disconcerting mixture of humiliation and arousal. That particular evening ends with him shuddering in Wei Ying’s lap as Wei Ying demonstrates the finer points of cock-sucking around three of Lan Wangji’s fingers.

There is also a make-out session a week or two in, with Wei Ying’s hands burning a path across Lan Wangji’s body, undoing the top of his pants to tug his shirt loose, brushing over the underwire of his lace bra, and Lan Wangji stiffens, just a little, before he forces his body to relax.

Wei Ying freezes instantly. “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan ignores the roiling in his gut and holds Wei Ying’s hands in place. He squeezes himself over Wei Ying’s hands. “It’s nothing.” Lan Wangji leans down to catch Wei Ying lips again.

Wei Ying melts a little into the kiss before he pulls away, shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Lan Wangji. He steels himself and reaches back to unclasp his bra.

“Hey.” Wei Ying sits up and catches Lan Wangji’s hands. He brings them down to rest between them. He says, “I don’t believe you.”

Lan Wangji wants to say something, anything, but the words don’t come. He becomes acutely aware of his flushed cheeks and half-zipped fly, the way his shirt is sliding off one shoulder. He thinks he feels his heart pounding, and not in a good way.

A touch of Wei Ying’s hand forces Lan Wangji to meet his eyes. “Should I believe you?” Wei Ying asks.

After a long, long, moment of hesitation, Lan Wangji shakes his head mutely, and watches with dismay as distress floods Wei Ying’s face. Now he’s done it, he’s ruined everything. He curses his moment of weakness and moves to climb off Wei Ying, who reaches after him.

“Wait, wait! Lan Zhan, slow down alright? Don’t go, please, I promise I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

Lan Wangji stills. “You are upset,” he tells him.

“I’m not!”

“You are,” says Lan Wangji.

“Well so are you! Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“What for – Lan Wangji!“

“Wei Wuxian,” responds Lan Wangji in kind. He says, “You’re angry at me.”

“I’m angry at myself for making you uncomfortable,” Wei Ying corrects. “And I’m upset that you tried to pretend that you weren’t. Darling,” he tugs at Lan Wangji to settle closer in his lap, “if we’re going to do this”-he gestures between the two of them-“then I need you to be honest. I never want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Lan Wangji’s voice comes out high and small. “But you like them.” ‘Them’ being his boobs. He wants to melt into the floor.

He’s sure he’s right though. Wei Ying has always been almost too careful in the way he avoids looking, and Lan Wangji sees the guilty, furtive way Wei Ying avoids his gaze now.

Wei Ying shifts a little. “That is true.” His cheeks are turning very red. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying should be able to do anything he wants to me,” Lan Wangji says mulishly.

“I want to make you feel good,” Wei Ying says, upset. “And you won’t if you force yourself to do things you don’t want to. You promised me once that you’d tell me if I do something wrong.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have anything to say to that. Dimly, he realizes that he’s trembling.

“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying. “Can I hold you?”

He nods.

Wei Ying pulls him down to lay flat on top of him and tucks Lan Wangji’s head under his chin. It’s not a great fit. The couch is barely long enough for Lan Wangji to lie flat on comfortably. Wei Ying, who is a few inches taller, has his knees bent oddly to the side, which can’t be comfortable. But he doesn’t say anything, just lets Lan Wangji lie on top of him and holds him tight.

After a while, when his heart has stopped pounding and his breaths have slowed to match the rise and fall of Wei Ying’s chest, Lan Wangji speaks: “I’m uncomfortable with you playing with my breasts.”

“Ok,” Wei Ying murmurs, tucking some of Lan Wangji’s hair behind his ear.

“And I don’t want you touching me between my legs today.”

“Alright,” says Wei Ying.

“I might feel differently later, but that’s how I feel right now.”

“That’s ok.”

Lan Wangji lifts his head to look at Wei Ying’s face. “You’re not upset?”

“No,” he says. “Never for that.”

Lan Wangji lays his head back down and burrows closer in reply.

A few minutes pass. Wei Ying’s chest vibrates against Lan Wangji’s cheek when he says, “How do you feel about you touching yourself? I could, I could not look, or close my eyes? But that’s just a suggestion,” he says hastily, when Lan Wangji looks up at him. “Absolutely no pressure! This is also very nice, I like this, we don’t have to do anything but this.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, suddenly very hot under the collar. He kisses him, hard. “Yes.”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says. “To…to what?”

“Yes,” says Lan Wangji, very insistently, and begins to tug at his clothes.

(They work it out.)

The two of them fall into…not quite a pattern, but close enough. They still spend time together like before, but now, every once in a while, Wei Ying will give him this look or let his touch linger just a little longer than appropriate, and the next thing Lan Wangji knows, they’ll be falling into bed, or bending over the couch, or doing their level best to break the kitchen table.

If they’re in public, more often than not, Lan Wangji will wind up dragging a cackling Wei Ying into the nearest bathroom - or if they’re being honest, just the nearest empty place with a door. Lan Wangji’s last dregs of shame disappear easily in the face of Wei Ying’s egging and his own overwhelming desire.

Lan Wangji learns what Wei Ying likes and what he likes a lot. He learns that when Wei Ying says, stop, no more, he really means please, keep going. Lan Wangji learns that many times when he means to say, please, keep going, all he can do is gasp and shudder. They figure out how to let each other know what they really mean.

Of course, that’s not all Lan Wangji learns. The same way he learns that Wei Ying really likes it when Lan Wangji goes to his knees for him, he learns that Wei Ying likes it when Lan Wangji lies on him like a blanket, that he likes it when enough of Lan Wangji’s hair is down for him to play with. He learns that Wei Ying is constantly kicking off his house slippers to jump into bed or to sit with his feet up, and then he always loses track of where he last left them.

Over the course of many meals and packed lunches, Lan Wangji learns that Wei Ying prefers noodles over rice, that he likes steamed buns but not mantou, that he’ll choose peanut fillings over red bean, and black sesame over both. Lan Wangji looks up how to make chili oil, and he learns that just opening a package of dried peppers is enough to make his eyes water and his nose burn.

The third time Lan Wangji checks out his plethora of spices and meat at the small, family owned Chinese market, the owner says, “Your man sure is lucky to have such a dedicated girlfriend.” Lan Wangji is too taken aback to respond, and the owner continues, “It’s that boy who’s always with you isn’t it? He and his friend have spent their weight in gold on spicy things.”

Colder than polite, Lan Wangji says, “No.”

Whatever the owner sees in his face causes her to drop her overly-familiar demeanor immediately, speaking only to tell him the final total on his purchase.

(He debates not going back again, but decides against it in the end. They’re the only place in town that carries the brand of dumplings that he likes, and when he finally turns up, the owner apologizes for making him uncomfortable. Apparently, her daughter has been working very hard making their family unlearn heteronormative and patriarchal ideas, which, Lan Wangji appreciates, sort of?)

In the mid-November Brother goes back to Taipei for business, and as always, he offers to bring stuff back for Uncle and Lan Wangji. Uncle asks for his usual box of airport pineapple cakes. (Every year Uncle complains it will never measure up to the bakery by the original Lan Institute building, and every year he eats the whole box by himself anyway.) Lan Wangji waits until Uncle exits the call to make his request.

*

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying declares, the moment Lan Wangji opens the door. “I am so proud of you.” He squishes Lan Wangji’s face with cold hands. “It’s your first time initiating a booty-call!”

“No,” says Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying pulls back. “It isn’t?”

“No.” Lan Wangji closes and locks the door behind him.

“So you have solicited sex from people via call or text at late hours?”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. “No, Wei Ying,” he says. “This is not a booty call.”

Wei Ying makes a noise that is both confused and offended.

“Go into the living room,” Lan Wangji says. “And then you will see.”

Lan Wangji knows exactly when Wei Ying spots the bottle on the coffee table. There’s a dramatic gasp and a shout of, “This is even better! I mean” – Wei Ying darts a look at Lan Wangji as he exits the entryway – “this is almost better?”

Better, Lan Wangji thinks, and makes no comment.

Wei Ying throws himself down on the couch. “How did you even get this?”

“I asked my brother to find some while he was in Taiwan,” Lan Wangji says. He brings a glass from the kitchen and sets himself to opening the bottle.

“Emperor’s Smile,” Wei Ying says reverently. “How I’ve missed you!” He laughs in delight when Lan Wangji begins to pour for him. “Fifteen year old me would pass out from shock if he saw us now.”

Lan Wangji hands him the glass. “You are no longer under-aged,” he points out. “And we are no longer at summer study.”

Wei Ying snorts a little. “I still remember the look on your face. ‘Alcohol is forbidden by the Lan Institute policies,’” he intones mock seriously. He swirls the alcohol around thoughtfully. “Hey – do you think you’d pass out if you drank this from my mouth?”

“Vulgar,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Ying laughs. “You were drinking at your brother’s party and I did not pass out then,” he points out.

Wei Ying hums. “My half-shot wonder,” he says affectionately. “Come here?”

Lan Wangji sits down next to him on the couch, and Wei Ying swings his legs up across Lan Wangji’s lap with a happy sigh. With the hand not holding his glass of Emperor’s Smile, he pulls Lan Wangji in for a kiss.

“I love kissing you,” Wei Ying says when he pulls back with a wet pop.

I love you, thinks Lan Wangji and wants to smack himself. That is not what Wei Ying is sleeping with him for. Wei Ying’s throat bobs as he drains the cup, and Lan Wangji wants to lick away the drops of alcohol lingering at the corners of his mouth.

Then Wei Ying says, “This is much better than moping and getting drunk at home,” and Lan Wangji swings rapidly from horny to concerned. “Ah Lan Zhan, don’t worry. I’m fine, truly.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, quiet and reproving.

Wei Ying winces. “You shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” he complains. “Compulsion magic was outlawed in the 50s, remember?” Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything, and Wei Ying groans and hides his face in the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck. His voice comes out muffled. “Jiang Cheng went home for Thanksgiving today.”

Lan Wangji understands immediately. “You were not invited.”

“It’s not like I mind!” Wei Ying says immediately. “And it’s not like it’s a surprise either. I shouldn’t even care – I’d rather see A-Yuan and the Wens over break anyway.”

Lan Wangji covers Wei Ying’s hand with his. “They were all you had. It is natural for you to care.”

“Well it’s stupid.” They sit in silence for a while, and then quietly: “Yanli-jiejie is due soon.”

Ah. “You will have other opportunities to see her,” Lan Wangji tells him.

“Like when? It’s not like Yu-furen will want me home for Christmas either. She probably thinks I’ll corrupt the baby or something.”

“Yanli-jie loves you,” Lan Wangji says. “She will want to see you, and she will want you to meet her child. Ziyuan-ayi’s opinion is inconsequential.”

“Hyunrgh,” says Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can’t I just get blind drunk and then eat you out until I pass out?”

“You can only have one or the other,” Lan Wangji tells Wei Ying, who pouts. He does not think about Wei Ying fucked out and asleep in his bed because, uh, not the time. He says, “But we do not have to talk about it.”

Wei Ying looks at him with big eyes. “Then…pour me another glass?”

Lan Wangji does.

*

About one hour and many glasses later, Wei Ying is flushed and loose and dazzlingly drunk. Lan Wangji is not fool enough to think this solves anything, but at least for the moment, Wei Ying is happily speaking of other things. He’s in a rambling story about A-Yuan’s latest obsession with pirates when his phone starts to buzz.

Wei Ying frowns. “That’s not part of the story.” He lists a little to the side. Lan Wangji adores him.

“It’s your phone,” he says gently.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says. “I should make it stop. Doesn’t it know I’m with you? Rude.” He turns it off. It immediately starts buzzing again. Jiang Wanyin’s picture shows up on the phone screen.

“Perhaps it is important,” Lan Wangji says.

“Aaaaaaaish,” says Wei Ying, setting his almost empty glass to the side and jabbing at his phone screen.

Lan Wangji’s phone buzzes with the arrival of a series of texts.

Jiang Wanyin:

TELL WEI WUXIAN TO PICK UP HIS PHONE

I KNOW HE’S WITH YOU

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. “Pick up your phone.”

Wei Ying groans but obeys. “Whaaat,” he says. “Jiang Cheng you – what?“ He stiffens. “Right now?” The tinny but indistinct sound of Jiang Wanyin’s voice comes through the phone, and Wei Ying flinches a little and says, “I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” Some shouting from the other end. “But Yu-furen –“ Jiang Wanyin cuts him off with more shouting and then hangs up. Wei Ying lowers his phone and sits there, stunned. Then he launches himself off the couch. “SHIT,” he screeches.

Lan Wangji lunges forward to grab him by his sweatshirt before he falls over. “Wei Ying?”

“The baby,” Wei Ying wails. “It’s coming!” He starts patting down his pockets. “I have to go, Jiejie is already at the hospital – or maybe I shouldn’t? But it’s Jiejie! Lan Zhan, what do I do?”

Lan Wangji catches Wei Ying’s flailing hands and pries his keys out of them. “I cannot decide for you. But you are not driving.”

“Right because I’m drink. Dronk. I ‘mdronk. Drunk!” Wei Ying’s face contorts in dismay. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhaaaaan, I can’t go to the hospital like this. Jiang Cheng will kill me, and that’s only if Yu-furen doesn’t kill me first!”

“There will be no killing of Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. He steers him into the kitchen and fills a mug with water for him. “Drink. I will drive you.”

“Nooo, no no. I can’t ask that of you, I’ll call an Uber.”

“What hospital is Yanli-jie at?”

Wei Ying tells him.

“That is over an hour away,” Lan Wangji says. “Please, let me help.”

Wei Ying throws himself at Lan Wangji, who buckles a little under his weight. “You’re too good. You shouldn’t be so good Lan Zhan, what if people take advantage?”

“The only person who may take advantage is Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying howls and buries his face in Lan Wangji’s neck. Lan Wangji tries not to let the wet press of Wei Ying’s mouth get to him. “Wei Ying,” he says. “Drink your water.”

Wei Ying pulls back and swipes at his eyes. “Right, right. Drink water, broken water, drink water.” He chugs the water as fast as he can while Lan Wangji rinses places his glass in the sink and begins to organize their jackets and things.

“Do you need to use the restroom before we leave?”

“Nope!” Wei Ying takes a few meandering steps towards the door and then pauses. “Actually,” he holds up a finger sheepishly, “I’ll be right back.”

“Mmn.”

Wei Ying comes out of the bathroom just as Lan Wangji has finishes packing a bag with water and snacks.

Water drips down Wei Ying’s face and leaves dark splotches on his shirt. “Ready.”

Lan Wangji makes a noise of agreement and leads the way towards the door.

The drive to the hospital is quiet. Once they’re on their way, Wei Ying slumps into the passenger side seat and goes quiet. Lan Wangji doesn’t press. The radio is turned to the classical music station, and as it cycles from Janacek to Clarke to Hovhaness, so too does the world outside shift from stretches of dark forest to highway to suburbia and back again.

They’re turning into the hospital parking lot when Wei Ying opens his mouth.

“Do you think I’ll be a good uncle?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Wei Ying is an excellent caretaker,” Lan Wangji says, flicking at the blinker. “He is kind, patient and generous with his love.” He turns into the parking spot. “A-Yuan adores you.”

“A toddler is very different from a newborn.”

“Your nephew will spend more time as a toddler than a newborn.”

“That’s true.” Wei Ying looks out the window. “I just – I really ruined a lot of things for the Jiangs, you know?”

Lan Wangji turns. “You won’t ruin him.”

Wei Wuxian makes a doubtful noise.

“Wei Ying.” It is so important that he knows this. “You don’t ruin people. Whatever troubles the Jiangs have would be there with or without you.”

“I make it worse,” Wei Ying says. “I bet I’ve brought nothing but trouble to you too.”

“Wei Ying.” Quietly, a little too honestly, he says: “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

The hospital lights glimmer in Wei Ying’s eyes and cast his expression in shadow. He gives a shaky laugh. “I think I might still be drunk, Lan Zhan. I feel like a swooning maiden.”

“Wei Yin-“

“Help me out of the car?” he interrupts. “I might fall on my face otherwise.”

It is clear that Wei Ying won’t speak anymore on the subject. “Alright.”

*

Jiang Wanyin comes charging down the hallway the moment he spots them from outside the waiting room.

“Wei Wuxian!” he barks. “Where have you been?”

“We were an hour away.” Lan Wangji frowns as he walks Wei Wuxian forward.

Wei Ying pats his arm as he pulls away. Drop it, his face says. Out loud: “Ah, Jiang Cheng come on, I’m here now aren’t I? How is she? Why is the peacock out here instead of inside with her?”

“A-jie is fine.” Jiang Wanyin jerks his head down the hall where Jin Zixuan is pacing and hovering outside the door. “She threw him out for hovering too much.”

Wei Ying snickers. “That sounds amazing.” He throws an arm around Jiang Wanyin who pauses.

“Have you been drinking?” he shrieks.

Wei Ying winces. “I didn’t think the baby would come tonight.”

“Yeah well it did,” Jiang Wanyin grouses, towing Wei Ying towards the line of seats blocked out by various coats and jackets. He throws a dismissive look over their shoulders at Lan Wangji. “You can go now.”

Lan Wangji bristles. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

Wei Ying’s face clearly shows that he would like to be far less sober than he is right now, and Lan Wangji relents just a little. Coolly, he says: “I will stay until Wei Ying asks me to go.”

Wei Ying melts a little bit, turning his big eyes at him. “Are you sure?”

Lan Wangji nods. “You need someone to take you home when this is over.”

“Don’t be stupid,” snaps Jiang Wanyin. “You’re family. You’ll come home with me.”

Lan Wangji says, “And how do you intend to ensure that Wei Ying feels like family?”

“How dare-“

“Okay!” Wei Ying yelps, stepping between them. “Come on you two, don’t fight, it’s my nephew’s birthday.”

“He has not been born yet,” says Lan Wangji, just as Jiang Wanyin snarls, “He hasn’t been born yet, dipshit.” Jiang Wanyin sends him a look of venomous horror and disgust. Lan Wangji does not reciprocate. When it comes to Jiang Wanyin, he considers himself above such base emotions.

Wei Ying lays a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. “Jiang Cheng’s right,” he says softly. “I’ve already troubled you enough, and we don’t know how long it’ll take. You should go home.”

Lan Wangji’s frown deepens. He’ll be damned before he leaves him alone with this insensible, high strung family.

“Go home, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “It’s almost bedtime, too. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep in a hospital waiting room?”

Not a lady, Lan Wangji almost says. So now you have to let me stay.

Instead, he narrows his eyes. “You will tell me if you need anything?”

“I will send you updates every five minutes!” he pledges, holding up three fingers. Jiang Wanyin makes a noise of disgust in the background. “I will send you updates every five hours!” Wei Ying corrects.

“Every five minutes is alright,” Lan Wangji says. “As long as you tell me if anything is wrong.”

“I will,” Wei Ying promises. “Now shoo! Before you fall asleep on the drive back.”

As Lan Wangji leaves, he hears Jiang Wanyin say, “What even is it with you and Lan Wangji, huh? What is she, your keeper?”

“Don’t insult me or Lan Zhan like that, Jiang Cheng,” he hears Wei Ying reply loftily. “Our friendship is beyond the comprehension of your little mind.”

*

Just before five the next morning, Lan Wangji wakes to his phone buzzing.

He picks up the phone, a little groggy. “Hello?”

“Lan Zhan!” shouts Wei Ying on the other end. “I have a nephew!”

“Congratulations,” Lan Wangji gets out.

“He’s beautiful,” continues Wei Ying. “He’s red and wrinkly and he screams like an Irish banshee demon, but I love him. Anyway, I have faith that Jiejie’s genes will win out in the end.”

“How is Yanli-jie doing?”

“She’s good! Tired obviously, who wouldn’t be after powering through something like that? Oh! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, guess what?” Lan Wangji can almost see the expression of glittering delight on Wei Ying’s face.

“Mmn?”

“Yanli-jiejie called me A-Ling’s Dajiu! His Dajiu! In front of Yu-furen and everyone!”

Well. At least Jiang Yanli is not afraid to assert Wei Ying’s valuable place in her life. “I am happy for you,” Lan Wangji offers.

“Yeah!” There’s a touch of delirium in Wei Ying’s voice.

Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying. Have you slept at all?”

An awkward chuckle comes across the line. “No-oo? I didn’t want to miss anything and then the baby was out and everyone was crying and then we had to figure out what to do with me – did you know that my room is exactly the way I left it? I thought Yu-furen must’ve thrown everything out.”

“You are staying with the Jiangs?”

“Well, Jiang Cheng said that he was going home and that he was taking me with him, and Jiang-shushu made some noise about having me staying for break since I’m already here, and Yu-furen didn’t say anything, so yeah, I guess I am?” His voice pitches up a little at the end.

Lan Wangji says, “Are you alright? Do you want me to come get you?”

“No! No no,” Wei Ying says. “I – I want to see how this goes, and Jiejie will be coming home with the baby in a few days so I want to be here. I uh, I promised you updates didn’t I? Anyway, it was already so late when we got here, like 4, so I figured I might as well stay up to tell you over the phone instead of through text. I didn’t wake you right?”

Like a liar, Lan Wangji says, “You did not.”

“Ok, good, good.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Yes?”

“Please rest.”

“Ah, Lan-er-jiejie how you worry so!”

“Do not neglect to brush your teeth and wash your face. And drink some water.”

“Alright, alright.” Sleepily, Wei Ying says, “G’night Lan Zhan, have a good day.”

A smile curls at the edges of Lan Wangji’s mouth. It’ll be another two hours before sunrise comes. “Good night Wei Ying,” he says. “Sleep well.”

Chapter Text

Wei Ying spends the rest of break with the Jiangs, doting over his sister and cooing over his nephew, both of whom are staying there for the time being. Lan Wangji has opinions, but Wei Ying is happy and that’s what matters. Not a day goes by without Wei Ying texting to praise Jiang Yanli’s strength and wisdom, her fortitude in changing diapers and breastfeeding, or her tolerance for the unflagging strength of baby Jin Ling’s lungs.

His enthusiasm for the topic doesn’t flag even after returning to campus. Jin Ling joins A-Yuan in his place of honor as Wei Ying’s favorite bragging topic. Jiang Wanyin looks upon Wei Ying’s boasting with distaste, but he also gives off a strong aura of violence towards anyone who even remotely disagrees with the claim that Jin Ling is “the best, most precious baby ever.” By the time December arrives, all their friends have learned to make themselves scarce the moment the baby pictures come out.

Even Lan Wangji has his limits.

“Wei Ying,” he says, cutting him off before he really gets on a roll.

Wei Ying smiles down at him. “Hmm? What is it?”

Lan Wangji shoots him a pained look from his place between his thighs. “Please stop talking about babies when I’m about to go down on you.”

Wei Ying looks taken aback for a moment. Then he waggles his eyebrows. “Do babies not do it for you? Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan, do you have a problem with pregnancy kinks?”

“I do not,” says Lan Wangji. “I would simply rather not think about A-Yuan or your sister’s child or your sister when we are about to engage in intercourse.”

Wei Ying shoots him a wicked grin. “If Lan-er-jiejie wants me to stop talking she knows how to shut me up, hmmm? Mmph fuck, wait wait wait – ah – Lan Zhan! Stop that, I had a plan!”

Bemused, Lan Wangji lets Wei Ying haul him up and lay him out on the mattress, half propped up on a pillow. Wei Ying leans in for a kiss that leaves Lan Wangji flushed and wanting when he pulls away.

Wei Ying licks his lips. “There we go,” he murmurs. The afternoon light illuminates his face and casts his hair in a golden halo. It leaves Lan Wangji breathless.

Wei Ying reaches for the waistband of Lan Wangji’s corduroys, and he lifts his hips obligingly to help him take them off. Wei Ying also pulls off his socks while he’s at it and presses a wet kiss to Lan Wangji’s left ankle and then his right. His eyes are heated when he crawls forward.

Lan Wangji can’t stop a soft sigh from escaping when Wei Ying places the first kiss on the inside of his thigh, and he feels Wei Ying smile against his skin. He spends a long time just nibbling and kissing his way around Lan Wangji’s hips and thighs, his hands running up and down his legs, skirting under his underwear but never touching the place Lan Wangji wants him most.

“Wei Ying,” he says, strained. “Don’t tease.”

Wei Ying looks at him through lowered lashes. “I don’t know what you mean,” he coos.

“Yes, you do,” Lan Wangji says. It comes out almost as a growl. Wei Ying’s mouth goes slack a little, and he leans down to lick a long stripe up Lan Wangji’s cunt to lap at his clit through the damp fabric of his underwear. Involuntarily, Lan Wangji lets out a strangled sound.

Wei Ying snaps the elastic waistband of Lan Wangji’s panties. “Take this off,” he says. Lan Wangji hurries to obey while Wei Ying strips off his shirt and jeans. The feeling of warm, bare skin on skin when Wei Ying swings his legs over his shoulders is heavenly.

Lan Wangji shivers, horribly exposed when Wei Ying’s breath ghosts across his wet folds.

Wei Ying looks up at him, question in his eyes, and Lan Wangji nods.

The first swipe of Wei Ying’s tongue sends Lan Wangji’s head snapping back, mouth falling open. He gives himself over to sensation: the flick of Wei Ying’s tongue, the roughness of his chapped lips. Wei Ying holds him open in a bruising grip, and the wisps of hair escaping Wei Ying’s bun brush against his skin as he moves. When Lan Wangji turns his head into the pillow, the smell of citrus shampoo, ink and Wei Ying envelopes him, wraps him up and consumes him as wet sounds fill the room.

Lan Wangji has the knuckles of one hand shoved in his mouth to muffle his hitching breaths, and the other buried in Wei Ying’s hair. When Wei Ying fucks his tongue into his hole, Lan Wangji barely holds back a cry. His grip tightens, causing Wei Ying to moan. He gropes for Wei Ying’s hand, and when he manages to catch it, Wei Ying removes his mouth with a soft pop. Lan Wangji keens at the loss.

Wei Ying says roughly, “Look at me.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, rubbing his cheek into worn fabric.

Wei Ying presses warningly down on his hips. “Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangji forces his hand away and opens his eyes.

The entire bottom half of Wei Ying’s face is wet with slick and saliva. “God,” he says. “I wish you could see yourself right now, all spread out for me. You look so pretty,” he presses his mouth to the dark thatch of hair at the juncture of his legs and mumbles, “you’re so pretty.”

“Wei Ying,” he groans, and Wei Ying mouths a line from his clit up to his navel, nudging his shirt aside with his nose, and then he crawls up the bed to nip at the hollow of his throat. Wei Ying hitches Lan Wangji’s legs up around his waist, erection obvious through his boxers, and rolls them over in a devastatingly smooth motion. Lan Wangji can feel the wet press of his pussy on Wei Ying’s chest as he begins to pull him up, and he’s confused, until he realizes what Wei Ying means to do. Heat shoots down his spine, lighting up him up inside.

Wei Ying looks at him through lowered lashes, kisses the soft skin of his inner thigh and laps at the discharge sliding down his skin. “Come on, what’re you waiting for?”

Lan Wangji holds off, even as Wei Ying tugs ineffectually at his hips.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, straining up, eyes trained on his dripping cunt. Lan Wangji pins him back down easily with his legs and pushes his head back down with a single finger. Wei Ying’s eyes flick up towards his. “You’re so mean,” he says.

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to beg?” asks Wei Ying. “’cause I will, Lan Zhan Lan Zhan, won’t you put this poor man out of his misery?” His voice gains a frantic edge. “Please, please, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, let me taste you, fuck my mouth, please.”

Lan Wangji groans and grinds down, probably a little harder than he should’ve but it’s not like Wei Ying is complaining. Lan Wangji is panting loudly, sweat running down his back. He thinks he could cry. He wonders what it would be like to actually fuck Wei Ying’s mouth, to push his cock past his red, pretty lips until he chokes. What would it feel like to make him moan around his dick? To come down his throat? He’d use Wei Ying so well, just the way he deserves, and he comes to the thought of it, shaking apart on Wei Ying’s tongue, releasing all over his face.

He’s still lost in the high of his orgasm, head leaned against the wall when he registers Wei Ying batting at his thighs. He pitches himself off to the side, curling into a fetal position. When he’s recovered enough presence of mind, he reaches a hand down to finish Wei Ying off. He pauses.

Beside him, Wei Ying is still gasping. He turns his head to Lan Wangji and breathes, “That was so hot.”

Lan Wangji looks at him and squeezes once around Wei Ying’s softened cock. There’s a little squelching sound and Wei Ying lets out a high, breathy whimper at the drag of wet fabric against his dick.

The look of embarrassment on Wei Ying’s face that follows is priceless, and Lan Wangji huffs a little before he can stop himself. Wei Ying makes an offended noise, gapes in indignation. Then he breaks and begins to laugh. Between giggles, he smacks sticky kisses across Lan Wangji’s face and neck and shoulders, making sure to rub as much cum off on him as possible, while Lan Wangji makes little noises of complaint that he doesn’t really mean.

“Who let you be so hot, huh? Or so sexy?” Wei Ying licks the shell of Lan Wangji’s ear, which really shouldn’t do anything for Lan Wangji but does. “You’re amazing,” he grins. “We should do that again.”

Lan Wangji hums and tugs at the sheets that Wei Ying is laying on. Now that the sweat is cooling on their skin, the early December chill is making itself known, and Wei Ying shifts off his duvet so that Lan Wangji can pull it over them.

Wei Ying laments, “Probably not today though.”

Lan Wangji makes a questioning noise.

“I’m watching A-Yuan tonight. Wen-popo has a doctor’s appointment. Wen Ning has him now but he has RA rounds and Wen Qing has a lab.” He checks his phone and makes a face. “Definitely not today. Lan Zhan!” He rolls into Lan Wangji’s arms. “Take responsibility! I came so hard I can’t walk.”

Lan Wangji says, “Who says I can walk either?”

“Oh-ho! You flatter me.”

Lan Wangji rolls his eyes. He slides one arm under Wei Ying’s knees and the other behind his back and stands, lifting him into a princess carry.

Wei Ying lets out a shriek. “What are you doing?”

“Taking responsibility.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cries. “Let a man have some dignity!” But he wraps his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck and clings tightly anyway.

Lan Wangji shifts Wei Ying’s weight to one arm and gets the door open, deeply grateful that neither Huisang nor Jiang Wanyin are home. “Wei Ying will have more dignity once his face is washed.”

Wei Ying makes a face and winces at the dried and crusted fluid on his face. “You’re right.”

“Is there enough time to shower?”

Wei Ying runs a finger down the hinge of Lan Wangji’s jaw. “If we make it quick.” He laughs as Lan Wangji walks them straight to the tub.

Later, they’re drying off and getting dressed when the doorbell rings and a familiar voice shouts through the window, “Xian-gege, we’re here!”

Lan Wangji and Wei Ying look as one to the absolute wreck that is Wei Ying’s room and bed.

“Uh-oh,” says Wei Ying.

Hastily, Lan Wangji grabs a shirt from the floor and yanks it over his head. “Clean up. I will stall.”

“Roger that,” says Wei Ying, diving for the bed.

Lan Wangji does not pound down the stairs, but it is a near thing. He tucks his hair into as neat of a bun as he can, takes a breath, and opens the door.

A-Yuan stands outside bundled up in a green puffer jacket and his bunny hat. He gasps in delight. “Rich-jiejie!”

Wen Qionglin holds his hand in one hand and a large tote bag in the other. He looks surprised. His eyes flick briefly down to the collar of the shirt Lan Wangji is wearing. “Lan Wangji,” he says cautiously. “Hello.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Wen Qionglin.” The cold air heightens the sensation of wet hair soaking into his shirt. He hopes desperately that Wei Ying didn’t bite him hard enough to leave a mark.

A-Yuan wriggles out of Wen Qionglin’s grip to hug Lan Wangji’s thigh. “Why is Rich-jiejie here?”

Lan Wangji is about to reply when Wei Ying comes careening down the stairs, shouting, “A-Ning, A-Yuan, you’re early! Hello!!!”

A-Yuan’s face lights up and he throws himself forward. Wei Ying crouches down and catches him easily in his arms. Barely loud enough for Lan Wangji to hear, A-Yuan mumbles, “Xian-gege, A-Yuan missed you.”

A complicated mix of emotions play across Wei Ying’s face. He reaches a hand up to cradle A-Yuan’s head. “Xiao shagua,” he says. “You saw me a few weeks ago, remember?”

“A-Yuan still missed you,” comes the stubborn reply.

“Aiyah.” Wei Ying hugs him tighter, tucking A-Yuan’s head under his chin. “Xian-gege is sorry that he could not see you sooner.”

“It’s ok.” A-Yuan pulls back and some of Wei Ying’s strands of wet hair stick to his cheek before falling away. His nose scrunches. “Wet,” he complains.

“Ahahaha, uh, well,” says Wei Ying. “Xian-gege and Lan-er-jiejie had to take a shower – showers - earlier, because we were sweaty, from uh, studying. “

“Sparring,” says Lan Wangji. “We have exams soon and will be tested on our fighting ability.”

“Yes,” says Wei Ying. “That.”

“Oookay,” says Wen Qionglin. He holds out A-Yuan’s bag of stuff. “He already napped today, but no snack. Jiejie will come pick him up tomorrow morning.”

Wei Ying takes the bag and nudges A-Yuan forward. “Alright kiddo, say bye-bye.”

As A-Yuan and Wen Qionglin say their goodbyes, Lan Wangji turns to Wei Ying. “I will leave then.”

Wei Ying makes an apologetic face.

“You don’t have to.” Wen Qionglin looks up from where he’s crouched. “You don’t have to,” he says again. “Um. A-Yuan really likes you, and we’ve known you for a long time, so it’s ok. If you wanted to stay and help watch him.”

Quietly, Lan Wangji says, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says Wen Qionglin. He presses a kiss to the top of A-Yuan’s head. “Be good alright?”

A-Yuan nods enthusiastically. “Ning-ge be careful on your are-yay rounds.”

Wen Qionglin smiles at the mispronunciation. It transforms his entire face into something blooming and alive and warm. “I will,” he promises.

A-Yuan waves from the doorway until he disappears out of sight, at which point Wei Ying hustles him in out of the cold, efficiently stripping him of his winter wear.

“Are you hungry?” asks Wei Ying. “Do you want a snack? You can have carrots or apples.”

“I want potato chips!” is the enthusiastic reply.

Wei Ying ruffles A-Yuan’s hat mussed hair. “Potato chips aren’t one of the options, darling, you have to pick carrots or apples.”

A-Yuan frowns. “Chips.”

“Mmmm,” says Wei Ying. “If you eat your fruits and veggies like a good boy you can have a little bit of chips and maybe”- he glances at Lan Wangji –“Lan-er-jiejie will play wushu with you?”

A-Yuan turns his big eyes on him.

Lan Wangji nods.

“Yes!” A-Yuan shouts, dashing for the kitchen.

Lan Wangji catches Wei Ying by the arm before he follows him. “Your room?”

“All set,” Wei Ying says. “The bed isn’t made, but it never is anyway.”

Lan Wangji observes, “It is unlikely that Wen Qionglin does not know now.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” says Wei Ying. “Wen Ning isn’t the gossiping type.”

Lan Wangji hums and goes to follow A-Yuan into the kitchen. He’s at the doorway when he realizes that Wei Ying hasn’t followed him. There’s an odd look on his face. “Wei Ying?”

He shakes his head, expression vanishing. “It’s nothing,” Wei Ying says. His smile doesn’t seem quite right.

But then A-Yuan shouts for assistance from the kitchen and they’re both distracted. It isn’t until later and Lan Wangji is already on his way home that he realizes: he looked sad.

*

The end of the semester comes quickly after that.

Finals week descends in a flurry of papers and exams and snow. Lan Wangji doesn’t have it so bad, especially compared to last year, but he still has more on his plate that he’d like. With his engagements with Wei Ying this semester, he hasn’t had as much time to study ahead of time.

He allows Wei Ying to drag him to multiple of Huisang’s study nights, yet another concession in his academic habits. He gets about as much studying done as he expected – which is to say, very little. But still, as he reviews material with Luo Qingyang and watches Wei Ying tussle with his brother while Huisang yelps at them to watch it! and Wen Qing rolls her eyes and Wen Qionglin winces, he has to admit: it’s not so bad.

On the second to last day, Lan Wangji emerges from his music theory final to find Wei Ying in the library hunched over exactly as he left him the night before. He has to call his name twice before he gets his attention.

Wei Ying startles. “Ah! Hello!” He looks terrible, all wan and pale with stress. The line of his brow screams with tension. Lan Wangji wants to smooth it away.

He says, “Have you been here all night?”

Wei Ying grimaces and looks away.

Lan Wangji sighs. “The cultivation policy paper?”

Wei Ying nods.

“How much is left?”

Wei Ying makes a low despairing noise and pushes the laptop towards him. He’s on the eighth page, which is seven pages more than he’d had last night. Their final paper is due at noon with a ten page minimum. It is 10 AM.

Now Lan Wangji does reach out to run a thumb over Wei Ying’s brow. “It is not bad.”

Wei Ying buries his face in his hands. “I can’t figure out the last part,” he moans. “I’m going to fail. And then when I go back for break Jiang-shushu will pull me aside with a smile and tell me very nicely that he actually invited me to visit for Christmas so that he can tell me in person that he won’t help me pay for college anymore because I’m a worthless investment of his time and money.”

Lan Wangji hums. “It is good that you have so many college dropout fantasies then.”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Lan Zhan!” he cries. “So callous! I’ll have you know most of my college dropout fantasies involve moving in with you and mooching off you for the rest of our lives.”

“Wei Ying is welcome to,” says Lan Wangji.

“You can’t say that,” says Wei Ying. “What if I really do take you up on it and you can never get rid of me?”

“I would not mind.” Lan Wangji touches a hand to his shoulder. “Stay here. I will be back.”

“Hah?” Wei Ying lifts his head. “Where are you going?”

A few minutes later Lan Wangji comes back and sets a cup of tea and bagel before him. “Eat,” he says. “And then you should take a nap.”

The hint of a whine can’t disguise the genuine distress in Wei Ying’s voice. “I don’t have time to take a break.”

“You cannot keep going as you are,” Lan Wangji says. “Eat. Drink. And then take a short nap. I will wake you.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“I promise. I will not let you fail.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders slump, and Lan Wangji knows he has won. “When you put it like that…”

Wei Ying inhales his bagel. It’s very impressive. Lan Wangji isn’t sure if he chewed at all. And then he passes out the moment his head hits the table. Lan Wangji tucks his jacket tighter around Wei Ying’s shoulders. He sets a timer and pulls Wei Ying’s laptop towards him.

Twenty minutes later, a slightly more refreshed Wei Ying blinks at the screen. “Did my paper always look like this?”

Lan Wangji settles back in his seat and pulls a book up on his phone. “I did your in text citations and works cited page.”

“Lan Zhan,” says Wei Ying, tearing up a little. “You are the best.”

False. Wei Ying is the best. “Get to work,” Lan Wangji scolds lightly. Wei Ying flashes him a smile before doing just that.

After a few minutes, a foot nudges him under the table. Lan Wangji looks up.

“You’re staying?”

“Mn.”

Softly, the foot nudges Lan Wangji again. “Thanks.”

Wei Ying submits his paper two minutes before the deadline, throws his hands up, and immediately turns to Lan Wangji. “We should celebrate,” he says with a lascivious grin. “We’ve both worked so hard.”

Lan Wangji looks him up and down. Rumpled, exhausted, in need of a shower, Wei Ying probably hasn’t brushed his teeth in over 24 hours. “Lunch first,” he says. “And then I’ll consider it.”

Wei Ying pumps his fist.

Lan Wangji watches with amusement as Wei Ying packs up in record time. He drags Lan Wangji out the library and almost topples them both over slipping on ice in his rush to the bus stop.

And just like that, they’re done.

*

The house is empty when Lan Wangji gets home. This is not a surprise. Uncle has been volunteering at the Chinatown Community Center on Thursdays since he first brought Lan Wangji and Brother there for Cantonese lessons as children.

So Lan Wangji unpacks his car by himself, and carries his bags in by himself, and makes himself an easy dinner of fried noodles and vegetables, leaving some extra for Uncle just in case.

After he washes the dishes (also by himself), he unpacks quietly. It feels odd to call his childhood room his in the absence of all the things that make it so: his blankets, his books, his furniture. His guqin. He wishes Brother were here.

He’s tucking the last of his things away when the garage door rumbles open, and in his distraction, he knocks a basket of his and Brother’s old things onto the ground. He sighs. It won’t do to have Uncle think his room a mess mere hours after arriving home. He quickly gathers the various toys and plushies. He comes to a stop at the sight of a pair of stuffed rabbits, one white and one black.

During summer study, back when he still knew himself in terms of she and her, Wei Ying had presented them to him at Shilin Night Market. Oh, don’t look so disapproving! he’d cried, bright-eyed and sweaty, scampering up to him through the crowd. Aren’t they cute?

Frivolous, Lan Wangji had snapped, tired and irritated by the crush of people and glaring lights.

Uncle had made him responsible for rounding up his fellow classmates and –

“Wangji? Are you there?”

Lan Wangji scoops the bunnies up onto his desk and hastens out his room and down the stairs. Uncle stands at the door in his dark L.L.Bean jacket. He looks tired. In Chinese, Lan Wangji says, “Uncle. Welcome home.” He steps forward, reaching for Uncle’s bag, which Uncle hands off with a nod of thanks. “How was the Community Center?”

“Good.” Uncle finishes taking off his coat and hangs it up in the hallway closet. He takes his briefcase back. “Ashley says that your students miss you.”

Lan Wangji feels a pang of affection for his children. “Have you eaten yet? There are leftovers in the fridge.”

“I have, but thank you. Your exams went well?”

Lan Wangji looks down. Trust Uncle to ask after that first. “I believe so.”

“Good,” says Uncle. “I know it’s almost 9, but if you are not busy, I have something to show you.”

Curious, Lan Wangji says, “I am not.”

Uncle leads the way into the study, with its tall dark bookshelves and beaten old armchairs. He opens a case on one of the tables. Lan Wangji’s breath catches.

He steps forward unbidden, and pauses. Uncle gestures him forward. Go on, his face says, so Lan Wangji does.

The guqin is beautiful. He trails his hands across the smooth, gleaming wood and plucks at the strings, picking through a few nonsense melodies before transitioning into a folk tune. Pure and rich, the music fills the room like sunlight on a quiet afternoon. The strings scrape just right under his fingertips.

When he finishes playing, he looks up to find Uncle watching his face intently. “Well?”

“It’s beautiful.” Lan Wangji doesn’t dare hope –

“It’s yours,” Uncle says.

An instrument like that must cost a small fortune. Lan Wangji takes a deep breath and says, “I cannot accept.”

“I must insist,” says Uncle.

“It is too fine an instrument,” Lan Wangji responds. “Especially for the likes of me.”

“It is precisely because it is so fine an instrument that it should be yours. Wangji,” says Uncle. “You’re one of the best there is. You should have an instrument that shows that.”

Excess praise is forbidden. Lan Wangji’s throat feels dry.

Uncle covers a hand with his. “Take it.”

What else is there to do? Lan Wangji says, “Thank you Uncle,” and accepts.

*

Later, Lan Wangji hangs his new guqin up before packing the old box of toys away. He falls asleep with two soft bunnies tucked beside his pillow.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji spends the next three blissful days in abject laziness. He sleeps at 9. He wakes at 5. He gets to dress in his comfiest, coziest clothes and watch the sunrise without rushing to study or train or practice. He plays guqin and responds to Wei Ying’s messages. He digs out his contraband high school romance novels and gets Brother to give him the password for his Netflix account.

Then on Monday, right before he leaves for work, Uncle sets down his mug with a soft click and says, “Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looks up. “Hm?”

“Will you be alright handling things this week?”

Lan Wangji sighs inside. There is, of course, only one correct answer. “Yes Uncle.” And he kisses the rest of his week goodbye.

*

The conversation about holiday plans went a little something like this:

A few weeks ago, right after Lan Wangji got out of his last midterm of the semester, he received a text in the family group chat from Uncle, which read: When will you two be arriving home? It is our turn to host the Christmas party. I will be very busy with work so I need the two of you to help.

Now, Lan Wangji knows that cultivation doesn’t work that way, but he could’ve sworn, that in that moment, he and Brother achieved a telepathic connection better known as Unified Sibling Irritation.

Unfortunately, Brother responded, Mingjue will be teaching classes up until the 23rd, so I cannot be home to help, and Lan Wangji’s Unified Sibling Irritation became Singular Sibling Betrayal.

And then Uncle replied, You will not be home for the Jin’s one month celebration?

I’m afraid not, said Brother, and Singular Sibling Betrayal became Extreme Sibling Betrayal.

Ge, Lan Wangji texted Brother separately.

Sorry!!! Brother texted back, followed by numerous crying emojis.

Into the group chat Lan Wangji said, My last final is on the 17th.

And that was how he ended up saddled with planning and organizing the annual Chinese school Christmas party.

He spends the rest of the morning generating lists: rooms to clean, laundry to do, groceries to buy. What dishes should he make? What dishes will the other families bring? What order does he need to make everything in so that it all comes out hot at the same time?

At least Uncle already bought a Christmas tree.

After lunch Lan Wangji cleans and declutters the entryway, sweeps the porch, and washes the windows. He braves the freezing basement to dig out the Christmas decorations, only to learn after half an hour of searching that Uncle actually moved them to the garage without telling anyone. Go figure.

After he hauls the bins of stuff out, he loops the heavy thicket of Christmas lights around his arms, plugs in the extension cable, and mounts his sword. Hanging up lights is a cold and miserable task. The winter wind cuts through his jacket and his fingers grow numb quickly in his gloves. As he steadies himself for the umpteenth time, Lan Wangji finds himself grateful that Uncle is not home to see his gross misuse of his spiritual weapon.

When he’s done, he goes in and piles the rest of the bins by the Christmas tree. He dusts half the study. That’s all he has time for before Uncle gets home and they have to get ready for Jin Ling’s one month.

*

The banquet venue that the Jins have chosen is…ostentatious. Lan Wangji sees the way that Uncle’s lips thin as they pass through the doors. Privately, he agrees. The whole thing stinks of opulence, as though Jin Guangshan is seizing the opportunity to rub their noses in his wealth.

The host shows them to their seats, and Lan Wangji takes in the glittering chandeliers, the pristine white table cloths and endless peony motifs, the bowls of red eggs and ginger. He wonders how many of the guests are Jin business associates. Judging by the size of the venue, probably a lot - it’s not as though the Jins have that many actual friends.

Even though Uncle gets along well enough with Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, and Lan Wangji has been going to Chinese school with Jiang Yanli since they were both fairly young, he knows that’s not why they were invited. They were invited because the Lan family is well known and well respected as cultivators and educators, and the Jins like to pretend to keep in touch with their roots.

(That was perhaps an uncharitable assessment. Jin Zixuan is a decent man and a good cultivator, unlike most of his family. For example: Jin Zixun.)

They sit.

He and Uncle are not the first ones to arrive at the table. They make their little half bows and greetings to their table mates, whom Uncle recognizes from a discussion conference. After a semi-awkward lapse in conversation, Uncle inquires after their family and cultivation practices. Lan Wangji tugs at the folds of his skirt. The satin chair covers brush his legs. He wishes Brother were here.

Lan Wangji knows: he is blank faced and cold and awkward. He makes people uncomfortable. If given the choice, nearly everyone would pick Brother’s presence over his. Who wouldn’t? At least Brother is capable of smiling on command.

The only person outside of his family that has never been the least bit put off by his coldness is Wei Ying, who is warm and enthusiastic with everyone. And also rapidly approaching down the aisle.

If Lan Wangji didn’t already have perfect posture, he would be straightening in his seat.

Wei Ying slides into the chair next to him. Lan Wangji is acutely aware of the exact distance from his body to Wei Ying’s. “Lan Zhan,” he sings.

Lan Wangji says levelly, “Hello.”

“’Hello,’” Wei Ying teases. “Is that all Lan-xiaojie has to say? After these long, long days apart?”

Voice still level, Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying. It is good to see you.”

Uncle harrumphs. The grin on Wei Ying’s face transitions from teasing to something so earnest, alarm bells start clanging in Lan Wangji’s head.

Wei Ying leans around him. Very, very nicely, he greets Uncle: “Lan-laoshi hao.”

Uncle looks like he swallowed something very, very sour. “Wei Wuxian,” he grits out.

Very helpfully, Lan Wangji’s brain provides a montage of Wei Ying’s best (or worst) moments: the pranks, the “kick me” signs, the sneaking out. The trunk of showcase costumes at the bottom of Adams’ Pond. One time Uncle tried to nail him in the head with piece of chalk for talking in class, and Wei Ying snatched it out of the air. (Did that moment awaken something in Lan Wangji? Maybe so.)

Wei Ying opens his mouth to speak, and Lan Wangji braces himself.

Two hands come down hard on Wei Ying’s shoulders.

“Ow! Mianmian, why?”

Luo Qingyang looks unimpressed. She stands arm in arm with a middle aged woman in a green dress. “Don’t needle Lan-laoshi,” Luo Qingyang scolds. To Uncle and Lan Wangji she says, “Lan-laoshi hao, Wangji. This is my mother.”

Luo Qingyang’s mother looks just like her when she smiles. She introduces herself, setting off another round of introductions.

“Wei Wuxian.” One of the cultivators – Yang, Lan Wangji thinks – leans forward. “Aren’t you the mother’s adoptive brother? Why are you sitting here?”

On one side, Luo Qingyang winces minutely. On the other, Uncle stills.

Wei Ying does neither. Cheerily, he says, “I’m here to keep company with the two prettiest girls I know - after Yanli-jiejie of course.”

Taking her cue, Luo Qingyang tells the table dryly, “He spent a week moping after Wen Qing and I started dating.”

Lan Wangji cuts in before anyone else responds. In Chinese, he says, “Aunties, Uncles - would you like tea?”

Cultivator Yang nods approvingly as Lan Wangji picks up the teapot. Uncle swiftly engages him in conversation, steering him away from the convoluted relationships of the Jiang-Jin family.

Lan Wangji pours tea out with a steady hand. He hasn’t spilled a drop since he was ten. Wei Ying’s fingers brush his as he passes along the next cup, and Lan Wangji wishes – he wishes he were better. It’s not fair that Wei Ying has to provide his own rescue, not in this arena anyway, especially when it hurts him so much.

If Lan Wangji were sneaky like Huisang, or quick-witted like Wei Ying, maybe he could’ve done something. A heroine from his novels probably would’ve scooted her chair closer, batted her eyelashes, and implied that Wei Ying was here to keep her company. Lan Wangji is not so bold or so thick-faced.

Even though he knows the courses will be endless and exhaustive, and he is also exhausted, Lan Wangji is still grateful when the food begins to arrive. Everyone knows that the Lan Sect prohibits speaking during meals.

They’re finishing up the dessert course when Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan drop by. Wei Ying makes a delighted gasp and makes grabby hands at the bundle in Jin Zixuan’s arms. “Give me my nephew, peacock.”

“A-Xian,” scolds Jiang Yanli.

Wei Ying pouts. “Fine,” he says. “Give me my nephew please, Jiefu.” He and Jin Zixuan both shudder.

“Never call me that again,” says Jin Zixuan, handing the baby over. Over Wei Ying’s happy baby talk, he says to the table, “Thank you for coming.”

“Congratulations, Zixuan, Yanli,” says one of the cultivators. The rest of the table echoes the sentiment.

Jiang Yanli takes Jin Ling back, and she and Jin Zixuan make the requisite greetings around the table. When they make it back around, Jin Zixuan gets drawn into conversation with Luo Qingyang and her mother, while Wei Ying gets up and tries to coax his sister into siting down.

“Jiejie, take a break,” he says over her protests. “I bet none of these fancy people have let you rest all evening.”

“A-Xian…”

“Just a few minutes,” wheedles Wei Ying. “It’s not like you’d be doing anything else in that time anyway.”

“Yanli-jie,” says Lan Wangji. “Please sit.”

Wei Ying laughs, bright and pure. “See? Lan Zhan agrees.”

“Alright, alright,” Jiang Yanli says. “Just a few minutes.” She sinks down with a soft sigh. “Lan-laoshi,” she calls to Uncle. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Ah. I – If you do not mind.”

Jiang Yanli nods sagely. “A-Xian, take A-Ling over to Lan-laoshi would you?” She does not wait for him to respond before placing the squirming baby in his arms. She pushes him gently but firmly in Uncle’s direction. Lan Wangji watches in astonishment as Wei Ying obeys. Jiang Yanli directs her gaze to Lan Wangji. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

When Wangji was little, Uncle had him skip three grades in Chinese school. Jiang Yanli was the only one in their class to go out of their way to be kind to him, a small, overly serious child who spoke like a classical Chinese text.

If it weren’t for the fact that he believes Wei Ying to be innately good and kind, he would think that he got it from her.

“I’ve been well,” Lan Wangji says. He does not know how to convey his genuine desire to see her happy and content. He tries: “I hope you have been, also.”

She smiles. “I have.”

The baby lets out a sharp squall, and Lan Wangji hears Uncle snap, “I have raised two children. I do not need to be instructed in holding an infant.”

“You know what,” says Wei Ying. “Maybe I should just – ok, nope!”

Jiang Yanli chuckles at whatever scene is playing out behind Lan Wangji’s back. “I haven’t thanked you yet for bringing A-Xian to the hospital last month.”

“It was important to him,” he says.

She says, “It was. I am glad that he has a friend like you.”

A friend. Lan Wangji swallows and says, “He deserves better.”

Kindly, Jiang Yanli says, “I am sure that you are more than enough.”

Then Uncle says, “Wangji.”

Lan Wangji turns. Uncle holds a Jin Ling expertly in tender hands while Wei Ying looks on in seething astonishment.

“Would you like to hold him?”

“Don’t just go handing my nephew off to others without permission!” squawks Wei Ying. He turns to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan - wanna hold him?”

Lan Wangji stares down at the child. Newborns are floppy, is what he heard. And breakable. Some of the concern must show on his face because Wei Ying chortles. He takes Jin Ling from Uncle and half kneels before Lan Wangji.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Ying says. “Here - hold him like this.” He arranges Lan Wangji’s arms gently, murmuring instructions, and then he passes him over. Jin Ling settles in his arms like the most precious, fragile weight in the world. Wei Ying presses a soft kiss to Jin Ling’s downy hair. “Be good for Lan Zhan, ok? Don’t scare her away now.”

When Wei Ying looks up smiling, Lan Wangji becomes abruptly aware of how close they are. Faces mere inches apart, pressed warm and tight, a child gurgling between them. And Lan Wangji thinks, he thinks –

He thinks he shouldn’t think about it.

Wei Ying pulls away, leaving Lan Wangji cold. “There,” he says hoarsely. “You’ve got it.”

Lan Wangji looks down at the baby in his arms, with his tiny waving fists and button nose, on loan from his mother.

No, Lan Wangji thinks. I don’t.

*

They leave a little early in the name of Lan bedtime, but Uncle insists that they pay their respects to the new grandparents before they go.

Lan Wangji gives a slight bow. “Jin-xiansheng,” he says. “Jin-furen hao, Fengmian-shushu, Ziyuan-ayi hao.”

Jin Guangshan laughs. He’s drunk and ruddy cheeked with it. “Qiren, your niece has grown up so well.” He grabs Lan Wangji’s hands, looking him up and down. “Please, A-Zhan,”- Jiang Wanyin grimaces out the corner of Lan Wangji’s eye –“ I’ve known you since you were so small! Call me shushu.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says. He does not call him shushu.

To Uncle, Jin Guangshan asks, “Is A-Zhan still trying to be a cultivator?”

It is good that Wei Ying was not seated with the main family, thinks Lan Wangji. If he were, he probably would’ve tried to deck Jin Guangshan, and that wouldn’t have been good for his familial relations. He wants him here anyway, if only for the novel pleasure of having to stop someone from punching someone else on his behalf.

Uncle says, very pointedly, “Wangji is on track to graduate at the top of her class.”

“Of course, of course, nothing but the best from the Lan family eh?” Jin Guangshan rubs circles across the back of Lan Wangji’s hands. “Say, A-Zhan, I hear you’re throwing a Christmas party in a few days.”

Lan Wangji nods.

“I won’t be able to go”- thank god, thinks Lan Wangji -“because I’m having a little get together of my own with some investors, you understand, but A-Li was absolutely insistent on attending your party instead. Said it was a tradition” –it absolutely is not that deep but Lan Wangji can’t blame Jiang Yanli for saying so- “and A-Xuan agreed. I sure hope you’re a good party planner.” Jin Guangshan smiles in a way that he probably thinks is winningly paternal.

Lan Wangji pulls his hands away and clasps them behind his back. In his deadest voice, he says, “I am not.”

Jin Guangshan looks at Uncle.

Uncle clears his throat. “Thank you again for having us.” He nods at Jin-furen, Jiang Fengmian, and Yu Ziyuan. “Your grandson is beautiful.” And then he hustles them out the door.

The car is freezing, and the cold seems to burn straight through Lan Wangji’s coat. He can feel his skin getting dryer by the second.

He says, “I will not apologize for my rudeness.”

Uncle starts the car. “I would not ask you to.”

When they get home, Uncle hovers a little awkwardly at the top of the stairs. “Mei,” he says. “Are you alright?”

What Lan Wangji is, is tired. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji thinks that Uncle is going to try to hug him, which would certainly be something. But he just says, “Get some rest,” and disappears into his room.

Lan Wangji brushes his teeth and changes into pajamas. His phone buzzes.

Wei Ying

I heard that jin guangshan was being creepy

Are you ok?

I can kill him for you

Or jiejie can do it actually, she’s more likely to get away with it

The corner of his mouth twitches. Lan Wangji sits on his bed and hugs his two bunnies close to his chest.

Wei Ying

It absolutely is!!!

Jiang cheng said he called you a-zhan, which

GROSS

Wei Ying

LMAO

yu-furen and jin-furen looked super mad

it’s definitely an impressive sight when its not directed towards me

soooo what are you doing now

Wei Ying

My poor lan zhan, forced to stay up past your bedtime

Say, is your uncle going to be out tomorrow?

Wei Ying

Well

I was thinking I could come over ;)

Wei Ying

What whyyyy

Wei Ying

And the day after that?

Wei Ying

Oh ya its your family’s turn rip

Your uncle and brother aren’t helping?

Wei Ying

That’s dumb

Wei Ying

If your uncle wanted to help, he would find a way

It’s not that hard

Wei Ying

Just because someone raises you doesn’t mean you owe them everything

Don’t tell me you’re not mad about it

Lan Wangji is at a loss for words.

Would you consider applying that to your own life, he types. And then he deletes it.

It’s not a matter of owing he. Delete.

I am just. Delete.

Finally, he types:

Wei Ying

Wait what

???

Lan zhan

What the fuck dude

So maybe that wasn’t one of his best moments. The bunnies sit accusingly in his arms, and Lan Wangji –

Lan Wangji sets them aside. He goes to sleep.

*

So here’s the thing. Uncle never wanted to leave Taiwan.

Originally, when Lan Wangji and Xichen’s father fucked off to who knows where on a guilt spiral, Uncle was supposed to take them away.

And they don’t talk about it.

The same way he and Brother know of war not through the mouths of their family, but from the plaques on the Lan Institute walls, they know this: their mother lived the last ten years of her life under home confinement; their father left when Lan Wangji was a month old; and two days after Uncle arrived to take them back to Taipei, he bought a house fifteen minutes away. And then, for some reason, he stayed.

Lan Wangji has never forgotten. The summer after Mother died, the Institute seemed to buzz with anticipation. He was hiding in the library, angry at the sticky heat and missing home, when a group of people passed by the open window. And they said to each other, almost joyfully: Now that their mother’s dead, Qiren can finally come home.

*

The next morning Lan Wangji wakes up and sends Wei Ying a message.

Five hours later, he receives a reply.

Wei Ying

Aiyo lan zhan, you don’t need to be so formal!

Of course it’s ok, we can forget about it <3

Which…Lan Wangji is grateful of course, to be forgiven so easily. At the same time, he worries that he has been forgiven too easily. No demands to do better, no detailing of consequences, no declaration of yes, you hurt me, here is how to make it up to me.

But then again, if Wei Ying pressed the issue, Lan Wangji doesn’t even know where he would begin to explain himself.

Should he tell him that if Brother is his beating heart, then Uncle is his spine? That sometimes, the only reason Lan Wangji can stand so tall is because he knows he carries his uncle’s love and pride? That at the same time, he can barely breathe under the weight of it, it crushes him so?

It’s not about owing.

Lan Wangji texts back an easy reply, and then he scrubs down the bathroom and decorates the tree and fights through the crowd at the grocery store, and he thinks to himself, love and respect is not transactional, isn’t it?

*

Christmas Eve afternoon finds Lan Wangji in the kitchen when Brother, Mingjue-ge, and Huisang, troop through the door. The cake is baking in the oven. Assorted pastries and egg tarts cool on a rack, and bowls of ingredients are grouped all over the kitchen counter. As his brother and his brother’s family goes upstairs to put their bags away, he kneads the dumpling dough a few more times and sets it aside to rest.

When Brother gets back downstairs, Lan Wangji has most of the non-vegetarian filling prepared. He portions a small part of it into a bowl and dumps a generous amount of chili powder in. His eyes water.

“Wangji,” says Brother tentatively. “I think that’s enough.”

It probably isn’t enough. He adds another two spoons of chili powder. He frowns and goes to add a third.

“Alright, time for a break.” Brother steers him away from the counter. Lan Wangji makes a noise of protest, twisting back, and Brother pushes him down into a chair. “No,” he scolds. He plucks the chopsticks out of Lan Wangji’s hand.

Lan Wangji scowls. “I am not a child.”

“Of course not,” says Brother, wiping flour off his cheek.

Huisang pokes his head through the kitchen entry. Mingjue-ge holds the half door curtain off him with one hand. “If you’re so overwhelmed,” says Huisang. “Why didn’t you just get pre-made stuff?” At Lan Wangji’s look, he adds hastily, “Or maybe not, I don’t know, I really don’t know anything.”

Brother plucks a pastry off the cooling rack and hands it to Lan Wangji. “Eat. We can finish the rest, and then I’ll call Shufu down so that we can all wrap dumplings together.”

Mingjue-ge and Huisang trade apprehensive looks.

“Xichen,” Mingjue-ge says. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

(Side note: Uncle has never fully forgiven Mingjue-ge for moving away and starting his own cultivation school after graduation.)

Brother sets his jaw. “Yes.”

(Another note: Uncle has also never fully gotten over Brother following him.)

(It had been a mess. The elders had been furious at the prospect of losing the only male heir of the family to another sect. Uncle lost countless hours of sleep arguing and negotiating (begrudgingly) with them on Brother’s behalf.)

Huisang flutters his fan. “Well I understand why Da-ge should be here, but I don’t see-“

“You’re staying,” says Brother and Mingjue-ge as one. Lan Wangji nods in agreement.

(Brother and Mingjue-ge may never get married, so they basically are. Which means: in-laws.)

“But Lan-laoshi is so scary,” whines Huisang.

Mingjue-ge swats at him. “Who told you to fail class so many times!”

“Da-geee.”

Later, they all sit around the kitchen table, which has never seemed smaller. There’s an uncomfortable moment when everyone tries to figure out their own workspace amidst all the platters and bowls. Lan Wangji may have gone a little overboard.

Uncle says, “Well? We can’t wrap anything without dumpling skins.”

“Right.” Mingjue-ge picks up one of the precut balls of dough and a rolling pin. In the tiny, flour-covered space allotted to him, he presses it flat and begins to roll it out with thick fingers. It looks almost comical as Mingjue-ge does his utmost best to roll out the skins while trying not to get flour on Uncle or lean too indecently into Brother’s space.

Brother hurries to start as well. A stack begins to form gradually, as they catch up to the folding speed of Lan Wangji, Huisang, and Uncle. As they fall into the rhythm of their task, the tension lessens.

Huisang’s dumplings are beautiful. They’re elegantly pleated on one side, edges curving gracefully, although he doesn’t quite have the knack of estimating the amount of stuffing to use yet.

Uncle folds in brisk double-sided tucks, making neat 6 by 6 squares of dumplings that Brother whisks away to freeze until later.

Lan Wangji’s dumplings are almost identical to Uncle’s, which makes sense, since he was the one that taught him. It was just the three of them then. Him and Brother at this very same table, fumbling through their first attempts. Their dumplings fell apart almost as soon as Uncle placed them in the water.

Lan Wangji doesn’t remember if his mother liked to cook, or even if she cooked at all. She must have, he thinks. How else would she have fed herself, shut away in that house of hers?

It’s funny, the way you think your family will look one way forever, and then in the blink of an eye, it’s different.

Mingjue-ge and Brother have drifted together again like an inevitability, and Huisang sends him panicked looks as Uncle asks about his fashion studies, and Lan Wangji thinks, things really do change so fast.

*

The one good thing about hosting is that by virtue of running the damn thing, Lan Wangji is spared from the bulk of the socialization. Mostly.

He gets cornered by about half-a-dozen well-meaning aunties bearing food, who invade the kitchen and attempt to take over his house and party and tries to set him up with their various children. Lan Wangji doesn’t truly manage shake them off until Brother - without ever appearing to do so - genially talks them into relaxing in the living room with a plate of food each.

He winks at Lan Wangji and then reinserts himself in a conversation between Mingjue-ge and one of their old Chinese school teachers. Lan Wangji wonders where Wei Ying is. He sees Jiang Yanli and Jin Ling tucked in the corner of the couch surrounded by a gaggle of fascinated children. Uncle is deep in conversation with a few of the other parents. Huisang and Jiang Wanyin are also missing, he realizes, and hopes desperately that whatever mischief they get up to doesn’t leave too big a mess.

He busies himself getting more plates and napkins in the kitchen before anyone else can try to talk to him.

He’s clearing the dishes from the dining table when voices drift over from the living room.

“Wangji really has grown up so well – elegant, beautiful, respectful and polite...”

A sigh. “If only our house’s didi was even half as accomplished.”

“Aiyo, don’t give up yet, just look at what she was like as a child!”

“As a child? Wasn’t she always a pristine little lady?”

“I mean she was, but she was also stubborn, difficult-“

“-ruthless in fights,” chimes in another voice. “My kids took cultivation with her, and they used to say she was barely human, much less female.”

A choked laugh. “That’s so mean!”

“At least she mellowed out before she turned out like her mother.”

“Her mother?”

“Oh, I always forget you haven’t been here as long as the rest of us, you see-“

“Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying’s face appears in his vision. He’s frowning.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. His hands wrap around the plate Lan Wangji is holding. Lan Wangji clutches at it like a lifeline. Wei Ying tugs gently. “Let me help you with this, hmm? Can you show me where to put it?”

The plate is ornamental. Richly colored and heavy, but somehow Wei Ying still manages to keep one hand pressed to Lan Wangji’s back. Blankly, he thinks if he looked in the mirror tonight, he’d be able to trace the exact outline of Wei Ying’s hand on his naked back, burning like a brand.

They push into the kitchen.

Wei Ying helps him into a chair with a quiet murmur of something, and then he’s gone. Lan Wangji looks around. There are serving dishes and bowls stacked along the counter, pots and pans on the stove. They should be cleaned. His feet carry him to the sink. He turns the water as hot as possible.

He’s scrubbing at the first plate, steam filling ithe air when Wei Ying comes back. Wei Ying puts the plates down with a clatter. With dismay, he says, “I told you I would take care of it.” He comes over and plunges his hand into the water before Lan Wangji can warn him. Wei Ying recoils. “Holy fuck, Lan Zhan!” He slams the faucet handle towards cold. He scolds, “You can’t turn the water that hot, you’ll hurt yourself. Lan Zhan,” he says, “what’s wrong?”

Wei Ying’s voice is pitched in a way that Lan Wangji knows intimately as distressed. But he can’t speak. He can’t move. He can’t meet Wei Ying’s eyes. He’s frozen to the spot, suffocating on silence.

Gently, Wei Ying takes his hands and rinses them clean. “Do you want me to go?”

He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. But he’s, he - his voice won’t come out. He’s stoppered and muted, like a hand pressed across guqin strings, and it’s all he can do to feel his chest rise and fall with mounting panic. He thinks he might die if Wei Ying let go of his hands.

He can’t speak.

But Wei Ying seems to understand anyway. He turns off the tap and grabs a towel. He doesn’t let go. He murmurs nonsense to him, about how Jin Ling received so much gold and money at his one month, it was ridiculous, and how Yanli-jiejie made toast for him that morning, and did he know that toast could be so good? He dries their hands and he doesn’t let go, and he talks about A-Yuan and Wen-popo and Sishu, and how A-Yuan is getting so big, it’s getting hard for everyone to carry him for long periods of time, and Wei Ying can’t wait for spring to come, because A-Yuan wants to learn to bike.

Slowly, Lan Wangji feels himself thaw, lets his fingers move, twitch by twitch. It’s pitch dark outside. The sink light casts everything in orange-gold. Wei Ying looks at their blurry reflection in the kitchen window, soft and tender, and he says, “There you are.”

There Lan Wangji is. He closes his eyes and leans into his side. Wei Ying leans back. He doesn’t let him fall.

*

“Was it hard, when you and Mingjue-ge first got together?”

Brother looks up from where he’s sweeping various cups and plates off the coffee table and into the trash. “What brought this on?”

Lan Wangji shrugs. Uncle is upstairs. Mingjue-ge and Huisang are talking quietly in the guest room. “I wasn’t paying attention at the time. I wonder if I could have done more to support you.”

Brother hums thoughtfully.

“If I have overstepped,” says Lan Wangji. “I apologize. You do not need to answer.”

“No, it’s not that,” says Brother. “I’m just thinking. But you know it wasn’t your responsibility to defend me.”

“Mn,” says Lan Wangji skeptically.

“It wasn’t too bad,” says Brother finally. “You know Uncle was upset about everything but the gay thing. And Mingjue’s parents had just passed away, but they probably would’ve been fine with it too.” He shrugs. “People used to say weird things to us sometimes, but it’s not as bad now.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t worry about us,” says Brother. “We’ve got things well in hand.”

Lan Wangji nods.

After a few minutes of silently cleaning, Brother says, “Wangji.” He’s looking at him with a strange expression.

Lan Wangji sends him a questioning look.

“You know it’s ok, if you” -Brother pauses as he tries to find the words- “if you find yourself liking different people than you thought you would.”

“Ge,” says Lan Wangji, aggrieved.

“I’m just saying, regardless of if you find yourself liking a boy or a girl, it’s completely ok. I don’t want you to feel pressured to pursue a same-sex relationship just because of me.”

That is really, really not the problem.

“Wei Wuxian, for example, seems to be a very good friend-”

“I’m going to go load the dishwasher,” says Lan Wangji and flees.

*

Later that night, Lan Wangji is about to sleep when a tapping sound comes from the window. Frowning, he summons his sword and pushes the curtain aside.

Wei Ying waves cheerfully at him from the other side.

Oh my god, thinks Lan Wangji. He opens the window. The moonlight gleams off Wei Ying’s sword. He’s wearing Lan Wangji’s scarf. “What are you doing here?”

Wei Ying says cheekily, “I’m Santa!”

Lan Wangji stares at him. He’s letting the cold air in.

Wei Ying’s cheer falters. “I um, I wanted to check if you were ok.”

Lan Wangji thinks his heart might start glowing. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” says Wei Ying. “I have to get back before someone notices I’m missing. I just wanted make sure you were ok in person.”

“You flew fifteen miles on a freezing night just to check on me?”

Wei Ying winces. “I – yes? It’s really not that far, and I have these heating talismans-“

Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying.”

“Hmm?” Wei Ying bites his lip and looks up at him hopefully.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he insists. “You’re important to me.”

Lan Wangji leans out the window and presses a kiss to Wei Ying’s cold cheek. “Thank you.”

Wei Ying touches a hand to his cheek and gapes at him long enough for his ears to start to burn. Lan Wangji looks down at his feet and tries to think of something to say.

A hand touches his cheek. Lan Wangji looks up, and Wei Ying - Wei Ying is incandescent in the moonlight. The look on his face…

Lan Wangji has held and hidden his wanting inside his chest for years, dammed up his heart and let the pressure build. The look on Wei Ying’s face – it cleaves him in two and he thinks, he thinks he would do anything, be anything, just to keep Wei Ying looking at him like that, and he – he can feel a flood coming on.

When a dam breaks, they call it catastrophic failure.

Wei Ying holds his gaze, the moon carving his face from the jade. The moment stretches, stretches, and then it breaks, gently. “Merry Christmas, Lan Zhan. Sleep well.”

“Wei Ying,” he says, slow like the tide coming in. “Goodnight.”

Chapter Text

The next morning Lan Wangji wakes with what Huisang would call an “emotions hangover.”

Last time this happened, Brother had made them talk about him moving out.

He’d been reading in the living room, minding his own business when Brother sat down across from him.

Expectantly: “Wangji.”

Lan Wangji knew what Brother intended instantly. Please no, said his face and general entire being.

Sternly and silently, Brother stared him down. This is necessary for the emotional health of our relationship.

Goddamnit, Lan Wangji had thought, and set his book aside.

Thankfully, Lan Wangji has perfected the art of having an entire conversation about feelings, where he feels many things, without actually revealing anything.

So what if he’s in love with Wei Wuxian? That’s old news.

Lan Wangji remembers seeing himself in his family’s colors, wondering if he could be something other than a girl, and then deciding that didn’t matter. It’s not like he was ever going to do something about it. Pursuing the matter would just.

It would just be an unnecessary complication making his life harder. This is no different.

*

Huisang and Mingjue-ge leave after lunch. It’s a long drive back, and they’re giving Wei Ying a ride over to the Wen’s as well. Brother will stay another week or so before returning. Warm contentment fills Lan Wangji at the prospect of spending a whole week together.

He’s aware that most twenty-somethings – including himself – don’t particularly enjoy living in their parent’s house, but it has been a while since he and Brother were able to simply cohabitate. It’s nice, sitting in the same room as they work on their individual leisure activities. After a lifetime of abstaining from electronics, Brother has bought a Nintendo Switch. Lan Wangji has new books to read. Sometimes, after dinner Uncle will ask if they’d like to bring out their instruments, and they’ll play a few songs before retiring for the night.

Wei Ying texts him often. A little less than before, now that he’s spending most of his time chasing after A-Yuan or helping out with the Burial Mounds Farm. Apparently, the winter season doesn’t mean any less work, and Wei Ying is enthusiastic in his descriptions of budgeting and planning and chicken raising.

At the end of December, while Uncle and Brother are both out, Lan Wangji goes for a walk.

Lan Wangji remembers the path to his mother’s house the same way others might remember a childhood friend’s landline: unremarkably and indubitably. 33 Gentian Lane sits on the other side of town, half hidden by the neighbors’ hedges. It has blue shutters and big flowering shrubs under the windows. His mother had loved those flowers. In the spring, she liked to pluck the largest blooms from her window and sit them in cups of water like lily pads.

It has been a long time since she died.

His father’s funeral had been a blur of noise and color. White, yellow, green – flowers and flowers and flowers, banners and ribbons. Elaborate arrangements of fruits and dishes. Him and Brother before the crowd, a voice telling them to kneel and bow, once, twice, thrice. He thinks the rug had been red. When he touched his head to the ground, it was prickly under his fingertips.

His mother’s funeral had been silent. Their father had declined to attend, and so there had only been him and brother, hand in hand, clinging as close to Uncle as they dared. The only ones in the world left to remember her. The stillness of her casket in the ground lingered for weeks, clinging to his six-year-old self like cigarette smoke. It made it hard to breathe. Most everyone learned to stay away.

In a few days, he and Brother will buy a dozen of grocery store flowers and lay them at their mother’s tombstone, where the cradle of trees stands in sharp contrast to their father’s mountain grave. And Lan Wangji will wonder: if his mother were alive today, would she be proud of her daughter? Would she be proud of her son?

A white SUV pulls up next to Lan Wangji. The passenger side window rolls down.

“I thought you would be here,” Brother says cheerily, but in an aggressive way. “Uncle said that you were missing when he got home.”

Ah.

When their mother died, Uncle didn’t specifically say that she was dead, only that she was gone and that they couldn’t see her, which was simply not good enough an explanation for Lan Wangji. His mother wouldn’t see him? Impossible.

Brother, who was nine, understood immediately and retreated to his room where he could process without the incessant questions of his usually taciturn baby sister.

Lan Wangji on the other hand, set out to prove Uncle wrong, certain that if he could only get there, if he only waited long enough – if he was good – surely his mother would see him.

He doesn’t remember all that much from his adventure, only the searing cold and hard wood under his knees. Apparently, by the time he was finally found, Lan Wangji had managed to burn through more than half of his fledgling core trying stay awake and upright. Brother barely let him out of his sight for weeks afterwards.

Great, he thinks, Now I feel bad.

Brother sighs. “You know it’s always alright if you want to be alone, but next time, tell us before you disappear?” Brother looks into the distance, like a PTA mom gathering her strength. Then he frowns. “Did they repaint the house?”

Lan Wangji shrugs. He has only visited in recent years. His memories of before are all muddled up.

“I feel like it used to white,” Brother taps his fingers on the steering wheel thoughtfully. “Although I guess maybe white houses might be harder to keep clean?”

“It is not a tennis shoe,” Lan Wangji says waspishly.

Brother laughs, and Lan Wangji softens despite himself. From across the street, a child appears in the window. They disappear and then reappear with an adult in tow. He points in Lan Wangji and Brother’s direction.

Brother: “Perhaps it is time to go.”

Lan Wangji nods, already opening the car door. “Agreed.”

*

Wei Ying

happy new year!

I know it’s not midnight but I doubt even your lan bedtime will make an allowance for something as FRIVOLOUS as new years >:(

But its midnight somewhere!!!

Open the attachment for a surprise ;)

Don’t use it yet tho!!! Also make sure you open it outside and not near anything flammable I still haven’t ironed out a lot of the kinks yet

Very reassuring.

Lan Wangji opens the attachment to find a diagram for a talisman. Wei Ying has left little notes along the edges with arrows criss-crossing to various radicals and strokes. Lan Wangji copies the talisman out diligently. It takes him a few tries to get it right.

Thank goodness for modern innovations like brush pens. Otherwise he’d be here grinding ink all night.

He’s halfway down the hallway when his brother’s door opens.

Lan Wangji freezes.

Brother raises an eyebrow. “Mei.”

Normally, it would be easy enough to pretend to be getting a drink of water, but Lan Wangji has already been caught looking guilty. Even if he hasn’t done anything wrong. He invokes his right to remain silent.

Brother pinches the bridge of his nose. “If you use a low powered EMP talisman you can disable the alarm on the backdoor.” Then he continues down the hall and disappears into the bathroom.

Lan Wangji stands there for a moment, because, what??? Then he reminds himself that he’s on a clock and gets himself outside, socks and boots on, bundled in his winter coat just as the clock strikes 9.

He throws the talisman up and activates it.

The talisman bursts into sparks, crackling up and out, grazing his skin without heat, a million golden butterflies entwined about a flare shooting into the sky, hovering like a star before exploding. Fireworks.

*

Wei Ying

Lan zhan lanzhn!!!!

You would not BELIEVE the stuff sishu has stashed away

Like damn!!! I’ve been helping him test batches of fruit wine all day

Night?

Whatever

Its so good~

If you drank I think you would like it

I wonder if sishu could make a lan friendly version for you

Unless that’s just juice?

Are you allowed to drink juice?

I bet ur uncle only let you drink orange juice with high pulp

Wei Ying

LAN ZHAN!!!

Ahahah I tried to jump up and almost fell right over

Wen qing shouted at me

Don’t frown!

You know she only does that from a place of love

Anyway it doesn’t count unless you actually drank it

Wei Ying

Baby lan zhan???

Break the rules??

Impossible

*

Wei Ying

Uhhh

Why. Does he need them

Lan zhan

Lan zhan is he going to end up developmentally stunted

Lan zhan!!! I should have read more parenting books

Wei Ying

Did you see the BABIES???

Did they swarm you???

God I wish we knew each other when we were still in Chinese school I would kill to see you running the toddler program

Wei Ying

Too bad you hated me☹

Wei Ying

Uhhh you ran away from me all the time???

Wei Ying

You were startled

Like a bunny

Wei Ying

Yes

Wei Ying

Ok and?

Wei Ying

?

Wei Ying

LAMOOO

*LMAOO

*

Wei Ying

Hey hey lan-er-jiejie

When are you coming back?

Wei Ying

Huisang and jiang cheng wont be returning until Sunday

Which means there wont be anyone questioning me

About where ive been

Like say overnight

Or all weekend

Wei Ying

LOL

That was very fast Miss Lan

Care to explain?

Wei Ying

Ur avoiding the subject~

Wei Ying

O ye of little faith

*

If Lan Wangji had to describe the Wens’ house in one word, it would be rickety. And cramped. Also old. He has no idea how anyone gets in and out of their driveway without losing a side mirror or knocking a trashcan over.

The yard is circled by a rusty wire gate, the grass is patchy and yellow, but a small collection of plants in cracked pots sit on the porch, blooming despite the cold. Lan Wangji can imagine Wei Ying squatting down on the muddy wood, explaining how to care for the plants to a curious A-Yuan.

He rings the doorbell.

Indistinct shouting and footsteps. The strong scent of Chinese apothecary wafts over Lan Wangji as the door opens.

For some reason, Lan Wangji had half expected Wei Ying to be the one to greet him.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Don’t look so disappointed,” she says. “This is my house, you know.”

Chastened, Lan Wangji says, “Wen Qing. How are you?” It is embarrassing to be seen through so easily.

Wen Qing doesn’t seem to take it personally. “I’ve been fine, thank you. Now come in.”

Lan Wangji wipes his boots on the door mat before stepping in and taking them off.

“Wei Wuxian!” Wen Qing shouts up the stairs as she takes out a pair of slippers from a cabinet by the door. “Lan Wangji is here.”

“WHAT?” shouts Wei Ying’s voice. “ALREADY?”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. She gestures Lan Wangji in. “Come on, we can wait in the kitchen.”

Granny Wen sits at the kitchen table before a whole spread of herbs and plants. At the sight of Lan Wangji, she begins to creak to her feet.

“Popo!” Wen Qing rushes forward to brace her arms.

Lan Wangji also steps forward. “Please,” he says quickly. “There’s no need.”

Granny Wen allows Wen Qing to sit her back down. “If you insist.” As Wen Qing starts to fuss and takes over the rest of the sorting, Granny Wen meets Lan Wangji’s eyes and winks. “A crisis to solve always improves her mood,” she says in a stage whisper.

Lan Wangji nods solemnly back.

“Granny,” says Wen Qing in a long-suffering tone.

Granny flaps a hand at her fondly. “Are you hungry?” she asks Lan Wangji. “We have snacks and leftover cookies.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Are you sure?” says Granny Wen. “The cookies are quite good. A-Ning made them. Not too sweet.”

“Thank you,” says Lan Wangji. “But I’m alright.”

“There’s no need to be polite,” Granny Wen insists. “At least let us get you something to drink. Juice? Water?”

Lan Wangji knows a losing battle when he sees one. “Water please, thank you.”

Wen Qing casts a commiserating look towards Lan Wangji before getting up. He keeps his face perfectly polite and inquires after Granny Wen’s health.

“Good enough,” she replies. “But it is only so good because A-Qing works so hard to take care of me.” She pats Wen Qing’s cheek, who smiles helplessly back at her.

Lan Wangji accepts his glass of water with a nod of thanks. He looks discretely about the house. There’s a stack of mail and agriculture magazines on the table and a half-finished knitting project in garish red on the couch. A laundry basket in the corner holds a jumble of children’s toys. But there’s no child in sight.

Granny Wen notices Lan Wangji’s gaze. “A-Yuan is in my room.”

“He’s sulking,” Wen Qing drawls. Her deft and steady movements stop, and she frowns down at the jumble of roots in her hands.

“Discard pile,” says Granny Wen.

“But the…” Wen Qing points to something.

“Hmm,” says Granny Wen. “Keep it then.”

Lan Wangji has no idea what they’re talking about. He returns to the subject at hand. “A-Yuan is sulking?”

“He and Wuxian had a fight,” responds Granny Wen. “Wuxian threw away the last slice of his birthday cake.”

Lan Wangji looks up in surprise.

“The cake had gone bad,” Granny Wen clarifies.

That made more sense.

As it turned out, A-Yuan’s birthday was a few days ago, and Wen Ning and Granny Wen had made a beautiful sponge cake stuffed with cream and strawberries and custard and mango, upon which Wei Ying had meticulously drawn out Peppa Pig in icing. A-Yuan had liked the cake so much that the rest of the house had tacitly agreed to leave as much cake as possible for him, only for the fresh cream and fruit to spoil before he finished it. Hence the fight.

Poor A-Yuan. Poor Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji takes a sip of his water.

“But tell me how you’ve been,” says Granny Wen. “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” Lan Wangji says, a little disconcerted to have the attention turned upon him again. Thankfully, this is when Wei Ying comes pounding down the stairs.

“I am so sorry for the wait, I meant to be ready I swear!” Wei Ying’s duffle bag swings into Lan Wangji’s side as he goes in for a hug, only to remember their audience and abort his attempt halfway. Awkwardly, he wraps his arms around himself instead. “You were just really early which, I guess I should have anticipated, haha.”

Wen Qing’s eyebrows look like they’re about to become one with her hairline. Granny Wen is out of Lan Wangji’s line of sight, but he can feel her gaze and he is afraid of it. He is also deeply aware of why he rushed to get here so early. Wei Ying’s t-shirt is low enough to reveal his collarbones. It looks very soft. Lan Wangji has a good idea of what he would look like without it.

He clears his throat. “Are you ready to depart?”

Wei Ying’s demeanor falters. “Yeeeah, I guess.” His eyes flick to Granny Wen. “Is he…?”

“Still angry, yes.” At Wei Ying’s crestfallen expression, she says, “If you have to leave, you have to leave.”

“Wei Wuxian,” snaps Wen Qing. “He kicked you. You will not fold.”

“Whah,” says Wei Ying. “I wouldn’t. Really!” He adds at Wen Qing and Granny Wen’s identical looks of skepticism.

Lan Wangji did not know about the kicking. Still, he offers weakly, “There’s no rush.”

“No, no, there’s no need for that. He…” Wei Ying takes a breath and sets his shoulders. “I’m just gonna have to tough this one out.”

Lan Wangji asks, “May I try speaking to him?

“Would you?” Wei Ying says plaintively.

Wen Qing shrugs at Granny Wen. “He does like Lan Wangji a lot.”

“Sure.” Granny Wen gets to her feet despite Wen Qing’s protest. “I’ll show you to my room.”

“Thank you,” says Lan Wangji.

Granny Wen’s room is tucked away in the back of the first floor. She knocks on the doorframe. “A-Yuan? There’s someone here to see you.”

“Is Xian-gege with you?” asks a lump draped in dark fabric from the corner. Wen Ning’s jacket, thinks Lan Wangji. Wei Ying has always favored more flashy silver accents on his jackets.

“No,” says Lan Wangji.

A-Yuan’s head pops out of the lump. “Rich-jiejie!” He comes to a stop a few feet from the door, trailing the sleeves of the jacket behind him. Suspiciously: “Are you here to make me say sorry too?”

“No,” says Lan Wangji semi-honestly. “I wanted to say hello before Xian-gege and I leave.”

“Oh. You’re here to take Xian-gege away?”

“…yes.”

“Good!”

“…”

Now, Lan Wangji has plenty of experience with adults telling him that how he felt was wrong and irrational, and he knows very well that it does you no good at all to hear it. On the other hand, kicking is bad. Feeling very much like someone picking along a trap lined road in the dark, Lan Wangji says, “You must be quite angry to say so.”

A-Yuan deflates a little. “I am.”

“It is important to recognize how you feel,” Lan Wangji says. “But I also think it is important to recognize that parting on bad terms with a loved one might make you feel sad.”

A-Yuan’s face darkens. “You are here to make me say sorry!”

“No –“

A-Yuan jumps onto the bed and burrows deep into the blankets. “Go away!”

Lan Wangji looks dismayed at Granny Wen, who says, “Come on now, it’ll be alright. I’ll talk to him when he calms down.”

“I won’t calm down!” A-Yuan shouts after them.

When they return to the kitchen, Wei Ying’s hopeful look falls away when he sees Lan Wangji’s face.

He picks up his bag and plasters a smile to his face. “It’s alright, Lan Zhan. I’m sure you did your best.” Wei Ying gives Wen Qing a one-armed hug and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wen Qing grumbles, but her soft expression gives her away. “Have a fun weekend. You too, Wangji.”

Heat prickles up the back of Lan Wangji’s neck, for whatever reason. “Mn.”

Wei Ying opens his arms at Granny Wen. “Popo!” Smiling fondly, Granny Wen allows herself to be hugged. It’s an infuriatingly charming sight: tall and ruggedly lanky Wei Ying embracing silver-haired Granny Wen who barely reaches his shoulder. “Will you miss me?”

“Miss you?” says Granny Wen. “You’ll be back soon enough.”

Wei Ying pouts at her.

Granny Wen pats his face. “Take care of yourself and get good grades.”

“Yes, Granny.” Wei Ying grabs Lan Wangji by the arm and begins pulling him towards the door. “Thank you for having me!”

Lan Wangji nods goodbye.

“Having you?” Wen Qing shouts after him. “You live here!”

Wei Ying smiles, realer this time. “C’mon Lan Zhan. Let’s go.”

They’ve driven all the way down the street when Wei Ying’s hand flies to Lan Wangji’s arm. “Lan Zhan,” he says urgently, voice cracked open and a little raw.

A tiny figure pounds down the sidewalk after them. Lan Wangji pulls over instantly, even though traffic laws prohibit parking within 25 feet of an intersection. Wei Ying is out the door before they come to a full stop.

In the mirror, Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying kneel down as he meets A-Yuan. A-Yuan speaks, expressive and unregulated the way only children are. Wei Ying nods. They embrace. Lan Wangji looks away to give them their privacy.

After a few long moments of not fidgeting in the driver’s seat, but also not not fidgeting in the driver’s seat, there’s a knock on the passenger side of the cat. Wei Ying grins at him, A-Yuan hoisted up in his arms. Lan Wangji rolls down the window.

“Someone has something to tell you,” Wei Ying says. There’s a sparkle in his eyes. Lan Wangji is glad to see it.

A-Yuan looks at him with big eyes. Have his cheeks gotten even rounder? Even cuter? “I’m sorry for shouting at you.”

“And?” Wei Ying prompts.

“And I won’t it again,” he finishes.

“You are forgiven.” Lan Wangji feels his eyes soften. “I’m glad you and Xian-gege have made up.”

A-Yuan nods vigorously.

“Alright,” says Wei Ying. “I see your Qing-jie coming and she doesn’t look too happy, so it’s time to go. Remember to stop running off without telling anyone, okay?”

“I told Qing-jie where I was going,” protests A-Yuan.

“Stop running off without someone telling you it’s okay,” Wei Ying revises. He sets A-Yuan back down on the ground. “Baobei-xiao-luobo,” he says. “My darling little turnip. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“See you in a few weeks,” A-Yuan repeats with a nod. “Xian-gege bye-bye! Rich-jiejie bye-bye!” A-Yuan runs back down the street to Wen Qing who receives him with her hands on her hips. A-Yuan says something to make her posture soften, and she ruffles his hair. They walk home hand in hand, pausing every once in a while for A-Yuan to wave back at them.

“Thank you,” says Wei Ying, who is back in the car again.

“Of course,” says Lan Wangji, starting the car.

They travel in silence for a while. Downtown passes by. There’s a small trickle of college students out and about, having just returned from break. They’re crossing the bridge to the neighboring town when Wei Ying shifts a little in his seat. Lan Wangji feels his appraising gaze look him up and down.

“Lan Zhan~”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say!”

“Unnecessary.”

“But I missed you,” Wei Ying whines. Lan Wangji tries to ignore the way his heart jumps at that. “Do you know how hard it is to get some alone time there? No privacy at all!”

Of course, Lan Wangji thinks. That’s what it is.

Wei Ying runs a hand up Lan Wangji’s thigh. “I can make it good for you,” he promises, mock breathily. Wei Ying traces a finger along his cheek and tucks a strand of hair behind Lan Wangji’s burning ear. Leans in to murmur, “Unless you don’t think you can handle it?”

They’re at a red light. Lan Wangji whips his head around to snap at him.

Wei Ying darts out of range of his teeth with a hoot. He tsks at him. “Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan. So rude! Don’t you know that if you take my fingers off, I won’t be able to – mmph! Mm-mmm!”

“Behave,” Lan Wangji says over Wei Ying’s muffled noise. “I’ll take the spell off you when we get home.”

Wei Ying of course, does not respond.

*

“Shoes!” Wei Ying squawks when Lan Wangji jumps him the moment they’re through the door. He digs in his heels, half tripping over their bags. “Barbaric,” he mutters, bending down. Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to kick the door shut and grope him. Wei Ying’s voice jumps an octave. “What would your uncle say?”

“I think my uncle would have other concerns.”

“Asshole,” Wei Ying grumbles. He finishes taking off his damn Converse. Finally. Lan Wangji resumes towing him towards his room. “So impatient!”

Lan Wangji shoves him backwards on to the bed. “You were gagging for it five minutes ago.”

“You literally gagged me!”

Lan Wangji places a hand over the tent in Wei Ying’s jeans and presses down. Wei Ying makes a strangled sound.

“You don’t have to look so smug,” Wei Ying complains as Lan Wangji divests him of his pants. Wei Ying jeans are always so tight. There’s a wet spot at the front of his boxers. When Lan Wangji touches a finger to it, Wei Ying shivers.

For a brief moment, Lan Wangji wishes he still wore skirts, if only for the novelty of pulling Wei Ying’s cock out, pushing his own panties aside and sinking straight down. He thinks the look on Wei Ying’s face would be something to behold. Hmm. Maybe one day.

For now, he settles for taking off his pants.

While Lan Wangji was plotting, Wei Ying has been busy – his jacket has been tossed off to the side, and his shirt is halfway off when Lan Wangji climbs into his lap. Lan Wangji helps him draw the rest of it off. Wei Ying’s face emerges from behind the fabric – wide eyed and red cheeked, messy bun falling apart.

Wei Ying’s hair tangles easily. When it gets caught on hair ties and other accessories, he always ends up ripping strands of hair out, wincing all the while. Lan Wangji wants to pull his scrunchie off slowly, careful of snags and tangles, and then he wants to finger comb Wei Ying’s hair until it falls loose and neat about his shoulders. He suppresses the urge though. Funny how he thinks that being allowed that one act of tenderness would unravel him.

Wei Ying’s hands settle about his waist. Lan Wangji places his hands on Wei Ying’s very nice shoulders.

Wei Ying tilts his head up to look at him. “Well?”

“I want you to fuck me. And then,” Lan Wangji continues, “I want to suck my cum off of you.”

“Yeah ok,” Wei Ying squeaks.

Lan Wangji leans down to seal his mouth to his, and Wei Ying melts, opening up for him, all warm and yielding. Lan Wangji threads his hands through Wei Ying’s hair and pulls. Wei Ying gasps into his mouth. Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to bite at his lower lip, tongue swiping over the mole under the corner of his mouth. The twitch of Wei Ying’s fingers is all the warning Lan Wangji gets before Wei Ying twists them around up the bed and bears him down into the sheets.

*

Later, much much later, Wei Ying follows when Lan Wangji retires for bed.

At Lan Wangji’s questioning look, Wei Ying just smiles. “There’s no point in staying up if you’re going to be asleep. I’ll just noodle around on my phone for a bit first.” The he pauses, face growing uncertain. “Unless you want me to stay in the other room?”

Preposterous. Lan Wangji slides into bed and lifts the blankets up. “Get in.”

Wei Ying flashes him a grin and crawls in after him. He gets comfortable as Lan Wangji assumes his usual nightly sleeping position.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. “Should I get the lights?”

Lan Wangji cracks an eye open. “You may leave them on until you wish to sleep.”

“But won’t it be hard for you to sleep?”

“You’ll ruin your eyes scrolling in the dark.”

A chuckle. “If you say so.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “I do say so.” He feels Wei Ying laugh silently beside him.

“Okay, okay. Go to sleep, Lan Zhan.”

Ever obedient to his love, Lan Wangji does. Sort of.

Wei Ying is not a quiet person by nature. He emotes with his whole body. Lan Wangji can feel his silent peals of laughter, his gasps of delight. So that’s why Lan Wangji snaps back into awareness when the body beside him grows still and contemplative. His skin prickles with the feeling of being watched. He keeps his breathing slow and even. Many long minute pass before Wei Ying sighs and reaches over to turn the light off with a soft click. The blankets rustle and shift. Wei Ying curls away on the bed and stills.

Lan Wangji stays awake for a long while after.

Chapter Text

School starts. Lan Wangji resigns himself to facing multiple classes alone, without the comfort of Wei Ying at his side. Adulthood, whatever that’s supposed to mean, looms ever present on the horizon. They’ve all begun to branch into their various specialties. Wei Ying has his alternative cultivation research, Wen Qing her medical ambitions. Luo Qingyang wants to be a freelance cultivator.

As for Lan Wangji, well, he has his duty and his sect. Cultivation pedagogy, music cultivation and —

Business administration, Lan Wangji thinks with unseemly gloom. Uncle and Brother will need him to assist with running the Institute. He’ll be stuffed away in an office for forever. No nights hunts, no teaching, only meetings and jurisdiction slap fights.

At least no one expects him to get married anytime soon.

A voice calling his name jerks him out of his thoughts.

Lan Wangji looks up to three sets of eyes staring at him. “I apologize,” he says. “What was the question?”

Luo Qingyang, Wen Qing, and Huaisang exchange a glance across the cafeteria table. Luo Qingyang props her chin on her hands. “How are you feeling about Su She being in our class?”

Lan Wangji frowns. “Su She is in our class?” Their community engagement class from that morning? Su She from the night hunt?

“…” goes the rest of the table.

“It’s not a very big class,” Luo Qingyang says.

Lan Wangji shrugs. He’d been preoccupied with other things.

Huaisang tilts his head. “You’re really ok with it?”

“Is there a point?” Lan Wangji replies.

Huaisang nods sagely, swirling his coffee. “Our Lan Wangji is peerless in temperament and generous in spirit indeed, to not hold a grudge against such a character.”

That would be pushing it. Lan Wangji holds grudges. He does have a little bit of a grudge. He almost drowned, and worse, his guqin broke.

“Well, I’ll hold a grudge for you,” Luo Qingyang says with a decisive jab of her fork.

Again, not necessary, thinks Lan Wangji.

But then she continues, “He’s annoying as fuck, and he never stops talking about guqin.”

“He was rude to A-Ning at archery club,” Wen Qing says, which is probably the most condemning thing she could say about a person.

“Plus like,” Huaisang adds. “He’s been obsessed with you since like forever.”

That gives Lan Wangji pause. What?

At Lan Wangji’s questioning look, Huaisang says, “I mean, we did go to high school and middle school with him.”

Lan Wangji frowns.

“…” goes Huaisang, Luo Qingyang, and Wen Qing.

Lan Wangji says haltingly, “There was a Drew Minhas in our grade?” They’d run in the same circles because of their advanced level classes. He’d heard his name in passing often. And then, Lan Wangji suddenly realizes: “They’re not the same person.”

Luo Qingyang groans.

Wen Qing pinches the bridge of her nose.“Unbelievable.”

“You know,” Huaisang taps thoughtfully at his mouth. “That actually explains a lot.”

It did explain a lot, actually, like Lan Wangji’s long standing confusion of what Drew Minhas was actually called and what he was supposed to look like and why on the few occasions that Lan Wangji had noticed, Su Minshan was always looking at him weird. But it was also embarrassing so Lan Wangji ignores him. “Why do you know so much about him?”

As it turns out, after the night hunt happened, Wei Ying had told a “few select friends” — better known as everyone at that month’s “Wine and Whine” — about what gone down. They had all gotten very riled up, and in their righteous anger, decided to investigate this fellow who’d brought their friend so much grief.

Huaisang dug up every scrap of gossip he knew about him going all the way back to 6th grade, when Su Minshan had insulted a girl during a game of truth or dare, to junior year, when he’d gotten half his AP Chemistry class suspended by snitching on their group chat/plagiarism ring. He also recalled several times when Lan Wangji had placed just above Su Minshan in various competitions.

Then they’d stalked him down on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and also, Linkedin.

“Oh,” says Lan Wangji after the group finishes explaining. Truth be told, he hadn’t expected other people to care that much.

Wen Qing waves him off. “Don’t worry about it,” choruses the rest of the table.

*

“Why are you so surprised?” says Wei Ying later. He’s sprawled out across Lan Wangji’s couch. It’s his worst imitation of sitting yet, and Lan Wangji wants him to stay there forever. He kicks his legs against the side of the sofa. “They’re your friends.”

Lan Wangji foregos responding in favor of adding another note to his planner and opening his textbook to the day’s reading.

Wei Ying’s kicking stops. “Unless…you didn’t know?”

Lan Wangji continues working.

“Hey.” Wei Ying half swings half rolls himself onto the floor with a thump. “Hey. Hey hey hey. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhaaaaaan.” He pouts, wriggling into Lan Wangji’s personal space. When that fails to cause a reaction he stretches himself across the coffee table before him. Lan Wangji can’t help the way his eyes catch on the arch of Wei Ying’s neck and the line of pale stomach revealed by his hoodie riding up. “Hah!” Wei Ying crows. “Made you look.”

Lan Wangji is rolling his eyes on the inside. Wei Ying wears his triumph at just as obnoxiously as he would’ve five years ago. Lan Wangji manhandles him aside, much less forcefully than he would’ve five years ago. Five years ago, he probably would’ve shoved Wei Ying off the table and fled at the implication of looking at Wei Ying in any kind of way.

From the way he grins, Wei Ying knows it too. He flops onto the ground and rests his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. He tugs at his sleeve. “Tell meeeeeee.”

Five years ago, Lan Wangji had been desperately alone, with no peers to confide in and no peers willing to approach him, aside from a certain loud-mouthed boy. And yet now, that loud-mouthed boy has quite literally fallen into his lap. Lan Wangji sets his pen down. “They’re your friends.” They’re your friends, he means.

Wei Ying hears it anyway. “Oh, so people can only be friends with one of us now?” His nose scrunches. “What, did you think Wen Qing and Mianmian had lunch with you every week because they liked me?” He pokes Lan Wangji’s cheek and laughs at his affronted expression. “Stupid!” he says. “You’re not friendless, idiot. People like you.”

Lan Wangji remains silent and unconvinced.

Wei Ying crosses his arms. “Mianmian.”

“Luo Qingyang and I are…” Lan Wangji pauses. What would be the term for habitual partners in any and all shared classes. The cultivation equivalent of PE buddies?

“PE buddies but for cultivation classes?” Wei Ying says

“Mn.”

“PE buddies share a sacred bond,” Wei Ying declares.

Lan Wangji doubts that, but alright.

“Wen Qing and Wen Ning,” Wei Ying throws out.

“I have no individual bonds with either of them,” Lan Wangji points out. “I’ve never interacted with them without you or Luo Qingyang present.”

“Okay but,” Wei Ying says. “Wen Ning likes you because I like you, and Wen Qing likes you because you feed me. Also because of that one time you yelled at me for pulling two all-nighters in a row.”

“I do not yell,” Lan Wangji says. “And sleep deprivation is extremely detrimental to your health in the short and long-term.”

Wei Ying ignores him. “I bet you and Wen Qing would be GREAT bitching buddies.”

Lan Wangji mouths to himself, Bitching buddies.

“Huaisang,” Wei Ying declares.

“Our brothers are dating.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t fond of him,” Wei Ying says. “And he likes you too, otherwise he wouldn’t be so nice to you.”

Point. Huaisang can be quite vicious to those he dislikes.

“And,” Wei Ying beams. “You have me! Even if you don’t believe that anyone else likes you, you believe me, don’t you? And I’ll like you enough to make up for everyone else!”

Lan Wangji’s ears heat. “Ridiculous,” he snaps.

Wei Ying laughs at him. He reaches up and traces a line along Lan Wangji’s jaw. Lan Wangji does not shiver. Wei Ying sits up and his breath is hot when he whispers into his ear, “Come on, jiejie, you’ve been working on your homework for so long. Don’t you want to enjoy some of the benefits of being my friend?”

Lan Wangji, sends him a look. You’re not clever or funny, is what it says. But he meets him for a kiss anyway.

*

The other thing about the new semester is that Wei Ying spends a lot more time at Lan Wangji’s now. He was already spending a lot of time there, what with their multiple liaisons and study sessions and meals. But now, it’s not just that. Now, Wei Ying sleeps over. Now, Wei Ying sleeps over often.

Wei Ying lives with Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin, who are respectively, the most subtly nosy and least subtly nosy people in the world. Huaisang is just Like That. Jiang Wanyin is almost never Like That - unless it involves Wei Wuxian.

In the interest of keeping their relations on the down low, it was agreed that there would be no spending the night, minimal rendezvous outside of ‘studying,’ and no evidence left behind.

Well, Wei Ying has a drawer now.

How it happened was this: one Saturday early in the semester, Wei Ying appeared outside Lan Wangji’s door, three drinks past pleasantly drunk, said Wow, it really is much nicer here, and then toppled over into Lan Wangji’s arms. Lan Wangji then had a tiny, tiny — miniscule, really — freak out over both his words and his very very tight fishnet top, and then carried him off to wipe his face of glitter

When Lan Wangji let him go to soak another cotton pad with makeup remover, Wei Ying had taken advantage of the distraction to slump into Lan Wangji’s neck, sliding half off the bathroom counter.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji had said severely.

“Noooooo,” Wei Ying had whined, sliding down further.

I really should have put on a bra, Lan Wangji thought. “Wei Ying,” he scolded.

Wei Ying shook his head, no doubt smearing more makeup all over Lan Wangji’s clean pajamas. “W’bùyàoooo.^[1]Then he snorted quietly to himself and mumbled, “World cold and hard, tiddies soft and warm.”

Lan Wangji cast his eyes to the heavens. Somewhere in the distance his fifteen year old self was wailing, Him??? Really??? Channeling Uncle, he flicked Wei Ying’s head and snapped, “Zuò zhí.” ^[2]

Wei Ying startled to attention, clipping Lan Wangji in the chin with his head. When he opened his mouth in outrage, Lan Wangji slapped a cotton round over it and got to work on his lipstick over Wei Ying’s muffled complaints.

Wei Ying slept in his bed again that night, a long burning length along Lan Wangji’s side, in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. Lan Wangji was almost certain that they were from that time he was fourteen and Brother wanted to introduce him to the concept of casual lounge-wear. Either way, Lan Wangji never wore them. Yes, they were very soft, but the material was thin and it clung in the strangest of ways. They made him feel overly exposed even in the privacy of home.

But, Lan Wangji didn’t have any thing else to offer Wei Ying because he hadn’t done that week’s laundry yet.

“Hm,” Wei Ying had said after he finished changing. His hand made an aborted move downward. “I really should start leaving stuff here for moments like these.” Lan Wangji had had to take a moment to scream into the void.

The next Tuesday during what was girl’s lunch (Lan Wangji looks into the camera like he’s in the office) but was rapidly just becoming friends’ lunch, Wei Ying had monologued at length about the softness of Lan Wangji’s sheets, the support of his mattress, how nice it was to just sleep there instead of hiking his way home in the cold dreary dark, and so on and so forth, until Jiang Wanyin, evidently fed up, had snapped, “If you like it at Lan Wangji’s so much, then just don’t come home!”

Lan Wangji had bristled instantly, until he noticed the calculating glint in Wei Ying’s eyes.

“Really?” Wei Ying had said. “You really don’t want me to come home? You don’t want your poor loving shixiong to come home to your sweet loving arms? Oh woe! Woe!”

“Shut up!” snapped Jiang Wanyin, face coloring. “You’re so late to class every morning you might as well sleep there, see if you stop getting trouble all the time!”

“Oh, so you do care for me after all!” Wei Ying threw himself at Jiang Wanyin, who yowled like a cat and attempted to throw him off. Wei Ying was not easily dissuaded, rubbing his cheek against whatever part of his brother that he could reach. “Shidi!!!” he cried.

Lan Wangji cleared his throat. Wei Ying paused. “I will make up my brother’s room for your use,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Ying grinned and held up his arms to bow mock formally. “Duō xiè Lán-xiǎojiě de zhàogù!”^[3]

Everyone else around them rolled their eyes, and that had been that.

*

It’s a few weeks into the semester that Lan Wangji looks around and realizes just how much stuff Wei Ying has left here. Yellow joss paper, blue stickies, pens and highlighters, scrunchies and hair ties. There were ink stains on the coffee table despite all of Lan Wangji’s best efforts. A red hoodie was thrown over the back of his sofa, left behind during the morning rush to class.

Lan Wangji’s apartment, which had always been varying shades of grey and cream and blue, was now covered with a riot of colors.

Well alright then, thinks Lan Wangji. Then he pulls out and folds up a cloth covered trinket tray to put Wei Ying’s things in.

*

The North American Cultivator’s Association, better known as NACA, often pronounced nà-kè, holds a conference every March to discuss the needs of the cultivation community, encourage collaboration, disseminate information, and generally provide for the networking needs of various schools and organizations.

It is also, to put it crudely, a bit of a dick-measuring contest.

The cultivation community is only so large, and there are only so many schools. Relationships — and rivalries — run deep.

Lan Wangji has lost count of how many arguments he’s heard about so-and-so’s shifu’s fight with so-and-so’s great grandmother in Hong Kong/Shanghai/Singapore/etc. in the year 19-whatever, and whether or not the results were valid because they’d agreed no weapons and someone grabbed a chopstick to fight with.

Anyway.

In America, there are only a few major cultivation programs attached to universities that offer a pathway to certification. San Francisco has one. L.A. has another. (They have a particularly strong rivalry, unless a school from Texas is involved. Then all bets are off.) And then there’s also Lan Wangji’s school, NYC, Indiana, and a few others.

Large scale, conference affiliated night hunts were banned in the 80s due to government regulations, so to replace them, NACA student chapters were encouraged to demonstrate their skills through competitions and exhibitions instead.

This is all a just long winded way of saying that Lan Wangji, technically heir to a Great Sect, child of a former executive board member, and sibling to a conference committee member, has to attend, and he has to perform, like a dancing monkey. Otherwise it would look bad.

So here Lan Wangji is, home after a particularly grueling morning practice. He lets down his hair with a soft sigh, leaving his pins and hair ties in a pile on the kitchen counter. His head hurts, and he feels sweaty and gross.

The shower turns on in the background as Lan Wangji opens the fridge. Wei Ying doesn’t have any afternoon commitments but Lan Wangji has to get to the elementary school by 2:30. If he wants to shower and practice guqin before he leaves, it’ll have to be a quick lunch. There are some leftovers from the night before. That plus some noodles and meat sauce should be fine.

He’s chopping garlic when he hears Wei Ying pad out of the bathroom and into the living room.

“Lan Zhan.”

“Hm?” Lan Wangji sweeps the garlic into a pile with the cleaver and reaches over to stir the noodles in the pot.

Wei Ying huffs. “Lan Zhan.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Wei Ying says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

Well it certainly doesn’t sound like nothing, Lan Wangji thinks, turning around. And then his brain short-circuits.

Wei Ying grins across the room at him from his perch against the sofa arm. Wet! screams half of Lan Wangji’s brain. Pecs! Abs! screams the other half. “Yes?” Wei Ying asks.

Get a hold of yourself! Lan Wangji scolds himself. Out loud he says mildly, “You’ll get the couch wet.”

“I brought a towel,” Wei Ying protests, gesturing at the scrap of cloth slung low about his hips.

For fucks sake. Lan Wangji knows he showed Wei Ying where the nice towels, the big and fluffy ones, were. His feet carries him across the kitchen to stand face-to-face with Wei Ying. Lan Wangji leans back against the kitchen table and crosses his arms.

Wei Ying runs his hands up and down his body. He does a little shimmy and leers at Lan Wangji through his lashes. “Well?”

Lan Wangji gives him a long look, from his wet stringy hair to the line of his hips to his hairy legs to his bare toes dripping water onto Lan Wangji’s hardwood floors. He keeps his expression utterly unimpressed.

On the inside though, he’s shrieking like a deranged Chihuahua and they both know it.

It’s the thought that counts.

Wei Ying’s throat bobs when he swallows. Lan Wangji steps forward, and Wei Ying reflexively steps back before remembering he has nowhere to go.

Lan Wangji reaches out with his right hand (he keeps his nails long for guqin) and closes his thumb and pointer finger around a pebbled nipple. He applies pressure, and he watches for Wei Ying’s reactions, for his tells. His stomach tightens. His breath catches, going quick and rabbit fast under Lan Wangji’s hand. He digs his nails into the soft flesh, and Wei Ying bites his lip around a whimper. There’s a furrow between his brows, tension clear on his face where his eyes have fluttered close.

Lan Wangji smiles.

He can see Wei Ying’s cock filling beneath his miniscule towel. He twists — Wei Ying makes a noise, a tiny hah? sound and goes fully hard. He falls forward, chest heaving, when Lan Wangji takes his hand away.

Lan Wangji clasps his hands behind his back. He mimics Wei Ying’s earlier words. “Well?”

Wei Ying looks at him, all flushed and hazy-eyed. “I…what?”

Lan Wangji walks a slow half circle around him. Meanly: “This is what you call a seduction attempt?”

“Um.” Wei Ying gives his head a little shake. “Yes?”

“Hm,” says Lan Wangji. And turns around.

“What!” Wei Ying yelps. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji plucks his hair tie out of the pile of bobby pins on the table and goes back to his position before Wei Ying. “I was going to leave my hair down because my head hurt,” he tells Wei Ying. His sweaty t-shirt sticks and unsticks against his skin as he reaches back to wind his hair into a loose bun. Wei Ying’s eyes go huge as his biceps flex. “I hope you understand the trouble you’re causing me.”

“I’m sorry,” babbles Wei Ying. “Thank you,” says Wei Ying, when Lan Wangji lifts him up to sit more securely on the sofa arm.

Lan Wangji undoes his towel and lays it out flat. His knees hit the floor, and he takes a moment to appreciate the splay of his hands across Wei Ying’s thighs, still damp to the touch, and suckles gently at the tip of his cock.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” says Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji hums, swirls his tongue, and takes him in further. He’s certainly come far, he thinks as Wei Ying’s dick hits the back of his throat. He breathes through his nose, hollows his cheeks. Everything feels heady and wet and hot, sensations blurring together: Wei Ying’s voice, his burning length, Lan Wangji’s own sweat and saliva, the ache growing between his legs.

He brings his hand up to play with Wei Ying’s balls and rubs along his perineum. Wei Ying is shifting and shaking and shuddering, and when Lan Wangji’s finger skates across his puckered hole, Wei Ying jolts and lets out a high, loud moan.

Lan Wangji pauses. He pulls off. Wei Ying has never made a noise like that before. He rubs at his hole, and Wei Ying does it again. This time, he arches into his touch.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, covering his face. “Don’t.”

His voice comes out rough. “Really? Because I think you want it.”

”I don’t,” Wei Ying cries. “I really don’t.” But he goes easily enough when Lan Wangji grips his wrists and lowers him back onto the couch in a controlled fall. Also, he’s using his make me voice.

Lan Wangji slings his right leg up over his shoulder and spreads his cheeks apart, looking down thoughtfully. “How thoroughly did you clean yourself in the shower?”

“Hasouhgdsldk,” says Wei Ying, still covering his face.

Hm. Good enough. Lan Wangji leans down to lick a broad stripe across his entrance.

Wei Ying makes a sound that could only be described as a squeal. “Lan Zhan! That — that’s dirty!”

Lan Wangji shrugs.

“You — you brute!”

“Your color?” Lan Wangji says mouthing at the flesh of his ass.

“Hrurn,” says Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji puts his mouth on him again, with teeth this time. He brings out the steel in his voice. “Your color.”

Wei Ying snaps. “Green!” he wails. “Green, goddamn it, fuck! Oh shit, holy mother of god, oh my god.”

Lan Wangji goes to town: licking, sucking, slurping. He notes with fascination the way that Wei Ying writhes below him, hole clenching and unclenching. Spit drips down his chin, his jaw aches. He’s trembling, and Lan Wangji is trembling, and for a moment he doesn’t understand how he got here. Here, with his aching knees and aching hunger. Here, with Wei Ying’s heady cries, and here, with the chill sweeping down Lan Wangji’s skin. But on the inside he burns.

Wei Ying kicks at his back with a sob when he points his tongue into his hole. Lan Wangji goes back to blowing him as he works a finger into the first knuckle, and Wei Ying stiffens, arching off the bed in a silent shout, as bitter come floods Lan Wangji’s mouth, dribbling down the sides.

Later when Lan Wangji has cleaned them both off and laid them out on the couch, a recovered Wei Ying bats half-heartedly at Lan Wangji. “You’re a menace,” he croaks.

Lan Wangji preens. You learn something new everyday.

*

And then, a few minutes later: “Wait. Did you turn off the stove?”

“Shit.”

*

In a few days, Chinese New Year. There’s no hánjià ^[4]obviously, but it does fall on a Friday, so many students with family nearby make plans to go home Thursday for nián yè fàn^[5] and skip the next day.

Given that the cultivation department is overwhelmingly Chinese and almost entirely Asian, the faculty and staff tends to fall into two camps: treat the Lunar New Year as an unofficial holiday and look the other way when students skip (the minority) or, pursue business as usual (the majority). As a whole though, there just isn’t that much space — mentally, culturally, or otherwise — to celebrate.

(Apparently, a few years back the Asian American Student Association tried to petition the school to make Lunar New Years a school holiday. They were denied. Lo, the joys of white American cultural dominance.)

Either way, Uncle believes that showing up to class is an integral part of learning and showing respect for your teachers, so to class Lan Wangji must go. Instead, Uncle will come out to Mingjue-ge and Brother’s apartment, and they’ll eat there.

About an hour before he plans to leave, Lan Wangji gets a frantic text from Wei Ying. Amused and exasperated, Lan Wangji adds two more stops to his drive over.

*

Dinner is fine. Brother and Mingjue-ge produce a genuinely dizzying spread of hotpot ingredients. A little sheepishly, they apologize for not cooking something elaborate. Apparently, Brother has been busy due to his NACA conference work piling on top of his usual Lan Institute duties. They’ve also been busy with some freelance accountant taking a look at the gym’s finances. Huaisang’s attempts to get Mingjue-ge to grow a mustache are also discussed.

Uncle gives hóng bāo^[6] to him, Brother and Mingjue-ge, and to everyone’s surprise, Huaisang as well.

After, Huaisang goes up to Mingjue-ge grinning with his hands out and says, “Gōngxǐ fācaí, hóngbāo nálái.” ^[7]

“Why you—”

Huaisang ducks away from Mingjue-ge’s swipe while Brother laughs and Lan Qiren scowls in the background.

Brother sees Lan Wangji to the door when he leaves. He doesn’t ask if Lan Wangji wants to stay. Instead, with an overly amused glint in his eyes, he says, “Tell Wei Wuxian and the Wens that I said hello.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lan Wangji says.

*

Wei Ying’s face lights up the doorway. “Lan Zhan, you’re here, thank god! Come in, come in.”

Lan Wangji hesitates. “Is this alright?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying says. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

“Wei Wuxian,” someone shouts. “Shì shuí ya? Hái bù kuài diǎn qǐng kèrén jìnlái! Who is it? Hurry up and let our guest in.”

Wei Ying throws Lan Wangji a pained look. Loudly, he says, “Every day I am mistreated and mistrusted and used for free childcare— ”

“Alright alright calm down,” Wen Qing interrupts, appearing behind him. Her sleeves are rolled up and she’s wearing a checkered apron with embroidery on the front. “Ah — Lan Wangji?”

“Happy New Year.” Feeling awkward, Lan Wangji holds out the bag of oranges that he brought.

“Aiyo,” says Wen Qing. “There was no need.”

Sounds of chatter and mahjong float out from the kitchen. There are dozens of shoes littering the entryway. Lan Wangji shakes his head and insists. “For your family.” He gives Wei Ying a look and pulls an envelope out of his coat.

Wen Qing makes noise.

Wei Ying just flaps a hand at her. “Calm down, Qing-jie. I just forgot to prepare A-Yuan’s hóngbāo so Lan Zhan said she could bring it. Lan Zhan, how much do I owe you?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “There’s no need.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests.

Lan Wangji remains unmoved.

“Aiya, you’re so stubborn! Then…” Wei Ying beams at him. “Let’s just say it’s from the both of us!”

“Nǐ ya!” Wen Qing cuffs him upside the head. “Nǐ diū bù diūliǎn a? Have you no shame?”

Wei Ying ducks away with a chortle. “A-Yuan!” Wei Ying shouts over his shoulder. “Lái gēn Lán-jǐejǐe bàinián! Come pay your respects to Lan-jiejie!”

A-Yuan enters the cramped hallway, bright-eyed and resplendent in a red silk vest. ^[8]He’s so cute. Lan Wangji is melting. “Oh! Rich-jiejie hello!”

Granny Wen appears behind him, also wearing a silk vest. “Lan Wangji?”

This is an awfully large audience for what was supposed to be a discreet handoff. “Wen-popo, A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji says. “Xīnnián kuàilè, Happy New Year.” He pats the head of A-Yuan, who has attached himself to Lan Wangji’s leg. To Granny he says, “I’m sorry to intrude.”

Granny Wen shakes her head. “Bùyòng kèqì, bùyòng kèqì, kuài diǎn jìnlái. Wàimiàn zhème lěng.” She gestures him in. “There’s no need to be polite. Hurry up and come in — it’s cold out.”

Lan Wangji does, and then he just stands there, feeling deeply out of place.

Wei Ying nudges him. “We have something for A-Yuan.”

Granny spots the hóngbāo and immediately looks askance. “Bùyòng bùyòng, you really didn’t have to!” She turns on Wei Ying. “Nǐ zìjǐ gēnběn jìu méi qián, hái yào sòng yāsuì qián? Nǐ háishi bǎ qián líu xià, bāng zìjǐ mǎidiǎn hǎo dōngxī bǐjiào hǎo. You don’t even have money, and you still want to give out New Year’s money? You should keep the money for yourself and buy something nice with it.”

Cheerily without an ounce of shame, Wei Ying replies, “Don’t worry about it! It’s Lan Zhan’s money anyway.”

Lan Wangji offers the hóngbāo to A-Yuan who reaches out to grab it.

“Ah-ah-ah! Zěnme kěyǐ zhèyàng ná hóng bāo? Shuí jiāo de ah!” Wei Ying cries, intercepting him. “You can’t accept hong bao like that! Who taught you to be like that?”

“Yīnggāi shì nǐ ba,” mutters Wen Qing. “I think that would be you.”

Wei Ying makes a face at her, and arranges A-Yuan’s hands into the correct position. “Alright, now bow and say, gōngxǐ fācái.”

“Gōngxǐ fācái,” A-Yuan repeats diligently, bowing.

“Good.” Lan Wangji places the hóngbāo in his hands. He smiles. “Zhù nǐ shēntǐ jiànkāng, xīnxiǎng shì chéng. May you have good health, and may all your wishes come true.”

A-Yuan beams at him. “Mn!”

*

Wei Ying pouts as Lan Wangji sits for A-Yuan to bury in toys. Lan Wangji really had meant to leave once the money was delivered, but somehow, he had been strong armed into staying instead. Now, he holds himself still as A-Yuan carefully adds a block to the growing pile of toys. Lan Wangji is buried up to his elbows. He isn’t quite sure what A-Yuan’s reasoning is behind his building choices, but the pile is remarkably neat, each toy fitting against each other like a puzzle piece.

Wei Ying waves a plate of food at Lan Wangji. “I fought so valiantly to get you all this extra niángāo, and now you won’t even eat it.”

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says. His hands are covered. If he moves he’ll ruin all of A-Yuan’s hard work and creativity, which would be unacceptable.

Wei Ying ruffles A-Yuan’s hair. “All for this little turnip head, huh?”

A-Yuan bats at him without looking up. “Xian-gege, you’re bothering me.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying says. “Oh? I’m bothering you? Betrayal! Rebuffed by my own child, whom I birthed from my own womb!” He tackles A-Yuan, careful to avoid crushing him or the pile. A-Yuan shrieks with laughter.

Wen Qing looks up from her place hovering over Wen Qionglin’s shoulder at the mahjong table. “Wei Wuxian!” she shouts, coming over. “If you get him all riled up like this how are we going to get him to sleep later?”

“Sorry Qing-jie.” Wei Ying doesn’t look particularly sorry.

Wen Qing twists his ear. “Just for that, you’re in charge of bedtime today.”

“Ow ow! Wen Qing, mercy, mercy! I’ll do it, I swear!”

Wen Qing harrumphs and lets go. “A-Yuan! Come, your bobo wants to talk to you.”

“But— “

“Lan Wangji will still be here when you come back,” she says, not unkindly, and leads a pouting A-Yuan away.

Wei Ying looks at Lan Wangji, still buried in toys, stuffed animals, and the occasional pillow. There’s something hard jabbing into his side. “A-Yuan has really been quite thorough huh?”

“Mn. Sorry about the niángāo.”

A gleam that foretells trouble appears in Wei Ying’s eyes. “Hey, Lan Zhan. I have an idea for how you can eat.”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow.

Wei Ying picks up a piece of niángāo with a shit-eating grin and holds it to Lan Wangji’s mouth. Sweet as honey, he coos, “Say ah~”

Lan Wangji stares him dead in the eye. “Ah~” A wildly amusing array of expressions pass across Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji’s lips brush against Wei Ying’s fingers as he takes a bite. He licks his lips. “Delicious.”

“Ahaha,” says Wei Ying, who has gone stock still, looking like a man in crisis.

“…”

“…”

Lan Wangji sighs. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying startles a bit. “Yes?”

Lan Wangji gives the remaining niángāo in his hands a significant look. “I’m not done eating.”

Wei Ying stares at him. He’s still blushing, and his eyes dart to the side where the aunties and uncles are almost certainly watching with interest. “I hate you so much right now.”

Lan Wangji lets his eyes widen into sad puppy eyes. “Enough to let me starve?”

“Not fair!” Wei Ying whispers furiously. “I didn’t even know you could make that kind of face.”

Fortunately for Wei Ying, A-Yuan chooses that moment to run over, demanding to lion dance. As it turns out, “lion dancing” involves a lot of shrieking and stomping and mock roaring. Wei Ying and A-Yuan parade about the first floor with a blanket over their heads. Wen Ning obligingly pulls out a pot to drum for them, and all the adults oooh and aah appropriately.

Later, Lan Wangji sits on the couch with Granny. Having tired himself out, A-Yuan lays curled across their laps; Wei Ying sits on the floor, head pillowed on his arms. The rest of the Wens have congregated into various groups, winding down for the night.

Granny tells them about A-Yuan and his parents. The stories have a well worn air to them. A-Yuan mouths along and interjects with details even as he drifts off to sleep.

Lan Wangji glances once at Wei Ying’s face during one of these moments, and doesn’t dare to do so again. The sorrow on his face is too raw. A-Yuan is hardly the only orphan here, rewinding and replaying every scrap of information about their parents until it becomes more memorial than memory.

*

“He likes you very much, you know?” Granny Wen says, gentle hand curled about A-Yuan’s ankle. “Never shuts up about you.”

Lan Wangji looks up. Wei Ying’s eyes have drifted closed. Only a few minutes ago, Uncles Two and Three had stopped by to make quiet goodbyes on their way out. Lan Wangji would be on his way as well, if it weren’t for the child in his lap.

A-Yuan shifts a little in his sleep. Granny looks at him with tender eyes. “He’s a good child.”

“He is,” Lan Wangji says. And he means it. He would mean it even if it weren’t true.

Granny covers Lan Wangji’s hand with hers. Suddenly, she looks very old. “I’m glad you agree.”

Quietly, Lan Wangji says, “What’s true is true, no matter what you believe.”

Granny smiles as Wei Ying lets out a snuffling snore into Lan Wangji’s thigh. She pokes him with her foot. “Xiao-Wuxian. Wake up.”

“Hah?” Wei Ying cracks an eye open.

“I believe you’re in charge of bedtime tonight,” Granny says sternly.

Wei Ying yawns and stretches. There are crease marks on his cheek. “I am, aren’t I?”

“I should go as well,” Lan Wangji says.

“Ah?” says Wei Ying. Then he looks at Lan Wangji’s face.“Yeah alright, I guess we can let you go.” Lan Wangji brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes. Wei Ying smiles up at him.

Lan Wangji tries to rouse A-Yuan, who whines and turns in towards Lan Wangji. “Gege?”

Lan Wangji freezes.

“Xiǎo luóbo tóu, that’s not gege,” Wei Ying says. “That’s Lan-jiejie. I’m your gege.”

“A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji says, voice level. “Bedtime.”

“Nooooo,” A-Yuan says, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fuss when Lan Wangji and Granny pass him off the Wei Ying, who hoists him up with practiced hands.

“He’s getting much too big for this,” Wei Ying says.

“Enjoy it while you can,” says Granny. “Next thing you know he’ll be bigger than you.”

“Impossible,” Wei Ying declares. “I’ll plant A-Yuan into the ground and then he’ll have to stay turnip sized forever!”

A-Yuan giggles into his shoulder. “But Xian-gege, you said that planting me would make me taller.”

“Did I?” Wei Ying says as Lan Wangji gathers his things. “Well then I must have been wrong. Xian-gege can be very silly sometimes you know?”

They part ways at the stairwell.

“Sorry I can’t walk you to the door,” Wei Ying tells Lan Wangji.

“It’s no trouble,” Lan Wangji says. He holds himself back from smoothing the hair out of A-Yuan’s face. He holds himself back from kissing Wei Ying silly. That’s not your child, he tells himself. And that’s not your boy. “Sleep well.”

“Night-night Rich-jiejie,” A-Yuan calls as Wei Ying carries him up the stairs. “Night-night.”

Outside, Lan Wangji sneaks a look up at Wei Ying and A-Yuan through the window like a thief in the night. He gets in his car. He goes home.

Chapter Text

The weeks after Lunar New Year’s go fast.

With the conference coming up, Lan Wangji is busier than ever. His Google calendar is so dense it looks more like a quilt, color-coded patches of things to do and places to be: blues and purples for class, green for student teaching, yellow for rehearsal. Red for Wei Ying.

One of his classes this semester is Curse Breaking. The same professor has been teaching it for years, and everyone, with the exception of Wei Ying who got an A, hates it. It’s taken him three hours in the library to get through half a problem set, which is just embarrassing for someone who broke his first curse at nine.

Lan Wangji is cursing all the family rules that prevent him from cheating like everyone else when someone drops into the chair next to him.

Startled, Lan Wangji looks up and then at the time.

“Don’t worry, I’m early,” Wei Ying says, loosening Lan Wangji’s scarf around his neck. “I’m so hungry, oh my god. Ping’s training the babies today so he was like ‘You can leave lab early,’ and I was like ‘thank fucking goodness’ ‘cause I really thought he was going to make me do it, and Alicia made fun of me for” — an imperceptible pause, Wei Ying blushes faintly — “for looking forward to your packed lunches, which, rude. But anyway, uhhh,” Wei Ying spins his chair around, eyes suddenly sharp. “What’s up?”

Lan Wangji sets down his pen. “Whatever do you mean?”

Wei Ying snorts. “Don’t play coy, you’ll make me blush.”

“I don’t need to play coy to do that.”

Wei Ying gasps loudly. Heads across the floor turn. Lan Wangji feels his ears heat. “Shameless!” Wei Ying cries in a mock whisper. “In broad daylight too? Lan Zhan, who knew you were such a temptress.”

Lan Wangji rolls his eyes and starts packing.

“But you know what you aren’t?” Wei Ying leans forward. “Subtle.” Wei Ying gives him a significant look. “So, what’s up? Is it the kids? Your Uncle? Homework? Oh, so it is your homework — no, wait, Lan Zhan,“ Wei Ying whines, scuttling his chair forward. “Don’t just put it away, let me see!”

Lan Wangji holds his notebook out of reach. “I thought you were so hungry.”

Wei Ying pouts, making grabby hands. Lan Wangji holds him back by the strap of his backpack. His arms are long. “But I can help.”

Wei Ying certainly could. He breezed through the class sophomore year. Would it be a little embarrassing? Yes. Would it mean Lan Wangji could maybe go to bed at 9 for the first time in weeks? Also yes.

“Rule number 2089,” Wei Ying says. “Do not turn away aid for the sake of your own pride.”

Lan Wangji sighs. He lets go, and Wei Ying goes toppling across Lan Wangji’s lap, smelling like sweat and winter rain. Triumphant, Wei Ying holds the notebook aloft.

Lan Wangji opens his laptop back up to his assignment and leaves Wei Ying to his own devices while he tidies up his area.

“Dude,” Wei Ying says, flipping through the pages. “You’re putting way too much effort into this. Eight pages of case notes?”

“They don’t tell you anything about the problem.” When Lan Wangji tried to ask clarifying questions, the professor had just smiled and said, I don’t know, is it in the given?

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “‘Cause you’re supposed to assume everything that’s not on the page.”

Lan Wangji twitches.

“Please, as though you can’t clock a real life case faster than anyone else we know.”

“You can never be certain.” Also, that’s real life. Lan Wangji can’t exactly suss out a piece of paper.

Wei Ying taps Lan Wangji’s nose. “That’s your problem,” he says. “You can’t wait to be certain before you do anything.” He must read something in Lan Wangji’s face, because he switches gears and laments, “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’ve been spoiled by all your cut-and-dry Lan teachings! But don’t worry, this humble Wei-mou^[1] will do all he can to help you. You really should’ve told me earlier; you know I like this kind of stuff.”

Lan Wangji shrugs. Wei Ying is as busy as he is. “Time with you is too precious to spend on school work.”

Wei Ying buries his face in his hands. “Why would you say that,” he howls, and Lan Wangji has to hustle him towards the door before they really get kicked out.

When he recovers, Wei Ying says, “Anyway, let me take a closer look at your homework later and I’ll tell you if you get anything grievously wrong.”

Lan Wangji gives him a side eye.

“Oh come on!” Wei Ying protests. “That does not count as cheating, especially when you consider how many kids just get the answers from their friends.”

“Not my work.”

“You do double — no, triple! — the work of everyone else.”

Lan Wangji adjusts his hat more securely over his reddening ears. “Not you though.”

“Ah, but Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying pushes the door open with a crooked grin. “It’s not your fault I’m just that good.”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji says, and follows him out into the cold.

*

Later, the sun is dipping gently below the horizon when Wei Ying says, “You know, I always expected your sheets to be white.”

Lan Wangji pauses in the process of wiping himself clean. The floor is cold; he draws his feet up to sit fully on the bed.

“I mean,” Wei Ying continues, half muffled by the pillow. “Your entire family’s aesthetic is just so” - a hand emerges from the sheets to gesture vaguely before flopping back down - “ you know.”

Lan Wangji does know. He pulls Wei Ying across the bed — Wei Ying does a delighted little shiver — and starts cleaning the spend off his stomach. “They used to be,” Lan Wangji says absently, touching his fingers to the scratches running down Wei Ying’s chest. Some terrible part of him wants to press down on the livid red and dig.

Wei Ying’s head pops up off the bed. “Ah??? Really?” His hair sticks every which way. “Well? What happened?”

Lan Wangji pauses. Deadpan: “I got my first period.”

Wei Ying, expression unchanging, says, “...Oh.”

They stare at each other for what is really, truly, a very long time. Wei Ying’s face is a desperate, terrified sort of neutral that Lan Wangji would expect of a boy who grew up in a traditional household with Yu Ziyuan and then promptly moved in with Wen Qing. He wants to see how long it takes before Wei Ying breaks. Unfortunately, his mouth twitches.

Wei Ying lunges. “You asshole!”

Lan Wangji snorts and lets Wei Ying tussle at him for a bit before handily wrestling him into submission. It helps that neither of them are really trying and well - Wei Ying likes being pinned anyway.

Wei Ying huffs and looks away. “You just like to see me squirm,” he accuses.

Lan Wangji leans down to bite gently just below his jaw. “Yes.” He goes back to wiping him clean. Wei Ying keeps sulking. When Lan Wangji gets to his soft cock and taint, he twitches.

Looking straight up at the ceiling, Wei Ying says, “You know…”

“Mm?”

“If your fingers ever get cramped. From like. You know. We could try using other stu-ow Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji lets go hastily. He murmurs an apology, but it’s a little lost in the sudden haze of [redacted] filling his mind.

Wei Ying looks at him, amused through the flush in his cheeks. “I was going to say that if you didn’t like it you could’ve just told me instead of trying to rip my dick off, but I’m guessing that’s not what’s going on, eh?”

Lan Wangji, ears flaring with heat, shoves the washcloth in his face instead.

*

And that’s why, a few days later, Lan Wangji finds himself in the next town over to look at straps in the local sex shop. He rounds the brick-lined corner just in time to see Brother come out said sex stop, followed by Mingjue-ge carrying a very full, very large, discrete paper bag.

Lan Wangji starts speed walking the other way as fast as possible.

Not fast enough though, because he hears Mingjue-ge call, “Wangji? Is that you?”

Brother nods at him with a smile. “Mei.”

“Why are you here?” Mingjue-ge says. “You should’ve said that you were coming over, we could’ve had lunch.”

Contrary to popular belief, Lan Wangji does not actually disapprove of lying all the time. In fact, he believes in a judicious application of half truths and white lies to avoid uncomfortable situations. Like now.

He says, “I’m getting Huaisang his birthday present, I was worried he’d find out if I told you.”

“Oh really,” says Mingjue-ge.

Huaisang’s birthday is in May. “I wanted to purchase it early.” You’re over explaining! shouts his brain.

“Did you look at the queer art fair?” Mingjue-ge asks. Queer art fair? “There are a lot of good pieces there; you could definitely find something Huaisang would like.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Yes.” He is here to buy Huaisang a present from the queer art fair. Wei Ying wants to try pegging, shouts his brain. He should probably go.

He’s trying to figure out what to say when Brother tugs Mingjue-ge’s jacket with a quiet, “Da-ge.” He bites his lip and looks down. Mingjue-ge’s face does something that tells Lan Wangji he definitely needs to go right now.

Luckily, (or unluckily,) it seems Brother and Mingjue-ge are also eager to go. They make their excuses and disappear holding hands.

Lan Wangji goes back to his car, where he stands for a long moment. Around him, people go about their day, with their salt stained Doc Martens and rainbow bumper stickers. He wonders if everyone can tell.

Sometimes it feels like he walks around with a sign above his head like a twitter bio reading: Gay. Not a girl. In love with their friend, who they lured into a sexual relationship under the opposite assumption. ♒♍♉. Aspiring Top.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. There are 52 minutes left in the parking meter.

*

In the end, he does actually go to the sex shop, because again, there are 52 minutes left in the parking meter, which amounts to a full $1.50 that he will never get back.

He’s barely taken two steps through the door when the blue-haired attendant perks up and, obviously mistaking him for Brother, says, “Oh! Back so soon? Did you change your mind about the second remote controlled butt plug?”

And Lan Wangji simply has no choice but to leave or die on the spot.

*

The first day of the NACA conference finds Lan Wangji pulling up to the conference center bright and early, car filled to the brim with boxes. The last few weeks have turned Brother and Mingjue-ge’s apartment into a veritable mountain range of NACA paraphernalia, with its little peaks and valleys corresponding to furniture to pile stuff on and tiny footpaths picking their way across the room.

Outside, the sky is a pure crisp blue. The sun is bright as a polished blade, and Lan Wangji has to squint his eyes against the glare as he unloads the last of the gift bags into the waiting arms of a fellow volunteer.

Brother meets him in the lobby. The conference center comes attached to a hotel and shopping center, along with a huge skylight and open air concourse on the lowest level. Several floors of walkways circle it in a huge U, dotted with decorative plants and sitting areas.

Volunteer check-in shares a table with a full spread of coffee and donuts, and Lan Wangji is encouraged to help himself by the volunteer coordinator, a talkative 2nd gen ABC with two daughters aged 4 and 7 who attend the local after-school cultivation program. Apparently, she doesn’t want to pressure them into traditional stuff because she’d had a hard time in Chinese school as a kid, although it’d be really nice if they liked it. And wow, she should really ask Lan Wangji’s Uncle for tips if she sees him huh?

Lan Wangji blinks. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“There’s also tea,” the volunteer coordinator – Annie, Lan Wangji reminds himself – says. “And donuts, if you’re not thirsty.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head, inching back towards his brother. “I already ate, thank you.”

“Oh Mei, look,” Brother cuts in, peering under one of the lids. “It’s your favorite.”

“Then you should take it,” cries Annie. “My four year old loves donuts, I had to tackle her away from the box this morning when I was picking up the stuff this morning.”

“Don’t worry about being polite,” Brother tells him. “Here” — he plucks out a donut iced to look like a rabbit — “eat.”

Lan Wangji shoots Brother a mutinous look. To Annie he says politely, “Thank you.”

Brother smiles. “I have to meet A-Yao in five minutes,” he tells Annie. “I’ll leave my sister to you then.”

“Ge,” Lan Wangji says.

“Have fun!” Brother calls and disappears into the crowd.

“Your brother is wonderful,” Annie tells Lan Wangji. “He’s been a godsend to the organizing committee.”

“Mn,” he says. He doesn’t know where to hold his donut.

“Everyone here loves him.” Annie leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “Maybe a little too much, actually.” She sighs, nodding in the direction that Brother went. “Too bad he’s obviously taken already.”

“Hm!” says Lan Wangji.

Someone calls Annie’s name in the background, and Annie half winces, half smiles apologetically. “I have to go, but when you’re done eating you can put your jacket and stuff down over there,” — she points to a huge snarl of outerwear and bags piled in the corner — “and then go find Carl by the escalators, and he can get you started on setting up signs and tables. Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Lan Wangji nods.

“Any questions?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. The yelling for Annie increases in volume.

“Alright, just let me know if you need anything, my number’s on the green sticky note stuck to the table it was nice to meet you Wangji — “

“Annemarie Zhu!” Loud pounding comes from a side door.

Annie winces and does a little wave as she starts jogging away. “It was really nice to meet you Wangji!” she adds sweetly before turning and hollering, “Okay, okay, I’M COMING!”

*

Early registration starts in the afternoon. As someone who’s only there to do grunt work, Lan Wangji gets to check people in and hand out badges and lanyards. Most early arrivals are people in specific competitions, involved with the opening ceremony dress rehearsal that evening, really invested in being on top of it, or all three.

Some people are pleasant to check in, others not so much.

One woman accompanied by a gaggle of children in matching jackets keeps asking the same question but worded slightly differently each time, like she thinks it’ll get her the answer she wants.

Lan Wangji is explaining for the fifth time that no, unfortunately he doesn’t have a solution to her specific problem that he isn’t even tangentially connected to, when a familiar voice drawls, “Who knew that even the incomparable Lan Wangji could work something as pedestrian as check in?”

The woman whips her head around, and the voice dies off immediately. “Duōme wúliáo,^[2]” the woman says scornfully.

One of the children begins to wail. “Susu-ayi, Mikey hit me!”

“Hit him back,” comes the immediate reply.

Lan Wangji keeps his face blank and judgment free. He points at the map before him. “This is the food court,” he tells the woman. “And this is the competition warm up area. If you have any difficulties, you may ask anyone wearing an orange badge.” And then, because it seems like she needs it and he owes her one, he points to another dot on the map. “This is the quiet lounge. It’s next to a supervised children’s play area.”

The woman nods her thanks, gathering up the materials. To the children milling around her she commands, “Say thank you to the nice jiejie.”

“Xièxiě jièjié,” choruses the children.

The woman remarks loudly to no one in particular that at least her children have manners. As they walk away, one of the youngest children tries to fit his fist inside his mouth, and Lan Wangji can’t help a smile.

Su Minshan steps into his line of sight, and Lan Wangji’s smile drops. Lan Wangji recognized his voice immediately. It’s hard not to, since he takes up about 60% of their class’s discussion time by himself on a weekly basis. About half of that time is spent explaining Lan Wangji’s own thoughts back to him. The other half is spent trying to correct him. (He’s rarely successful.)

Blandly, Lan Wangji says, “Name?”

Affront flashes across his face, before pride fixes itself back into place. “Su She, courtesy name Minshan.”

With a flick of his eyes, Lan Wangji says, “S’s check in over there.” His gaze slides past Su Minshan to the next person in line. “Next.”

Lan Wangji pointedly ignores Su Minshan’s outrage as he gets shuffled back to the end of the line, and that’s when the Jiang contingent enters.

Whip-smart as her favored weapon, Yu Ziyuan looks every inch the matriarch of a Great Clan. The pre-teen and teen Jiang students are as rowdy as ever, but a single glance has them falling in line.

Ziyuan-ayi greets Lan Wangji with a deeply approving warmth that he has always found faintly uncomfortable.

When Lan Wangji was sixteen, he overheard her saying that he was “the kind of child every mother could only wish she had.” He had been sitting across from Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin at the time. It had been hard to tell who was more mortified: Lan Wangji, or Yu Ziyuan’s two children.

When he finishes her group check-in, Lan Wangji finds himself guiltily grateful to see her go. Yu Ziyuan is a pillar of cultivation society and an outspoken advocate for young female cultivators, and Lan Wangji has never been able to admire her as much as he should.

Wei Ying arrives soon after. He perks up immediately at the sight of Lan Wangji, who stares him down, looking pointedly at the sign in front of him that reads “last names: FENG - OUYANG.” Wei Ying pouts but goes to the appropriate line, and Lan Wangji lets out a soft breath.

Out the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying chats his way through the line and leans over to flirt with the other check-in volunteer. Their hands brush as the volunteer passes over the various conference pamphlets and a lanyard.

Lan Wangji snaps his attention back to his own task.

“Lan-er-jiejie!” Wei Ying hops the table – it shakes concerningly – and plants a joyous smacking kiss against the top of Lan Wangji’s head before dashing away cackling.

Everyone has turned to look. Annie looks delighted.

Face blank and ears burning, Lan Wangji goes back to checking the latest attendee in. “Name?”

The latest attendee, a faintly blushing teenage girl in red just gapes at him.

Lan Wangji’s eye twitches minutely. “Your name please.”

“Oh!” the girl stammers. “Yes, it’s— “

*

That evening the dressing room is packed with anxiety. Fussy parents, fidgety kids. It’s only the dress rehearsal, but everyone is acting as though the entire opening ceremony is resting on what happens tonight and not the months of work that came before it.

Lan Wangji stands against the wall and thinks of his students.

Breathe, he’d told them at their last class, just as Uncle had told him years ago. Take what is in your heart and mind and let it pass. Visualize what you want to happen. And remember, what matters is not perfection but the appearance of it. A mistake is only as important as how you respond to it.

Tomorrow afternoon, his students will be presenting what they’ve learned to their parents. And then it will be Lan Wangji’s turn.

But first, rehearsal.

Jiang Wanyin barks at everyone to get into position. Their university, as part of the hosting community, has the honor of performing first, kicking off the night with an enormous group routine. They’re all dressed in garishly bright colored t-shirts paired with loose black pants gathered at the ankles. The t-shirts have their school program printed across the back in huge Comic Sans font (Lan Wangji suspects that Wei Ying had a hand in this design choice), and each class has a different shirt color.

The school does not give the cultivation department that much money.

“I miss Zixuan,” someone mutters, after yet another group of impeccably costumed thirteen year olds pass them in the hallway. Jin Zixuan had personally funded their last three NACA conferences before he graduated. Too bad none of the rest of them have money like that.

“What was that?” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

“Aiyah, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says. “Calm down.”

“I am calm!”

They’re expected to go on with the second verse of “Chrysanthemum Terrace,” which is also the sixth Jay Chou song that Lan Wangji has had to perform to in his short 21 years. When he was six, the parents at Chinese School decided that that would be the year his classed danced to “聽媽媽的話,^[3]” which had been great, because that was also the year his mother died.

Lan Wangji is not a Jay Chou person.

Afterwards, most sect-affiliated students have additional performances in the opening ceremony, and Lan Wangji is no exception. He changes as quickly as he can.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying bounces up. He’s only half changed, wearing a sleeveless white undershirt dark with sweat, purple uniform shirt slung over a broad shoulder.

Lan Wangji fumbles his top button.

“Here, let me help,” Wei Ying says, and ducks down for a better look, clever fingers coming up to rest at the hollow of Lan Wangji’s throat.

The room suddenly feels ten times hotter, crowded with people — their friends, their peers, their parents and their friends, and all their chattering voices — oblivious, to the three freckles dotting the top of Wei Wuxian’s anterior deltoid, cheerfully brown and begging to be kissed. As Wei Ying tugs and fiddles, Lan Wangji finds it harder and harder to breathe.

“Lan hua,” Wei Ying murmurs, fingering the orchids embroidered down the front of Lan Wangji’s shirt. A flash of teeth. “Clever.”

Lan Wangji steps back the second he lets go.

Wei Ying grins, eyes catching on Lan Wangji’s ears, which must be bright red by now. “Lan-xiaojie,” he purrs, swaying closer. “Are you sure you have everything you need?”

Lan Wangji’s back stays stiff and proud. His knees are another story. Lan Wangji turns his attention to shaking out his sleeves. “I am, thank you.”

Wei Ying catches the silky polyester (at least it’s not his forehead ribbon, Lan Wangji thinks dimly) between two fingers and tugs twice. “Lan Zhan~ ”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanying barks. He stands surrounded by a crowd of purple. “The hell are you doing? Get back here!”

“Da-shixiong still thinks he has a chance with the Second Jade of Lan!” someone shouts.

The group dissolves into laughter and jeers, and the room joins in — or at least the parts that think they’re in on the joke — and Lan Wangji burns again, but not with desire.

Wei Ying’s cheeks flush. “I’d better go,” he says quietly.

Lan Wangji looks away.

Wei Ying’s entire demeanor transforms as he turns. It’s almost like looking at a Wei Ying of five years past. “Who’s got a chance with Lan Wangji?” he demands, trouncing on one of his martial brothers — the original shouter, probably — and wrestling him into a headlock while the others laugh. “There’s only one of us that can barely look at her without freezing up, and it sure as hell ain’t me!”

One of the younger boys launches himself onto Wei Ying’s back with a whoop, someone else tries to pull him off, and things devolve from there. By the time the snarl of disciples are pulled apart and sorted out by a livid Yu Ziyuan, the entire room has been thoroughly entertained. Standing against the wall, Lan Wangji is barely an afterthought.

*

There is no official Lan branch in America. Unlike the Jiangs, or the Nies, or the Wens, an official school was never opened on American ground. Lan Wangji’s father had made plans, but…well. Anyway, between acting as interim sect leader an ocean away, his day job as a consultant, and raising his brother’s children, Uncle simply never had the time.

Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen had been taught in the traditional way of the Lans, and Uncle liked to take on the occasional class at Chinese School, but Lan Wangji had no close-knit cohort of martial siblings with whom he had grown up.

All of this is to say that rather than going to reunion dinner with his sect like most of his friends, Lan Wangji goes home and takes a really nice bath instead. He uses bath salts and essential oils and everything.

NACA conferences are exhausting, but the empty limbo that comes afterwards is strange as well. What will Lan Wangji do with all that time? Spend it with Wei Ying probably, he thinks, and because a certain lightness comes over him at the thought, he sinks into the water and blows bubbles out his nose before he cuts off his childish whim.

He’d forgotten how awful it was, being impenetrable. It’s like he stops existing.

It’s too easy to forget that the acceptance he’s carved out for himself here doesn’t extend into the rest of the world. Something about Lan Wangji has always inspired men to be their worst and most vicious selves, waiting with glee for his humiliation.

He’d been happy, with friends at school and Wei Ying in his bed. They’re not even real lovers, he thinks inanely. Wei Ying had said that it was normal to hook up with friends.

He doesn’t notice the noise at first, lost in his own sulking. His phone lights up on the bathroom counter, and Lan Wangji frowns. Someone is knocking on his door.

When he opens the door, hastily dressed and dried, there’s no one there. Confused, he pokes his head out the door and finds a familiar figure paused at the top of the stairs.

Wei Ying waves sheepishly, pale fingers peeking out from his black sleeve. “Hi.”

Lan Wangji says, “I thought…”

He’d thought that Wei Ying would be at a party, or at least with his sect mates and other friends. He’s always gone a little crazy at conferences.

Wei Ying makes a face. “Yu-furen would actually kill me if I kept the kids up the night before a competition. No one else is here yet.”

That makes more sense. Cold seeps through the damp patches of Lan Wangji’s shirt, and he shivers.

Inside, he suddenly feels conscious of the softness of him, hair down and wet, in his soft pajamas and bare feet. It’s not as though Wei Ying has never seen him in pajamas, or with his hair down, or even naked for that matter. But he was always drunk or preoccupied or distracted by something. Under the bright entryway lights, he feels exposed. The way Lan Wangji is right now wasn’t planned for anyone to see.

He retreats to the kitchen, and Wei Ying follows, shedding outerwear. “Are you hungry?” Lan Wangji asks, opening the fridge. “Thirsty?”

“You always ask me that,” Wei Ying says softly, which is odd and also not an answer.

Lan Wangji gets an orange.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says suddenly. “I don’t want orange, I want persimmon.”

Lan Wangji puts the orange back and pulls out the carton of persimmons.

“I don’t wanna deal with peeling and slicing it, will you do it for me?”

Lan Wangji pulls out the paring knife and cutting board.

“And I don’t want any of the weird mushy bits, can you cut them out for me?”

Lan Wangji gives him a level look. “Alright.”

Wei Ying deflates.

“Do you want something to drink? Tianzi Xiao?” Lan Wangji asks, testing the ripeness of the fruit. He picks out two plump persimmons, orange skins smooth and shiny.

“No…” Wei Ying says. “Actually – will you drink with me?”

Lan Wangji looks up.

“Please?” Wei Ying pouts.

Lan Wangji goes back to work. “After I finish.”

Wei Ying cheers.

*

So now here they are, two shots of Taiwanese kaoliang between them.

“Ready?” Wei Ying asks.

Not at all. Lan Wangji picks up his glass.

Wei Ying beams at him and clinks their glasses together. “Ganbei! ^[4]”

Lan Wangji downs his drink in one go. It burns worse than Wei Ying’s favorite hot sauce. Wei Ying catches him before he pitches face first into the table.

*

Lan Wangji comes to to the sight of Wei Ying, chin propped on one hand, looking down at him fondly.

“Are you awake now?” he asks.

Lan Wangji blinks slowly. Trying to think feels like walking underwater, and Wei Ying laughs. It’s a good laugh. One of his I love you laughs.

Sometimes, Wei Ying laughs to pretend he isn’t worried or sad, and Lan Wangji looks carefully to make sure. It’s a terrible thing to find out how sad someone is when it’s too late. When it comes to Wei Ying, Lan Wangji is always a little too afraid of being too late.

“Why are you staring at me like that,” Wei Ying asks. “Is there something on my face?”

Sadly, Lan Wangji says, “You wouldn’t tell me if there was something on your face.”

“Ah? Don’t you mean if there was something on your face? I would never do that.”

“No,” Lan Wangji insists, lurching forward. “Your face.”

Wei Ying’s mouth curves as he catches Lan Wangji at the elbows. “What about my face?”

Wei Ying’s face…

“Nice,” Lan Wangji says. He’s so handsome. Lan Wangji has always thought so, even when he was fifteen and stupid. Wei Ying’s face stays perfect even as it spasms and turns red. He gets embarrassed so easily. It’s fun.

Lan Wangji reaches out to touch his beautiful face, but misses and almost jams his fingers in Wei Ying’s nostrils instead. Lan Wangji frowns. That’s embarrassing. Wei Ying catches his hand and brings it down to the table, and Lan Wangji makes a noise of distress and reaches for him with his other hand. This one lands much better, and Lan Wangji strokes his cheek lovingly. Wei Ying has nice cheekbones, and they shift beneath Lan Wangji’s hands as Wei Ying rambles.

Lan Wangji had the BIGGEST crisis over his cheekbones when they were twenty. One moment Wei Ying had baby fat and then hello! cheek bones! It was like when Wei Ying suddenly became tall over sophomore year, and suddenly it was even harder for Lan Wangji to breathe when he walked in the room. But the cheekbones. They made his face sharper, and his jaw more chiseled, and when it was combined with a sword in Wei Ying’s hand it made Lan Wangji feel electric up and down his body.

Lan Wangji pokes them again with a pruny finger.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Your hair is really wet.”

“Bath,” Lan Wangji says, tracing down his face. Wei Ying has the prettiest mouth. Red and soft and shiny from the kaoliang, it closes wet and hot around Lan Wangji’s fingertip and sucks.

They freeze, a pair of dewy wide-eyed maidens.

Wei Ying releases him with a soft pop! “Ahaha,” he says. “Are you tired? You look tired! You should go to bed, it’s past your bedtime.” (It’s 8:30.) “Wait no, you can’t go to bed yet, your hair is wet, you’ll get sick like that — where’s your hair dryer, I’ll do your hair for you.”

Bemused, Lan Wangji allows Wei Ying to drag him towards the bedroom, before he remembers…“The persimmons!” he cries with great distress.

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry about it,” Wei Ying says, sitting him down on the bed.

But they were for you, Lan Wangji thinks, and gets back up to amble after him.

Wei Ying bustles back and forth across the apartment, collecting hair stuff, and he keeps telling Lan Wangji to sit and stay, which is silly because Lan Wangji wants to follow him always. But also, the floor starts lurching every time he stands up.

Wei Ying comes back from the kitchen and holds out the bowl of fruit to him.

“No food on the bed,” Lan Wangji says. That’s a rule! But then Wei Ying makes big sad eyes at him, and what’s Lan Wangji to do? He closes his eyes and opens his mouth.

Wei Ying makes a choking sound. “Lan Zhan…do you want me to feed you?”

Lan Wangji cracks open an eye. Obviously.

“Aiyah…” Wei Ying kneels down in front of him and gingerly feeds a slice into Lan Wangji’s mouth. “There.” He holds out the fork. “Here, now you can feed yourself.”

Lan Wangji looks away. The fork is dead to him.

Wei Ying tsks.

He tries to put the fork in Lan Wangji’s hands, and Lan Wangji shoves his fingers into his armpits. There! Now he can’t hold anything.

“Lan Wangji!” Wei Ying scolds.

Lan Wangji pouts and holds it. One, two…

Wei Ying sighs. “You’ve always been so stubborn.” He tugs Lan Wangji’s cheek. “Haǒ bā^[5], I’ll feed you just this once.”

He’ll feed Lan Wangji more than just this once if Lan Wangji has anything to say about it.

Wei Ying raises more fruit to Lan Wangji’s lips. “It’s your crazy strict Lan upbringing,” he says around his own absentminded bite of fruit. “I bet you stopped playing tag at four and did math problems for fun. When was the last time you were indulged like a baby?” He wipes Lan Wangji’s mouth sweetly with his thumb. Low and breathy: “Well now you can be my baby.”

Lan Wangji jumps him.

The bowl clatters to the ground and goes rolling off somewhere. Wei Ying laughs, bright and delighted. “No!” he scolds, holding Lan Wangji off with one hand. “Down!”

Lan Wangji straddles his lap and tries to kiss him again.

“Wait, wait! I still haven’t dried your hair,” Wei Ying says. “We’ll get your pillows wet.”

It’ll dry.

“It’ll be gross,” Wei Ying warns. “It’ll grow bacteria.”

Lan Wangji hesitates.

“You’ll get sick.” Wei Ying pulls out his trump card. “And then you won’t be able to kiss me anymore.”

Lan Wangji deflates, and Wei Ying laughs. Lan Wangji loves his laugh.

Wei Ying kisses each of Lan Wangji’s eyelids and then once chastely on the mouth. “I’ll work fast,” he promises, grabbing a towel. “And then we can do whatever you want.”

Lan Wangji grumbles but settles down.

Squeezing the moisture out of his hair gently, Wei Ying says.”You know, Jiang Cheng and I used to do jiejie’s hair for her when we were little.”

Still grumpy, but unable to act indifferent to Wei Ying’s words, he replies. “I’ve always done my own hair.”

“Really?”

“Shufu stopped when I entered elementary school.”

He had tried very hard. It had not been very good. Lan Wangji insisted on doing his hair himself, and Uncle was sad.

“You’ll have to let me do your hair more from now on then,” Wei Ying says. “I don’t know why I haven’t before. I love your hair.”

If only Wei Ying would love him. :,(

Wei Ying sets the towel down. “Haǒ la, chuī tóu le ^[6]”

Lan Wangji grabs Wei Ying’s wrist before he can reach the hairdryer. “No.” Then he won’t be able to hear Wei Ying’s voice.

Wei Ying splutters. “Now what?”

“No!” Lan Wangji says, and goes to throw the hairdryer out the window.

“Lan Zhan!!!” Wei Ying tackles him before he can, and Lan Wangji goes limp immediately, pleased.

Wei Ying mutters something into Lan Wangji’s chest that sounds like, “This was a bad idea.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pleads. “Darling, just let me dry your roots please, it’ll be really quick I promise.”

Suspicious: “Quick?”

“Very,” Wei Ying says solemnly. “Will you be good and not try to kill the hair dryer if I let you up?”

Lan Wangji sighs. No Wei Ying voice for him. “Okay.”

*

Later, Wei Ying is brushing out Lan Wangji’s mostly dry hair when he remembers.

“I bought a strap on,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying makes a dying noise behind him.

Lan Wangji fumbles his phone off the bed and pulls the receipt up on his phone. “Is this okay? Is it big enough? I know you said you like ‘big fat monster cocks’” – this is an exact quote from freshman year – “but I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

As he reads the measurements, Wei Ying’s eyes grow until they look like they’re about to bug out of his head.

If Wei Ying doesn’t like it, Lan Wangji will cry. He’ll never be able to speak to anyone ever again.

“It’s great!” Wei Ying squeaks.

Yayyyy, Lan Wangji thinks.

“Good,” he says outloud, and sways a little. He’s tired.

“Look at you,” Wei Ying says fondly. “You’re falling asleep as we sit. What are you gonna do for the rest of the conference, hm?”

“Leave early,” Lan Wangji tells him through drooping eyelids.

A soft laugh. “Of course,” he replies very seriously. And then a little more tentatively, Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan, earlier today, at dress rehearsal…”

Lan Wangji shuts down immediately, sitting upright. “No.”

Wei Ying accepts his refusal quietly, but the topic has been brought back up again, and the more Lan Wangji thinks the more upset he gets and he thinks more and more and more.

When Wei Ying finishes brushing oil through his hair, Lan Wangji is inconsolable and also, very drunk.

“I’m a terrible friend,” he says into Wei Ying’s neck. He’s not sure how he got there, in Wei Ying’s lap and in Wei Ying’s arms. “You think I’m good, but I’m not. I want to tell you, but I don’t know how. I’m so scared. Wei Ying,” he says. “I’m scared. I don’t want you to hate me.”

Wei Ying says helplessly above, “I don’t hate you, I could never hate you – Lan Zhan, what? You’re my Lan-er-jiejie.”

Lan Wangji pulls back, suddenly fierce. “Call me gege,” he demands.

“...”

“Gege,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji beams. “Good.” And he closes his eyes and lays his head back down onto Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Gentle hands guide Lan Wangji under the covers, and he waits for Wei Ying to slip in after him. Instead, Wei Ying tucks the blankets more firmly around him and pulls away.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Ahaha,” Wei Ying laughs. “Home? So that I don’t compromise your virtue?”

Incredulous: “What virtue.”

“...”

“...”

“I’m in my outside clothes,” Wei Ying says weakly.

Lan Wangji gives him a look. “So take them off.”

“Okay,” he says, meek as a mouse, and obeys.

*

Later, Lan Wangji stirs to the feeling of Wei Ying pulling away. In his dream he wants to reach after him, but he knows it’s useless. He has to be left behind one day.

Wei Wuxian is gone when he wakes.

*

Lan Wangji has been teaching cultivation at the local elementary school twice a week since January. It’s an old program. The professor running it has been here longer than Lan Wangji has been alive. When he was younger, Uncle often came back from discussion conferences muttering darkly about a Yan-xuezhang, who has been bothering him since middle school.

Brother had been so nervous when he first started volunteering at the professor’s after school program. When he finally told Uncle, posture so relaxed it circled back around to tense, Uncle had only sniffed and said, Well! and then, even more astonishingly, he’d added, Listen well to what he has to teach you, and went back to typing something up for work.

Personally, Lan Wangji thinks the professor is fine. A little overly jovial and paternal, but it could be worse. When Lan Wangji was sixteen someone at Chinese School had called him “refreshingly maternal,” and it had taken weeks before Lan Wangji could be around the children without feeling self-conscious.

Anyway. The students Lan Wangji is working with are too old to be mistaken for his own, so thank god for that.

Fidgety, anxious, and bored, they sit to the side of the conference room with the rest of the students. As the fourth of five classes, they have a ways to go before they’re done. One of his more eager students, Amanda, sits with her eyes shut, and she would be the picture of serene meditation if her mouth weren’t fighting so valiantly against a scowl. Next to her, Claire giggles silently and pokes her again.

“Stop it!” Amanda hisses loudly — too loud — and turns red. Chatter and giggles flood through the crowd of children. At the head of the room, Professor Yan smiles indulgently and continues speaking.

“Claire,” Lan Wangji says, voice just a touch above the crowd.

“Sorry Miss Lan,” the girl whispers, grinning.

Lan Wangji holds her gaze silently, and she wilts, contrite. He flicks his eyes at the girl fuming and embarrassed behind her. Claire nods and turns around.

As Lan Wangji resumes his position, he hears her hiss, “’Manda! What, no, don’t shush me, I’m trying to say sorry!”

One of the other student teachers sends him a Look. Lan Wangji closes his eyes serenely. They’ll sort themselves out.

Lan Wangji’s class only has to demonstrate two forms and a wind talisman. They’re a very basic beginner class, so they haven’t been working on anything particularly showy. It’s hard to make meditation feel exciting for an audience. They’re still nervous though, which is understandable. Some parents wait for years to see if their children can cultivate a core. Even if they don’t verbalize it, the pressure is on.

His students glance over as they go on. Lan Wangji gives them a faint nod, and their shoulders straighten. Their chins lift. They’ll do well, and then, when he looks out into the audience, Lan Wangji feels his heart lift even more.

Rich-jiejie! A-Yuan mouths, waving happily. Wen Qing fits him more securely in her lap while Wen Ning brushes his hair out of his face. Beside them, tentative and pleased, is Wei Ying.

*

“You did very well,” Lan Wangji tells his students.

A dozen little faces beam up at him. “Thank you!” Praise obtained, most of them scatter off to join their families, while a few stay behind to present Lan Wangji with flowers and home baked goods.

“Not to be rude,” Claire says. “But…who’s the kid?”

A-Yuan peeks around Lan Wangji’s legs at the “big kids” with uncharacteristic shyness. “This is A-Yuan. His English isn’t as strong as his Chinese, so be mindful,” Lan Wangji tells them.

Amanda crouches down to A-Yuan’s eye-level. “Who are you?” she asks in Mandarin. “What’s your name? My name is Amanda.”

“I’m A-Yuan,” comes the sweet reply. Someone coos, and Lan Wangji rests a reassuring hand in his soft hair.

Claire gasps loudly. “Is he yours?” Her eyes slide behind Lan Wangji and then back again. “Miss Lan!!! Are you married?”

Loud peals of laughter erupt behind Lan Wangji. “Wei Ying,” he says severely.

“Sorry, sorry!” Wei Ying gasps between chortles. Evidently, he has recovered from his strange mood the night before.

“Claire, that was so rude!” Amanda hisses. “Anyway,” she adds with authority, “my parents said that you can’t get married until you’re thirty, and Miss Lan can’t be more than twenty-five.”

Lan Wangji really doesn’t have the authority to unpack all of that. Wei Ying’s laughter, which was just peetering off, starts up again.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says, sharp and despairing at the same time. The laughter dies off abruptly.

Lan Wangji nudges A-Yuan in the direction of Wei Ying and the Wens. “I’m twenty-one,” he tells Amanda. “I am not married. A-Yuan is my friends’ cousin. I looked after him when he was a baby.”

“So you’re his baby-sitter.”

“Mn.”

“Then who’s that?” Claire demands, pointing at Wei Ying, who kneels on the ground pinching A-Yuan’s cheeks.

“…his other baby-sitter,” says Lan Wangji.

“Hey!” Wei Ying says. He slings an arm around Lan Wangji’s neck, knocking their heads together. “I’m Lan Zhan’s very best favorite most friend!”

“So you’re not together,” Claire says doubtfully.

“Lan-da-xiaojie would never sully herself with the likes of me,” Wei Ying informs her cheerfully.

“But you’re best friends.”

“Yep!”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Lan Wangji stands, suddenly unable to deal with this anymore. Wen Ning casts him a pitying look, so Lan Wangji says, “Wen Qing, thank you for coming.”

Wen Qing crosses her arms. “We wanted A-Yuan to see what he could be doing in a few years.”

“He’ll be brilliant,” Wei Ying declares, hoisting A-Yuan into the air. “A natural born talent. He— ” A small group of cultivators are whispering furiously, looking over at them. “Can I help you?”

One of the cultivators, a young man in purple (but not Jiang purple, Lan Wangji notes) steps forward. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Wei Ying says coolly.

The young man pauses, seeming to gather his courage. “Wens aren’t allowed here,” he says, not looking at Wen Qing or Wen Ning.

“Excuse me?” Wei Ying says.

The young man says, “According to the Assembly of North American Sects, all Wen Sect members are banned from participating in N.A.C.A. events due to the crimes of the Wen family, including but not limited to bribery, extortion, sabotage, child endangerment-“

“So?” interrupts Wei Ying.

“Wen Ruohan destroyed my father’s career,” the cultivator cries.

“And his son kidnapped me and my friends and burned down my school,” Wei Ying snaps back. “That doesn’t have anything to do with these people.”

“I shouldn’t have to see Wen-dogs in my place of business-“

“This is literally a public space!”

“Xian-gege,” A-Yuan says in Mandarin. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, turnip head,” he replies grimly. “Xian-gege is just dealing with a few absolutely di—“

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. “Take A-Yuan outside.”

“But!”

Softly, Wen Ning says, “Wei-xiong.”

Wei Ying follows their gaze to A-Yuan, tucked anxious and trembling against his chest.. He goes.

When Wei Ying and A-Yuan have slipped out of sight, Lan Wangji turns back to the young cultivator. Drawing himself up, he says, “Wen-xiansheng and Wen-xiaojie are guests of the Lan family.”

“With all due respect,” the man says. “Lan-xiaojie, you of all people shouldn’t be defending them.”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to give a scathing reply, but Wen Ning cuts in quietly. “Lan Wangji,” he says. “Thank you, but Jiejie and I can handle this.”

Wen Qing steps up next to her younger brother. “Will you go keep an eye on Wei Wuxian? He’ll get himself and A-Yuan mixed up in all sorts of trouble if they’re left alone.”

Lan Wangji takes the dismissal for what it is.

Outside, Wei Ying sits on a bench fuming and concealing it badly. For a moment, Lan Wangji thinks that he will round on him for leaving Wen Qing and Wen Ning alone to fend for themselves. Instead, he says sullenly, “Let me guess. They told you not to get involved too.”

To the side, A-Yuan is on his tiptoes, clinging to the glass railing, as though he intends to climb up and peer over the edge into the concourse below. Lan Wangji doesn’t think that he’ll succeed, but better not risk it.

“A-Yuan,” he calls in Chinese. “Are you hungry?” He holds out the bag of brownies Claire had gifted him.

A-Yuan comes running. “Hungry!” he cries, slamming into Lan Wangji’s legs.

“He’s only allowed one sweet a day,” says Wei Ying, unmoved from his sour hunch.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji doles out the treat, and as A-Yuan snacks happily between them, he says quietly, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying doesn’t respond, staring darkly at his hands. Lan Wangji waits him out. Eventually, he sighs.

Switching to English, he says. “Did you know that Wen Qing only got one grad school interview?”

Lan Wangji did not.

“It’s criminal,” Wei Ying continues. “She should have had her pick of programs, but no one is willing to sponsor someone named Wen. No cultivator will accept treatment from a Wen either. Popo has bad knees, and her hands hurt. She should be resting, getting doted on by her family, but she still—“ His voice cracks. “It’s not fair. What gives anyone the right to condemn so many for the actions of a few?”

Lan Wangji waits a moment, as a group of teenagers walk past, giggling and bickering loudly. When their voices fade into the distance, he says, looking straight ahead, “Wen Chao broke my leg when I was fifteen.”

Silence. Lan Wangji has never said that out loud before.

“Lan Zhan! What are you— “

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “People will be cruel,” he says, trying to find the right words. “They don’t need a reason to be fair. They need a place to put their bitterness and hurt. Because it is easier that way. Wen Chao broke my leg and pretended it was an accident, because— “ Lan Wangji swallows back the memory of that day. “Because I was better than him. But my leg healed.” He lays a hand over Wei Ying’s clenched fist. “And I am still here. Wei Ying,” he says, a little more forcefully. “You help me be here.”

There is a long moment of silence, broken only by A-Yuan telling stories to himself. Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying carefully, so afraid of being misunderstood. Wei Ying’s fist loosens and with it, the knot in his chest does too.

Wei Ying takes Lan Wangji’s hand and presses it to his face. “Lan Zhan ah, Lan Zhan,” he says. “What did I do in my past life to meet someone like you?”

A hot flush travels up Lan Wangji’s neck to the tips of his ears. He says baldly, “You were yourself.” And then: “Wei Ying. Look.”

Coming out the conference room, looking grimly pleased, are Wen Qing and Wen Ning.

*

They part ways there. Wei Ying has his poster presentation that afternoon, and Lan Wangji has a workshop on guqin restoration. A-Yuan waves as they walk away, promising to watch them at the opening ceremony that night.

But fifteen minutes before their call time, Lan Wangji is tying his forehead ribbon on when he realizes that Wei Ying is nowhere to be seen. Even though he should know better, he still goes looking.

He finds Wei Ying tucked up behind a decorative tree, perched on the outside ledge of the railing. He’s high enough off the ground to spike fear at the thought of him falling.

Lan Wangji had been afraid that Wei Ying had slipped back into his previous mood, but he only looks quietly contemplative. He doesn’t react when Lan Wangji comes to stand below him.

After a while, he sighs. “Yu-furen used to hate me and Jiang Cheng climbing all over everything. Said she couldn’t take us anywhere. I think she was afraid Jiang Cheng would slip and fall.” Wei Ying huffs ruefully. “Not me, though. Lan Zhan ah, have you come to fetch me? I do know what time it is, you know.”

There’s a wry look in his face, as though he’s waiting for Lan Wangji to give him his scolding.

Instead, Lan Wangji holds up his hand.

Wei Ying looks down at Lan Wangji’s outstretched palm for a long moment. He looks at Lan Wangji’s face. He says: “Oh.”

And then, suddenly, Wei Ying is plummeting down through the air. Lan Wangji scrambles to catch him. The height is awkward, the angle is wrong, and Lan Wangji is shorter than Wei Ying by quite a few inches. Wei Ying lands hard and clumsy in his arms, but he still lands. Safe, with his arms looped around Lan Wangji, hand closed around a fistful of hair, face buried in his neck. He pulls back breathlessly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “Lan Zhan. You caught me.“

“Mn.” As if he could do anything else.

*

Wei Ying is distracted throughout the opening ceremony. He doesn’t make any mistakes, of course — he’s too good and too practiced for that. Still, Lan Wangji thinks, watching him out the corner of his eye, there’s something off. He just doesn’t seem all there. Then, all of sudden, between one strike and the next, he switches to vibrating out of his skin with impatience, like he’s returned to here, this moment and wants nothing more than to get it over with.

The man is bewildering.

He’s waiting for Lan Wangji after his guqin solo, which had been an all together standard performance. Lan Wangji comes off stage to find Wei Ying waiting, bouncing in place, looking up with dark gleaming eyes like he holds a dragon pearl in his mouth, and all of a sudden, with the sense that the ceiling has started crashing down around him, Lan Wangji knows.

Someone jostles into him. The Jiang disciples are filing out the hallway. His heart starts beating again as Wei Ying gets closer and closer and closer and slips past him to the door. He looks back once. He smiles brilliantly, and vanishes.

*

Lan Wangji isn’t proud to say that he runs, but run he does.

He’s out the door before the last speech finishes. His heart is about to jump out his chest. He fumbles for his keys and out the corner of his eye, a flash of red, a car rounding the corner, and he can’t, he can’t—

If Wei Ying catches him, he’ll want to talk, and if they talk, then Wei Ying will say it, and Lan Wangji can’t hear him say it, he can’t, he won’t be able to bear it, he wants so badly he hates it.

Wei Ying’s side of the bed haunts him through the night.

*

The next morning does not start well.

He starts by deflecting Wei Ying’s requests to meet, citing his full schedule. He oversteeps his tea, burns breakfast, and nearly hits a squirrel on the drive over.

He and Brother have agreed to meet on the lower level, since he’ll be assisting with his brother’s presentation of Lan pedagogy that morning. Mingjue-ge and Brother are standing with someone when he arrives.

It’s a slight young man, barely older than Lan Wangji. One of the volunteer coordinators, he thinks.

“—thank you for letting me stay,” the man is saying. “I’m sorry if I caused trouble for you.”

Mingjue-ge crosses his arms and huffs, looking away.

Brother smiles at him — the man, not Mingjue-ge, Lan Wangji notices. “It’s no trouble at all.” Brother lays a hand on the man’s arm. “You know you’re always welcome with us” — Nie Mingjue snorts loudly — “and Mingjue might not say it, but he likes having you around too.”

The man covers Brother’s hand with his own. He smiles, with dimples. “Thank you, Xichen.”

It’s at this point that Brother notices him, standing there watching this very strange, very disturbing scene play out in front of him. “Ah, Wangji!” he calls cheerily. He extracts his hand in a move that would be positively genteel for anyone else, but is in fact incredibly awkward (guilty, hugely social faux pas-esque) for him. “Good morning.”

What the fuck, thinks Lan Wangji.

Brother says, “Wangji, have I introduced you to Meng Yao? A-Yao, this is my little sister Wangji.”

Meng Yao bows in the old school style. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Lan Wangji bows back, surveying the man with an assessing eye. His beige tweed suit is well pressed and impeccably mended. He carries no sword.

Smiling pleasantly, Meng Yao says, “Xichen has told me so much about you.”

Really? Lan Wangji thinks. He hasn’t mentioned you at all.

Out loud, he says, “Mn.”

“Meng Yao is one of our head coordinators,” Brother tells him. “He’s been an absolute godsend and a wizard with an Excel spreadsheet.”

Meng Yao’s eyes crinkle into something genuine. “It’s really not that hard,” he says. “You just have to remember that functions always start with an equal sign.”

Lan Wangji swings his gaze around to Brother, who definitely knows how to use an Excel function. Horror of horrors: he blushes.

Aghast, Lan Wangji turns to Mingjue-ge, only to find him discreetly looking away from Meng Yao’s ass.

Lan Wangji takes a step back and stumbles. Thick fingers close around his upper arms.

“Woah! You alright there?”

Lan Wangji jerks away, only a little more abruptly than usual. The stranger who caught him is a stocky white man in his thirties. His badge denotes him as a conference attendee.

“A-Zhan!”

Jesus fuck, Lan Wangji thinks.

Jin Guangshan beams merrily beside the man. He's wearing a gold changpao, which Lan Wangji has literally never seen before.

Lan Wangji bows politely. “Jin-xiansheng.” Out the corner of his eye, he sees Meng Yao stiffen.

Jin Guangshan says, “Didn’t I tell you to call me shushu? You’ll make me lose face, greeting me so coldly like that. You know, I was just telling Kevin about you.” He chuckles. “One of the rising stars of the cultivation world!”

Lan Wangji’s skin crawls at the thought of his name in that man’s mouth.

“This gentleman is one of my new business partners,” Jin Guangshan tells him. “He’s been interested in working with Jin Corp for years, and I thought, this conference would be a perfect opportunity to show him what we stand for.”

White guy says, “Guangshan, it's an honor to be here. I’m so thrilled to be invited into your culture.”

This is a professional and academic conference, not a cultural festival, Lan Wangji thinks grumpily, and the white guy keeps looking curiously over at him, eyes lingering on his bare forehead.

White guy notices him noticing him looking and startles a little. “Where are my manners,” he says. “I haven’t even introduced myself yet. Please, call me Kevin.”

Kevin holds out his hand. Lan Wangji does not take it, and he keeps smiling, hand out, completely unperturbed like a psychopath.

Brother slides in smoothly and clasps his hand in a brisk shake. “Xichen Lan,” he says. “This is my sister Wangji. Our family heads the Lan Institute in Taipei. It’s a pleasure to meet any friend of Uncle Jin’s.”

Seeing that Brother has taken over the duty of small talk, Lan Wangji retreats behind Mingjue-ge.

“Forgive me if this is politically incorrect,” Kevin is saying. “But I read somewhere that the Lan Clan wears forehead ribbons?”

Brother replies pleasantly, “Traditionally, yes. Nowadays however, we normally reserve it for formal or family events, although it is, of course, up to the discretion of each individual.”

“How fascinating — I always think it's a shame that my family doesn’t have any meaningful traditions like that.”

It’s at this point that Jin Guangshan invites Brother and Lan Wangji to sit at his table at the banquet tonight. Brother demurs, citing his reluctance to leave Mingjue-ge and their colleague Meng Yao behind. He launches into an unusually pointed litany of praises for Meng Yao, who looks torn between extreme discomfort and wanting to jump Lan Wangji’s older brother.

“— he’s absolutely brilliant,” Brother is saying. “And he won’t tell me where he gets it from.” He smiles. “Must be his mother.”

“Haha,” says Jin Guangshan. “I’m afraid we might not have enough room at our table. But you must lend me your younger sister. I’m hoping to convince Kevin to join me in sponsoring other cultivation events — for example, I’ve heard the Lan Institute is hosting a benefit soon to finish restoring their library after Wen Ruohan’s cyberattack.” He smiles. “It would be wonderful to show him where his money could be going, don’t you think?”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth. “Yes.”

“So it’s settled then!”

Nie Huaisang’s voice comes carrying over the crowd: “Da-geeeeeeeeeeeee!”

Jin Guangshan grimaces briefly. “It seems you have business to tend to,” he says, motioning to Kevin. “You’ll have to forgive us for leaving you here, there’s still so much to see!”

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Kevin says, just as Huaisang comes barreling through the crowd, wailing about something or another.

As they leave, Lan Wangji hears Kevin say to Jin Guangshan in an undertone, “I understand what you mean.”

“Marvelous, isn’t she?”

“But just a little…”

“Oh yes. But that’s half the fun, don’t you think?”

Ugh.

“I see you’ve met White Kevin with the Asian Wife,” Huaisang says, suddenly calm and composed. In the background, Mingjue-ge is shaking his head while Brother and Meng Yao smile.

Lan Wangji looks sharply at him.

Accurately reading the expression on his face, Huaisang says, “Gross, right? He donated a ton of stuff to the Chinese and Japanese exhibit at the art museum. A ‘conoisseur of Asian arts and culture.’” Huaisang grins. “Wei-xiong came up with the nickname. Apparently, Yanli-jiejie hates him, but he’s over at dinner with the Jins all the time.”

Lan Wangji hums. Poor Yanli-jie.

“Ah,” says Huaisang. “Speak of the devil.”

Lan Wangji stiffens.

“Wei-xiong,” he calls. “Over here!”

Wei Ying appears out of the crowd. His name badge swings, rainbow pin winking on the lanyard, and his eyes widen. “Lan Zhan!”

Huaisang sighs. “Typical.”

“Shut up,” Wei Ying says without heat. “I just saw you. Lan Zhan!” He turns to Lan Wangji. His dark blue button down makes him look trim and neat. Boyishly handsome. He pouts. His pants are very tight. “Why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?!”

Lan Wangji looks down. “I apologize.”

“Aiyah, I can’t be mad at you when you look like that! Listen, can I talk to you?”

“Brother and I have to go prepare for our workshop presentation now.”

“What about after?”

“Clean up.” The back of Lan Wangji’s neck prickles. “And I agreed to help set up for matches and sparring demonstrations.”

“Oh. Okay,” Wei Ying says. “Hm. And I have my archery competition plus the Queer in Cultivation breakout session later.”

Huaisang looks at Lan Wangji oddly, but he throws an arm around Wei Ying’s neck. “Don’t fret my dude, you’ll see each other at the banquet tonight. You can talk then.”

“A-ahhh,” says Wei Ying, coloring, and the pit in Lan Wangji’s stomach digs itself deeper and deeper. “Maybe after. Ah! Nie-xiong, what the heck that hurts, where are we going?”

Lan Wangji watches Huaisang tow Wei Ying away, grateful, once again, that he and Huaisang get along now.

Brother looks at him oddly. “Wangji…”

The room for their presentation won’t actually be available for another fifteen minutes. Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow. Mingjue-ge and Meng Yao have both gone, but two can still play that game.

Brother relents with a sigh.

*

Lan Wangji spends the rest of the day terrified that Wei Ying will discover him looking less busy than he claims to be. The banquet dinner hangs heavier and heavier over his head.

He can’t get the look on Wei Ying’s face out of his mind.

His gleaming eyes, his sweet nose, his strong mouth. All for him. All for him, but not really. Not for him.

He hadn’t known that that was what it could look like — love. Knowing you were in love. Like a gift, like a lightness filling your chest.

Wei Ying had looked at him like there was a bird in his chest waiting to be set free.

Is that what love is supposed to be?

He wants that. He wants to be that for Wei Ying. All he has to do is say yes. If he could just accept—

He could make that birdcage a home.

*

Lan Wangji dresses for dinner like he’s preparing for war: shapewear, stockings, heels. Light makeup, a tailored qipao patterned in blue flowers — a high school graduation present. His forehead ribbon, worked painstakingly through his updo, falls long and exposed down his back.

He was sixteen when he figured out the trick to it. A tapestry needle threaded with one end of his ribbon, drawn through his hair from front to back could do what years and years of practice could not: weave his ribbon through his hair without his hairstyle falling apart, getting strands pulled out on accident, and stay in place without having to tighten the ribbon hard enough to leave imprints in his forehead, all under 5 minutes.

Brother and Uncle used to try to do his hair for him, twin expressions of befuddlement hovering over Lan Wangji’s dark glossy head in the mirror. When they were home, Mother would demonstrate for Brother laughing. After she died, there was no one else who could help.

Sometimes, Lan Wangji thinks about all the girls that used to be in his cultivation classes.

One of them picked dance over cultivation. Another girl lost interest. Some of them were forced into it by their parents and stopped at the earliest opportunities, while others just became too busy with school. For everyone else, there just wasn’t a point anymore if all their friends were gone.

One by one they disappeared, until only Lan Wangji was left.

*

The banquet takes place in one of the hotel ballrooms. It’s a great glittering banquet hall, and Lan Wangji has to spend the entire evening at a table with Jin Guangshan.

But before that, he snags the hem of Wei Ying’s suit jacket as he passes him in the entryway. “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying turns. His eyes widen.

“If you’re not otherwise engaged after dinner,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “Would you like to come home with me?”

“Yes,” breathes Wei Ying. A dazzling smile spreads across his face.

Hot all over, Lan Wangji gives him a curt nod and turns to go.

“Wait!” Wei Ying calls. “Where are you sitting? I’ll come with you.”

“Jin Guangshan has requested my presence at his table.”

“Oh yikes,” says Wei Ying. “Hm.”

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes.

Wei Ying smiles. “I guess I should definitely go with you then,” he says easily.

Jiang Wanyin appears out of nowhere to cuff Wei Ying over the head. Lan Wangji has no idea where he came from. “When I said I had to sit with Jin Guangshan you told me to ‘rip in pieces.’”

“Ah ah,” says Wei Ying, clutching his head. “Jiang Cheng, that hurt!”

“As if!”

When they get to the table, Jin Zixun is berating Su Minshan, who apparently bumped into him and caused him to spill his drink. Typical. As he leaves, Su Minshan throws Jin Zixun a venomous look.

Shockingly, there are only enough seats left for Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji — with Lan Wangji seated next to Jin Guangshan’s friend Kevin. Lan Wangji sits reluctantly. Wei Ying snags a seat at the table behind him so that they sit back to back.

White Kevin with the Asian Wife tries to make conversation with Lan Wangji throughout the whole five course Western style meal.

Here are a few things that he does:

1. Drops a truly excessive amount of Chinese words into sentences and keeps glancing over like he expects Lan Wangji to praise his pronunciation.

2. Talks extensively about who his taichi master is, and who his taichi master’s master is, and who his taichi master’s master’ master is.

“What’s your lineage?” White Kevin asks over his vegan gluten free salad.

Are you fucking serious, Lan Wangji thinks.

3. Asks Lan Wangji about his relationship with his parents, because respect is like, a huge Confucianism thing right? and he really wants to understand more about it.

“My parents are dead,” Lan Wangji says.

Behind him, Wei Ying chokes on his soup.

Huaisang pounds on his back as he coughs and splutters. “Wei-xiong,” Huaisang says. “You’ve gotta pull it together.”

4. Reminisces about his gap year in China, and how he misses the food so much, and wow, his eyes catching once again on the band of ribbon above Lan Wangji’s brow, he’s so jealous of Lan Wangji for having like, a real culture.

“Have you ever been there?” he asks.

“Once,” says Lan Wangji. He and Brother had been very young. Uncle had taken them to see their great grandparents’ graves.

Like he can’t help himself, Kevin says, “Oh, so like, did you just never go back after you came here, or…?”

Lan Wangji stares him down, knife poised over his mushroom steak. “To answer your question,” he says. “I was born here, in America.”

“What? I wasn’t — I mean, I,” he splutters. “That wasn’t my question!”

Lan Wangji takes a bite of his food.

At some point, Lan Wangji forgets that he’s supposed to be currying favor to get money for the Lan Institute, but you know what? Brother will understand. Even if he’ll be very disappointed.

The only break Lan Wangji gets is when Jin Zixun proposes a toast for the entire table, insisting on alcohol since Jiang Wanyin, the youngest of them all, is now of age.

Lan Wangji declines.

Jin Zixun insists. And then:

The glass of champagne is snatched out of Jin Zixun’s hands.

“I’ll drink for her,” Wei Ying says, suddenly beside him, his conference lanyard a slash of color against his black on black. He drains the glass in one smooth motion, throat bobbing, flips it expertly, and hands it back, followed by an insouciant drawl of, “That should be good enough, right?”

Wei Ying has never looked so striking or so tall. Jin Zixun backs down.

I want him to wreck me into next Sunday, Lan Wangji thinks. He blinks. He has to pay attention.

There’s still one more course to power through and the after dinner entertainment and when that’s done, he stands with the rest of the room grateful to finally shuffle out with the crowd and leave all his horrible dinner companions and their awful opinions behind.

Wei Ying catches his eye with a grin, looking like he knows exactly what Lan Wangji is thinking. All of a sudden, his face contorts with fury.

But Lan Wangji has already turned. His hand grips Kevin’s wrist, the ends of his sacred ribbon just fluttering past the man’s outstretched fingers.

Hard as stone, Lan Wangji says, “Do not,” and the man flinches back.

“Lan Wangji!” Jin Guangshan yelps. “Wangji, be understanding, he doesn’t know any better.”

Coldly, Wei Ying says, “You don’t need to be from any culture to know that touching someone without permission is creepy and wrong.”

Eyes darting, Kevin protests, “I thought it was just a ribbon!”

He’s a liar, and he knows it. Lan Wangji’s grip tightens, and the man winces in pain.

“Aiyah, Wangji,” Jin Guangshan says nervously. “Let him go please, we can talk this out properly.”

With deliberate reluctance, Lan Wangji loosens his grip just enough for Kevin to snatch his hand back. Rubbing his wrist, the man says, “Oh wow, a real dragon lady aren’t you?”

“What the fuck— “

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin throws his whole weight into holding Wei Ying back, while Lan Wangji blocks his path with a hand over his heart.

Lan Wangji swings on Kevin like a hammer. “Impolite,” he snaps. “Ignorant. Presumptuous.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” says the man.

Wei Ying breaks free of Jiang Wanyin’s hold, lunging forward. Lan Wangji stops him with a hand on his arm. “Oh yes she can!”

“What’s it to you, anyway! Why are you being so defensive?” Kevin’s gaze slides down, and Lan Wangji pulls his hand away just a moment too late. “Ah.” Kevin says, suddenly clear eyed and flinty, “I thought you were gay?”

Wei Ying crosses his arms. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The man smiles. “I guess I would be defensive too, if I were getting some of that — or should it be the other way around?”

Lan Wangji goes cold.

Nastily, almost like he knows: “With a personality like that, even a pretty face shouldn’t be enough to put you on your back. It must be quite good, huh?”

A moment of silence.

“How dare you!” shouts Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji’s heart stops. “I would let Lan Zhan peg me any day!”

Jiang Wanyin buries his face in his palm. “Oh my god.”

“Shame on you,” Wei Ying barrels on. “Trying to shame a good upstanding lady like that! Anyone lucky enough to get dicked down by Lan-da-xiaojie should be kissing the ground beneath her feet in gratitude.” Suddenly noticing the audience that has gathered, he adds hastily, “Not that I would know! Right, Lan Zhan?!” He turns. “Lan Zhan?”

“Mr. Wei,” Brother calls, appearing finally. He’s flanked by Mingjue-ge and Huaisang on both sides. “Thank you, but I think that’s enough.” When Brother looks at Kevin, all traces of amusement vanish. Lan Wangji has never seen him so angry, but he doesn’t stay to see how Brother decides to deal with that man.

He vanishes.

*

Lan Wangji doesn’t quite burst into the bathroom, but he also doesn’t not burst into the bathroom.

It’s blessedly empty, all gold lighting and ivory marble. Lan Wangji’s reflection stares back at him in the enormous gilded mirror. He has always, always, been beautiful.

He yanks at his ribbon with trembling hands, ruining his carefully pinned and tucked hair.

He wants to go home. He wants to be alone, where it’s safe. He wants to tuck his forehead ribbon away against his heart, where no one can see. He wants his blankets wrapped warm around him, and strong arms, and a voice, telling him that he is good, that he is loved, that he will be held until he’s ready.

He wants Wei Wuxian, he refuses to think, and as though summoned, Wei Ying bursts through the door.

Lan Wangji freezes.

They stare at each other, equally wild eyed and breathing hard. Lan Wangji’s hair hangs half undone and sliding loose by the second.

Wei Ying wets his lips. “Here. I can— ” He steps up behind Lan Wangji. A soft tug, and a twist of hair falls heavy and free. Wei Ying places the pin on the counter with a soft click.

Lan Wangji makes a noise.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” Wei Ying murmurs. “You’re okay. There’s no one here.”

You’re here, Lan Wangji thinks.

Wei Ying steps closer. “Let me.”

And for a moment, Lan Wangji can see how this could go: Wei Ying pulling out his pins one-by-one, hesitating when only a few remain. Lan Wangji meeting his eyes in the mirror, saying, Go ahead, and watching the silver white of his ribbon wrap around Wei Ying’s palm.

They’ll drive home, and his entire world will be illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.

The door clicking closed. His zipper tugged down his spine, steady hands rolling down his stockings, unclasping his bra, taking him apart, stripping him of all the trappings of Lan Zhan, zì Wangji, scion of the Lan clan.

Wei Ying will be gentle. He’ll treat Lan Wangji like something precious. Like someone good and kind and brave.

And maybe, he’ll even tell him he loves her.

Let me, Wei Ying had said.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Chapter Text

Ever since they started college, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying have only stopped speaking once.

It was freshman year. Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang were throwing a party in their dorm. The LED lights had flashed blue and purple, green and red, and the pounding music poured out the window all the way down to the sidewalk, where Lan Wangji had been making his way home.

Above, a voice hissed, “Turn down the music, it’s Wangji!”

“Lan Zhan’s back?” Wei Ying’s face popped up at the window. Waving, he shouted, “Lan Zhan!!! Lan Zhan, come hang ou— mmph!” A hand shot out to clap over his mouth, while several other hands yanked him out of sight.

“What’s wrong with you?” someone hissed. “Do you want to get us in trouble?”

A shriek of disgust. “Wei Wuxian!”

There was a ptlegh sort of noise, and Lan Wangji could just imagine the self-satisfied look on Wei Ying’s face as he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “Serves you right, Jiang Cheng. Anyway, calm down guys, Lan Zhan wouldn’t snitch on us! Well, anymore,” he amended.

With how obvious they were being, they hardly needed any snitching to get caught. As though to prove his point, someone chose that moment to dart past Lan Wangji into the building, handle of vodka clear as day in his drawstring backpack.

Lan Wangji glared up at the window, which was now leaking smoke — marijuana, no doubt — and went inside.

When he entered university, Lan Wangji had been positive that he would never set foot into a party, ever. He’d have to be dragged in, kicking and screaming, even though he was much too grown up to ever cause such a scene. He went up to his empty room, one floor above Wei Ying’s, and got ready for bed like the proper child he was.

Normally, he liked to wind down for the night by meditating, and that night he sat down on his meditation cushion to do so. And sat, and sat, and sat…

He could feel the whooping through the floor as a new song began to play downstairs. Lan Wangji could feel his left eyebrow threatening to twitch.

“Thank you, next! NEXT!” chanted the crowd.

All he wanted to do was go to bed.

“Thank you, next! NEXT!”

Even if Brother had encouraged him to expand his horizons at dinner that day, partying was not something Lan Wangji needed in his college experience.

“Thank you, next!”

It wasn’t like Lan Wangji was lacking or anything—

“I'm so fuckin' grateful for my ex!”

That’s it, Lan Wangji thought, getting up. I’m going to throttle Wei Wuxian.

He got dressed again, and well, he didn’t stomp down the stairs, exactly. He just…walked a little more aggressively than usual. And he wasn’t going to go tell the RA! He was just going to go down to ask Wei Ying to turn the music down, not because he wanted to see what was going on or anything.

When he got to the door, he suddenly didn’t know what he wanted to do at all, and that was when the door swung open.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying crowed. “I thought it was you — come in, come in!”

Inside, the flashing lights were even more obvious, bright and piercing, and the air was hot and steamy from so many bodies packed into one tiny space.

Wei Ying snagged a red cup from a desk and started filling it with all sorts of horrifying mystery liquids. (It was cranberry juice. Cranberry juice and vodka.) “Want some?”

Jiang Wanyin, who had been lounging against the wall, scoffed. “Maybe you should make drinks for the girls that actually want it.”

Wei Ying said, affronted, “It’s rude not to ASK.”

Lan Wangji snatched the cup out of his hand.

In the end, he didn’t have to decide what he wanted to do after all. He downed it all in one go, turned the cup upside down, and dropped it in Jiang Wanyin’s lap like a mic drop. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying gaped at him, and that was the last thing he remembered.

The next morning he woke up to shouting and Wei Ying in bed beside him, fully dressed in the night before’s clothes. Luo Qingyang stood at the door, phone in hand, having run all the way back from her boyfriend’s dorm across campus, livid.

All of a sudden, Lan Wangji was very awake, very confused, and very, very stressed. Also, his head hurt like a bitch.

“It’s not what you think,” Wei Ying said.

“What the hell am I supposed to think?” Luo Qingyang snapped, and kicked him out of their room. To Lan Wangji, who had sat up clutching the blankets to their chest, she asked, “Are you alright? Did anything happen?”

Lan Wangji shook his head no. Lan Wangji barely remembered a thing, but of that he was certain.

Luo Qingyang slumped down into her chair and said thinly, “Oh good.”

Lan Wangji found his voice. “Wei Ying wouldn’t,” he rasped. His mouth was dry.

“I know.” Luo Qingyang took a in deep breath and let it out. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” She made a face. “Well— ” She looked at him. “I woke to a text that you’d passed out and disappeared, and I panicked.” And Lan Wangji remembered the way that Wen Chao had looked at Luo Qingyang once, when they were just a little younger.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. Then they went out and got hangover breakfast.

Lan Wangji had assumed that that would be the end of it, aside from the overwhelming anxiety and mortification of not knowing what he’d done under the influence. Wei Ying was sure to hang it over his head for the next twenty years, and every time Lan Wangji turned the corner, he expected Wei Ying to appear and torture him with whatever had happened.

Except he didn’t.

In class and with everyone else he was as bright and vivacious as ever, but to Lan Wangji, he was appallingly polite. Courteous like Lan Wangji had never seen before. The first time Lan Wangji mustered up an excuse to approach him, Wei Ying had deflected and run away so fast Lan Wangji expected to see a trail of dust following him.

Oh god, Lan Wangji had thought. What did I do that was so bad that he can barely stand to look at me?

Alternatively, whispered another part of him rather nastily, he’s finally realized how boring you are.

Wei Ying stopped bothering him at school. No more papermen tap dancing across the page while he tried to take notes, no more shouting his name across the quad, no more hair tugging and shameless teasing about his looks and smarts.

Lan Wangji kept turning his head to catch a wicked look that wasn’t there. Wei Ying stopped declaring Lan Wangji his best friend to anyone that would hear, and Lan Wangji thought, Well then, I guess this is it. He’d told Wei Ying no so many times over the years, he’d never expected him to stop asking.

A few weeks after this began, Lan Wangji went to the Arts Building to drop some things off for Huaisang, and as he made his way down the hall towards Huaisang’s studio, he heard Jiang Wanyin say, “Is he not here today?”

And Nie Huaisang responded, “Took off the moment he heard Lan Wangji was coming.”

Lan Wangji stopped in his tracks. He told himself, Eavesdropping is prohibited. Then he padded silently over to hide behind the door.

There was a heavy sigh. “That idiot,” said Jiang Wanyin.

A swooshing noise like charcoal moving over paper. “It can’t be helped,” Huaisang said. “And it’s none of our business.” Then he sniffed. “I still think you guys went a little too hard, pulling your sister in like that.”

“Well what was I supposed to do?”

Rustling cloth like a shrug.

“Nothing else was gonna get it through his thick skull that she doesn’t like him.” Defensively: “Anyway, he asked.”

With deep disrespect: “If you say so.”

Silence.

A chair creaking and a dull thud. Sounding a bit muffled, Jiang Wanyin said, “I thought watching him run around harassing Lan Wangji everyday was painful, but this is worse.” After a few moments, he added grumpily, “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Ah, Jiang-xiong,” Huaisang said loudly. “What do I know? If you were wrong, and Lan Wangji doesn’t actually hate Wei-xiong, the only person that can make him believe it is Lan Wangji.”

“What? I wasn’t— That’s not even close to what I was saying!” Jiang Wanyin spluttered.

“Oh, so you came here to victory dance over destroying your brother’s will to woo?”

More spluttering. “Nie Huaisang! Listen here, my brother does not —“

Quietly, Lan Wangji placed Huaisang’s plastic bag of stuff by the door and left them to it.

Students in the cultivation department are responsible for the upkeep of the department’s space and equipment. While there are supervisors hired on at the start of each year, the bulk of the work is still completed by a rotating roster of students who clean and tidy the treasury and training center every afternoon. Any student who misses their shift loses their studio and equipment privileges for a month.

A few years ago, an angry goose guai wreaked havoc across campus during tour season because of an improperly maintained seal, so the school takes the issue very seriously.

Cleaning shift was the one thing that Wei Ying wouldn’t miss even if he were trying to avoid Lan Wangji.

The following Tuesday, Lan Wangji sat outside the training facility after class. Above him, the old elm tree was beginning to bloom. Wei Ying emerged, spotted Lan Wangji waiting for him, and turned right back around. Lan Wangji tucked his book away and followed him in.

He found Wei Ying valiantly trying to blend in with a rack of spears, red scrunchie an exact match for the red tassels tied at the base of the leaf-shaped blades.

“Wei Ying,” he sighed.

Wei Ying emerged sheepishly. “Ah, Lan Wangji. Didn’t see you there.”

He doesn’t hate me, Lan Wangji thought.

“I need your help with something,” he said, turning and leaving, hoping desperately that he was correct in assuming that Wei Ying would follow.

For a few moments, nothing. Then a patter of feet slapping against the ground, as Wei Ying called, “Wait, Lan Zhan, what?”

“Where are we going?” Wei Ying asked. His backpack swung heavily from one hand as he struggled to stuff his other arm through the sleeve of his jacket. “Are you — “ he handed his backpack off to Lan Wangji’s outstretched hand “— thanks Lan Zhan — are you taking me somewhere to murder me?”

Lan Wangji shoved the backpack at Wei Ying, now properly clothed for the weather, and turned on his heel. “Be quiet and follow.”

Wei Ying, still cowed from the scolding he got after the party, shut up immediately.

When Lan Wangji brought them before one of the boba shops in town center, Wei Ying turned to him and said, “What.”

“I need you to help me pick a drink,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Ying: “WHAT.”

Uncle had never liked tapioca milk tea. He thought it was a frivolous waste of money, too sugary, and that most of the time it destroyed the natural taste and aroma of the tea.

The inside of the store smelled of sweet and wonderful things. The heavy glass door swung closed behind Wei Ying, who said weakly, “This is what you wanted my help with?”

“Mmn.” Lan Wangji looked at him like, obviously.

“Just making sure,” he said in a thin voice. “But um. Why?”

“I’ve never had bubble tea before,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Ying gasped, fingers flying to his mouth. “That’s a lie!” To himself, he muttered, “But Lans don’t lie…but your family lives in Taiwan…” Peering at Lan Wangji, he said, “Really?”

Placidly, Lan Wangji said, “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Weee-ell.” Wei Ying shuffled his feet. “Maybe?” The glint in his eyes said yes.

Tentatively, Wei Ying started by suggesting honey jasmine milk tea with half sugar and half ice, and then, as Lan Wangji made no indication of reproach, he got more and more engrossed in creating orders.

When they finally sat down, Wei Ying grinned, “Lan Zhan, we’re gonna need to pee so bad in like thirty minutes from now.” With a sure and deft air, he punctured each drink with a straw. “Also, like I dunno about you, but I’m super lactose intolerant so I may be in there for a WHILE.”

Lan Wangji held up two packets of Lactaid.

“Who are you,” Wei Ying said.

Deadpan, he responded, “Lan Wangji,” just to hear Wei Ying cackle.

“Here—” Wei Ying pushed a pale drink with yellow aiyu towards him. “You should drink in order of sweetness.”

He took a delicate sip. The aiyu jelly slipped down his throat smooth as anything, and the white boba was sweet and chewy. But the drink…

It was very sour.

“Not it huh,” Wei Ying said. He nudged the jasmine milk tea over. “Try this.”

This one was alright. Not too sweet, and the tapioca had a good texture.

Wei Ying grinned wickedly. “Now this one.”

Lan Wangji stared down at the cup. Brown sugar crawled down the sides like goo. He took a sip. and tried not to cough. “That’s just sugar.”

Wei Ying laughed. “That’s the point!” He took the drink happily for himself, and the part of Lan Wangji that had unfortunately absorbed some anime knowledge from his peers shouted, Indirect kiss-su! Oblivious to Lan Wangji’s crisis, Wei Ying said, “Which one did you like the most?”

Lan Wangji pointed to the jasmine tea.

“Hmm, but you still weren’t that into it, huh?” Wei Ying said. “I’ll get it right next time!” He faltered. “If there is a next time.”

Lan Wangji put down his drink.

Spinning his drink in his hands, Wei Ying said, “You know, when we were younger, I always wanted you to come get bubble tea with us.”

Lan Wangji had spent many a long afternoon at summer study watching Wei Ying and company slip through the Institute gates after rejecting all his overtures of friendship. He had, perhaps, rejected Wei Ying a little too well.

“I guess I can’t really blame you for saying no,” Wei Ying said with a laugh that ground at Lan Wangji’s heart. “I was pretty terrible.”

Lan Wangji frowns. “No.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings,” Wei Ying said. “Jiejie and Jiang Cheng already made it clear what they thought of my actions— “

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “Why do you think I asked you for your help today?”

“Uhhh,” Wei Ying said. “…because I really like boba?”

“Because of you.”

“Because I made you feel bad about not liking boba?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, a reprimand. “Just you.”

“Well how am I supposed to know?” Wei Ying said. “How am I supposed to know what’s going on behind that stone face of yours?”

A little hurt, Lan Wangji said, “You’ve always done a good job guessing.”

“Oh.” And then: “Really?”

Lan Wangji wrapped his hands around his drink, condensation wet under his skin. “Mn.”

Wei Ying took a deep breath. He nudged Lan Wangji playfully. “Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” he responded solemnly.

“We should get boba again next week.”

“Alright.”

And then it was fixed.

*

Now, Lan Wangji thinks, I don’t think I can fix this.

In the women’s bathroom, after the conference dinner, Lan Wangji had said, Wei Ying, I can’t do this anymore.

Wei Ying had said, very quietly, Oh. And then: Okay. That’s— He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. That’s fine. I’m just. I’m just gonna— He gestured aimlessly at the door, backing into the sink on accident.

Lan Wangji tried to speak, Wei Ying—

But he was already gone, and Lan Wangji hasn’t seen him since.

Yesterday he didn’t show up to Chinese music ensemble. Apparently, he’d had a family emergency and wasn’t sure when he’d be able to attend class again. The empty spot where Wei Ying normally sat haunted him out the corner of his eye, and it felt as though their classmates — many of whom would’ve been at the NACA banquet — kept darting speculative glances between it and Lan Wangji, who kept his hands on his guqin and his face fixed firmly forward.

Alright guys, their professor had said, hands on the podium. I know a lot of you are tired from the cultivation conference, but you can do better than this. Again!

Afterwards, Lan Wangji had wanted to ask Huaisang if Wei Ying truly had a family emergency, but didn’t. He didn’t think he had the right to know anymore.

Today is a Friends’ Lunch day. Lan Wangji sits alone under the back eaves of the Asian Studies Center and watches the March rain drip gently down the sides of the building. The knife-sharp cold of the past few weeks has softened and muddled into spring, like a bad dream lingering in the first hours of waking. He feels cold.

“Lan Wangji!” Luo Qingyang stands at the end of the building. “There you are.”

“Luo Qingyang,” Lan Wangji says. That morning he had sent a text to her saying that he wouldn’t be available for lunch.

Luo Qingyang puts her hands on her hips. “You look plenty available.”

Guilty. “I already packed lunch.”

Luo Qingyang looks at Lan Wangji’s plastic carton of wilting salad — courtesy of the one of the school’s many cafes — and his brown banana, the only fruit he’d had at home. “That does not count. Come on.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t move.

Luo Qingyang sighs. “None of the boys can make it today.”

Lan Wangji looks down at his hands.

“If you don’t come, it’ll just be me vs the hundred freshman boys pouring out of the intro compsci class, so you’d better come.”

That would be unnecessarily cruel. Lan Wangji gets to his feet. “Wen Qing?” he asks Luo Qingyang. Wen Qing, who is like an older sister to Wei Ying.

Oh god, thinks Lan Wangji. Does this mean I can’t be friends with Yanlie-jie anymore?

Luo Qingyang looks sideways at him. “She has some family stuff.”

That was what Wei Ying had said too.

“Now come on,” she says. “We have to get the good seats before they get stolen away.”

*

So Friends’ Lunch goes back to just being Girls’ Lunch, which is really just Lan Wangji and Luo Qingyang and Nie Huaisang dropping by occasionally. Jiang Wanyin looks as though he’d like to beat Lan Wangji into the ground each time they see each other, which is often, since they share an operations management class.

No one says anything, but it’s obvious that everyone is aware that something has happened. If any of them are aware that the sudden rift between he and Wei Ying runs much deeper than the words of Jin Guangshan’s friend, they don’t bring it up.

As for Lan Wangji, he slips easily into a daze. His days are empty, literally, because he had planned his new post-conference free time around Wei Ying.

After that first, silent week, Lan Wangji sat himself down and packed up all of Wei Ying’s things. The hair accessories, the glittery stationary, the array of black and red clothes that Lan Wangji had wanted to cling to and breathe in, thinking, Mine, mine.

But that was Wei Ying’s favorite pen, and he had a midterm next week, and all of his good scrunchies were here, because the others all tugged and snagged on his hair, and Wei Ying had been so careless leaving them in random places because he’d known that every time he’d reach out searching, Lan Wangji would be right there, hair-tie ready in hand.

It takes a whole two weeks before they run into each other again.

Lan Wangji is leaving class via the upper campus-side corridor of the Asian Studies building when he sees a dark figure juggling a stack of papers. As he fumbles with the door, the top of the stack begins to slip. It teeters precariously. Wei Ying swears under his breath, shifting the pile –

Lan Wangji steps forward and neatly takes it off his hands.

Wei Ying stiffens.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, low and mournful.

Wei Ying unfreezes, jerking around. His face is pale, and there are thumbprint bruises under his eyes. His lovely mouth blurts, accusatory, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You’re not supposed to be here, Lan Wangji thinks. He’d taken this route to just avoid him. Out loud, he says, “Wei Ying. The door.”

He gulps. “Right.” Unburdened, he opens the door easily and props it open with a trash can.

Lan Wangji passes the papers over. Their hands brush, and Wei Ying recoils like he’s been burned, causing the pages to scatter for real this time.

Wei Ying drops to his knees. “Fuck.”

Lan Wangji stands there like an idiot, and then he recovers enough sense of mind to join him on the floor. Another student steps through the door, glances down and looks away, quickly picking their way past the sheets of paper, burying their face in their phone. He and Wei Ying shift towards the side as one.

He darts a glance up through his lashes to see Wei Ying looking hastily away. His jacket strains against his broad shoulders as he reaches out, fumbling more papers into his arms. They’re upside down. He looks tired, Lan Wangji thinks. He isn’t wearing his scrunchie.

“Oh, you found the room!” calls a silver-haired man from the door. “Excellent.”

Wei Ying snatches up the last few pages and leaps to his feet. There are gray streaks from the floor on his jeans.

Lan Wangji follows a little more sedately. “Professor Ping.”

Wei Ying’s lab professor says, “How are you doing? What have you been doing? You haven’t picked Wei Ying up from lab in a while.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Mn.” The back of his neck prickles from the curious looks of the other students.

Dr. Ping looks at Wei Ying. Mock accusatory: “Wei Wuxian, did you do something? Did you bully your Lan Zhan?”

“Aaah,” says Wei Ying.

Chaos wreaked, Dr Ping says, “Here, let me take those off your hands, so that the two of you can go hang out. No, no.” He waves off Wei Ying’s protests. “Don’t worry about sorting the papers, you’ve already done enough, bringing them up for this old man. Have a good weekend!”

The classroom door closes behind them, ringing through the now empty hallway.

Wei Ying can’t seem to decide where to look, gaze roaming up and down Lan Wangji and sliding off to the side and back again, catching on his wrists, his wrinkled collar, his hair, meticulously twisted and pinned away. In his grandfatherly sweater vest, Lan Wangji is already overdressed for the weather. Now, he feels sweat accumulating under his arms and around his thighs.

Through the door behind them, Dr Ping begins his lecture.

Lan Wangji shifts minutely in place. “Are you well?”

Wei Ying barks a brittle laugh. “As well as I can be. Don’t worry,” he adds. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji says, feeling quite like he’d been knifed in the heart.

Wei Ying forces a smile. “We’re friends, Lan Zhan. Nothing has to change between us, besides well, that. Sorry I haven’t talked to you much, I’ve just been really busy.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Wei Ying’s throat bobs. He jerks his head to the left. “I’m going this way.”

Lan Wangji nods. “I’m going the other way.”

(Both sides lead to the same fucking exit.)

“Ok then. Um.” Wei Ying bites his lip, dark pink and perpetually chapped, and like he can’t help himself, he asks Lan Wangji, “I’ll see you around?”

Lan Wangji nods. If that’s what Wei Ying wants. His traitorous heart lifts as Wei Ying smiles, brittle but real this time.

*

It still feels like there’s no one else in the room.

*

Lan Wangji has lunch with Brother on the first day of spring.

The day before he’d run into Wei Ying at school. One of Huaisang’s art shows. At the reception, Wei Ying had told a joke, laughter ringing through the air, and Wei Ying had looked over, his beautiful face turning, turning, turning, his eyes passing over Lan Wangji without a pause, just like everyone else.

That night he’d gone home and sat before his guqin for hours, unable to play a thing.

He’s passing through the park when a spot of color catches his eye. A flower — a bright, cheerful yellow — blooming out of the ground, inexplicably reminding him of his mother, and all of a sudden, Lan Wangji wants to weep.

There are so many people outside today, soaking in the sun for the first time in weeks, and Lan Wangji hasn’t looked up at the sky even once.

Oh. Oh, he thinks. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this. I have to keep living, and I have to do it without you.

When he arrives at Brother’s house, Brother tells him that he looks like he’s been doing better, and Lan Wangji can almost believe it will be true.

*

And then Wei Ying gets suspended.

*

An approximate transcription of what went down, as relayed to Lan Wangji and Luo Qingyang by Huaisang, as relayed to him by Wen Ning:

Wei Ying was in class outside, testing talismans and minding his own business, when Jin Zixun jumped out of a second story window, bellowing, “WEI WUXIAN. Release your curse on me!!!”

Wei Ying: “What.”

Jin Zixun, frothing at the mouth: “You’ve been ignoring my emails and phone calls for weeks! Well you can't ignore me now!”

The poor professor tried to interfere. “Excuse me. We’re in a class.”

Jin Zixun brushed her off. “Excuse me ma’am, but this man hates me and wants me to die.”

Wei Ying had looked up, a little offended. “I literally don’t know who you are.”

“EXCUSE ME???” said Jin Zixun, very offended.

(3 years ago at a post-sunshot NACA conference:

Jin Zixun: all Wen dogs deserve to die

Wei Ying: bitch I’ll kill you

“Oh yeah,” says Luo Qingyang. “I remember that”)

Wwx ignored his outrage. “I have a really bad memory, so no, I don’t know who you are.” And then, because he’s stupid and can never resist needling people: “Anyway, if I wanted to hurt you I wouldn’t resort to dirty tricks, I would just do it. So no, I didn’t curse you.”

Jin Zixun cried, “If you didn’t do anything to me, then how do you explain…this!?”

Jin Zixun ripped off his shirt to reveal his red and festering holes all over his body — the hundred hole curse.

“Ew,” said some girl in Wei Ying’s class.

(“Which is rude, but like, fair.” Nie Huaisang adds. “No one asked you to do that.”

“Hush,” says Luo Qingyang. “Keep telling the story.”)

“If I cursed you,” Wei Ying said. “I should have backlash scars matching yours. So all I have to do is take off my shirt.” Summoning the ol’ razzle dazzle: “Now ladies, I don’t mind putting on a show every once in a while, but are you sure this is the appropriate venue?” He saluted the professor.

Jin Zixun, enraged and evidently having had enough, took a swing at Wei Ying. Wei Ying intercepted and broke his nose.

Jin Zixun: “Assault! Assault!”

*

“The assistant dean owes Jin Guangshan his job which is why they’re suspending him for a first infraction. Well“ — Huaisang winces — “ maybe not his first infraction, but it is rather heavy handed. And on the legal side, Jin Zixun wants to press charges, and he can, since Wei-xiong punched him.” Huaisang stabs one of his poorly roasted dining hall potatoes. “He says that he’d be happy to drop the charges if Wei Wuxian releases the curse.”

“But if there aren’t any backlash scars…” says Luo Qingyang.

Huaisang shakes his head. “Jin Zixun is claiming that Wei Wuxian has developed a way to circumvent that, and that’s why there are none.”

Lan Wangji looks down at his plate. Wei Ying could. But Wei Ying wouldn’t, especially not for such a malicious reason. He’s a firm believer of facing the consequences of one’s actions.

“The hundred hole curse leads to death,” Luo Qingyang admits with a sigh. “Zixun wouldn’t drop it so easily.”

Huaisang says gustily, “And to think that all this could’ve been avoided if Jin Zixun had been just a little better at cultivation.”

Lan Wangji sets his fork down with a clatter. “Do not joke.”

Huaisang and Luo Qingyang look at him, startled. Ashamed, Lan Wangji picks his fork back up.

“Wangji, it’s going to be okay,” Luo Qingyang says.

Lan Wangji sets his jaw.

“Yu-ayi is coming out to talk to the dean tomorrow,” Huaisang says. “You know she won’t let anything happen to him.”

Lan Wangji fears that it may not be enough.

Jin Guangshan hates Wei Ying. The school is already acting as though Wei Ying is guilty, without even trying to investigate. If things escalate, Wei Ying could be expelled from school, or maybe even NACA or the Jiang Sect. He’s only recently repaired his relationship with the Jiang, and without a degree or cultivation school’s sponsorship, he won’t be able to obtain his cultivator’s license. If Jin Zixun dies, he’ll be accused of murder.

Lan Wangji is so tired of watching people destroying what they cannot control.

Wangji, it is not our place to interfere, says Uncle when Lan Wangji asks. If he is truly innocent, then he will be fine.

Uncle is right, Mei, responds Brother. I’ll try, but there’s only so much that I can do.

And Lan Wangji knows that that is the best his family can offer.

*

The third day of Wei Ying’s suspension is an unreasonably warm one. Their fellow students break out their shorts and t-shirts, sneakers tracking mud all down the East Asian studies hallway.

Lan Wangji himself is clad in a mere four floaty layers out of deference to the heat. Outside the window, students mill about soaking in the sun and fresh breeze. Others have spread a picnic blanket out under the old Japanese elm.

Ziyuan-ayi must be meeting with the dean now.

“Lan Wangji,” Su Minshan sneers, breaking into Lan Wangji’s train of thought. “You seem to be thinking hard. Anything to say?”

About his argument that people should deal with their problems themselves instead of relying on the patronage of powerful cultivation sects? Yeah, Lan Wangji has some thoughts, namely that cultivators, like all individuals, have a responsibility to serve their people with the talents they have, and that no group of powerful individuals should have the right to determine the fate of a community that they have no connection to.

“No,” says Lan Wangji. Su She is not worth the effort of arguing with.

“Hmph!” says Su Minshan. As he turns away, his hand comes up to absentmindedly scratch at his neck. The collar of his thick turtleneck slips down to reveal, angry red and irritated, pockmark-like divots scattered all across his skin, almost like the hundred-holes curse.

*

In the following minutes, Lan Wangji comes to a few conclusions:

1) It has never really mattered if Wei Wuxian cast the curse or not, because it is just an excuse to do Wei Ying harm. Which is why, 2) even if Lan Wangji were to accuse Su Minshan by the book, there is no guarantee that anyone would take him seriously. However, 3) there is one other person of high standing who would go to bat for Wei Ying, (or at least the Jiang family reputation), and she is currently on campus at this very moment. 4) Lan Wangji needs to produce some extremely public, un-ignorable evidence that Wei Ying is not guilty.

And 5), Lan Wangji would very much like to beat Su Minshan’s ass.

Which is why, after class ends, Lan Wangji follows Su Minshan down the hall, out the building, and summons his sword.

“Su Minshan,” he calls, heart pounding. The sun glints knife-sharp off his naked blade, weight solid in his hand.

The entire quad freezes.

One girl steps into view, looks at Lan Wangji, sword out on the front steps of the Asian Studies Building, mouths Fuck that, and turns around. Everyone clears out of the way in a wave of motion.

Su Minshan stands taken aback at the bottom of the steps.

He recovers quickly enough though. Lip curling, he calls, “Lan Wangji, so you finally drop your act of being a good person.”

Lan Wangji waits impassive, sword ready. The breeze brushes his layers gently from side to side.

“May I ask Miss Lan what offense I have committed to be challenged to a duel?

Lan Wangji ignores him. “打不打? Will you fight or not?”

Su Minshan sneers. “I know that you have harbored resentment against me since last fall, that you believe yourself above us all. Everyone says that the second jade of Lan is peerless in skill and virtue. Well today I prove them wrong.” He unsheathes his sword. “Fight!”

Lan Wangji descends.

Su Minshan blocks Lan Wangji’s opening strike with a clang and counters efficiently. Lan Wangji whirls out of the way.

Su Minshan is actually pretty decent. He’d have to be, to have made it this far. But Lan Wangji is better. He sneaks his blade over his guard with a flash, and Su Minshan deflects it aside, causing Lan Wangji to cut a clean slice up his sleeve.

For such a proud personality, Su Minshan is a surprisingly conservative swordsman, maintaining a tight defense and taking little risks. Lan Wangji had expected him to be easy to goad into mistakes.

It’s no matter. Lan Wangji will manage.

Lan Wangji herds them towards the dean’s window. They’re building up steam, attracting attention, and then:

He disarms Su She too early.

Fuck, thinks Lan Wangji. And then: Damn, he couldn’t even avoid that?

Su Minshan pants down at his empty hands, red-faced and shocked. The crowd groans in disappointment. Over the thrum of his blood, Lan Wangji hears someone mutter, “Already?”

Lan Wangji tosses his sword aside and tackles Su Minshan into the mud.

Pandemonium erupts.

The crowd dives in like a pack of wild dogs, as Lan Wangji and Su Minshan roll about trading blows like school children.

“Kill him! Kick him in the balls!!!” someone screeches.

“Tear the bitch apart!” shouts someone else.

Thanks, Lan Wangji thinks sourly, scrabbling at Su Minshan’s shirt. He bites down on the hand covering his mouth and gets a mouthful of dirty sweat-and-metal taste for his trouble. Su Minshan shrieks and strikes his face.

Lan Wangji narrowly avoids getting brained on a tree root, face slamming against the wet grass. A hard knee presses down on the small of his back, and he jabs blindly backwards as a fist grabs his hair and grinds his face into the ground, filling his mouth with dirt.

Brawls really aren’t Lan Wangji’s strong suit. Neither is fighting dirty.

Once, when he was about sixteen, Lan Wangji had asked about the gap in his education, and with a withering look, Uncle had said, We don’t do that.

Sorry Uncle, thinks present Lan Wangji. His elbow makes contact with something soft and sensitive, hard.

“Oof,” goes Su She, grip loosening.

Lan Wangji twists, shoving hard and trying to get up, where Su She’s greater height and weight matter less.

Instead, Su She lashes out, grabbing Lan Wangji around the ankle and slamming him into the ground, kicking him in the stomach once, twice. Pain erupts. The crowd screams, and Su Minshan clambers onto Lan Wangji’s body, rolling him face up.

Goddamnit, thinks Lan Wangji, preparing for another blow. Another strike to the face, perhaps? How very original.

And then two hands close around his throat.

It’s like being struck with lightning. One moment, Lan Wangji is on his back, heavy weight across his hips and waist, two hands squeezing down around his neck, and the next, he has sent Su Minshan flying through the air, slamming into a tree. He hits the ground with a hard, final thud.

Lan Wangji rises, fury white hot in his veins. He hears nothing but the rustling wind, feels only the bruises around his throat. Su Minshan groans, rocking back-and-forth on his side, fine sneer screwed up in pain. There’s blood on his teeth.

“Get up,” Lan Wangji rasps.

Su Minshan moans, clutching his shoulder.

Lan Wangji is shaking out of his skin and vicious with it. “Get. Up.”

Su She gets up.

It’s not much of a fight after that. Lan Wangji catches each blow like it’s child’s play — and it is. Lan Wangji has been doing this since he was four.

Su Minshan retreats, panicked, without watching where he’s going, back bumping up against the old Japanese elm. Lan Wangji strikes; Su Minshan dodges. His fist hits the tree instead, and it splits down the middle and groans once, long and low as a dying god. Students scramble to get out of the way as the tree tilts, molten slow and then quick and quicker, a few intrepid observers jumping off the crackling branches as the tree lands across the better part of the Asian Studies Yard with a great ringing crash.

“LAN WANGJI,” shrieks the assistant dean shrilly, running into the yard, Yu Ziyuan right behind him.

“Someone help me,” cries Su Minshan. “She’s crazy!”

Ziyuan-ayi helps him up.

Lan Wangji stands alone, chest heaving. He looks down at the tree, split open, insides messily exposed and scattered across the ground. He has never lost his temper in such a spectacular way before. The ring of bruises around his throat hurts. They’ll be gone soon, but Lan Wangji imagines that he will continue to feel them for days to come.

Su Minshan starts shouting obscenities at him.

Brisk and practical, Ziyuan-ayi talks over him. “Someone call the paramedics.”

One of their classmates steps up. “I’m an EMT.” They begin to peel away Su Minshan’s ruined shirt to assess the damage.

Su Minshan attempts to brush them off. “No,” he says. “No, it’s fine.” But it’s too late: his chest has already been revealed, red and irritated spots incriminatingly clear across his skin.

Huaisang pops out of the crowd and tugs the shirt off even more. “Hey!” he says, loud enough to carry. He avoids Su Minshan’s panicked swing with a well practiced duck. “Aren’t those hundred hole curse backlash scars?”

Flinty-eyed and grim, Yu Ziyuan says, “So they are.”

And Lan Wangji, tired, furious, scraped raw all over in more ways than one, lets a corner of his mouth curl up into a smile.

*

Lan Wangji sits outside the Asian corner store and takes a swig of his bottled tea. His sword has been confiscated, and his uncle has been contacted. He has a disciplinary hearing next week.

He has never been in so much trouble in his life, and it was almost entirely of his own choice and volition. His family will be so disappointed.

He wonders if he might get expelled. I could be alright with that, Lan Wangji thinks. I’ll become a rogue cultivator and go where the wind takes me.

Uncle talks a big game about discipline, but he wouldn’t just throw Lan Wangji out.

Well. Maybe. It depends.

But Brother definitely wouldn’t let him starve, and it’s not like Lan Wangji doesn’t have enough in his bank account to manage for at least a little while.

Either way, it would be worth it, because Wei Ying’s name is cleared. With two dozen witnesses and a mǔlǎohǔ like Yu Ziyuan on the case, there will be no denying that Su Minshan cursed Jin Zixun.

He takes another swig of his tea and gingerly presses the cold bottle to his swelling jaw.

There’s a jangle as the shop door opens and closes.

Jiang Wanyin stops short in his tracks, carrying two reusable bags worth of spicy snacks in each hand. Shock overtakes the reflexive scowl on his face as Lan Wangji — muddy, clothes ruined, covered in scrapes and bruises — looks dully up at him.

Jiang Wanyin says, “What the fuck happened to you.”

“Physical altercation,” Lan Wangji says.

Jiang Wanyin crosses his arms, an impressive feat given the amount of cargo in his hands. “Would it kill you to talk like a normal person?” he says. “The fuck you get into a fight for?”

“Your brother,” Lan Wangji says.

Jiang Wanyin says, “WHAT.”

Lan Wangji shrugs and regrets it immediately. His shoulder twitches with pain.

Tapping his foot like expects a follow up statement, Jiang Wanyin says, “So?”

Lan Wangji ignores him.

“Ok then,” Jiang Wanyin huffs, leaving. He makes it halfway down the block before turning on his heel and coming back. He looms aggressively at Lan Wangji.

After a few moments, Lan Wangji sighs. He wraps his hands around his tea, fingers slotting into the divots, wet with condensation. “Su Minshan cast the hundred hole curse.”

Jiang Wanyin deflates. “Oh.”

Lan Wangji looks up. "Don’t tell Wei Ying.”

Jiang Wanyin explodes. “What the FUCK! WHAT is going on with the two of you, you two are insufferable. You deserve each other, you’re going to give all of us ulcers I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Wei Ying…” Lan Wangji says. Tears prickle behind his eyes.

Sounding mortified, Jiang Wanyin says, “Oh my god.”

Blinking very fast, Lan Wangji says, “I just. I just wanted to be able to do something for him.”

Jiang Wanyin sets down his four bags of Wei Ying’s favorite snacks and sits next to Lan Wangji, raising a hand haltingly, as though about to pet a particularly hostile dog.

Without looking up, Lan Wangji says, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh thank god.”

*

The next morning, Lan Wangji oversleeps. He has never needed an alarm to wake at 5, but today he opens his eyes to find it well past dawn. He looks over to his phone, face down and turned off on his desk.

When he went to bed, he had about 20 missed calls from Uncle, from Brother, Huaisang, Mingjue-ge, Wen Qing. He’s a little afraid to know how many there are now. He had only sent a quick message to Huaisang, telling him that he was fine before shutting everything off. Huaisang will definitely make him pay for making him play messenger later, but Lan Wangji will enjoy his peace while it lasts. If he never turns on his phone, never leaves home, could he pretend that nothing has happened at all?

Outside the window, nestled between the sensible sedans and Subaru Outbacks, is a red motorcycle.

Lan Wangji’s heart rate spikes. His steps are measured, but his hands tremble as he opens the door.

It’s enough to bring him to tears, the sight of Wei Ying’s face.

His sweet, sleep-soft face. There’s a slight furrow between his brows, and Wei Ying lets out a soft snore, curled outside Lan Wangji’s door in his leather jacket. He must have been there all night.

Lan Wangji presses a hand to his mouth, kneeling down on the chilly pavement. His hunched body shakes, silently, with what must be every feeling in the world.

It takes him a long time to collect himself. He wipes his nose and dries his tears and squares his shoulders. Ignoring the twinge in his side, Lan Wangji eases Wei Ying’s cold body into his arms, shushing him when he stirs slightly. He tucks Wei Ying into bed, outside clothes and all.

*

Wei Ying creeps out the bedroom in the early afternoon, fiddling with his sleeves.

Lan Wangji sits at the kitchen table. He has had his laptop open to a blank screen for hours.

“You’re awake,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying jumps slightly. At the sight of Lan Wangji’s face, his eyes widen.

Lan Wangji looks back at his laptop, trying not to think of Wei Ying in his bed, trying not to fear all the ways that he has overstepped in the last 24 hours. Should he have put Wei Ying on the couch? Should he have taken off his jacket? Maybe he shouldn’t have plugged in his phone for him.

Lan Wangji says, “There’s soup on the stove.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying’s hands are clenched at his sides. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says and slides something over. “Here.”

Wei Ying picks it up, and looks at it wide eyed. “Lan Zhan, what?”

“It’s a key,” Lan Wangji says.

“Yeah, I see that,” Wei Ying says. “Key to what, Lan Wangji.”

Lan Wangji swallows, ready to play fool yet another time. “My apartment.”

Wei Ying looks at him and down at the key and back to him again. “You sent all my stuff back,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“You sent all my stuff back,” says Wei Ying. “You didn’t even do it to my face. So why are you doing this.”

Stung, Lan Wangji says, “I would rather you just come in than be cold outside all night.”

Like pulling apart a particularly stupid argument, Wei Ying says, “You would rather I just come in than be cold.” He sneers. “By that logic, I should be freezing to death every night then.”

Lan Wangji feels like he’s been slapped.

"If it were anyone else, you would’ve put them on the couch. You would’ve told them to just call you. I thought you didn’t — I made myself think you didn’t…” Like his heart is breaking: “But you knew.” Wei Ying looks into Lan Wangji’s face and nods, almost to himself. “That’s what I thought.”

Panicking, Lan Wangji says, “No, that’s not—“

Wei Ying turns to go.

Lan Wangji knows, with a chilling certainty, that if Wei Ying leaves now, Lan Wangji will never see him again.

Pleading: “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying whirls around. “No! Don’t Wei Ying me when you’re the one that wanted to stop.”

Desperate, Lan Wangji says, “I didn’t say I wanted to. I said I couldn’t, anymore—“

“What’s the difference?” Wei Ying cries. “When we’re both, when we both — but you don’t want to be in lo—“

Lan Wangji kisses him. Wei Ying collapses into it like a house of cards. Lan Wangji is an avalanche.

Wei Ying wrenches himself away, chest heaving. His eyes follow Lan Wangji’s open mouth with a starved intensity. “You won’t even let me say the words.” And then, like backsliding off a cliff, Wei Ying leans in again.

Between kisses, Wei Ying cries, “I hate you. I hate you.” Pushing Lan Wangji down to the floor, hard and unyielding: “Why? Why?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know either.

Wei Ying is in a brutal mood today, taking Lan Wangji’s clothes apart with a practiced efficiency and unbuckling his belt one handed, as Lan Wangji pants and chokes back gasps and stares up at the stucco ceiling. His neck is wet where Wei Ying presses his face, scraping his teeth at the hand-prints around Lan Wangji’s throat.

Wei Ying runs his hand down Lan Wangji’s body, starting heavy at the neck, tracing past his collarbone, down his sternum, pausing briefly to glance up before moving to grip Lan Wangji’s heavy breasts, to lay a hand across his bruised ribs, his belly and thighs, coming back up to thumb Lan Wangji’s scraped jaw. He lowers his mouth to kiss it, softly, and at the same time, stuffs his finger past Lan Wangji’s parted lips.

Lan Wangji jerks, trying to move, and Wei Ying pins him harder, tightening his grip in warning, and Lan Wangji shudders, open-mouthed and helpless.

Eyes glittering, Wei Ying releases him to reach down to pull out his cock, dragging the wet tip up and down, and up and down, leaking all between Lan Wangji’s legs, and Lan Wangji rocks minutely in place, eyes fluttering, desperate for sensation.

Wei Ying’s voice is hoarse when he pants, “Well? Go on then.”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes and begs, “Please, please, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying thrusts sharply in with a broken snarl. “At least I can still make you want me.”

I always want you, Lan Wangji thinks deliriously. He doesn’t know if he says it out loud

*

Afterwards, they lie curled towards each other on the kitchen floor.

Lan Wangji clings to Wei Ying’s shirt. Wei Ying has his fist clenched white-knuckled around a hank of Lan Wangji’s hair. Neither of them can seem to let go.

He doesn’t feel all there.

Wei Ying lifts a hand towards Lan Wangji’s cheek. Then he remembers himself.

He sits up. Not looking at Lan Wangji, he says, “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

And Lan Wangji can’t speak, choking on the answer.

This time, Wei Ying takes his silence as an answer. “Nevermind.” He shakes himself just a little. “This was a mistake. This doesn’t change anything.” He pulls himself together, fumbling the button of his jeans.

Lan Wangji can’t do anything but sit and watch.

At the door, Wei Ying stops. Without turning, he says, “I used to think you were the bravest person I knew. I came over to tell you that I know what you did for me. Yu-furen and I got your punishment talked down. Your uncle still has to come to your hearing in a few days, but you won’t be suspended and you definitely won’t be expelled.” He opens the door. “That should be enough to repay you. Lan Wangji, from now on, you and I need nothing to do with each other anymore.”

*

Lan Wangji doesn’t know how long he sits on the floor after that. Long enough for the shadows to lengthen, for the angle of the sun to change.

It’s funny, all the steps he had taken to avoid looking at the mess inside him, and here he was anyway, lying on every shard of his broken heart.

*

Brother picks up on the first ring.

“Mei?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

“Wangji are you alright?”

“Ge...” His voice cracks. “Can you come get me?”

*

Lan Wangji is silent on the car ride over. Thankfully, Brother doesn’t press him.

He falls asleep to Brother on the phone, asking Uncle to give Lan Wangji time.

*

The next morning, Lan Wangji goes for a walk.

When he was young, very young, Uncle took him and Brother to the beach. He’d been upset about something or another – wanting to see his mother, the weather, didn’t like his shirt maybe, Lan Wangji had never needed an excuse to be cross as a child – but that had all faded away the moment he saw the wide expanse of sand, the horizon stretching out and out into the distance. For a child that had grown up in the shelter of trees and the city, the world had seemed…endless.

Right at the edge of the water, he’d made a sandcastle. A foolish endeavor, given that every time the waves came in, the water wore away at the foundations, and the castle began to crumble. He had been so upset. He tried everything — he built barriers, dug trenches, piled wet sand up against the sides, desperately trying to keep it from falling over. Brother had tried to comfort him, but he was inconsolable.

In the end, it was Uncle that came over and finally carried him away, telling him that that was the way of things, that all we build and love will fade, wash away, and return to be built anew.

If he remembers hard enough, Lan Wangji can still feel the sand under his nails and the waves lapping at his feet. Lan Wangji had built himself and all that he would be so carefully, with such tenderness and honor, for his mother, and for himself, sitting in the audience at the Chinese School showcase, desperate with how much she wanted, that being otherwise had been unthinkable. Like leaving her to drown.

But that wasn’t true, was it.

The greatest honor he could do for her, and for himself, was to be happy.

Wei Ying is gone to him. But the tide must still come in, and Lan Wangji lets the water churn him apart, wash him clean, return him to the shore, ready to grow anew. Lan Wangji lets go.

He lets go.

The world has never looked so big.

Chapter Text

“Rich-jiejie?”

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. A familiar pair of wide eyes stare up at him. “A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji croaks. His heart rate spikes; if A-Yuan is here, then surely hovering not far behind him is — “Wen-popo,” he says, unsure if he is more disappointed or relieved.

“Lan-xiaojie, are you alright?” Granny Wen looks ill. Her color isn’t good, and she seems frailer.

A-Yuan leans up against Lan Wangji’s knees. Looking worried, he reaches a small hand towards Lan Wangji’s face. “Rich-jiejie, you’re crying.”

Lan Wangji’s face is wet to the touch. “Ah.” He wipes his fingers quickly against his pants. “It’s nothing.” He lets out a sharp exhale as small arms wrap his waist and tighten with surprising strength against his lingering bruises. “A-Yuan?”

Lan Wangji looks at Granny Wen, who looks back but only settles heavily onto the bench beside him, turning her cane around in her hands.

Lan Wangji rests a hand on A-Yuan’s dark head burrowed against his stomach. “It’s nothing, truly.”

Voice small and a little muffled, A-Yuan says, “Everyone keeps saying it’s nothing, but they’re all lying.” A little sulkily: “You’re lying too.”

Lan Wangji’s hand pauses mid-stroke. “Why do you say that?”

“People don’t cry when it’s nothing.”

Well, it’s a little hard to argue with that.

A-Yuan pulls back to look up at Lan Wangji’s face. “And you look like someone beat you up. Is that why you’re crying?”

“I did not get beat up,” Lan Wangji says. “I got in a fight, and I won.”

“Nice!”

Lan Wangji glances at Granny Wen and hurriedly tacks on, “But you should only use violence as a last resort.”

Clearly ignoring this caveat, A-Yuan says, “Xian-gege says you always win!”

The brief levity that had filled Lan Wangji vanishes.

Granny Wen must read something in his face because she says quietly, “Yuan’er…”

But now A-Yuan is well and truly distracted. “Xian-gege says nothing can keep you down,” A-Yuan says, reciting Wei Ying’s words with clear pride. “And that you’re always kind, and gracious, and that if I don’t know what to do, I should ask myself what Lan-jiejie would do, ‘cause you always act to uphold justice with bravery and honor. Oh!” A-Yuan exclaims and rattles off: “And he says you’re the funniest person he knows, even if you can be a real fuddy-duddy sometimes.”

It’s this, the familiar old gibe, that breaks him.

“Rich-jiejie!” A-Yuan cries.

Lan Wangji’s tears leak through his fingers where he presses them against his face. “It’s nothing.”

“Lying again!”

Lan Wangji keeps crying. Every time he thinks he’s got a handle on everything, life comes along and kicks his legs out from under him again.

It’s getting hard to breathe. Distantly, he notices Granny Wen lift A-Yuan up onto her lap and into her embrace.

A tentative hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and when Lan Wangji doesn’t react, the hand gently tugs his head down onto a bony shoulder. Lan Wangji finds himself turning into the warm embrace as he tries to stifle his sobs.

“Lan-jiejie,” A-Yuan says plaintively. He sounds close to tears himself.

Stuck in the park with two crying children, Lan Wangji thinks inanely and just a touch hysterical. “I’m sorry,” he tries to say to Granny Wen.

“Hush,” Granny Wen says. “It’s alright.” She rubs circles expertly across his back, and it feels nice. Comforting, despite the mortification. Truthfully, Lan Wangji isn’t even sure when someone held last him as he cried.

The last person Lan Wangji had cried in front of was Wei Ying, back when they were just kids. But even then Wei Ying had not embraced or comforted him. He had just flailed, awkward and concerned, in the background.

Wei Ying. A fresh wave of tears rise to the surface.

Soothingly, Granny Wen says, “There, there, don’t cry, don’t cry, sweet child, good child.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head wordlessly against her shoulder. There’s a crick in his neck from leaning over, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“Good child,” Granny Wen says firmly. “It will be alright.”

“I disappoint everyone,” Lan Wangji says through tears.

“Nonsense!” scolds Granny Wen. “You’re one of the best and brightest of your generation. Who could be disappointed?”

I am, Lan Wangji thinks. I’m not — not that. Not really.

“All you young people,” Granny Wen says. “Running around like you have to take care of everything. I say to my grandchildren, these old bones aren’t gone yet. You’re still young, and you have each other. You don’t have to be the earth and the sky all at once.”

Lan Wangji sniffs. Granny Wen has pulled a handkerchief out from somewhere, and Lan Wangji uses it to wipe his face and nose. He remembers himself and looks over at the toddler shocked and silent in Granny Wen’s arms.

Lan Wangji says to A-Yuan, “Did Jiejie scare you? I’m sorry.”

A-Yuan shakes his head and leans over to hug Lan Wangji tightly. “A-Yuan is sorry.”

What? Lan Wangji says, “No.”

“A-Yuan made Jiejie cry again!”

No. No, Lan Wangji will not let A-Yuan blame himself for this.

“A-Yuan,” he says sternly. “Look at jiejie.”

Tearfully, A-Yuan obeys.

Lan Wangji takes A-Yuan’s little hands. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”

A-Yuan shakes his head. “But it was A-Yuan’s words that made you start crying.”

“No,” Lan Wangji said. “I started crying because I hurt, inside. But it’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you.” When A-Yuan doesn’t respond, Lan Wangji prompts gently, “Am I lying?”

A-Yuan’s mouth thins and turns down. But he says, “Not lying.”

“Thank you for believing me,” Lan Wangji says. He looks at Granny Wen. “Thank you also. Wangji apologizes for her loss in composure.”

Granny Wen shakes her head. “No need. I am sorry that these last few weeks have been so difficult for you.”

Lan Wangji is about to nod in thanks when Granny Wen continues, “Especially with that messy business with Jin Zixun and Su She!”

“What?” says Lan Wangji.

“What,” says Granny Wen.

“What!” says A-Yuan, eager to join in.

Oh. Right, thinks Lan Wangji. Granny Wen doesn’t know the real reason for his tears. No one does.

“It’s not that,” Lan Wangji says. He feels that he owes Granny Wen some modicum of honesty for her kindness. “That business is not so bad. It’s just that I fear—” His voice cracks.

Granny Wen looks at him without judgment. “You fear?”

Lan Wangji looks down at his hands. He says finally, “I fear that no one in my life knows me wholly. And if that is true, how can I be truly loved by anyone?”

A-Yuan places a small hand on Lan Wangji’s. He does not look like he understands, and Lan Wangji is grateful. He hopes that A-Yuan will never have to understand. Truthfully, A-Yuan’s family probably hopes for that too, A-Yuan’s family that loves him so much. Like Lan Wangji’s loves him.

“Lan-xiaojie…” Granny Wen starts.

But before she can continue, Wei Ying comes skidding around the corner, saying into his phone, “Yeah, I’m checking the park right now — oh.” Wei Wuxian stops, frozen, at the sight of Lan Wangji with Granny Wen and A-Yuan. Then he winces slightly, as though someone on the other end of the line is yelling. “Yeah, I found them, yes, I will. Ok, see you soon.” Wei Ying lets his phone hand fall to his side, still frozen to the spot, still looking.

“I have to go,” Lan Wangji says.

Confused, A-Yuan asks, “You’re not going to say hi to Xian-gege?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He just can’t.

To Granny Wen, he says, “Thank you. I —” Lan Wangji doesn’t have the words. He needs to go. “Thank you,” he repeats.

Granny Wen nods and pats his hand. “Go.”

Lan Wangji goes, but there’s only one path out, and as Lan Wangji passes him, Wei Wuxian catches him by the arm. Face unreadable, he says, “You’ve been crying.”

Heaven help him. Lan Wangji feels scooped out in his soul and somehow still breaking apart. Softly and plainly, he reminds Wei Ying, “You and I need nothing to do with each other anymore.”

Wei Ying reels back like he’s been slapped. Lan Wangji doesn’t wait around for his response. He flees.

*

Lan Wangji throws open the door. Brother and Mingjue-ge are sitting together on the couch. Lan Wangji needs to do this quickly, before he loses his nerve.

“I’m gay,” Lan Wangji says. “I like men.”

Brother looks at him baffled. “…Okay?”

Lan Wangji stares back at Lan Xichen, mouth thinning minutely. He needs his older brother to understand.

“Oh,” Brother says, “OH.”

He and Mingjue-ge trade a look.

Mingjue-ge says, “I’ll be downstairs.” As he passes Lan Wangji, he raises his hand and gently ruffles Lan Wangji’s hair.

“Come sit,” Brother says, and Lan Wangji does, perched neatly on the Nie’s faded green couch and Brother’s blanket draped over his lap. “Anything else?”

“I’m in love with Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

“Oh, Wangji.” And Brother pulls him into his arms where Lan Wangji is finally, finally, certain that he is loved.

*

Lan Wangji ends up telling Brother most of it.

Over tea, Lan Wangji talks more than he has in his entire life. Of Wen Chao breaking his leg, of the fear and paralyzing shame. Of Wei Ying, dancing across the Chinese school stage like fire, free and unrestrained. Of Lan Wangji, finally, for the first time, wanting something for himself.

And how, before that moment, cultivation was something Lan Wangji did because it was expected of him. He did it for his family’s legacy, and he did it to help others. And above all, he did it for Uncle’s nod whenever he got something right. But now, Lan Wangji wanted to do it because he wanted to get it right.

And he tells Brother of all the ways that that desire got tied up into his own defiance. Against Wen Chao’s brutality, against the judgment of his elders, against his continued sense of otherness among his peers.

But it was okay, because that was what he chose.

And he has never felt truly free in his entire life.

(Until Wei Ying. Always, always, until Wei Ying.)

And finally — Lan Wangji tells Brother of this: the sticky summer heat, the Lan uniform settling straight and clean around him as he turned to the mirror and felt the dissonant hum of his existence suddenly shift into tune. How Uncle came in, saw him, and turned hard and still as stone.

It’s after this last detail that Brother says wonderingly, “You don’t know. You weren’t there when we were going through the photos.”

Lan Wangji looks at him, question in his eyes.

Brother says, one part comforting, one part apologetic, “When you were dressed like that, you looked just like Father.”

*

They’re cleaning up after dinner when someone comes knocking at the door.

“Lan Zhan!” shouts Wei Wuxian. “I need to talk to you!”

Lan Wangji feels the blood drain from his face.

More knocking. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji looks at his brother in mute panic, bowls and dishes half-stacked in his hands.

Brother says, “You don’t have to talk to him.” What he means is, He broke your heart.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “I should.” What he means is, I broke his heart.

“Lan Zhan! I can see your coat through the window!”

The pit in Lan Wangji’s stomach deepens despite himself.

“Not until you’re ready,” Brother insists, getting upset.

Upon seeing the set in Lan Wangji’s jaw, Mingjue-ge intervenes. Gently, but firmly he says, “Wangji, go bring the bowls into the kitchen.”

Lan Wangji goes. When he’s out of sight, just beyond the kitchen doorway, someone opens the door.

“Wei Wuxian,” rumbles Mingjue-ge.

“I need to talk to Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.

Brother’s voice enters the mix. Pleasantly, he says, “I’m sorry. Wangji isn’t feeling well right now, so it isn’t a good time.”

Voice pleading, Wei Ying says, “Please, I’ll be quick. Just let me see her, and I’ll go. ”

“Like I said,” Brother says. “Wangji isn’t feeling well, and I don’t think seeing you will make them feel better.”

“I know that, but I still need to see her.” Wei Ying insists, “She needs to know—“

“Needs to know what?”

A brief silence. “Um, that um, well I—“

“I think you’d better come back another time.”

“No, wait!”

Sounds of scuffling at the door, interspersed with voices, Brother’s cold voice saying, “Goodnight, Mr. Wei,” and like a final, desperate plea, Wei Ying shouts, “Lan Zhan! I love you!”

Lan Wangji drops the bowls. He’d forgotten he was holding them. They shatter loudly against the kitchen floor.

Brother calls instantly, “Wangji?!”

“Lan Zhan!” More scuffling, a burst of steps, and then Wei Ying is here, just beyond the doorway, voice dizzyingly close and gentle. “Are you okay?”

Lan Wangji nods automatically before he remembers Wei Ying can’t see him.

“I’m going to assume you just nodded,” Wei Ying says. “I won’t come in unless you want me too, but, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice turning low and intense. “Did you hear what I said? I meant it.”

Lan Wangji can’t move. Lan Wangji can’t breathe.

“I came to say I love you. I mean it. Lan Zhan, Wen-popo told me that you’re afraid no one will ever really love you because no one will ever completely know you. Well, you’re wrong!

“I love you, and I know you, and I want you. And I — I want to be with you all the time! Just thinking of you makes me happy. And now that I think about it, I can tell that something has been bothering you for a while now, and I know that you have parts of yourself that you try to like, fucking, pretend out of existence, and you don’t - you don’t have to tell me what it is, you don’t have to stop pretending either, even if I think it hurts you more to keep going - but those things you’re afraid I know or don’t know about? I don’t care if you tell me or not.

“I mean — sorry — I mean I do care. I care about everything you tell me. But I don’t need to know everything because I know them anyway, because they add up to the whole of you and I know that. I love that. I love you. And maybe I’m not making any sense, but I just, I couldn’t go another day without making sure you that you knew that you are known, and you are loved.”

Plaintively, Wei Ying says, “I know I said I wouldn’t come in, but Lan Zhan, can I just see your face?”

Lan Wangji steps into view. Voice tremulous: “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan!”

Wei Ying’s smell encircles him. Lan Wangji clings tightly back into the press of Wei Ying’s body, the steady thud of his heart. Wei Ying can’t seem to stop touching him. He runs his hands up and down Lan Wangji’s back, pulls back to cradle his face, tucks damp strands of hair behind his ear.

“You’re crying again,” Wei Ying whispers, brushing away Lan Wangji’s tears. “I told myself I wouldn’t make you cry again.”

“Good tears,” Lan Wangji says, nuzzling into Wei Ying’s palm

Wei Ying shakes his head. “I’ve been so mean to you. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair, and I hurt you, very much. I made you think I didn’t want you. Wei Ying,” his voice breaks, “you’re all I want.”

Wei Ying touches his forehead to Lan Wangji’s. “Shh, shh, I know.” For a moment, they just breathe. Wei Ying pulls back a little to look at Lan Wangji. “I know there’s a lot that we need to figure out,” Wei Ying tells him. “But I want to figure things out. With you.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Me too.” He looks down. Swallows, sets his jaw. “Wei Ying, I—”

Wei Ying stops him with the touch of a finger. “I meant what I said about whatever’s going on. You don’t have to force yourself to say anything you don’t want to. I can wait, forever, if you’ll have me anyway.”

“I want you to know.”

Wei Ying brushes a knuckle over the curve of Lan Wangji’s cheek with tenderness in his eyes.

First and foremost — and Lan Wangji can’t help the joy bubbling out — he says, “I love you too.”

Wei Ying shrieks and buries his face in his hands. “Warn a man will you?”

Lan Wangji raises a hand to Wei Ying’s face and then pauses.

Wei Ying peeks up at him through his fingers. “What, are you not going to comfort your poor Wei Ying?” A flash of uncertainty, “Did you change your mind?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says immediately. “But I haven’t washed my hands.” They’re a little soiled from handling the dirty dishes.

“How can you worry about that at a moment like this!?!”

Lan Wangji huffs and steps backwards toward the sink. His bare foot comes down on something sharp.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying cries, delighted. “Was that a laugh?!” He moves to squish Lan Wangji’s cheeks.

Lan Wangji holds up a hand. “Stop.”

Wei Ying asks, “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji looks down to where his foot rests among pieces of broken porcelain, blood seeping out.

“Oh my god!”

*

Lan Wangji sits on the closed toilet seat of Brother’s cramped bathroom as Wei Ying sits on the floor before him, fussing over Lan Wangji’s foot. Pieces of bowl and used gauze sit in a small dish on the edge of the tub beside them.

Out in the kitchen, Brother and Mingjue-ge talk in low tones as they clean up the mess of broken crockery and blood. After Wei Ying had broken through to Lan Wangji, they had retreated outside to give them privacy until they were summoned back in by Wei Ying’s shriek.

Wei Ying sets the tweezers down. “I think that’s the last of it.”

“Mn.”

“That was stupid,” Wei Ying scolds. “Since when do you not wear house slippers?”

Lan Wangji twitches in a shrug. He’s been doing a lot of new things recently.

“Tòng bù tòng?” Wei Ying asks. “Does it hurt?”

Only a little. Lan Wangji shakes his head. The gash was very shallow; with his golden core, it should be just about healed by morning.

Wei Ying clucks in disbelief and reaches for the bandages and anti-bacterial ointment with a practiced air. Stray strands of hair have escaped his scrunchie to fall in wisps around his face and down the back of his neck. A pimple is starting to form at his temple.

I’m going to grow old with this man, thinks Lan Wangji. And: He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Wei Ying peels a band-aid open with efficient, ink-stained fingers. His short lashes fan across his delicate under-eye as he tilts Lan Wangji’s foot just so and smooths the band-aid on. His stretched out sleeves are pushed up to expose smooth and strong forearms, pale from winter. Wei Ying’s hands are dry and warm, strong from sword-work and yard-work and archery. Knobby knuckles and calluses.

Lan Wangji has his own calluses to match, years of healed injuries and stresses up and down his body. Despite his care (and if he’s being honest, vanity) in maintaining his appearance, he has always had a rather utilitarian view of his body.

Lan Wangji’s feet carry him from place to place, allow him to jump, run, kick, fight. But Wei Ying’s strong, clever hand wrapped around his foot suddenly makes them seem delicate, vulnerable. Pretty. Like it doesn’t need to do anything to be beautiful.

Everything turns beautiful under Wei Ying’s hands.

Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying smiles up at him. “Hm?”

“Hái yǒu…” There’s something else that Lan Wangji needs to tell him.

Wei Ying makes a questioning noise.

“I—” Lan Wangji cuts himself off. Despite everything, he is still afraid.

Wei Ying looks up at him, gentle and unafraid.

“Yǐhòu,” Lan Wangji begins. “In the future, can you stop calling me jiejie?”

Amused, unable to help himself, Wei Ying says, “Lan-meimei? Zhōngyú rèn zhǎngbèi le ma? Are you finally acknowledging me as your elder?”

Lan Wangji fixes him with an unimpressed look.

Wei Ying has the decency to look sheepish. He rubs a thumb against Lan Wangji’s ankle in apology.

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “Not that.”

Wei Ying says softly, “If not that, then what?”

He loves me, he loves me.

“Gege,” Lan Wangji says, watching his face. “Lan-er-gege.”

Wei Ying looks at him. Time turns slow as honey. Lan Wangji feels frozen out of his body. He sees the gears turning in Wei Ying’s head, moving things around, pulling out all their previous interactions, the unanswered questions, and arriving, finally, at the right place.

Lan Wangji watches, unable to breathe, as Wei Ying picks up Lan Wangji’s hand and presses his mouth against his knuckles. Tenderly: “Lan-er-gege.”

Lan Wangji’s breath hitches.

Wei Ying kisses his hand again, kisses the inside of his wrist. “Er-gege.”

A tear slides down Lan Wangji’s face.

Wei Ying kisses the inside of Lan Wangji’s knee. Breathes, “Er-gege,” and closes his incisors gently around the soft inner skin of Lan Wangji’s thigh.

Lan Wangji’s hand spasms where it’s found its way into Wei Ying’s hair. “Wei Ying.”

Voice hoarse: “Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan.”

“Yours,” Lan Wangji agrees.

They are in Lan Wangji’s older brother’s bathroom that he shares with Lan Wangji’s older brother’s boyfriend and said boyfriend’s little brother who is also their mutual friend. The door is open. They are not having sex in Brother’s bathroom.

Wei Ying must come to the same conclusion around the same time, because he deflates. The tension loosens. He lays his head in Lan Wangji’s lap. Flashes Lan Wangji a cheeky grin. “So. Boyfriends?”

Lan Wangji fights down a sudden sweep of giddyness. “Girlfriend for the older generation. Boyfriends for our friends and my brother. Yanli-jiejie if you want.” (“No, if you want,” says Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji nods.) “The Wens, if you think it’ll be okay.” (Wei Ying hums and says, “I’ll ask Wen Qing.”) “And for us,” Lan Wangji adds.

Something in his face makes Wei Ying smile brilliantly. He pecks a kiss to Lan Wangji’s hand. “And for us.”

*

The first thing that Lan Wangji sees upon waking is Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji blinks up at him. Slivers of morning sun slip past the blinds to illuminate the room.

“Zǎo ān,” Wei Ying says, head propped up on one hand looking at him. “Good morning.”

Lan Wangji’s ears heat under the naked affection in Wei Ying’s eyes. “Zǎo.”

Wei Ying brushes some hair out of Lan Wangji’s face. “You overslept.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. The sun is higher than it normally is when he wakes. Then Lan Wangji frowns. “We were supposed to talk.”

Wei Ying waves his concern off. “You were tired. I was tired.”

Last night he and Wei Ying had emerged from the bathroom wrapped up in each other and giddy with it. Brother and Mingjue-ge were waiting at the dining table, Brother clearly torn between joy at Lan Wangji’s happiness and disapproval at everything else.

Unrepentant, Lan Wangji had apologized for causing a mess, talking over Wei Ying’s slightly intimidated stammer. Brother waved the apology off, stating that he had wanted to buy new bowls anyway and would Wuxian be leaving soon since he’d done what he came for?

Lan Wangji had declared that Wei Ying would be staying the night and also, they were dating now. Boyfriends, Lan Wangji had said, daring Brother to comment while Wei Ying protested and stammered in the background.

(“Do you want to go?” Lan Wangji had asked, a little concerned.

“No,” hissed Wei Ying. “But!” he wailed in a whisper, eyes darting at Brother’s impassive face. “Just to sleep!”

Lan Wangji blinked at him. “Of course,” he said placidly. “I don’t know what else you would stay over for.”

“You!”

Satisfied, Lan Wangji nodded and turned back to the fray.)

(Maybe that was a little dramatic. It was not really a fray, but he and Brother disagreed so rarely.)

Brother’s expression had darkened, but he said nothing and retreated to his room. Mingjue-ge had smiled, amused and indulgent, and offered up a spare toothbrush and pajamas. Lan Wangji almost refused the pajamas just to see Wei Ying blush but thought that Wei Ying had faced enough torment for the day. Probably the month.

Lan Wangji had intended to clear the air and make sure that everything that needed to be said had been said, but when he entered the spare room, dressed and ready for bed, he found Wei Ying waiting for him, having left his side of the bed clear, pillows and blankets arranged just so.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying had called, concerned.

Mortifyingly, Lan Wangji started crying again. “I missed you.”

Wei Ying sat bolt upright, saying, “No, don’t cry, you’ll make me cry.”

“Then cry,” Lan Wangji had said, crawling into his arms, still sniffling.

Wei Ying had laughed wetly, kissing Lan Wangji’s nose and then tucking Lan Wangji’s face into the crook of his neck. “Alright then. I missed you too.”

They had fallen asleep like that.

Now, Wei Ying hooks their pinkies together and stamps their thumbs in a promise. “We’ll figure it out.”

Lan Wangji looks at their interlinked fingers, looks at Wei Ying, and darts up to kiss his pink mouth.

Wei Ying laughs, bubbly and bright. Lan Wangji loves him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “I didn’t want to leave while you were sleeping, but now that you’re up, I have to go.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t want him to go.

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “But A-Yuan will be waking soon, and he’ll get upset if I’m not there.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji shifts their hands to twine a little more naturally. “Is something wrong with Wen-popo?”

Wei Ying sighs and sits up properly. Lan Wangji follows him up. Ruefully: “You figured it out, huh?”

“Mn.” Wei Ying and the Wen siblings were all absent from school at the same time, citing family issues, and they’ve been on a rotating availability since. There’s been a pinched quality to Wen Qing’s face for the past few weeks that seem to go beyond her usual stresses, and Luo Qingyang could not speak on why. “I wasn’t certain until yesterday.” A-Yuan’s stress and Granny Wen’s sickly appearance — combined with the panic to find them — had more or less confirmed it.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands fidgeting in his lap. “She collapsed a few weeks ago.”

“After the NACA conference.” Right after Lan Wangji had broken his heart.

“Hey, no.” Wei Ying turns Lan Wangji’s chin up so that he has to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that.”

Lan Wangji had been a coward. Afraid to be loved, afraid not to be, and too afraid to do anything about it. And he had left Wei Ying to face his struggles alone.

“You did what you needed to at the time.” Wei Ying presses his mouth to Lan Wangji’s forehead. “I don’t blame you.”

Lan Wangji frowns. Wei Ying always leaves insults and resentments behind so easily.

“I’m not short-changing myself,” Wei Ying insists. “It’s just that I trust you.”

Lan Wangji has to take a moment to sit with that. He takes a breath. “Ok.” If that’s the way Wei Ying feels, then Lan Wangji is going to be worth it. Back to the topic at hand: “Wen-popo?” he prompts.

“Oh yeah,” says Wei Ying. His shoulders slump, and Lan Wangji reaches over to place a hand over his. Wei Ying turns his hand up and squeezes gratefully. “It’s not good, but it’s not too bad either. A lot of it is still up in the air right now, but she’s stable, which is good. It’s just that she needs a lot more care than we’re really capable of, and she can’t do as much as she used to, which is tough.

“She actually — yesterday A-Yuan wanted to go outside, but none of us had time so Popo took him without telling any of us, even though she really shouldn’t have. That’s how I ran into you.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, turning in to rest his forehead on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I was so committed to being cold and cutting you off, but then I saw you and I saw that you had been hurting, and I just — I still can’t bear to see you cry. And then when you threw my own coldness back at me and said that we didn’t need to have anything to do with each other anymore, I realized that that wasn’t what I wanted at all.

“And then Popo told me what you said, and well, you know. I had to try again.”

Unbelievably grateful, Lan Wangji cards his free hand through Wei Ying’s tangled hair. “Mn.”

“I wanted to rush straight over,” Wei Ying says. “But I had to put A-Yuan to bed first.”

Lan Wangji hums, thinking of A-Yuan’s reactions from the day before. “How has he been handling everything?”

Wei Ying looks up and shrugs. “Oh you know, he’s a good kid, so it's been fine.”

Thinking of himself, afraid of overstepping, Lan Wangji says cautiously, “Sometimes children are better at pretending than you think.”

Wei Ying's face turns abruptly distressed.

Lan Wangji squeezes his hand. He doesn’t say it to blame Wei Ying or the Wens. He just, he knows how it is, and Wei Ying is very close to the situation.

“You think I should talk to him?”

“Mn.”

“Alright,” Wei Ying says. “Lan Zhan knows best.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “You and the Wens are his family.”

Wei Ying grins crookedly. “Ah, look at the time. I really do need to go, but I thought maybe later I could come pick you up and take you home?”

Lan Wangji nods, inordinately pleased by the sound of “take you” and “home” in Wei Ying’s mouth. “Stay over tonight.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying cries, faux scandalized. He plays coyly with the collar of Lan Wangji’s sleep shirt. “So forward!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees and pulls him in for a filthy kiss.

*

Lan Wangji and Brother see Wei Ying off. Mingjue-ge had waved goodbye and left to open up the gym.

As Wei Ying’s red motorcycle turns the corner and the rumble of the engine fades, Lan Wangji feels the prickle of eyes on him. Brother looks at him with his arms crossed.

Lan Wangji’s hackles raise, ready to defend Wei Ying.

“Young man,” Brother says. “It’s time to talk about your disciplinary hearing.”

Oh, thinks Lan Wangji. That.

*

Things get a little heated.

Brother doesn’t see why Lan Wangji had to take things into his own hands, especially in such a crude way, rather than just reporting Su She to the proper authorities.

“Su Minshan,” Brother says with disapproval. “I don’t know why A-Yao is so close to him.”

Lan Wangji looks into the distance. He does not want to know about people being close to Meng Yao.

Lan Wangji calmly explains his reasoning and how it had been the most sureproof and immediate method of securing Wei Ying’s exoneration. Then he more or less accuses Brother and Uncle of encouraging him to abandon Wei Ying in spite of his moral principles.

“That’s not very fair,” says Brother.

Lan Wangji shrugs. He’s not exactly in the business of being fair when it comes to Wei Ying.

They also talk about what’s being done about the whole (Hah, says his inner Wei Ying, hole,) case. Apparently Su Minshan had released the curse not long after being taken into custody, and when Jin Zixun recovered, the Jins had dropped all charges against Wei Ying.

Jin Guangshan had called Uncle to thank him for Lan Wangji’s involvement in uncovering the true culprit. From how Brother tells it, it had not been very sincere. Evidently, Jin Guangshan was not happy that the Lans had cost him an opportunity to target Wei Wuxian but, Brother had shrugged, things were already tense with the Jin clan anyway.

What? Lan Wangji had thought, and the thought had shown on his face.

“After the insult their guest paid you at the NACA conference?” Brother says. “An insult to you is an insult to us.”

On the bright side, that insult combined with owing Lan Wangji one un-cursed nephew meant that Jin Guangshan could probably be pressured into interfering on Lan Wangji’s behalf with the school. Lan Wangji will probably get away with publicly fighting (and beating) another student on school grounds with minimal consequences.

Ugh, Lan Wangji thinks, trying not to think of the corruption and nepotism running rampant in the cultivation community and how it benefits him.

Lan Wangji and Brother talk about what to expect from Uncle next week when he comes for Lan Wangji’s hearing.

There’s a moment of silence.

Brother asks, “Do you think you’re going to tell Shufu?”

Lan Wangji shrugs.

Uncle is traditional, but he’s been in the States and around publicly queer people for a while now. Knowing of trans people is very different from having the child you raised be one though.

“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji says, but truthfully, he knows what he wants and he knows there’s only one way to get it. If it doesn’t go well though, he has his brother. He has Wei Ying.

“Whatever you want,” Brother says.

And then —

“So should I call you Didi, now?” asks Brother.

Lan Wangji actually doesn’t know about this one. Being his brother’s mei is the first thing he ever was. It still is the first thing he is, sometimes.

Brother must read the hesitation on his face, because he says, “We can try it out, and you can tell me how it feels.”

Lan Wangji still feels unsatisfied. Shouldn’t he be able to decide properly?

“You know,” Brother says gently. “The point of this is to make you a life that feels good, whatever that means.”

Lan Wangji grumbles. He knows that. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“What would you feel happiest calling me?”

Brother considers the question. “I won’t say that changing won’t be an adjustment, but A-Zhan, I’m happy either way, as long as you can still call me Ge.”

*

Wei Ying comes to pick Lan Wangji up around 4.

Brother looms disapprovingly at the door. He looks at Wei Ying’s motorcycle. “You’re going home on that?”

Lan Wangji hefts his bag onto his back. “You sound like Shufu.”

“Take that back right now.”

Lan Wangji’s mouth twitches into a smile. He turns to go.

“Wait,” Brother says and pulls Lan Wangji into a brief, hard hug. They are closer in height than they were as children, but Lan Wangji is still shorter. Brother’s chin presses against the side of his head, and then he pulls back to fuss with Lan Wangji’s hair and clothes so that his collar lies flat and his hair is neat. “Okay,” Brother says. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji pulls away gently. He loves his brother. “See you next week.”

Down on the sidewalk, Wei Ying greets him with a delighted, “Lan Zhan!” He sweeps him up into his arms, swinging him around once, twice. “Hello,” he says after setting Lan Wangji back down.

Breathless from the spinning and the way Wei Ying had lifted him like nothing, Lan Wangji replies, as solemnly as he can, “Hello.”

Wei Ying laughs and tugs on his earlobe and then kisses him thoroughly, with tongue, clever fingers tangling in Lan Wangji’s hair and ruining all of Brother’s previous work.

Lan Wangji cups Wei Ying’s face and says, just because he can, “I love you.”

Wei Ying blushes vibrant red. It amuses Lan Wangji to no end, how little Wei Ying can take, when he spent so much of their teenage years dishing it out. Wei Ying whines, “I don’t understand how you can just say things.”

“You talk more than me.”

A laugh escapes Wei Ying’s mouth before he remembers his supposed irritation. He crosses his arms and says very crossly, “Very clever, er-gege,” – Lan Wangji’s stomach swoops at the term – “Get on the bike and let’s go.”

Lan Wangji looks at him like, You first.

Wei Ying huffs and gets on the bike, straddling the wide leather seat. Lan Wangji admires the stretch of his black jeans across his thighs. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whines, cheeks still red. “Stop that.”

Lan Wangji blinks innocently at him.

Wei Ying huffs and hands Lan Wangji the extra helmet.

Lan Wangji puts it on and mounts the bike elegantly behind him, one hand on Wei Ying’s thigh to steady himself, sliding flush against Wei Ying’s back. His other hand comes around to spread across Wei Ying’s stomach. It’s because they’re pressed so close together that Lan Wangji feels the way that Wei Ying takes a deep and controlled breath. His fingers clench white-knuckled around the handlebar.

As an experiment, Lan Wangji moves his hand down.

Wei Ying snatches at his wrist to keep it from going any lower. The bike wobbles a little. “Lan Zhan,” he says tightly. “If you do that while I’m driving, we will literally crash.”

“I have faith in you,” Lan Wangji says, but his hands still retreat, a little sheepishly, into a more appropriate position.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says.

“Of course,” Lan Wangji murmurs. He will save it for later.

*

The ride home is nice. Just as dizzying as the first time, but better, because this time he can curl against Wei Ying without shame. Mostly though, he’s just waiting for what will happen after their arrive.

In the parking lot of Lan Wangji’s apartment complex, they disembark with a new sense of urgency. Wei Ying fumbles the keys as he turns off the ignition. He crowds up against Lan Wangji as he unlocks the door. They’re barely through the doorway before it’s slammed closed, Wei Ying’s back against the door, mouth occupied by Lan Wangji’s.

“That was the longest ride of my life,” Wei Ying says between kisses, tripping out of his shoes. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, pulling at Wei Ying’s jacket and rucking up his shirt with single-minded determination.

“I was so scared that the uh, that the last 24 hours were a dream, ah, ah ow, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji soothes the inflamed skin of Wei Ying’s nipple with his tongue. Wei Ying releases his grip on the door frame and swings them around. Lan Wangji trips on the straps of his bag and hits the wall with a soft thud.

Wei Ying is on him in a flash. Lan Wangji stumbles out of his shoes and drops his keys somewhere near its tray, panting up at the ceiling, mind hazy, as his collar is wrenched aside to make way for Wei Ying’s mouth, Wei Ying’s hands working his jacket down his arms. When Wei Ying starts to unbuckle his belt he remembers, gasping, “W-wait.”

“What,” Wei Ying says. “Why?”

Lan Wangji disentangles himself reluctantly. “Come.” He tugs Wei Ying towards the bedroom.

Wei Ying complains the whole way there and keeps complaining as Lan Wangji rifles through his drawers and picks out what he’s looking for.

Wei Ying cuts off abruptly. “O-oh…” he says, wide eyed, looking at the harness and dildo in Lan Wangji’s hands.

It had arrived about a week after Lan Wangji had broken things off. That had not been a good day.

Now, hot all over and desperate with it, Lan Wangji asks, “Yes?”

Wei Ying bites his lip, red and shiny with spit. “What if. What if it doesn’t fit?”

Lan Wangji says, “Do you want to wait and go buy a smaller one.”

“No! I mean, um– just who do you think I am?” Wei Ying demands. “Are you saying my ass isn’t up to it?”

Lan Wangji looks at him. “Just checking.”

“Just um, just give it here” His hands grasp at the harness, wrap around the flesh-colored silicone. “Let me — um, I’ll help you put it on. Actually wait, no, um. Clothes.” A nervous chuckle. Wei Ying sets the strap aside.

Wei Ying comes to fumble at Lan Wangji’s buttons, fingers dark against the white of his blouse. Lan Wangji lifts his arms to help Wei Ying pull it over his head. It falls to the floor with a quiet rustle of cloth.

Wei Ying smiles at Lan Wangji. “You and your layers,” he says fondly, fingers coming up to play with the straps of his camisole, pushing them off to dangle against his upper arm, and leaning down to kiss the hollow of his shoulder.

“Wei Ying.”

“Alright, alright.” Hands grip at Lan Wangji’s hips, his waist, and then his camisole is coming off and dropping to the side. Wei Ying hesitates at the band of Lan Wangji’s bra, looking up.

Lan Wangji pulls his soft bra over his head in answer. His hair slides free and falls heavy down his back. Wei Ying looks at him, mouth falling open a little, as Lan Wangji unbuttons and unzips his trousers, letting the fabric pool to the floor, stepping out of his underwear. As an afterthought, Lan Wangji peels off his socks.

Wei Ying just keeps looking. Lan Wangji’s naked toes curl into the carpet.

“You’re beautiful,” Wei Ying says, coming to him. “My handsome, handsome Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispers. His hands cling to the soft fabric of Wei Ying’s shirt, over his heart.

Wei Ying kisses him chastely, pulling him close. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Wei Ying pulls the dildo through the O-ring and kneels down to help Lan Wangji step into the harness, pulling it snug over his hips. Black nylon straps come to rest under the swell of Lan Wangji’s ass. Lan Wangji has to remind himself to breathe as Wei Ying works at adjusting the straps so that the base of the dildo lays flat and secure against him. He is almost certain that Wei Ying can feel the wetness seeping out of him.

Lan Wangji’s cock juts proudly out from his curls, and he can see the way Wei Ying’s heavy gaze keeps sliding to it, distracted. Wei Ying bites his lip, cheeks red, and – as though he can’t help himself, as though he doesn’t know that Lan Wangji is watching – he leans forward and sneaks a lick.

Lan Wangji might lose his mind a little because the next thing he knows, he’s gripping Wei Ying’s hair tight and sheathing his cock in his throat.

Wei Ying moans loudly and gets to work, choking a little as he pushes forward and then back again, sucking frantically with an obscene slurping sound. Lan Wangji’s dick shoving up against the back of his throat sends pleasure sparking darkly down his spine.

The picture they must make, Lan Wangji thinks. Wei Ying, still clothed, cock tenting wet in his pants, grinding into the air. Lan Wangji, standing naked and in control over him. They could both come like this.

Lan Wangji tightens his hold on Wei Ying’s hair and pulls him off. Wei Ying whines and fights against it.

Lan Wangji shakes his head sharply. “No,” he says. “On the bed. Take your clothes off.”

Wei Ying’s eyes snap open, big and wet. He does as he’s told.

Wei Ying makes a mess, scattering his clothes everywhere. Lan Wangji gets the lube. The dildo swinging between his legs feels odd, but not unwelcome. He thinks, palming at it, he could get used to this.

On the bed, Wei Ying moves as though to get on all fours. Lan Wangji stops him with a hand on his flank and pushes him flat on his back. He wants to see him.

Wei Ying makes a low, helpless noise, and opens his legs for him.

“Good,” says Lan Wangji.

“Gege, gege,” pants Wei Ying. He’s flushed all over. “Lan Zhan, please—ah!”

Wei Ying’s hole is as welcoming as ever. Lan Wangji’s lube-slick finger slides in easily, finding him soft, tight, and hot.

“Too much,” cries Wei Ying. “It’s too much.”

Lan Wangji scoffs. As if. He squirts on the lube and adds a finger, searching.

Wei Ying wails.

Found it, he thinks smugly.

Wei Ying keens when Lan Wangji removes his fingers. Lan Wangji ignores his complaints to crawl up over his long body. His big, unwieldy dick slaps around as he goes. Lan Wangji is, abruptly, nervous again.

But Wei Ying smiles up at him, cheeks red, hair wild against the pillows. “Lan-er-gege,” he says, going for casual and mostly landing on breathless. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy that,” Lan Wangji says, ears hot, eyes greedy, fingers slick and sticky.

Wei Ying laughs, brushing Lan Wangji’s ears as he twines his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck. “Shy again?” he taunts. “That’s very funny, Lan Wangji, especially given all the times you’ve—“

Lan Wangji shoves in.

Wei Ying goes, “Hah-ah-ahhh,” and shudders glassy-eyed. “Oh,” he says faintly. “Ohhh. Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan. I can feel you all the way…” He makes a vague motion at his throat.

Lan Wangji breathes out harshly and re-adjusts to get better leverage — Wei Ying makes a high mrph! Lan Wangji feels the sweet resistance of his body, the sweet give. Lan Wangji slots his fingers between Wei Ying’s and pins their hands above their heads.

“I want you,” Wei Ying pants feverishly. Like it’s essential that he gets it out: “I love you.”

Lan Wangji’s heart pounds in his chest. He is so scared. He is so happy. But there’s no time to think — Wei Ying is waiting and wanting beneath him. Lan Wangji gives himself over to desire.

*

Afterwards, Lan Wangji cooks.

Wei Ying had protested, grabbing at him. “What, no, let’s just order delivery. Aren’t you tired?”

Lan Wangji had raked his eyes across Wei Ying’s bare body, mottled red all over from hands and teeth and tongue. Feeling the ache in his previously rarely used muscles, he’d answered honestly, “Yes.”

Wei Ying blushed.

“I like cooking for you,” Lan Wangji said. “I like knowing you’re taken care of. That I’m the one taking care of you.”

Wei Ying had made a face. After a moment he sat up and slid out of bed. “Ugh, alright, you stubborn man.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji had asked.

Wei Ying had turned back to him from the closet, saying, “Well, if you’re going to cook for me, the least I can do is keep you company.”

Now, Wei Ying slurps happily at his noodles. He’s wearing Lan Wangji’s shirt. Lan Wangji is wearing his boxers.

Wei Ying scoops another dollop of eye-watering red into his bowl. “Lan Zhan!” he says, picking up the jar. “This is about to expire!” He looks accusingly at Lan Wangji. “You didn’t eat any while I was gone?”

While Wei Ying was gone. What a way to put it. Lan Wangji thinks back to that last, terrible fight. He wants to show the Lan Wangji that had cried so bitterly on the floor just days ago where they are now.

With contrived nonchalance, Wei Ying says, “I’m gonna need those keys you made me, so that I can come over and finish this. Can’t let it go to waste.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

“I want them.” Eyes down, Wei Ying shuffles food around in his bowl. “I wanted them. I still do, if you still want…”

Immediately: “I do.” Lan Wangji reaches for his hand. Wei Ying meets him halfway. “I do.”

*

When they return to school the following Monday, everything is more or less business as usual. Just because Lan Wangji’s world has turned on its head doesn’t mean that the rest of the world actually has.

By this point, news of Lan Wangji’s fight with Su Minshan has spread throughout the entire department and probably beyond. The reactions from his teachers are a mixed bag. Some of them disapprove. Others ignore it. One professor actually pulls him aside after class to ask if he’s alright, which is — nice.

Oddly enough, Lan Wangji gets approving looks from more than one classmate, especially the female ones.

But he’s mostly an afterthought. The gossip is mostly focused on the drama with Su Minshan and on Jin Zixun. He hears more than one scandalized exclamation at the description of the Hundred Holes curse.

At Friends Lunch everyone is, unusually (and Lan Wangji suspects, not entirely coincidentally), present.

He and Wei Ying arrive hand in hand.

“We’re boyfriends now,” Wei Ying says brightly.

Five sets of eyes swivel to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji nods.

Huaisang clarifies carefully, “Boyfriends?”

“Mn. Boyfriends.”

“I’m happy for you, Wei-xiong,” offers Wen Qionglin. “And you, Lan Wangji,” he adds timidly.

Lan Wangji nods in thanks.

Luo Qingyang waggles her eyebrows at Lan Wangji. She will probably want an explanation later. Wen Qing looks unsurprised. Lan Wangji suspects that he will be cornered with some very sharp needles in the near future.

Jiang Wanyin looks disgusted by this turn of events. However, he also looks like someone that loves Wei Ying and also, unfortunately, like someone that saw Lan Wangji cry the other day and was compelled to comfort him. He says acidicly, “That was your big announcement?”

“Also, I’ll probably be moving in with Lan Zhan in the next few months!”

Lan Wangji looks sharply at Wei Ying. He did not know about this, although he had hoped –

“Good fucking riddance,” snaps Jiang Cheng.

“Aww,” Wei Ying says. “Are you upset? Don’t worry, I still love you.”

“Gross!”

“I’ll come over all the time,” Wei Ying promises. “You won’t even have time to miss me!”

Jiang Wanyin snarls, “Who said I’d miss you!” but settles down.

*

And then the day of Lan Wangji’s disciplinary hearing arrives.

It’s a nice day. The sun is shining. The flowers in the trees are starting to bloom.

Wei Ying drops him off with a reassuring squeeze and promises to be right around the corner.

Uncle meets him at the door, eyebrows furrowed. Honestly, they shouldn’t have worried. Like Brother predicted, Lan Wangji is barely punished, only reprimanded and warned not to do it again.

Uncle sits stiff and mostly silent for the meeting. Afterwards, he leads Lan Wangji to a bench by the school. Lan Wangji silently takes a seat beside him.

“Well,” Uncle says. “It turned out the way you wanted.”

Lan Wangji stays silent.

Sternly: “Just because you got away with it this time, doesn’t mean you did good.”

Lan Wangji shrinks into himself, but. He understands. Uncle doesn’t want him to become someone that uses his own might to abuse others and circumvent the rules. He can see how this might look like that. He believes his own actions are — not that though. It still hurts.

Uncle glances at him, glances away. He changes the subject. “So. You’ve started dating that boy.”

It is very clear who that boy is. Also, they had not been subtle.

Lan Wangji answers: “Yes.”

“Hmph.”

Lan Wangji thinks, I have to tell him. I need him to know. He says, “Uncle. I have something to tell you.”

Uncle raises an eyebrow. Well? Get on with it.

Lan Wangji reminds himself: Wei Ying is waiting around the corner. Brother is a call away. His family loves him. His Uncle loves him.

“I’m trans,” Lan Wangji says. Uncle doesn’t react much, only swings his face around to stare. “I am still figuring it out, but I don’t think I’m a girl. I feel more right as a man. Nothing has to change,” he adds on. “I just wished for you to know.”

Uncle says, indignant, “Of course things have to change. How can you tell me this and expect nothing to change?”

Lan Wangji hides a flinch. “I don’t expect you to treat me any differently. I don’t want to make things difficult for you.”

Uncle demands, “Who said that it would be difficult for me?”

Lan Wangji looks at him. His entire life, basically.

Uncle switches gears: “Is there anything making you feel like you have to be this way? Your friends?” (They are, Lan Wangji has to admit, generally kinda weird and gay.) “That — that boy?”

Lan Wangji interrupts, voice fierce. “No. It’s just me. No one else has anything to do with what I am. And Wei Ying doesn’t pressure me to do anything. He does the opposite.

“He makes me happy. Letting myself be what I am makes me happy. I didn’t know that that was something I could try to be. I feel like I can breathe again. Uncle, I don’t say this to hurt you, but I don’t think I’ve been happy in a very long time”

Uncle looks stricken. Uncle suddenly looks very old. After a long moment of silence, he says, in accented English, “I don’t know if you remember, but after your mother died, you stopped speaking.”

Lan Wangji looks at him, startled. They never talk about his parents.

“You didn’t want to be held. You didn’t want anyone near. I didn’t know what to do. And I thought, well at least she’s eating and sleeping, and when you started to speak again I thought well at least she—” Uncle corrects himself, words strange in his mouth, “—at least he’s speaking.”

Uncle looks at Lan Wangji for his reaction. There is something stuck in Lan Wangji’s throat.

Uncle says, “Your brother and I had fights we never told you about. But you were perfect. You listened to everything I said. Your grades never slipped once, even as you got older, and every day you got better and better at everything you did. I was so proud. And I thought, well if Wangji is eating and sleeping and talking and doing well in school and staying out of trouble, then that’s enough. Everything must be alright.”

Lan Wangji realizes with horror that there are tears in Uncle’s eyes.

“I should have known that it was the other way around.”

“Shufu—”

Uncle holds up a hand in the universal let-me-finish gesture. “I never taught you to ask for more than just enough because I didn’t know. You and your brother have had to teach me that, and I am sorry.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“My two nephews have had to be very strong and very brave. It is time for this old man to do the same for you.”

“Shushu—” Lan Wangji’s voice breaks. He throws himself into his uncle's arms.

Uncle hugs him back. Uncle is a little stiff, but he pats Lan Wangji’s head and he smells like home. Lan Wangji will take it.

When they pull apart, they are both a little watery and a little embarrassed. Uncle clears his throat gruffly. “Don’t you have that boy waiting for you? It’s unmannerly to be late.”

Lan Wangji smiles. “Mn.” He does.

*

Around the corner, a handsome young man leans against a cherry red motorcycle with an insouciant grin. His hair is falling out of its ponytail, held back with a red scrunchie.

At Lan Wangji’s approach, he calls flirtatiously, “Eyyy, shuàigē, need a ride?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, aggrieved.

Wei Ying laughs and kisses him. “How did it go?” He is asking about more than just the disciplinary hearing.

Lan Wangji nods. “Good.” He can hardly believe it.

A smile breaks over Wei Ying’s face, warm and beautiful as the sun. “Good,” Wei Ying repeats. “Aiyo, Lan Zhan, I told you it would be fine, you worrier!”

Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow. Wei Ying had been incredibly stressed for him, probably more than Lan Wangji.

“Lan-lǎoshī nà me chǒng nǐ,” Wei Ying insists. “It’s excessive. And who wouldn’t! Lan Zhan should be spoiled endlessly. Lan Zhan should get everything he wants.”

Lan Wangji circles him with his arms. “I already have everything I want.” And when Wei Ying opens his mouth into a perfect “O,” Lan Wangji swoops in to kiss him, bending him back over the motorcycle.

Wei Ying’s cheeks are flushed when they part. He smacks a hand lightly against Lan Wangji’s chest. “Lan Zhaaan!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji responds placidly.

“Unbelievable,” he huffs.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, half question, half statement. “Huí jiā.”

Wei Ying smiles, kisses his temple. “Let’s go home.”