Work Text:
At precisely five p.m., the silence that has been festering in Lan Zhan’s apartment all day is broken by a voice crackling through the speakers of his phone.
“Hello, Sina Entertainment viewers! Today we have a special treat for you all that we hope you’ll enjoy!”
He adjusts the volume as well as the brightness of his screen, then props the device up against the fruit bowl at the centre of his dining table. He only half-listens to today’s interviewer making their usual introductory statements as he focuses his attention on the laptop open in front of him. The new chapter that he’d promised to post two days ago still requires a little more editing before he’ll be truly finished with it. His readers have assured him that they don’t mind the wait, but guilt still gnaws at him as he clicks it open and expands the document to fit the screen.
“...ready now, so let’s get started! Welcome, Wuxian!”
Oh, this is the part that will never get old. Seeing Wuxian appear on screen for the first time – whether it be in an interview, at an event, or on stage – is always like taking a breath of fresh air. Lan Zhan forgets his unfinished chapter for a moment, staring unblinkingly at his phone instead as the man he’s adored and supported with everything he has for five years smiles directly into the camera. Somehow, everything else just falls away; in this moment, Lan Zhan can almost pretend that he isn’t looking at Wuxian through the screen of his phone, but is instead right there in the room with him.
“Hello, Suibian,” Wuxian says, winking into the camera. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve all been well since we last met.”
There’s a laugh from somewhere just out of frame, and the interviewer says, “So, your fans are called Suibian. What’s the story behind that?”
Lan Zhan could recite the story in his sleep. As Wuxian retells it, he begrudgingly drags his gaze back to his laptop screen to begin skimming through his work. Lan Zhan finds himself settling into a comfortable rhythm; he always has found the sound of Wuxian’s voice to be a pleasant accompaniment to his editing.
“...and I’ve always been bad at naming things, you see. So I told them, ‘Just use whatever!’. Well, I didn’t expect to be taken so literally. Imagine my surprise when the announcement was made the next day that my fans had been named Suibian!”
A small smile graces Lan Zhan’s lips. Once, he’d found Wuxian’s fandom name aggravating. Ridiculous, absurd – really, he could use any number of adjectives to describe his past aversion to the name. Over the years, however, he’s grown to find it charming – though, to be frank, he finds himself charmed by everything Wuxian says and does. He wills away the flutter in his chest at that thought and corrects a spelling mistake as the interviewer asks the next question.
“You’ve recently begun promoting your next single, Falling. Can you tell us what sort of things your fans can expect from this song?”
Wuxian launches into his next answer with enthusiasm. Though he’s already given his fans countless clues about his upcoming single in previous interviews over the last few days, Lan Zhan still finds himself listening intently as he tidies up his next few paragraphs.
So far, he knows that the new song will be a ballad-type with acoustic sounds – different from Wuxian’s usual music, which only makes it that much more exciting. Now, as Lan Zhan reads through a particularly long chunk of dialogue, Wuxian announces that the concept this time will be slightly darker than what he’s produced in the past.
“It’s my first time using entirely my own lyrics in a song,” he reveals, which certainly piques Lan Zhan’s interest. “I actually began writing it a few years ago, during a period of my life where things were a little more confusing and frustrating than they are currently. Part of me didn’t want to finish the song, but in a way, it’s given me closure. I feel like I can finally put that period of time behind me for good, now.”
Lan Zhan feels something warm and tender unfurling within his chest. He knows that Wuxian has had some difficulties in his career; the usual run-of-the-mill rumours and speculations are horrible enough, but Lan Zhan also knows that Wuxian is referring in part to some more personal issues he experienced a few years ago. Although he’s never divulged any details about what exactly happened, it’s obvious that the issues seriously affected Wuxian’s well-being. Knowing that he can finally put whatever happened behind him comforts Lan Zhan. He, too, feels like he can breathe a little easier now.
“Your fans must be happy knowing that you feel less burdened by releasing this song,” the interviewer says, as if reading his mind. Lan Zhan flicks his gaze over to his phone screen in time to see Wuxian nod, smiling softly.
“I hope so,” he says.
And here’s the thing, see. Lan Zhan knows he’s just a drop in the ocean; if given the chance, Wuxian would never be able to pick him out of a crowd. In the grand scheme of things, Lan Zhan is nothing special. Wuxian means the world to him, but he can never be anything more than a fan to Wuxian. Maybe it was a little absurd of him to fall in love with someone so unattainable. Maybe he forgets, sometimes, just how pathetic his situation is; loving someone from afar, giving his all to them and knowing that he will never get what he truly wants in return. But it’s moments like these – watching Wuxian smile, knowing that he is adored and supported by so many, and seeing just how much that support has helped him become the incredible man he is today – that make everything worthwhile. In moments like these, Lan Zhan doesn’t care that Wuxian will never even know who he is. As long as his love contributes to Wuxian’s happiness… well, that’s all that matters.
As Wuxian continues to answer a range of questions, Lan Zhan gradually makes his way through his chapter. His hobby is always enjoyable, but when he’s working to the sound of Wuxian’s voice like this, he always feels just a little more motivated. It benefits the quality of his writing too, he’s sure – after all, his stories are always about Wuxian. It helps to have the source of his inspiration close by, if only technically.
Just as he’s nearing the end of his chapter, the interviewer clears their throat and announces, “Now, let’s move onto something a little different. We’d like to try out something a bit unusual but hopefully fun, if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” Wuxian says. “Unusual but fun is practically my motto.”
Really, Wuxian is a ridiculous man. Lan Zhan loves him.
“Have you heard of fanfiction?” the interviewer asks, abruptly ruining the moment.
Lan Zhan freezes. He hears Wuxian make an inquisitive sound on-screen.
“I’ve heard of it,” he says, which, really, Lan Zhan should have been expecting. It’s not as if Wuxian lives under a rock. “Why do you ask?”
There’s a pause, followed by some questionable shuffling behind the camera. Lan Zhan finds himself suddenly unable to focus. His fingers shake where they’ve been left hovering over his keyboard, so he slowly pulls his hands back to sit in his lap.
Finally, the interviewer says, “We thought it would be fun to have you read some of the fanfiction that your fans have produced.”
Wuxian’s face brightens. “Oh! That does sound fun,” he says.
For the first time in five years, Lan Zhan wholeheartedly disagrees with him. This will certainly not be fun. It will, in fact, be extremely embarrassing for the author involved. Possibly even for Wuxian, too, depending on the type of content they’re having him read. Will the story be inappropriate? Will Wuxian feel uncomfortable while reading it?
As Lan Zhan’s mind races with unanswered questions, Wuxian asks, “What’s the name of the story I’ll be reading today?”
“Bu Wang,” the interviewer says, in the same manner that they’d say, The sky is blue.
Bu Wang. Won’t Forget. Lan Zhan can recite the summary of that story as easily as he can recite his own name; he knows every detail of the piece intimately, can recall the exact word count and remember the date it was published. He’s read every comment posted to that story, then reread them several times over, because those comments were for him.
Oh. Oh no.
Lan Zhan isn’t usually one to swear, but fuck fuck fuck shit fuck god fucking damn it shit. This can not be happening. There is no way – absolutely no fucking way – that this is happening.
But it is. Undoubtedly, it is. On his screen, Wuxian – Wei Ying, his idol, the love of his fucking life – takes the iPad offered to him by someone behind the camera and begins to read not just any piece of fanfiction, but a piece that Lan Zhan himself created.
“It’s a warm Sunday afternoon when you meet Wuxian for the first time,” he begins, repeating word-for-word what’s written on his screen.
Lan Zhan covers his ears and groans, wishing desperately that he could disappear right here and never have to face this again. Please, he thinks, stop this. Please don’t let this be happening.
It does not stop. Time continues to pass on by. The world continues spinning. Lan Zhan continues to feel sorry for himself.
“There’s laughter in the air and sunshine-smiles on faces, but all of that melts away when his eyes meet yours. Ah, what a heart-wrenching line,” Wuxian says, clutching at his chest for emphasis. He scans the screen silently for a moment before exclaiming, “Oh! Hanguang-Jun is the author’s name. Am I right? Well, Hanguang-Jun, you have a very nice way with words! I’m impressed!”
Despite everything, Lan Zhan can’t help but preen at the praise. Then he groans again, even more pitifully this time than the first, and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe, if he tries hard enough, he can act like this just… isn’t happening. Maybe he can sink into the ground at his feet, bury himself beneath the laminate of his living room floor and hide there for an eternity. His readers will just have to make do without that new chapter.
It’s rather telling of the sort of person he is that it’s this – the thought of leaving his readers hanging – that brings him out of his self-induced pity-party. He sighs, shakes himself out of his daze, and sits up straighter. Meanwhile, Wuxian has made it almost a third of the way through the oneshot he’s currently reading.
“His hand is warm in yours, and you hold it close enough that you feel it soothing your very core; at your roots, there is a luminescence that expands ever-so-slowly outwards, catching on the looping threads of your heart and latching onto your lungs. This is how he makes you feel; like light and warmth all bottled up in something much too small to truly contain it. Soon, you fear it will burst forth from the curve of your smile. But he will be there to collect all that you cannot hold onto, for you share the load together. My goodness, Hanguang-Jun. This might just be my favourite part so far.”
Lan Zhan should not enjoy Wuxian’s commentary, considering literally everything about this situation, but he finds it… sweet. It’s almost like Wuxian is reassuring him, trying to make him feel more comfortable in an otherwise very embarrassing and extremely invasive scenario. He can’t help but feel even more charmed by it, for all his current shame.
“It’s a surprisingly long piece,” Wuxian notes, eyebrows raised as he scrolls to what must be the end of the oneshot. Lan Zhan chokes out a sudden laugh – because, really, if Wuxian thinks that an eight-thousand-word meet-cute is long, then he dreads to think of what Wuxian’s reaction would be to his most recent multi-chaptered story. It’s practically a full-length novel, except, instead, it’s a self-insert fanfiction. Because that’s how Lan Zhan copes, apparently.
“You can skip to the end, if you’d like,” the interviewer says. “We’re running out of time, anyway.”
Lan Zhan almost shouts in protest, before he remembers that a) neither the interviewer nor Wuxian can actually hear him, and b) he is not meant to be enjoying this nor is he meant to be wishing to prolong this situation in any way. He gives himself a light slap on the cheek and mutters, “Get it together, Lan Zhan,” before focusing back in on Wuxian.
“Ah, then what part shall I start reading from?” he asks himself, scrunching his nose in concentration as his eyes skim over the screen.
Don’t read the final two paragraphs, Lan Zhan thinks. Please don’t read the final two paragraphs.
“Oh, this part sounds nice. When Wuxian finally kisses you, it’s like bathing in sunlight,” Wuxian continues, reading directly from the penultimate paragraph.
Lan Zhan wants to scream. He wants to slide down onto the floor, hug his knees to his chest, and cry. He’ll never be able to face the world again, after this. This is going to be his legacy for as long as he lives. People will remember him as the poor sod who self-projected just a little too hard onto his own Wuxian/Reader fanfiction and suffered the inevitable consequences as a result. And that won’t even be the worst part, because after this, it’s only natural that Wuxian will hate him. He’ll feel disturbed and used. He’ll never trust his fans again, and it will be all Lan Zhan’s fault.
But when Lan Zhan looks closely, he can see that Wuxian’s eyes are alight with something akin to wonder and... delight. There’s a small curve to his lips, a subtle pinkness to his cheeks. Quiet laughter bubbles up from within his throat. So maybe, Lan Zhan decides, things won’t turn out so badly after all. Maybe Wuxian genuinely is enjoying this. Lan Zhan flushes crimson at the thought, and then takes a moment to be grateful for the fact that at least he’s never published a story containing anything raunchier than a kiss. That really would have been too much.
“Ah, this really is so sweet,” Wuxian says. He bites at his lip, almost as if he’s trying to contain another bout of laughter, before finally placing the iPad down onto the table in front of him. “My dear Suibian, why didn’t you tell me how talented you all are?”
“You didn’t know before today that your fans make content such as this?” the interviewer asks. Lan Zhan focuses back on his phone just in time to see Wuxian shake his head.
“I hadn’t thought about it too much, if I’m honest.” He stares again into the camera, barely able to contain his grin. “But really, you’re too good! Hanguang-Jun, if you’re seeing this, listen to me very clearly! You’re too good!”
Oh, Hanguang-Jun is listening, alright. He isn’t sure whether to cry because Wuxian – the actual Wuxian – has read his writing, or to rejoice at the knowledge that he liked it.
“Well, I’m sure your Hanguang-Jun is happy to hear that,” the interviewer says with a laugh. “Unfortunately, though, that’s all we have time for today. Please say one last message to Suibian.”
Lan Zhan barely hears Wuxian’s next words, nor does he pay much attention when the interview officially ends. Even after the stream cuts off and his screen fades to black, he sits there in a daze. His ears are ringing, and he can feel his heart thumping in his throat.
Your Hanguang-Jun, the interviewer had said, as if Lan Zhan was somehow Wuxian’s, and Wuxian was his. It’s unreasonable, Lan Zhan knows, to get so caught up on this. He is being, not for the first time, extremely delusional. But. Your Hanguang-Jun.. As if it was an irrefutable fact. As if everyone knew the claim Wuxian had over him, yet nobody seemed to mind. As if it was natural. As if it wasn’t really ridiculous at all.
The thought consumes him. Wraps securely around his heart and squeezes. He burns with it.
There’s nothing more that can be done for him. He slams his laptop shut, retreats to the couch, and spends the next indeterminable number of hours staring at his ceiling. He’ll deal with this in the morning.
Upon waking, Lan Zhan is greeted with a stiff neck and a dry mouth. He stretches as gently as he can, then blindly feels around in his kitchen for a glass. He fills it with water before chugging the entire thing. Finally, he takes a deep breath and blinks at his surroundings.
It’s morning. There’s no doubt about that. The interview last night had lasted for around an hour, and after that, time had felt viscous and sticky. He thinks he must have dozed off somewhere close to midnight, which is considerably later than he’d usually prefer to sleep.
He can’t remember where he put his phone, so he stumbles over to his dining table instead. It only takes a few seconds for him to boot up his laptop again, his recent chapter flicking to life on his screen. He’d been so close to finishing it before disaster struck last night. He silently berates himself for letting his emotions interfere with his work.
There’s a quiet ping! from his laptop speakers, indicating a new email. Lan Zhan never signs up to receive promotional emails, nor does he regularly converse with people via email. There’s only two things he’s used his email for in the last few years: signing up to twitter, and creating his Archive Of Our Own account. Instinctively, he bypasses checking the email directly and pulls up his Favourites folder, clicking on his Archive Of Our Own profile.
As soon as it loads, his eyes go wide. Ever since he first created the account, he’s always made sure to clear out his inbox as regularly as possible. Never has he seen it as full as it is now. His pulse races in his ears as he scrolls down to his recent works, and as if he has tunnel vision, Bu Wang comes into focus.
There are hundreds of new comments on it. Lan Zhan is taken aback for a moment; his writing has always been considerably well-received, and he’s never been disappointed with the number of comments and kudos he’s acquired. But this is something else entirely. He suddenly feels bared open for everyone to see, as if someone has drawn a trail leading directly to him and the entire internet has chosen to follow it.
He clicks on the story and scrolls down to the very bottom where the comments are located, then sifts through them until he finds the ones he hasn’t yet read. The first few are general compliments about the story itself, and could have been added at any time over the past week. The remaining ones, on the other hand, have clearly been left following last night’s interview.
wuxiansflute
congratulations hanguang-jun!!!
MyWeiOrTheHighway
op tell us your secrets
qujinchenqing
you really won w this one
wuxianwithluv
HANGUANG-JUN YOU’RE SO LUCKY WTF
I_Am_Suibian
how to be u???? oh my god
And above the rest, a single comment from new user TheRealWuxianIPromise:
thank you for writing this! I’m so honoured. you have real talent, hanguang-jun. how can I contact you?
Contact. If this account is legitimate, then that means that Wuxian wants to contact him. Wei Ying wants to contact him?
Lan Zhan takes a long, deep, steadying breath and hides Chrome. Retrieves it again. Hides it. Retrieves it, rereads the comment from TheRealWuxianIPromise, then closes the window for good. It doesn’t do much to stop the frantic beating of his heart.
Next, he locates his phone and types out a desperate message to Luo Qingyang.
You
help. please. now.
His reply arrives within mere seconds.
MianMian
are you broken?
what’s going on?
did your bf release his new song? is that why you’re suddenly in desperate need of my help?
Lan Zhan whines pitifully and opens up Chrome again, clicking on the most recent link in his search history. With the comment from Wuxian staring back at him from the screen once more, he snaps a picture of it with his phone and sends it to Luo Qingyang.
You
[Image attached.]
MianMian
wait
that’s him????
he… actually saw your fic? and commented on it?
lan zhan what the fuck
idk whether to be happy for you or pity you
You
what do I do?
MianMian
reply to him??? obviously???
he wants to contact u
answer his question, lan zhan
You
I can’t just do that!!!!!
Lan Zhan realises how discomposed he must seem in his current predicament. He can’t quite find it in himself to care. He’s always valued Luo Qingyang’s opinions of him, considering her status as one of his closest (and only) friends, but right now he feels too flustered to worry about what she must be thinking.
MianMian
sure u can, it’s easy
watch
You
mianmian?
mianmian.
wdym by ‘watch’?
hello?
mianmian please
MianMian
you’ll thank me later
Lan Zhan frowns. He sends off a few more replies in quick succession, but they all go unanswered. Frustrated, he places his phone down on the table and focuses again on the comments section of Bu Wang, only to be met with the appearance of a new comment.
Anonymous, replying to TheRealWuxianIPromise
his twitter handle is @lanlanzhanzhan. have fun <3
“Fuck,” Lan Zhan says, with feeling. Fucking MianMian.
Prolonging the inevitable, it seems, is his best option. He closes Chrome again, switches his phone to silent, then turns the device off entirely for good measure. Next, he takes his time making himself the perfect pot of green tea with the leaves Lan Huan bought him last week, and sets it down on the table beside his laptop. He stares blankly for a moment at his chapter before setting to work on adding the final touches.
In the end, he makes it until lunchtime before he gives in. An honorable effort, if he does say so himself. He’s already finished editing his chapter (finally) and published it, being careful all the while not to check his comments nor even glance at Bu Wang. But the boredom and, he’ll admit, the anticipation gets the best of him.
It’s been a few days since he last checked his twitter account, so he isn’t surprised to be greeted with a large number of notifications and unread messages when he switches on his phone and taps open the app. He deals with the notifications first, a mixture of likes and retweets and comments, only half of which he actually deems it necessary to reply to.
When he eventually does decide to tackle his unanswered messages, his heart is rabbiting in his chest. The first few unopened conversations seem innocent enough; they’re all from accounts he's spoken to before already. Some ask him questions about his writing, others simply say hi, and one in particular requests a like on their pinned tweet. Lan Zhan huffs and shoves any thought of those messages to the back of his mind for later, before finally clicking into his message requests.
There’s a singular message waiting for him there, lit up blue and bold. Lan Zhan immediately chokes on air, turning his phone face-down for just a moment so that he doesn’t have to deal with this for a little longer. He almost hopes that when he turns his phone back to face him again, the message will be gone.
It is not. A single message request from @wuxian_twt – complete with the little blue verification tick – continues to stare back at him when he looks again at his phone.
Maybe this entire thing is a fever dream. Maybe the tea leaves his brother bought him were laced with something. Because surely he is imagining this; surely he cannot have received a message from the man he’s been in love with from afar for five years. Surely the Wuxian has not sent him a message.
Alas, the message still does not disappear. Lan Zhan even dares to pinch himself, which only results in a sore arm. He doesn’t wake up. Nobody jumps up from behind his couch with a camera to shout, “Gotcha!"
So, this is real, then. Wuxian read his fanfiction, then he commented on the aforementioned fanfiction, and now he is privately messaging Lan Zhan on twitter. This is fine. It’s great. Lan Zhan can cope with this. He opens the message.
Wuxian
hello!
Lan Zhan can not cope with this.
Wuxian
I hope I have the right account, I decided to trust the anonymous user who replied to my comment on your story!
I also hope u don’t mind me messaging u like this
if u feel uncomfortable pls tell me to fuck off, I promise I’ll listen
It takes a while for Lan Zhan to breathe normally again, but once he’s finally stopped feeling like his lungs are about to collapse, he allows himself to compose a response. He spends a few minutes typing, then deleting the message, then typing, then deleting everything again. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing so soon – doesn’t want to scare Wuxian off, though he suspects he’s already done that with his fanfiction. After a few minutes of frustrated typing, he throws caution to the wind and hits send before he can second-guess himself again.
You
hello. I do not feel uncomfortable. do not worry
He isn’t expecting a reply right away. Wuxian is probably extremely busy, after all. But to his surprise, the bubble indicating that Wuxian is typing appears before he has a chance to exit the conversation. A minute later, a new batch of messages roll on in.
Wuxian
oh ok!!!! that’s good then
so uh
hanguang-jun
I’m going to be frank with you
Oh, fuck. This is it then. Wuxian will tell Lan Zhan that his story made him feel uncomfortable. Possibly, he’ll even tell Lan Zhan to brace for a lawsuit. Five years of supporting Wuxian – of loving him – will tumble down the drain, and Lan Zhan will be left with nothing but regret. He should’ve known that nothing good would come out of this.
Wuxian
I’d quite like to meet you. I know that’s extremely forward of me, and u can say no!!!!
but i would rly love to meet the person behind that story
so what do u say? are u free later today?
Suddenly feeling queasy, Lan Zhan collapses onto the couch before he has the chance to faint. Wuxian can’t seriously want to meet him… can he? He decides to settle on something neutral in response, uncertain of where the conversation is about to lead him.
You
I am free
Wuxian
great!!
I’ll be in this park at around 5:
[Location attached.]
I hope that’s not too far from u??
Lan Zhan quickly taps the link Wuxian has sent him and is relieved to recognise the park immediately. It’s only fifteen minutes away from his apartment by bus. An hour, roughly, if he decides to walk. Before he can doubt himself, he sends another reply.
You
I will be there
Wuxian
cool!!
I’ll wait for u by the lake :>
I can’t wait to see you
Dazed, Lan Zhan nods and places his phone down. He spends a surprisingly short amount of time cradling his head in his hands, all things considered, before standing and gathering his belongings. He still has a few hours to kill before five p.m. rolls around again. Maybe a long walk in the afternoon sun will do him some good.
He spends more time than he’d prefer during his impromptu walk gnawing at his lower lip and running through as many negative outcomes of this scenario as he can think of, but eventually he arrives at the park where Wuxian will be waiting as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky. It isn’t too busy during this time of day, when most families are preparing themselves to spend a meal together and almost every commuter has made it home already. It makes it easy for Lan Zhan to weave along the open paths of the park until he reaches a small lake at the centre, surrounded by picnic tables.
There’s a man dressed in black waiting by one such table, and Lan Zhan approaches him with only a little caution. He clears his throat to get the man’s attention. Surprised, the man surveys his appearance before a small frown appears at his lips.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
Lan Zhan takes a chance and says, “Hanguang-Jun.”
The man’s face relaxes only slightly, and he nods. Then he points to a spot a little closer to the lake and says, “He’s waiting for you.”
Lan Zhan spots Wuxian from afar; the man is sitting on a bench under the shade of a tree close to the lake’s edge, illuminated by rays of sun that worm their way through the gaps between leaves and cast a speckled glow over his skin. In all the years that Lan Zhan has given his all in support of Wuxian, this is the first time he’s ever seen him without a screen separating them. In real life, he’s even more beautiful than Lan Zhan could ever have imagined. He never thought he’d say it, but the fact is undeniable now – cameras just do not do Wuxian justice.
It hits Lan Zhan then, like a ton of bricks, that he is about to meet Wuxian. He is about to walk over to that bench, take a seat beside the love of his life, and talk to him. He feels a sudden wave of nausea in his gut.
But the bodyguard (is that what he is?) behind him clears his throat and taps at the watch on his wrist, and Lan Zhan knows that it’s now or never. He takes a deep breath and begins making his way across the grass.
Only when he’s a few paces away from the bench does Wuxian finally glance up and spot him. His eyes widen, and Lan Zhan sees his gaze quickly dart back to the bodyguard Lan Zhan has just left behind.
“Um,” Wuxian says dumbly, returning to staring wide-eyed up at Lan Zhan. “Hello?”
“Hello,” Lan Zhan repeats. He suppresses a wince at how awkward he must look and sound right now. Meeting the man you’ve adored and idolised for years will do that to you.
There’s a pregnant pause. Wuxian glances at their surroundings with a furrowed brow, then clears his throat and laughs a little awkwardly.
“Uh, sorry, you aren’t really meant to be here. I’m meant to be meeting someone pretty soon, but I guess… I can give you an autograph if you’d like.”
He smiles and retrieves a conveniently placed pen from his jacket pocket. Lan Zhan huffs, partly out of frustration but mostly out of fond amusement.
“Hanguang-Jun,” he says, to which Wuxian jerks in his seat. “Is that who you’re waiting for?”
Wuxian opens his mouth as if to speak, then slams it shut again. He squints up at Lan Zhan, assessing him for a long moment. Finally, he barks out a startled laugh.
“Hang on,” Wuxian says, shaking his head. He heaves a shuddering breath before pointing an accusing finger at Lan Zhan. “You’re Hanguang-Jun?”
Feeling somewhat affronted, Lan Zhan frowns. “Is that so hard to believe?”
Wuxian gapes at him. After a lengthy pause, he quietly mutters, “No, I suppose it isn’t. I just wasn’t expecting…”
He trails off with a redness to his cheeks that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. His gaze travels down Lan Zhan’s chest, his legs, then back up again to his face. The attention makes Lan Zhan squirm.
“What weren’t you expecting?” he forces himself to ask.
Wuxian laughs and waves him off. “Never mind, never mind. It wasn’t important. Please, sit down.”
Lan Zhan barely hesitates before sliding into the offered seat. The bench is the slightest bit too small, and though he tries his best not to invade too much of Wuxian’s space, their arms still brush together in the cramped space.
“Am I right to presume that Hanguang-Jun isn’t your real name?” Wuxian asks him.
“Yes. My name is Lan Zhan.” He mentally gives himself a pat on the back for introducing himself properly without stuttering or, worse, choking.
“Lan Zhan,” Wuxian repeats, smiling wide. “That’s a nice name. It suits you.”
Lan Zhan isn’t quite sure what Wuxian means by that, but it makes him rather flustered, regardless. He tries to think of something suitable to say, but he’s much too embarrassed to focus. But he knows he needs to say something.
“Wuxian–”
“Please,” Wuxian says, laying a hand over Lan Zhan’s arm. “Call me Wei Ying.”
Lan Zhan shivers at the touch and nods. Somehow, despite every nerve in his body having been set alight in the last few seconds, he manages to say, as neutral as possible, “Okay. Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying smiles. “Yes?”
“Why did you ask to meet me?”
Wei Ying makes a startled sound, and it’s so adorable that Lan Zhan kind of wants to scream. Then he pouts and mumbles, “What, you thought I wouldn’t want to meet the person who described me so beautifully? Lan Zhan, you wound me. I admire you, you know. Why wouldn’t I want to meet you?”
A few seconds pass before Lan Zhan is able to speak again, for the shock from hearing Wei Ying’s words has left him momentarily speechless. “You admire me? Why?”
“Why? Because you’re amazing, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He grins and bumps his shoulder into Lan Zhan’s. “You have such a compelling way of story-telling, you know. Your words are beautiful.”
“Really?” Lan Zhan can’t help but ask quietly. He receives an enthusiastic nod in return.
“Lan Zhan, let me tell you something,” Wei Ying continues, lifting one knee higher onto the bench so that he can face Lan Zhan. The movement brings his knee flush with Lan Zhan’s thigh, and Lan Zhan’s hands coil into fists in his pockets as he tries not to flinch. He wonders if Wei Ying is always so comfortable being this close to people he’s just met, and then attempts to ignore the glimmer of hope he feels at the prospect of Wei Ying only feeling this comfortable with him. Of course, that wouldn’t be possible. He shouldn’t be so presumptuous, nor should he further fuel his own delusions. Alas, he cannot help but to wonder.
“When that interviewer told me to read your story, I was so nervous,” Wei Ying tells him. “I worried that the author of the story would feel embarrassed, first and foremost - maybe you did. Maybe you still do. If so, I sincerely apologise for that. I never wanted to put you in such an awkward position.
“Meanwhile, another part of me also worried that the story itself could be problematic. What if somebody interpreted it in the wrong way and used it against my dear Suibian? I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing my fans get a bad rep. I can handle anything people throw at me usually, but to see my fans be negatively affected by something…” He trails off, staring unblinkingly down at the grass at their feet. Then he shakes his head and dons a smile once more. “But anyway, once I started reading, your words immediately put me at ease. All those worries just melted away. That’s what your writing is: comforting, easy. Lan Zhan, I couldn’t stop thinking about your story. Even after the interview, I searched for it myself and read the entire thing.”
This time, Lan Zhan cannot hide his sudden flinch at Wei Ying’s last words. He stares very intensely at his shoes and mutters, “Oh.”
The hope in his chest expands outwards. He tries so desperately to keep it hidden within himself, but he knows it threatens to spill over his skin. He worries that Wei Ying can already see its glow, but he makes no comment on the subject if he does. Instead, he leans in closer and pouts.
“Ah, Lan Zhan. You aren’t much of a talker, are you?” He receives a shake of the head in place of an answer, to which he breathes a laugh through his nose. “Well, that’s okay. Just… give me something to work with, here.”
Lan Zhan raises a brow and finally gathers the courage to speak again. “Something to work with?”
“Well, I just practically poured my heart out to you,” Wei Ying says, before his eyes go wide and he slaps a hand over his mouth. He shakes his head and laughs. “I mean! Well, surely you know what I mean. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you and– Lan Zhan, please just say something.”
“What would you like me to say?” Lan Zhan asks. Wei Ying groans.
“Anything,” he says, tapping his fingertips relentlessly on the bench between their legs. “Are you embarrassed? Angry? Do you want me to pretend that this never happened? Though, Lan Zhan, I’m not sure that I would be able to do that.”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. He takes a chance by laying his own hand over Wei Ying’s on the bench, stilling its movement. “It’s okay. You won’t have to. I was a little embarrassed, at first, but now… I’m flattered. And happy.”
“Happy,” Wei Ying repeats, sounding as though his mind is elsewhere. Lan Zhan notices that he’s staring at the point where their hands touch, and he quickly pulls his own hand away.
“Of course,” he says. “Your opinion matters most to me. To have you sincerely compliment my writing abilities… to have you say that you admire me. Wei Ying, of course I am happy.”
Neither of them speak for a few excruciatingly long minutes, in which Lan Zhan worries he’s fucked everything up, somehow. Maybe he was too honest, too sincere. Maybe he shouldn’t have touched Wei Ying. Maybe he should’ve left when he still had the chance, long before he sat down and signed himself up for humiliation and inevitable rejection.
But then Wei Ying finally smiles again and says, “Good. That’s good, Lan Zhan. I’m glad.”
And his hand, which has been lying motionlessly atop the bench ever since Lan Zhan let go of it, edges closer. This time, after some silent prompting and a whole lot of unnecessary hesitance, they meet in the middle. Their pinkies loop around each other, cracking the glass case of Lan Zhan’s chest wide open to let everything spill out into the air. He smiles, and when he glances up at Wei Ying, he’s already smiling right back.
Lan Zhan opens his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by someone clearing their throat from beside the bench. Both he and Wei Ying glance up to see Wei Ying’s bodyguard lingering nearby, gesturing pointedly at his watch.
“Shit,” Wei Ying whispers beneath his breath, before turning to shoot Lan Zhan an apologetic look. “I guess we have to cut today short. Sorry.”
Lan Zhan shakes his head, unable to offer much more in reassurance. Then they both stand and face each other, somehow more awkward than before. Maybe it’s the presence of the bodyguard that has thrown their balance off, or maybe it’s just the general tension of goodbyes.
Because that’s what this is: a goodbye. This was never meant to last, was never meant to mean anything. It was merely a brief meeting in the park at sundown. Nothing more, nothing less.
But then:
“I’d like to meet you again, if that’s okay with you. And, uh, your number. I’d like your number,” Wei Ying says. He clears his throat and watches Lan Zhan expectantly. When Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, however, Wei Ying’s eyes widen and he quickly adds: “Please don’t feel obliged to say yes! We can act like I never asked, if that’s what you’d prefer.”
This is what finally snaps Lan Zhan out of his daze, and he shakes his head frantically. “We will do no such thing. I will give you my number.”
Wei Ying releases a startled laugh. “Oh! Great, okay. Good.”
It’s surprisingly easy to swap numbers with a celebrity, Lan Zhan discovers. He isn’t really sure what he should've been expecting, but Wei Ying just hands him his phone like any person would and eagerly waits as Lan Zhan adds his number to Wei Ying’s contact list. It’s all over in a matter of seconds, and as Wei Ying returns his phone to his pocket, he glows with what Lan Zhan would like to believe is relief and happiness.
“So, I guess I’ll text you? Or call you. What would you prefer?”
“Texting is fine,” Lan Zhan squeaks, because Wei Ying is offering to text him. Wei Ying has his number. This is the best day of Lan Zhan’s life.
Wei Ying nods. “Great. I’ll do that.” He pauses, then adds, quieter: “Thank you for meeting with me today, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing suddenly. If anyone should be the one expressing their gratitude, it’s him. Instead, he simply bows his head and says, “It was my pleasure. Goodbye, Wei Ying.”
“Goodbye,” Wei Ying says, giving him a small wave. Then he turns his back to Lan Zhan and hurries off to meet his bodyguard, a visible spring in his step as he goes.
Despite the stress and uncertainty that the last few hours have brought Lan Zhan, he finds himself smiling now. He spends the next few moments memorising every detail of Wei Ying’s retreating back, before he finally turns around and leaves the park, feeling lighter than possibly ever before.
Once he’s safely arrived home an hour later, Lan Zhan checks his phone for any notifications he’d missed during the long walk back from the park. Waiting for him is a message from an unknown number:
Unknown
make sure to save my number, lan zhan!!!
I hope to see you again soon
maybe for coffee? I’ll text you the details if u want
Lan Zhan fixes his gaze on the ceiling and focuses on breathing for a few moments. Then he saves the unknown number into his phone under the contact name Wei Ying ❤️ before finally responding to the messages.
You
I would like that, wei ying
Then, Lan Zhan does what anyone else in his situation would do. He tosses his phone onto the floor, buries his face in one of his couch cushions, and screams.