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Lan Wangji slid soundlessly into the booth. The one furthest from the door, tucked into a corner such that it allowed those seated there to have a view of the entire restaurant. The diner, with its warm, yellow lights and fake leather seats, gave a nostalgic feeling even to those who had never before set foot inside. For Lan Wangji, who had been coming to the diner for several years now, the nostalgia was less of a feeling and more of a state of mind that he sank into when he passed through its doors.
It was six pm on a Thursday, and he always sat in this booth at that time on that day of the week. What he did once he entered the booth changed depending on his mood. Sometimes, he brings a book along, flipping through the pages as the hours pass. Sometimes, he frowns over his latest composition, turning over the notes in his head as his pencil scratches over sheet music paper. Sometimes, he simply folds his hands in his lap or around his cup of tea, watching the other patrons chatter and laugh amongst themselves. Before, his visits to this restaurant had looked very different, but that was a long time ago.
Nodding his head in thanks, Lan Wangji accepted the cup of tea that the waiter brought to him without needing to ask. White tea. The diner had not always carried this particular tea, but the owner had been cajoled and prodded into keeping a small stock of it once someone had found out that it was Lan Wangji’s favorite.
Nothing rested on the white tablecloth in front of him except for the steaming mug. The seat squeaked under Lan Wangji as he crossed his legs and shifted his body slightly to face the rest of the restaurant. Lan Wangji did not stare— that would be impolite. He did, however, take fleeting, stolen glances at the young couple huddled over a shared meal, at the children of a family of four who were kicking each other under the table, and at the mother running her fingers fondly through the hair of her son as he ate.
He drinks in these small, passing moments in other people’s lives. He may have been frozen for the last seven years, but it brings him some comfort to know that the rest of the world still turns around him.
The waiters and waitresses have long since learned to leave Lan Wangji alone, stopping by only to occasionally refill the hot water in his cup. He never orders anything else, but he leaves a tip that is at least double the price of the drink so they are content with the arrangement. One night, a new waitress had watched curiously as he rose quietly when the diner closed at nine pm and moved towards the door.
Whispering to the girl behind the cash register, she had said, “He always looks so sad.”
The other staff member had hushed her, darting a glance at Lan Wangji’s retreating back. There was no indication that he had heard, no pause in his steady steps or in the firm grasp on the heavy door. She had breathed a sigh of relief, shaking her head in reproach at her friend.
Just outside the restaurant, Lan Wangji had lifted a curious hand to his own face, trying to feel how his pain was making itself known. He had been told in the past that he was hard to read, his emotions and thoughts hidden behind a layer of ice. Strange how now that the ice was inside of him, saturating his veins and slowing the beat of his heart, people were able to peer around his walls.
Seven years ago. He had been 23 years old. It had been one of the innumerable Thursdays that Lan Wangji had spent at the restaurant since he had been dragged there for the first time more than two years before, following a pair of laughing grey eyes.
“This place closes at nine pm. Nine pm, Lan Zhan! Have you ever heard of a diner closing so early? I chose it so that I wouldn’t be able to keep you up too late past your bedtime with my chatter.”
Since then, they had met up at the restaurant like clockwork every Thursday at six pm. Every Thursday at six pm, Lan Wangji’s heart beat faster than it did any other time in the week, responding involuntarily to the person sitting in front of him. To a smile so wide that it pushed his cheeks up and crinkled his eyes. He sat in that booth, the one tucked into the corner, with his legs crossed, leaning slightly forward as he listened and occasionally offered a response to the mostly one-sided conversation happening on the other side. Lan Wangji nodded while trying to keep his gaze from slipping down to those lips, always moving, or those slim hands, gesturing widely into the air.
That day seven years ago, Wei Ying had called him in the afternoon to check if he was still free for dinner in the evening. Lan Wangji, who never scheduled anything for Thursday nights, had confirmed that he was. He was curious about what was hiding behind Wei Ying’s trembling voice, but Wei Ying was usually so open, his thoughts falling freely from his mind to his mouth, that there must be a reason for his hesitation now. Lan Wangji could not begrudge him his secrecy; after all, the feeling in Lan Wangji’s chest had been building for more than two years, and he had never breathed a word.
Maybe it would have been that day. The feeling had been rising, bubbling higher and higher in his throat whenever he was with Wei Ying— but he was afraid. He had pictured it hundreds of times: Wei Ying’s face closing off, his grey eyes shuttering as Lan Wangji revealed his heart. No, the risk of losing Wei Ying was too high for Lan Wangji to give into his selfish desires.
He arrived to the restaurant at precisely six pm, settling himself in the booth and pulling out a book to wait for Wei Ying, who would inevitably run in five to ten minutes late. Panting, he would slide into the booth opposite of Lan Zhan, earnestly explaining the reason for his delay between gasps for air. Lan Wangji would reassure Wei Ying that he hadn’t waited long and push over a beer, which Wei Ying would immediately gulp down, his throat working as he swallowed.
Engrossed in his novel, Lan Wangji startled when he saw the time on his watch as he turned a page. Seven pm. The beer in front of him had lost all of its foam, and his tea was no longer steaming. Frowning, he pulled out his phone but no messages had come through. He sent a quick text to Wei Ying and attempted to return to his book, ignoring the unease curling in his stomach. The same sentence swam in his vision as his mind ran through the possibilities that could have caused Wei Ying to be this late. What if Wei Ying had been mugged or hurt or—
The bell that hung over the diner’s door jangled cheerfully, and Lan Wangji reflexively looked up, relief flooding his body at the sight of Wei Ying’s lanky form striding towards him. It dissipated quickly as he took in Wei Ying’s wild eyes and the hurried look he threw over his shoulder after he sat down. Wei Ying’s hands, normally so expansive in their movements, were clenched tightly together, his knuckles prominent against his skin. Lan Wangji ached to reach out for them, but that wasn’t something they did so he tightened his own hands into fists in his lap as Wei Ying’s tension radiated across the table and seeped into his body.
“Wei Ying. What’s wrong?”
An attempted smile, but his eyes didn’t crinkle. “Nothing, Lan Zhan. Everything is fine. I am sorry I am so late. I didn’t even think you would still be here.”
This surprised Lan Wangji. Where else would he be? But before he could respond, Wei Ying cast another searching look around the room, his mouth turned down at the corners, and whatever Lan Wangji was going to say next flew from his mind.
“Wei Ying.” His voice sounded panicked even to himself, and grey eyes snapped back to meet gold ones.
“Aiyo, Lan Zhan. Don’t look at me like that. You know I can’t stand it.”
Two long fingers smoothened out the pucker in Lan Wangji’s brow that had appeared unconsciously as he stared at Wei Ying. Before they pulled away, the fingers lingered on Lan Wangji’s cheek, tracing his jaw as Lan Wangji leaned into the light touch.
“I just wanted to see you one more time, but I should have known this would be too hard.” Wei Ying took a deep breath, “Lan Zhan, I am leaving town for a while. And I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
The hiss of the fryer and the clink of silverware on plates faded from Lan Wangji’s hearing as he tried to understand what Wei Ying was saying. He felt abruptly dizzy, but he had an idea, and he clung to it desperately as he offered it up to Wei Ying.
“I’ll come with you.”
Don’t leave me.
“No. Your whole life is here, Lan Zhan. Your brother, your uncle, your job—"
“Wei Ying?” The jangle of the door’s bell sounded again as a young man stuck his head into the diner and called out. Two bodies turned towards him. When he gestured nervously, Wei Ying nodded, and the man slipped back out into the dark night.
“It’s time to go. I’m— I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.” He raised trembling fingers to his mouth and then brushed them against Lan Wangji’s lips. Lan Wangji felt the moment stop, silence enclosing him until he could only hear his ragged breaths.
Frozen in place, Lan Wangji watched helplessly as Wei Ying turned to leave, his long ponytail streaming behind him. As he did, a strap from his leather jacket caught on the beer and tipped it over, the glass shattering on the white cloth. The sound woke Lan Wangji out of his surprise, and he stood up, heedless of the beer dripping off the table and the curious stares of the other customers around him. Running to the door, heart in his throat, Lan Wangji threw it open, the revving of a motorcycle engine filling his ears.
“Wei Ying!”
Don’t leave me. I love you.
Grey eyes flashed at him from inside a helmet before its tinted visor was pushed down and the motorcycle sputtered, speeding out of the small parking lot. Lan Wangji’s arm dropped to his side, and he stared numbly as the vehicle and its two passengers faded from sight, choked up on words he never said.
He didn’t remember making his way back to the booth, their booth, but he must have because that’s where his brother found him, hours later, the diner having long since closed.
“Wangji?” A gentle stroke through his hair, a clasp at his ice-cold hand. “Wangji, what happened? You didn’t come home.”
“He left me.” The words were forced through stiff lips as Lan Wangji continued to look, uncomprehending, at the door in front of him.
“Who? Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji flinched at the sound of the name.
“Let’s talk about it at home.” Lan Xichen tried to draw his brother up from his seat, but he stubbornly refused to move. Confused, he squatted next to Lan Wangji, trying to catch his eyes but his brother was fixated on the restaurant door.
“Wangji, the diner closed a while ago, and the servers are anxious to leave.” This roused Lan Wangji, and he stood and followed Lan Xichen outside.
Lan Xichen tucked Lan Wangji into his bed that night, in a way that he hadn’t done since his brother was six years old. Forgoing his usual sleeping position, Lan Wangji curled onto his side, a silent tear making its way down his cheek. He felt his brother’s warm breath as Lan Xichen sighed behind him, pulled out the pins holding up his hair, and pressed a hand against his shoulder before closing the door to his room softly.
The next week passed slowly as the ice further permeated through Lan Wangji’s body with every text and phone call to Wei Ying that went ignored. The last time he called, an automated voice had informed him that the number he was trying to reach had been disconnected, and Lan Wangji had to sit as his legs suddenly weakened, heart pounding loudly in his chest.
Before long, it was Thursday again, and Lan Xichen watched anxiously as his brother left their apartment just before six pm. After entering the diner, Lan Wangji had quietly drank his tea and occasionally glanced at the door until nine pm, when he had paid and left without a word. It would be the first of many Thursday’s that Lan Wangji would haunt that booth.
Seven years. Marriages, funerals, and births. Promotions and job changes. Yet through it all, Lan Wangji heard nothing from or about Wei Ying apart from that he was alive, and he had some communication with his family, leaving Lan Wangji unaware of what his life was like except for the rumors that occasionally flew by.
He knew everybody thought he should have moved on by now, knew that Lan Xichen had expected him to find some perspective. Yet Wei Ying was lodged in his mind and his heart as stubbornly as he had clung to Lan Wangji’s sleeve, tugging on it insistently the day they met as his laughter crashed over Lan Wangji like a wave. When the questions came, they hurt. Was Wei Ying celebrating Lunar New Year with his friends? Was he telling a joke or gasping in fright at the sight of a dog? Did he have a partner? Did he have a child?
But every week, when Lan Wangji returned to the diner and sat in their booth, he was 23 years old again with a young love burning fiercely within him. Perhaps it was a fantasy or perhaps a delusion. But sometimes, wistfully, he would picture a figure with a smile that lit up his whole body sitting in front of him at the restaurant, sprawled on the other side of the corner booth as Lan Wangji leaned forward slightly, legs crossed. Other times, he felt like a statue, stored far in the back and collecting dust, forgotten by the one who had placed him there. But Lan Wangji had been left with no choice. Every Thursday at six pm, he watched life happen around him while he stayed frozen forever, staring out from right where Wei Ying left him.