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“Dance with me, Lan Zhan!”
“—What?”
“You heard me. C’mon, get up, I love this song! And you said it was my turn to choose what we did anyway, and now I choose dancing. So get up!”
“I— do not know. How. Dancing, I—“
“Come on , Lan Zhan. It’s fun, I promise! I’ll show you how and everything. I promise it won’t be like convocation. And I’m a pretty bad dancer, so I promise I won’t judge you if you suck. Not that you could suck at anything, haha, sorry… anyway, dance with me?”
“...Mn.”
✵
It is Friday night once again, and of course that means Wei Ying is with Lan Zhan. It’s March now, and spring break starts tomorrow, and that means he won’t see Lan Zhan for a whole week, as he returns home at his uncle’s request and Wei Ying remains on campus to avoid the wrath of Madame Yu.
They lay on top of Lan Zhan’s bed, resting with closed eyes, while Wei Ying’s “won’t startle Lan Zhan” playlist shuffles through his shitty phone speaker. A fairly recent development, laying-platonically-in-bed-together had begun when Wei Ying fell asleep on top of the aforementioned bed waiting for Lan Zhan to return to his room one such Friday past. Wei Ying had awakened from his accidental nap to find Lan Zhan lying down next to him, not touching him, just there with his book in hand, looking content.
Wei Ying, in his shock, had merely basked in the simplicity of the moment. And without bothering to discuss what it meant, they continued to let it happen whenever they found the time for a few quiet hours together.
He’s always so grateful for those hours, for the reprieve from all the stressors of student life, offered willingly by his usually reserved (best?) friend. And he’s about to be deprived of this for the amount of time it took for an immortal to create the entire earth.
So Wei Ying doesn’t really feel too bad about being extra pushy tonight; after all, he has to get his fill of the other boy’s company before they are cruelly wrenched apart during what’s supposed to be a relaxing, fun-filled time in his life.
Gods, he’ll miss him so much. It’s alright. He knows Lan Zhan is looking forward to seeing his bunnies, and has promised to send Wei Ying pictures. So there’s something to look forward to! Maybe he’ll wrangle a few sweet, close-lipped selfies out of the situation. That would make the time spent apart worth it, he thinks.
Anything to witness the Lan Zhan he knows is hiding under that carefully cultivated shell of reticence. The Lan Zhan who has a single sparkly music note stuck carefully to his laptop (his ge got it for him), and forget-me-nots growing on his windowsill (they match the color of his favorite sweater), and opinions about brands of tea (‘ Lipton from the campus cafe is not worth your money, Wei Ying. I can brew real tea if you would like,’ ).
He wants to know Lan Zhan, and he suspects Lan Zhan wants to be known in return, if his willingness to put up with Wei Ying’s bullshit is any indication.
He is aware of his own shortcomings as a (best?) friend, and how brash he can be. He is aware of all the parts of himself Lan Zhan probably finds unsatisfactory and tolerates anyway, displaying his own innate goodness all the while.
It’s not like he’s Lan Zhan’s only friend; Wei Ying has of course met some of Lan Zhan’s classmates and orchestra acquaintances before. But they are all classy, tastefully artistic people— people Lan Zhan could bring back to his home without embarrassment, boys Lan Zhan could date without embarrassment.
Wei Ying doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, and he knows it. But here, here in Lan Zhan’s bedroom, tucked away into a cozy corner of the world that seems to have been made just for them, it doesn’t matter all that much. Here is proof that Lan Zhan is choosing to spend time with him, and not just meeting him begrudgingly in the library to work on a group project or something equally as meaningless.
Lan Zhan… maybe enjoys his company as much as he enjoys Lan Zhan’s. Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan has too much self-respect to force himself to endure company he doesn’t really want.
But anyway. Back to Wei Ying’s pushiness. A dance.
He really does love this song, and he loves dancing too, even if all he can usually manage is the messy five-shots-in kind at dorm parties. He bets Lan Zhan would be good at graceful, choreographed styles of dancing that require high levels of bodily control and flexibility. But Wei Ying can’t give him that; Wei Ying can only offer his hand, a little tug off the bed, and the promise of non-judgment.
The old wooden floor creaks as he pulls them to the center of it. He laughs as he sees Lan Zhan looking back at him expectantly, and his sock feet curl into Lan Zhan’s pretty throw rug. Like after so many of his impulsive decisions, he is left unsure of where to go next. He turns the volume of his phone all the way up and tosses it back on the bed.
And like so many other times, he turns to Lan Zhan for reassurance, to regain his sense of composure. But Lan Zhan has draped his cardigan gently over the desk chair, and his hair is falling over one shoulder, and he’s blinking steadily, and he doesn’t look composed at all. He looks nervous. So there goes that plan.
“Aiyah, don’t worry!” He says, and it’s for both Lan Zhan and himself, really. “Have I ever made you do something you really hated? …..don’t answer that.” He doubts Lan Zhan will forget the spiked punch incident anytime soon.
Lan Zhan looks down and to the side, pursing his lips ever-so-slightly.
“I trust Wei Ying does not want a repeat of the spiked punch incident,” is all he says. Gods, they’re so in sync with each other. Wei Ying loves that, even if the specifics of that shared memory are less than pleasant. (He’d been so stupid.) But now he gets to test how physically in sync they can be with each other too… Not in a dirty way! Just bodies swaying to a rhythm. That’s all he wants. That’s all. He takes Lan Zhan’s hands.
“Just follow me, okay?” He speaks quietly, unobtrusively, as if to make up for the way he’s just invaded Lan Zhan’s personal space without so much as a glance. To be honest, he isn’t really sure how to dance with other people, except when he’s close enough to feel their bodies pressed against his and their panting breaths against his cheek. He can’t remember why he thought this was a good idea. He’ll have to improvise.
Okay, well, let’s just sway, he thinks. That’s all dancing is, isn’t it? Complicated swaying? He’ll have to ask his shijie, she knows about these things. For now, he goes with yes.
“You have to move your hips, Lan Zhan.” A tight-lipped sigh.
“I am trying.” He is; he looks so cute, concentrating intently upon his movements. He isn’t quite swaying; he hasn’t exactly achieved the looseness of limbs required for that. But he is trying very hard to match Wei Ying move for move.
Oh, Lan Zhan. You always do.
“Well you can’t dance if your joints look like they need WD 40, Lan Zhan!” At that he just looks confused, and duh. He doubts Lan Zhan’s ever greased a hinge in his life. So that makes sense.
“Um…. oh! I have an idea.” That’s all the warning Lan Zhan gets before Wei Ying lets go of one hand and twirls him around. It’s fast, giving him no time to think about such things as the placement of his limbs or the way his hips move. It just happens, and then it’s over, and Lan Zhan looks significantly less in control of himself.
Well, good.
“And that’s how it’s done. Good job, Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan looks a little miffed at that, like he can’t believe Wei Ying would throw his world off its carefully constructed axis so brazenly. It’s the kind of chaos Wei Ying takes with him everywhere though. Lan Zhan knew what he was getting himself into when he agreed to this. Now that they’ve crossed that bridge, it only seems appropriate to get a little more creative.
So he pushes, and pulls, and twirls himself around Lan Zhan’s arm and then lets them both settle into a rhythm, hips moving back and forth and hands still ( still! ) clasped. Wei Ying is smiling what shijie and Jiang Cheng call his bunny-toothed smile, all teeth and unfettered joy, as he takes in the barely-there pinkness of Lan Zhan’s cheeks and nose.
Wei Ying knows their few minutes of spinning and swaying couldn’t have winded his gloriously in-shape best friend to blushing on its own. It must be, then, that he is also overwhelmed by this new way in which they have become close.
Is his heart pounding, Wei Ying wonders, is his spine tingling the way Wei Ying’s is? He cannot dwell on such thoughts without giving in to the urge to shove himself even closer and find out. Perhaps this dancing is becoming too much a danger to Lan Zhan’s personal boundaries.
Ha.
As if this wasn’t already proof of Wei Ying’s greedy shamelessness. Would Lan Zhan even let himself be swung around his own dorm room by anyone else? Another question best left unanswered. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, it really doesn’t, except that it does, it matters when Lan Zhan deserves to be treated with respect and care. If these years spent at university have created a new openness in him, a willingness to expose the messy parts of himself along with the perfect parts, then that is one thing.
But what Wei Ying doesn’t want is for Lan Zhan to simply go along with his whims because he feels like he has no other option. Because he thinks Wei Ying is only willing to give him help with his philosophy assignments or opinions on his compositions if he gives Wei Ying free reign in the rest of their relationship.
And even that is an arrogant thought to have, the thought that Lan Zhan relies on Wei Ying enough to compromise his own boundaries for him. It is, quite frankly, inconceivable. He needs to snap out of it. Like, right now, if he wants to not spiral out of control. The easiest way to do that, he already knows, is by teasing.
“Are you having fun, Lan Zhan? You’re doing so well, I think you’d make company auditions no problem!”
“Hm. Really?” He looks like he’s genuinely considering the truth of Wei Ying’s words, the dear. Of course he knows Wei Ying is teasing him, but more and more often, Lan Zhan has been taking what Wei Ying says, whether he means it or not, and just rolling with it. Maybe he thinks there’s simply no hope for Wei Ying and he might as well indulge him while he can. That seems like a pretty likely assessment for Lan Zhan, or pretty much anyone, to make of him. He’s almost positive that’s why Uncle Jiang shows him so much kindness while ruling his brother with an iron fist.
“Mhm! Here, let’s try something.” He positions them the way his shijie had shown him, west-coast swing style. Hooking Lan Zhan’s fingers with two of his own, they tighten together incrementally, just the very tips of themselves.
Yanli’s given him a few lessons and they’ve always ended in giggles, Wei Ying twirling his wonderful jiejie around in increasingly ridiculous manners while she laughed and kept up, easily and with skill, despite his own disastrous abilities.
He’s not sure Lan Zhan will be able to make par with Jiang Yanli, but he’s hoping for some of the laughter. Or just a smile? That would be good too.
He manages to guide Lan Zhan through two passes and a spin on instinct alone, and though the song is a tad fast for the rhythm of their movements, he can tell Lan Zhan has picked up that Wei Ying is guiding him with (somewhat) knowledgeable movements. He seems to grow pliant, as if surrendering the very last of his hesitation, daring Wei Ying to take control.
Yes, Wei Ying, I trust you.
That Wei Ying should be so lucky.
“...You know how to swing dance.” Lan Zhan both asks and asserts in the same sentence, and he’s recognized the pattern! Wei Ying finds himself delighted by this revelation.
“Yeah! Shijie taught me some! She’s sooo good, Lan Zhan, she’s like a pro. But I can keep up with some of her routines!”
“Jiang Yanli is very skilled,” Lan Zhan agrees, because he’s awesome like that. And because he goes to her showcase performances with Wei Ying, and therefore has in fact seen her dance before. Duh.
They’ve been doing simple sugar pushes back and forth across the room, Lan Zhan picking up the pattern of their feet quickly. A thought occurs to Wei Ying.
“Wait, how’d you know it was swing?” he demands on their next step-step-triple step .
“Jiang Yanli,” is all he gets out of Lan Zhan, like Wei Ying should’ve known this before he even asked. Ugh. Wei Ying already knows Lan Zhan has the kind of brain that can just record and store any sort of information indefinitely, able to be recalled at a moment’s notice, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t thrown for a momentary loop whenever Lan Zhan actually demonstrates this ability.
Lan Zhan has watched his (best?) friend’s older sister perform swing dance maybe three times in his whole life and can recognize the pattern of its steps as soon as Wei Ying drags him onto a makeshift dance floor. What the fuck.
Then, because Wei Ying is nothing if not an ambitious asshole and still sort of flustered, he decides they’re going to try a whip. It will be funny, if not fun, and he wants to see just how far Lan Zhan and he can actually get with this thing.
“We’re gonna try a whip!” He declares, and watches Lan Zhan’s eyes widen. Just a bit. Serves him right. He probably doesn’t even know what a whip is, but it totally doesn’t sound simple.
Your move, Lan Zhan.
And then Lan Zhan simply hooks his fingers even tighter and nods.
Wei Ying would like to reiterate, What. The. Fuck.
“What the fuck, Lan Zhan, you can’t just agree to everything I say.”
“Should I disagree with you, then?”
“Yes! I mean— no, but like, sometimes? I don’t know, you didn’t seem totally into this idea and now you’re just, going along with it. Aren’t there, like, boundaries I shouldn’t cross?”
“You haven’t crossed any boundaries, Wei Ying. How do you do a whip?”
Lan Wangji, ah, Lan Wangji— remembering-stuff extraordinaire, expert ender of conversations. Wei Ying really can’t deal with him anymore.
“It’s the same steps but a different foot pattern. Just follow my lead, okay?”
Teaching someone else actual steps proves to be much more difficult than simple passes and twirls, which are pretty intuitive even for a beginner. The leader and follower each have different foot and arm placements, and Wei Ying has to show Lan Zhan where his feet go while attempting to keep his own placement and it’s all a little frustrating.
Lan Zhan is a great student, though, and lets Wei Ying maneuver him all over the place. He doesn’t even flinch when Wei Ying places a hand on his back, although Wei Ying’s brain definitely short-circuits. He’s so warm and the curve of his spine is so perfect, and what would Lan Zhan even say if he finds out what Wei Ying is thinking, gods, that’s so creepy, snap out of it, Wei Ying, you’re being gross.
He makes up for his own unworthy thoughts by accidentally whipping Lan Zhan with too much force and sending them both stumbling a bit, thereby banishing all impurities from his mind as he focuses on catching Lan Zhan before he pulls them both to the ground.
“Wow, Lan Zhan, you pack a lot of force in your whip, ahahaha!” He giggles, knowing full well that his ‘little shit’ act is meant more to deflect than to actually tease Lan Zhan.
Although Lan Zhan does indulge Wei Ying’s whims on a regular basis (at least, as of late), he has never been one to actually fall for this particular brand of less-than-genuine teasing. “Don’t push me so hard, next time,” he glares.
“You got it, Lan Zhan….” he gulps, and then starts over, careful this time.
Step-step , he pulls Lan Zhan to him. A hand on his shoulder, his own on Lan Zhan’s back.
One, two, three. They’re facing each other now.
Pivot, back. Gentle pressure on Lan Zhan’s spine, and he whips them around.
Six, seven, eight. It’s over.
Wei Ying’s next thought is to laugh and then try it again, this time with a little more vigor, just because they did it! They stuck together and they accomplished something, the two of them; they did it together and nobody can take this away from them. Not spring break, not the other pretty boy Lan Zhan sometimes hangs out with, not even the last notes of the song they had danced to hanging sunnily in the air.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…” he breathes between the erratic huffs of his laughter. “Do you think the audience liked it? Think we’ll get a standing ovation? I’m sure the judges will only take off a few points for the stumble..”
Lan Zhan is watching him steadily, not smiling but with a brightness in his eyes that Wei Ying finds absolutely devastating. “That depends. Is Jiang Yanli one of the judges?”
This man. How can he be so hilariously sincere. All the time. Wei Ying has some questions.
As it is, the fraying rope of his self-control is pulling dangerously taut and he is untangling their hands, because Lan Zhan still hasn’t let go. He looks down at the floor, at the scant space left between them. He looks up at Lan Zhan’s precious face, and then he can’t look anywhere at all because he’s buried his own face into the soft hair that surrounds him as he tugs Lan Zhan into his arms.
He thinks that if you share this with someone, this crazy ridiculous thing where you flail your limbs around to music and shuffle your feet clumsily and spin around dizzily and laugh at yourself all the while, then maybe you can share everything else too.
Everything with Lan Zhan has never felt closer than it does right now. None of the poorly conceived, guilt-ridden fantasies he’s ever indulged himself in have filled him with such glee. His heart is pounding and it’s not from fear. Sweet, syrupy courage pulses through his veins. He inhales deeply, and the soles of his feet are planted firmly on the floor. Steady.
The orchid-scent of Lan Zhan’s shampoo surrounds him and he can’t help it, he really can’t, he’s placing a sweet kiss in Lan Zhan’s hair before the courage can be chased out by anything else. It’s a tiny thing and barely recognizable for what it is. Still.
He doesn’t know how long this greedy courage will stick around. Doesn’t want to think about it, not really. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want it to leave at all. Selfish.
And then, Lan Zhan: “I liked that song.”
Four words breathed into his ear so softly, like a confession. What else could it be? What else could it possibly be?
If he liked the song, then the rest of it couldn’t have been so awful. Lan Zhan wouldn’t lie to him, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t. And Wei Ying will cling to that one surety. Just like always, Lan Zhan has taken Wei Ying— who is never more than a single sudden breeze away from flying off with his own thoughts— and jumped off that precipice with him, and given him somewhere soft to land.
It doesn’t matter what happens in the future, Wei Ying decides. He’s still grounded right where he is and right where he should be. Wouldn’t it be enough, he thinks, to simply come to rest right here in the cloud-softness of Lan Zhan , every time he falls?
The thought makes him dizzy, and not from any spinning, but from the sudden weightlessness which surges through his body at this new and welcome revelation. It’s threatening to uproot his fragile, newfound steadiness, and Wei Ying really isn’t sure he’ll be able to withstand it.
This time, though, he’s not afraid to take flight.