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Wei Wuxian still isn’t quite sure how his sister cajoled him into a night out to watch her not-boyfriend’s band. (Not exactly boyfriend, anyway; Yanli and the Peacock have been dancing around each other for years, now, and it drives Wei Wuxian up the wall that they won’t just put a name to what they are, already.) She’d been pestering him about this for two weeks, but normally Wei Wuxian can withstand campaigns of coercion and guilt trips easily enough. He’s been on the other end of them enough that he sees through all the tricks. But at one point, the words “Come on, A-Xian, you’re not heartless like Jiang Cheng, are you?” were used, and that was probably what finally tipped him over the edge. In any case, he’s here now.
But it’s only when the band comes to the stage and he catches sight of the guitarist that he realizes what Yanli’s real motive for dragging him out here was.
He turns away from the stage, mouth agape, and catches her smiling widely. “You—you—”
She pushes his mouth closed with a finger beneath the chin. “You’ll catch flies.”
“Is that—is that really—?”
“Full sentences, please, Wei Wuxian.”
“IsthatreallyLanWangji?” It comes out all in one long rush, half-yelled to be heard over the noise in the small club, and, god, what just happened to him? Why is his brain suddenly all jumbled up, his language tied in knots? Is Yanli actually laughing at him? She wouldn’t do that, surely. Yanli is a saint.
“It is,” she says brightly, leaning into him, back to front, with casual affection. Her hair smells like lavender, and Wei Wuxian’s nose itches. He scrunches it, trying not to sneeze, though it would serve her right if he accidentally got snot all over her.
“Wow.” He swallows, his throat suddenly desert-dry. “What’s he doing with the Jins?”
Yanli shrugs. “I don’t know. Zixuan only mentioned that he joined the band a month or two ago, he didn’t say how it happened. I thought you’d like to see him, though. It’s been ages, right?”
“Yeah.” His brain feels like it’s buffering. Lan Wangji. No. Lan Zhan. Wow.
Six years ago—or is it seven? Anyway, the year when Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu decided they had to “work on their marriage” (gross), and shipped the three kids off to the mountains under the watchful eye of Lan Qiren, an old friend of the family. That was when Wei Wuxian first met Lan Wangji. He’d fallen fast and fallen hard, and though the other boy was rarely anything but politely distant to him, he’d stayed fallen for a long time.
He thought he’d got over that crush years ago. Right now, his pulse disagrees.
Lan Zhan looks like a pop idol. Not that Wei Wuxian knows much about idols…well, okay, he knows enough. Anyway, Lan Zhan looks like he should be on a billboard thirty feet high, selling cologne or uncomfortable shoes.
He’s wearing a white suit of all things; the rest of the band (the Peacock on lead vocals and keys, his asshole cousin Zixun on drums, and Mian Mian—what was her actual name again?—on bass and backup vocals) are in designer jeans and t-shirts, expensive to be sure as everything the Jins touch is, but at least designed to appear casual. And there’s Lan Zhan over to the side in a full-on white suit.
His dark hair is just long enough to brush against his jawline. He looks intensely focused, as he always had in everything he did before. And his hands. Oh, those hands—
Wei Wuxian barely registers the music, lost as he is in the sight of those long fingers teasing at the strings.
Then Lan Zhan looks up, and Wei Wuxian knows he’s seen him. His eyes widen only fractionally, his mouth pulls open only a millimeter, but Wei Wuxian knows. He feels like a fish hooked at the end of a line. Lan Zhan sees him, Lan Zhan knows he’s here, Lan Zhan Lan Zhan Lan Zhan.
For a second, then two, he can’t breathe.
Then Lan Zhan looks away and Yanli presses a cold bottle of water into Wei Wuxian’s hand and the world restarts itself.
The band is one of Jin Zixuan’s little vanity projects. They’re called Sparks Amidst Snow (pretentious), and they’ve been playing off and on since they were all teenagers, usually “off” when Jin Zixuan’s father is in the country, and back “on” again whenever the elder Jin is gone and the younger gets bored. Wei Wuxian has never paid much attention to their music. It’s surprisingly not all that bad, though at one point Jin Zixuan breaks out a ballad called Lotus Blossom that makes Yanli blush and Wei Wuxian want to throw up in his mouth a little. He texts Jiang Cheng five vomiting emojis, getting a picture of an upraised middle finger in response. Too bad. Jiang Cheng might have weaseled his way out of this, but he still has to share in Wei Wuxian’s pain.
While his phone is out, he also sneaks a picture of Lan Zhan because wow, wow wow wow, that boy is beautiful. He almost sends it off to Jiang Cheng with the message look who I found! but thinks better of it at the last second. Those two never liked each other to begin with, and even if Wei Wuxian tries to pass the picture off as something casual, he knows that Jiang Cheng will make a big deal about it.
It’s a really good picture, though. It’s going on his lockscreen as soon as he gets the chance.
Sparks Amidst Snow has second billing, which means they play for a little over an hour before the headliner comes out. Because he lives to make Yanli laugh, Wei Wuxian dances like a fool, and soon enough all his reluctance over this night has burned away and he’s just simply, uncomplicatedly happy. That’s a rare feeling.
Rare enough, in fact, that by the time Yanli drags him outside to circle their way around to the stage door it’s almost gone again, muffled under his anxiously-roiling stomach and his incoherent, constant thoughts.
“You came!” Jin Zixuan says ecstatically when the doorman lets them past. His sweat has smeared makeup down his face, and for no particular reason at all, Wei Wuxian wants to kick him.
Yanli smiles beatifically. “Told you I’d make it to a show one day. It’s only that my mother insisted I have a chaperone—luckily, my favorite brother finally came through for me.”
Wei Wuxian preens. She doesn’t mean it—she doesn’t play favorites, not really—but he’s still going to use this against Jiang Cheng for at least a week.
Jin Zixuan nods tightly in Wei Wuxian’s general direction, before taking Yanli’s hand and leading her through the cramped backstage hallway. “We just have to get packed up, and then I can take you home. If—if you want me to.”
Gag. Wei Wuxian is definitely going to walk home if Jin Zixuan’s giving Yanli a ride. Let them make Bambi eyes at each other alone, he doesn’t have to play third wheel.
Yanli wants to help move gear to Zixun’s van, but she’s delusional to think anyone will let her. She’s sick all the time—last year she spent three months fighting walking pneumonia for fuck’s sake—there’s no way. Wei Wuxian sits her down in an out-of-the-way corner beside Jin Zixuan—barely gritting his teeth thank you very much—and jumps in to help the others, so that Jin Zixuan can keep her occupied.
“Wei Wuxian!” Mian Mian shrieks as she comes out of the dressing room, dropping a case that Jin Zixun only barely catches and launching herself at him. Arms around his neck, she presses a kiss to his cheek. “How are you? It’s been so long.”
He grins. Mian Mian was always so cute. Okay, yes, and also the only girl who ever seemed to be around who wasn’t his sister or that absolutely terrifying Wen Qing, but still. She’s still so cute. Her hair was done up in a complicated arrangement of braids while they were on stage, but now she’s pulled it back into three little Rey-From-Nowhere buns, and changed into an old, oversized t-shirt and leggings.
She takes a long time to pull away from the hug, and for a second, Wei Wuxian thinks that’s the reason that Jin Zixun looks so sour. But then Mian Mian waves over a skinny, shy-looking man and introduces him as her boyfriend. She’s clearly out of his league, and also clearly besotted. Wei Wuxian gets a little lost in small talk, catching up on gossip about the old families, while they all start carting equipment out to the van.
He’s stretching out his shoulders in an exaggerated complaint when he turns and finds himself face to face with Lan Zhan.
He’s still wearing the suit.
Oh, and look at that, Wei Wuxian has gone nonverbal again.
“I—I—um—”
“Hello, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying. Ah, right, Lan Zhan had always called him that. And has his voice gotten deeper? That voice is really unfair.
“You’re going to get your suit dirty,” he blurts, and feels himself turn red. His smoothest line, it is not.
“I appreciate the concern, but I do have a very competent launderer.”
Is that…is that a joke? Startled, Wei Wuxian brays like a donkey. So attractive, Wei Wuxian.
“Good luck getting Lan Wangji out of his fancy duds,” Mian Mian’s boyfriend quips. “I think he was born in a three-piece.”
“I did not expect to see you,” Lan Zhan tells Wei Wuxian, ignoring everyone else so completely that it’s like they’re the only two people in the world.
Wei Wuxian scratches his neck. “Yeah. Uh. Likewise. You look—” Incandescent. Ethereal. Like someone I’d really, really like to kiss for an hour or seven. “—good.”
“You look good as well.”
Wei Wuxian can barely keep his thoughts straight, but one thing he knows is that he has to keep this struggling, awkward conversation from ending. He’s not ready to have Lan Zhan out of his life again. They were friends, he’s sure that they were friends, no matter how one-sided it might have looked from the outside. If they can just talk, about anything, maybe they can get back to that again.
He has to at least try.
“Do you want to grab a drink?”
Lan Zhan’s face falls fractionally, and Wei Wuxian rushes to cover himself. “Not that kind of drink, obviously. I know you don’t drink alcohol.” (Well. There was that one time. That one time he’s absolutely not going to think about right now.) “I meant coffee. Or something.”
“It’s eleven pm.”
“The perfect time for coffee! I mean…um, I’ll drink coffee, you can have juice or something. If you want to. Or we don’t have to drink anything at all! We can just talk.”
“Yes.”
Wei Wuxian almost chokes in his surprise. “I—yes?”
“Yes. Let’s walk, rather than order a car. It’s a lovely night.”
Wei Wuxian’s only options were to walk or take the bus if he didn’t want to play third wheel, he has no idea how one even goes about ordering a car (Lan Zhan definitely doesn’t mean Uber, that’s almost certain), but all he can manage is a small nod.
“What’s this?” Jin Zixun mocks, breaking into their bubble of two. “Is Hanguang Jun really staying out past his bedtime? How shocking.”
“I make allowances for the nights I perform with the band, Jin Zixun, and I am also an adult who can make his own decisions. Thank you for your concern.” He doesn’t, of course, sound thankful at all. He sounds arrogant and just the tiniest bit mean, and it makes Wei Wuxian’s fingertips tingle. He really wants to kiss him, and he really has to stop thinking about how much he wants to kiss him.
He’s in a bit of a daze while they make their goodbyes to everyone, and then they are walking through a hushed neighborhood, leaving most of the nighttime youths-and-tourists traffic behind, and they still aren’t talking, but the stars are out and Wei Wuxian makes sure to tell himself to breathe.
They stop at a coffee cart, where Wei Wuxian orders the largest iced coffee he can get his hands on, and Lan Zhan orders a small mango juice. Wei Wuxian does try to pay for his own drink at least, but Lan Zhan swoops smoothly in with his card first, and Wei Wuxian remembers that, too, how he was always the one who paid, before, without question or complaint.
“That’s—” Lan Zhan seems unable to find words to describe Wei Wuxian’s massively oversized iced coffee, sweetened with sugar and milk, when the barista hands it across the cart.
“It’s delicious! Here, want some?” He thrusts the straw vaguely in Lan Zhan’s direction, but Lan Zhan only subtly shakes his head.
“Let’s walk, shall we?”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t have a particular destination in mind. Do you?”
“Oh. Ah. No? Let’s just go wherever.” If Lan Zhan wants his company, as unfathomable as that seems, then he can have it.
Wei Wuxian sucks down coffee and chews the straw and knows that Lan Zhan is never going to be the first to speak, so finally he blurts out, “I thought you liked classical music. Didn’t you play the guqin?”
“I still do. Traditional instruments and composing are part of my course of study.”
“Oh, you’re at university?” Of course he’s at university, Wei Wuxian chides himself immediately. Not everyone in this world is as dumb as you.
“Mn. A dual course load of Philosophy and Music, though I think I might follow my brother into teaching.”
“Lan Xichen’s a teacher?”
“He’s still doing some postgraduate work, but yes. He seems to find it very rewarding.”
“That’s great. Ok. So, you have to tell me, how did you end up in this band, then? It doesn’t seem like your thing at all.”
“Uncle suggested I join.”
“Lan Qiren. That uncle?”
“I only have the one.”
That’s another joke. It has to be, and Wei Wuxian feels his face crinkle. Two jokes from Lan Zhan in the space of an hour. That has to be some sort of record. “Right, so Lan Qiren told you, his precious nephew, to join a rock band. Sounds like there’s a story there, is all I’m saying.”
“My father died last year.”
“Oh. I’m…sorry?” He immediately kicks himself for making that come out sounding like a question, but after such a non sequitur he couldn’t help it. He never met Lan Zhan’s father, had barely even heard him spoken of. The man was a recluse; he had taken himself out of the world years ago. He has absolutely no idea how Lan Zhan felt about him.
“It was not unexpected,” Lan Zhan says, as if that negates the need for Wei Wuxian’s remorse. “But in any case, I reacted…badly. Uncle and Brother were very worried about me, and in their concern, Uncle suggested that I take up a distraction. Association with the Jins is appropriate enough even if their music is…unorthodox, in Uncle’s estimation. Actually, I enjoy it quite a bit. Despite the presence of Jin Zixun.”
They are passing a playground, and sudden inspiration strikes Wei Wuxian. He grabs Lan Zhan by the wrist and pulls. “Hey, let’s go play!”
“Pl—” Lan Zhan begins, before Wei Wuxian pulls him off his feet. And then they are jogging down the gravel path. Lan Zhan puts up some resistance, but it doesn’t feel genuine—he could definitely disengage himself from Wei Wuxian’s grip if actually he wanted to.
“You’re ridiculous,” he says, fondly, as Wei Wuxian starts pushing one of those round spinners with the metal bars designed to make kids dizzy and, probably, chip their teeth. A conspiracy with dentists. After the running start, Wei Wuxian hops on the thing, and it creaks and wobbles treacherously. Lan Zhan, carrying both of their drinks, opts to sit on a nearby swing-set. The chains, meant to hold seven-year-olds, squeal under his weight.
Wei Wuxian lays out on the spinning wheel, his legs dangling off the side. “Jiang Cheng and I used to play on this sort of thing until our eyes crossed. When I was little, I thought it would be what being drunk felt like. Guess I was kinda right.”
“Mn. And how is your brother these days?”
“Oh, an asshole, mostly. I’ll love him til the day I die, despite his best efforts.”
“Mn. He is lucky to have you and Jiang Yanli. It is more than he deserves.”
Wei Wuxian cackles. “I’m totally using that the next time he tries to scold me. ‘But A-Cheng, Lan Zhan says…’”
“I missed you,” Lan Zhan says, abruptly.
Wei Wuxian sits up so fast that he hits his head on the metal bar, and shouts in reflex. Lan Zhan’s eyes widen, and he starts off the swing, but Wei Wuxian holds out a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m okay. Fuck, you should warn a person before you say something like that.”
“I only meant—”
“You only ever say exactly what you mean. I know. You missed me. Okay. Fine. That’s fine.” He swallows a deep breath. “Lan Zhan.” They are staring at each other. They are staring at each other and it means something, he’s sure it does. “Lan Zhan, why did you stop talking to me back then?”
The silence between them is a solid thing. Lan Zhan doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even blink.
“Because I can only ever say exactly what I mean, and it terrified me.”
*
Lan Wangji has always known how to express himself better through music than through words. Words have the benefit of exactness, of course, but they always feel…lacking. To express true feeling, you need the purity of sound, of harmony and melody, dissonance.
He wishes he could just play a chord, and Wei Ying would know.
When he first saw Wei Ying out on the floor tonight, he didn’t want to look away. He was afraid that if he did, Wei Ying would vanish, a mirage gone up in smoke.
But he had to look away. If he had spent the entire performance staring at one man…it would have been as good as telling everyone in that room exactly how he feels about Wei Ying, how he’s always felt. And that’s not something he’s ever been good at even telling himself.
I can only ever say exactly what I mean. Back then, things had gotten to a point where Lan Wangji could only say “Wei Ying, I am a desperately in love with you,” or nothing at all. It had been better to say nothing at all. He’s held on to his surety of that for years, by now.
His feelings for Wei Ying would not be reciprocated, and so why burden him with them?
The night they drank liquor and danced under the stars. The secret from Phoenix mountain that still makes him burn with shame. Wei Ying wouldn’t love him, because who could ever love him like that?
“Wow,” Wei Ying says, a soft breath in the dark.
“What?” It comes out too curt. See? This is why words don’t work.
“Is it the streetlight making your ears so red, or is it just you? Lan Zhan, your red ears are so cute!”
Mortified, he claps his hands over his ears. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he was holding a mostly-full cup of mango juice, and suddenly he is cold and sticky, a startled mess.
(At least he'd already set the too-large, too-heavy coffee down. That is some small favor, in the midst of this sudden disaster.)
Wei Ying sputters, eyes bright, and then he is howling. There’s no other word for it. “Oh. Oh, Lan Zhan, your poor suit!”
“I—”
“I’m so sorry, it’s my fault. I never should have teased you. It’s just, when things get emotionally vulnerable that’s how I am, you know?”
Lan Zhan cocks his head to the side, trying not to wince at the dripping. “Were things getting emotionally vulnerable?”
Wei Ying’s gaze could flay him to the bone. “You tell me.”
Well. That’s…something.
Lan Wangji shoots to his feet, hands clenched by his sides. “I need to shower and change before we have this conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“Any conversation. Come on.”
He does end up ordering a car, one of the ever-discreet drivers from the service his uncle contracts with. He doesn’t want to walk around town covered in mango juice, and anyway he’s afraid that if he waits too long, Wei Ying will find some excuse to run away. That can’t happen this time. Back then, after he finally went home, Wei Ying texted him for months and months. But Lan Zhan had never once known what to say back, and eventually the texts had stopped, and Wei Ying was just gone. It can’t happen again. Not before Lan Wangji finds the words.
The night they drank liquor and danced under the stars. Lan Wangji had caught Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin, and their friend Nie Huaisang drinking stolen liquor in their guest room. He hadn’t wanted to tell Uncle, but wasn’t it his duty? They shouldn’t have put him in that position to begin with, and the consequences were theirs alone to bear.
But then Wei Ying had caught his wrist in that way of his and said “Come on, I dare you. Just one sip.” And Lan Wangji was fifteen years old, and god help him, he wanted to break a rule, for once in his small, constricted life.
There had been a lot of noise that night, the other three boys shouting and fighting. But whenever Lan Zhan managed to look into Wei Ying’s eyes, things had felt quiet. Finally, startlingly, safe. He doesn’t remember how they made it out to the backyard. He only remembers spinning in circles, trying to think of the perfect notes to convey the wild inconsistencies that made up Wei Ying and all that meant. He only remembers warm hands in his, and a crooked smile and—for years he convinced himself that he dreamed this, but maybe it was true after all—cool lips against his fevered cheek.
At some point before getting in the car, Lan Wangji took Wei Ying’s hand. Not the casual wrist-grab Wei Ying always favored, but a fully complete intertwining of fingers. Wei Ying did not pull away, and Lan Wangji does not let go, and so they hold hands all the way up to his apartment.
Wei Ying whistles once they’re inside. “Wow. You live inside a catalog, Lan Zhan.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that, of course, and so he simply doesn’t respond. He points Wei Ying to the couch. “Stay. Please. I only need ten minutes.” Please, please, please do not leave.
Wei Ying looks down at the floor. “Yeah. Of course. I—I’ll be right here when you’re ready, Lan Zhan.”
He is never going to be ready. That’s the point. He has never once in his life been ready for Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji rushes through his shower, resolutely not thinking about anything, especially not thinking about the festival on the mountain, the summer sun, their fingers curled together scraping against the bark of that tree. He doesn’t dry his hair, barely even brushes it. He throws on soft grey lounge pants and a long-sleeved, sky blue shirt and rushes back to the living room, toes curling in the carpet. And—
And Wei Ying is still there. His head is bowed over his phone, but he looks up when he hears Lan Wangji coming. And he is radiant.
He bites his lip. “Hi.”
“Wei Ying.” What does he have to do, to make those words convey everything?
“Lan Zhan. Are you okay? I—I feel like I’ve upset you.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head, and rushes over to the couch, and then he is sitting next to Wei Ying, so close their knees touch, and he thinks he might know how to say what he needs to say. Or at least, that he should say it.
“Do you remember the cultural festival on Phoenix Mountain?”
“I…yes? That was a fun day. I was a complete dick to Jin Zixun, which was, like, my favorite activity back then.”
Uncle had suggested the festival as an opportunity to learn cultural history. Only Wei Ying could have turned what was supposed to be a sedate, educational outing into a dare where he decided to wander around a mountain in a blindfold just to piss off the Jins.
It could have been dangerous. He might have really gotten hurt. Except that Lan Wangji was watching his every step.
And then. Well. Lan Wangji lost his mind, just a little bit.
Say it say it say it.
“Do you remember the kiss?”
“Well of course I remember the—” Wei Ying cuts off with a gasp. “Lan Wangji! Don’t tell me you spied on that? How embarrassing. I was totally shameless that day, no wonder you hate me so much. You must think I'm such a slut. Hey, wait. You really saw? So who was the girl? Do you know?”
“It was me.”
“I—wait, what?”
“The girl was me, Wei Ying.”
For a moment, everything stops. Lan Zhan can almost see the memory flashing through Wei Ying’s mind, as he puts together new information with what he thought he’d always known.
Lan Zhan bows his head. “I’m very sorry. I was…overcome. And that’s no excuse, I should have respected you better, but I was young and I was…lost…and I—” I liked you so much, he’s trying to say. I needed you so badly.
When he dares to look back up, he’s surprised to see that Wei Ying is…smiling? He’s absently touching his lower lip, and he looks almost absurdly happy.
“Wei Ying?”
“Lan Zhan. Do you know, you were my first kiss?”
“I—” No, that’s not how it went at all. The beating sun, their fingers curled together slick with sweat, the rough bark of the tree. Wei Ying, laughing, later. Oh, I’ve kissed plenty of people! But poor Lan Zhan, I bet you’ll never give your first kiss away to anyone at all!
“You said that you had lots of experience.”
“I lied, of course.” Wei Ying punches him, lightly, in the shoulder. “I was fifteen, what kind of Lothario do you take me for? I was trying to impress you.”
“Me?” Lan Wangji is appalled to hear his voice break.
“Yes of course you. I have the most gigantic crush on you, Lan Zhan, I—” he cuts off, suddenly, his eyes bugged out wide.
Lan Zhan’s pulse races. “‘Had’ or ‘have’? Did you just say ‘had’ or ‘have’?”
“Uh. Technically I said ‘have,’ but I guess I meant both? I mean—”
Kissing, like music, is a perfectly acceptable substitute for talking. Lan Zhan nearly falls forward, throwing himself into a kiss that he’s amazed to find welcomed. It’s only the second kiss of his entire life. He is not going to admit that, not to anyone, not ever.
Wei Ying tastes like sugar and milk. His teeth nip at Lan Wangji’s lips, and Lan Wangji is gone, gone, gone. He never wants to do anything but kiss Wei Ying, until the end of their days.
Well. Perhaps a few other things. But for the moment, at least, those are very theoretical things, whereas this is real, this is now, this is the entire reason he’s alive. To kiss Wei Ying. To be kissed by We Ying.
When they finally manage to disentangle from each other, Wei Ying is beaming. “Lan Zhan, you still smell like mangoes.”
“I—I’m sorry?”
“Mmm, no, it’s nice. Make sure it’s the top note of your signature fragrance.”
“My what, now?”
“You know, when you’re a big-time idol with lots of advertising deals.”
“Wei Ying, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know. I’m being silly. But remember it, okay? And don’t you dare fall for any groupies, I’ll be so jealous.”
“I will never fall for anyone but Wei Ying.” It’s the absolute truth. It might be the truest thing about him.
“Lan Zhan. I can’t take it! You’re going to kill me with talk like that.”
Lan Wangji chases his pout with a tiny peck of a kiss, right on the freckle below his lip. “You’ll have to learn to deal with it, because I don’t think I'm able to stop.”
“Fuck, Lan Zhan! I’m serious, I’m going to die!”
Lan Wangji laughs, just a little bit, and pulls away. Neither of them can afford to die just yet, not when things are finally something like right between them.
“I have something I’d like you to hear. Will you listen?”
Wei Ying frowns, adorably. “Of course.”
“Come on, then.” Lan Wangji leads him into his small study, where he keeps all of his instruments. He uncovers his guqin; a modern reconstruction, of course, but a beautiful object nonetheless. “This…this is something I wrote a long time ago.”
And he plays the song that saved him back then, when he had no idea how he’d ever find the right words.
When he’s done, the last note fading away into the air, Wei Ying reaches out and softly touches the back of his hand. Lan Wangji looks up at him, questioning.
“I think I might be entirely in love with you, Lan Zhan.”
“That is the best sentence I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
Wei Ying giggles, a blush darkening his skin. “I…uh, I really, really mean it, I’m not just messing around. So. What’s the name of that song, anyway?”
Lan Wangji turns Wei Ying’s hand over, and traces the soft lines of his palm. “Why don’t you tell me?”