Archive of Our Own

Song Lan looks at his phone, anxiously checking the time. It’s still half past one, just like it was the last two times he checked. He sighs and mutters a curse under his breath.

This morning, Song Lan has overslept. He never oversleeps, not even after nights he has been drinking or going out (rare occasions, by the way), but today, he did. Of course it has to be today.

Today is Sunday.

Today, he has a very important date with the charming florist. And maybe, just maybe, worrying about said date is exactly what has kept Song Lan awake the night before beyond any reasonable hour and caused his uncharacteristic slip-up. He hasn’t gone on a date for…

Song Lan stares at his phone, lost in thoughts. Still half past one. He tucks the phone away.

Anyway, it’s been a while since his last date.

Song Lan hasn’t told anyone about today either. Not his colleagues, not his friends, certainly not his father. He is an adult; he can handle this by himself. He can deal with this.

Song Lan looks down at himself, noticing a small coffee stain on his jeans.

He cannot deal with this.

Song Lan cusses and wets his thumb with his tongue, trying to wipe away the stain on his thigh. This is exactly what happens when he oversleeps and doesn’t have enough time to second-guess his outfit more than twice after taking a hasty shower. It’s the kind of thing that happens when he orders a cheap take-away coffee at the subway station instead of having a proper breakfast, only to miss the train regardless.

And now, after having run the distance between three stations in record time, his jeans are dirty, his neck sweaty, and maybe this entire thing was a bad idea after all. The stain doesn’t go away no matter how much he rubs; it doesn’t even fade.

Song Lan considers running away. Making up some excuse to text Xiao Xingchen so he can go home, take another shower, and lie on the couch for the rest of the day with only his half-dead orchid as witness to the self-pitying that will undoubtedly follow once the nervousness is out of his system.

He huffs, a little at the stubborn stain, mostly at himself. Then he checks the time on his phone again, concluding that the device is either broken or that time itself has conspired against him, moving lightning-fast the entire morning only to turn into a sluggish beast that doesn’t move at all since he has arrived at the meeting point. He cranes his neck and looks at the stream of visitors trickling by. None of them look like the handsome florist. Which is to be expected – Song Lan is way too early.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts pacing in front of the entrance to the botanical gardens. After what seems like an appropriate amount of time, he pulls his phone out again. Three minutes have passed. Song Lan frowns, turns around and walks in the other direction. When he reaches an empty park bench, he slumps down on it gracelessly.

Sits.

Slouches.

Waits.

Gets up again and continues pacing. The woman at the ticket booth throws him a sceptical glance. He ignores her and reaches for his phone. Checks the time. Another four minutes. Rolls his eyes. Slips the phone back into his pocket and–

“Song Lan! You’re already here!”

Stares dumbfoundedly into the very handsome face of Xiao Xingchen.

His glasses are fogged up, and he looks a bit windswept, the fresh autumn air dusting his cheeks pink. The loose ponytail is as messy as ever, wayward strands framing his face. It has been barely a week, and Song Lan has almost forgotten how handsome he looks. His stomach does an unwanted flip in retaliation.

“Hi,” Xiao Xingchen sounds slightly breathless – did he run here too? – and unzips the beige parka he is wearing to undo his scarf. “I was scared I’d be late.”

“You aren’t,” Song Lan watches the scarf disappear in one of Xiao Xingchen’s pockets and is oddly disappointed when he zips the jacket back up again, hiding the slender column of his throat.

Then he realises what he has just said and clenches his fists hidden inside his pockets.

“I’m early,” he adds, and then, remembering his manners, “Hi.”

Xiao Xingchen grins and one hand goes to fix his hair while the other pushes his glasses up.

“Good thing then that I came early too,” he gestures towards the ticket booth. “Shall we go in?”

Song Lan nods blankly, following Xiao Xingchen to the entrance. They pay, separately, and Song Lan ignores the woman at the booth throwing him a knowing grin. He thanks her, grabs a leaflet about the botanical gardens and catches up to Xiao Xingchen waiting for him on the other side of the turnstiles.

He is studying a giant map of the gardens’ intently, the wind tugging at his hair. The rays of the early afternoon sun bathe him in warm light as he stands in a shower of red and orange leaves. It looks like a scene from an oil painting. Later, Song Lan will have no recollection of the six steps leading him from the turnstiles to Xiao Xingchen – not that it matters. His memory of Xiao Xingchen’s bright grin is all the more prominent for it.

“Where do you want to go?” Xiao Xingchen asks, bouncing back and forth on his heels.

Song Lan has no idea. He looks up at the map, and then down at the smaller one on his leaflet. Shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “You’re the expert. You choose.”

“So forthcoming,” Xiao Xingchen grins. “Quite the gentleman, aren’t you, Song Lan?”

“Zichen.”

Xiao Xingchen raises an eyebrow. Song Lan clears his throat, for the moment unable to use his mouth and his brain parallelly. It takes him a second to rewire both. He must look like an idiot.

“Just call me Zichen,” he repeats. “It’s…”

It’s the name his parents call him by. His family. Not many people else. A few good friends. Song Lan doesn’t know why he is asking Xiao Xingchen to use it. Well, he knows, but it feels too late and too soon for explaining this to Xiao Xingchen.

“It’s less of a mouthful,” he settles on.

When Xiao Xingchen tilts his head, Song Lan thinks that he has chosen the stupidest explanation of all. He resists the temptation of banging his head against the giant map in front of him. There is something in Xiao Xingchen’s eyes that makes Song Lan feel oddly seen. Something he is not used to. He pulls his shoulders towards his chin.

“Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen says the name like he is testing it out, rolling it over his tongue to taste it.

Song Lan has never heard his name said more beautifully.

“Fine, Zichen it is,” he smiles, sounding satisfied. “Only if you call me Xingchen, though.”

Song Lan nods.

“Good,” Xiao Xingchen turns his attention back to the map. “Now, where to?”

Song Lan tries to do the same, he really does, but he is very distracted by the way Xiao Xingchen seems to worry his lip with his teeth whenever he is lost in thought.

“Let’s go right, first,” Xiao Xingchen suggests, nodding towards a broad path of white gravel that winds down a hill to their right. “At the next crossing, you decide where we go.”

While it is not quite what Song Lan had in mind when he told Xiao Xingchen to choose their path, he doesn’t object. They walk along the path, the gravel crunching beneath their shoes. It’s a nice day, although a bit windy. The autumn leaves dance around them as birds chirp in the afternoon sun. It mixes with the sound of their steps, creating a comfortable melody that fills the silence between them.

Silence, right.

Song Lan realises that he should say something.

“We’re lucky with the weather.”

He fists his hand around the leaflet in his pocket.

The weather! Really?

“Yeah,” Xiao Xingchen pushes a strand of hair behind his ear. “I didn’t think about it when I suggested meeting here.”

Song Lan glances to the side. Xiao Xingchen looks a bit embarrassed if the blush on his cheeks is anything to go by. He probably thinks Song Lan is criticising his choice of location. Great, five minutes in and he has already offended him. Good job, Zichen, you will die a cruel and lonely death.

Preferably before he can say any more stupid things to the pretty man walking beside him.

“I simply like it here,” Xiao Xingchen admits with a sheepish grin.

“You come here often, then?” Song Lan asks, momentarily distracted from scouting for a bottomless pit he can fling himself into.

“Not really, no. It’s on the other side of town from where I live,” he shrugs and raises his head, grins at Song Lan. “And if I’m desperate to see more plants, I can always go downstairs into the shop.”

“You live above the shop?”

“Yes, it’s my mum’s house.”

Family. That is a suitable topic for small talk. It is something Song Lan is used to talking about with his colleagues. Perhaps he can do this after all.

“So she is living with you?”

“No, my parents live over in Gusu; my mum is a surgeon at the local hospital. I grew up there, but my mum owned the house here from her first marriage,” he chuckles and makes an exaggerated show of rolling his eyes. “I think she just wanted to get me out of the house so she and my mother could have some peace and quiet. …parents, you know?”

The path ahead of them splits and Xiao Xingchen halts, raising his eyebrows at Song Lan.

“Your choice,” he reminds him. “Which way?”

Song Lan shrugs.

“Left,” he decides on a whim, and Xiao Xingchen falls into step next to him easily. “What about your mother?”

“She’s a professional musician,” Xiao Xingchen laughs. “I’ll give you a warning in advance: I inherited none of her talent.”

Song Lan likes the idea of a warning in advance. It implies that there is more to come afterwards.

Xiao Xingchen tells Song Lan a very romantic story about his mothers; how his mum fell in love with another woman and got divorced from her first husband, and how they adopted him pretty much straight after. He laughs a lot and gets flustered when he talks about his older sister, almost twenty years his senior. His sister has a son, and their large age gap makes Xiao Xingchen and his nephew almost the same age.

“My family’s a bit of a mess,” he concludes with an embarrassed laugh that spills over with affection for them. “Let’s take a left again.”

They do, their shoulders brushing accidentally. Song Lan’s stomach reminds him of its existence in the most tingly way possible. He ignores it and focuses on listening to Xiao Xingchen instead.

“What about your family?”

So much for listening.

Here comes the part of small talk that Song Lan is notoriously bad at: the actual talking. The leaflet inside his pocket gets crumpled up some more.

“Average and boring, compared to yours.”

Just like Song Lan is compared to Xiao Xingchen.

“As if any family is average,” Song Lan could get lost in these eyes smiling at him. “Any siblings?”

“No, I’m an only child.”

A few cousins are the most he can offer.

“Meaning you’re the clever and the handsome sibling all at once. I was wondering about that.”

An embarrassed laugh bubbles up from Song Lan’s chest, and he knows he must be blushing.

“No,” he says, hiding his nose behind his scarf. “I’m the boring one. …a bit awkward, perhaps.”

Song Lan is aiming for funny, but the words only sound self-deprecating. He bites his tongue.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Xiao Xingchen chuckles. “Where to next?”

Three paths intersect in front of them. After a moment of hesitation, Song Lan chooses the one in the middle.

“My parents’ house is just a few streets away from your shop,” he continues, trying to hold on to the thread of their conversation. “My father asked me to take care of the flowers while he was out of town.”

“Hence the orchid,” Xiao Xingchen concludes.

“Mh.”

“Not to rub it in, but I’m a little glad the flower started withering,” he folds his arms behind his back and stretches his shoulders. “Or else you wouldn’t have come by the shop the other day.”

He sounds like he is blushing at the words. Song Lan definitely is, but he can’t tell about Xiao Xingchen since they are both pointedly looking in the opposite direction from each other. Never in his life has Song Lan been that glad to have a scarf behind which he can hide his face. He clears his throat.

“I’m not really the flower type,” he admits. “…no offense.”

“None taken,” Xiao Xingchen sounds like he means it. “But your father is?”

“My mother, actually.”

They reach a large crossing where several walkways meet. A sign is posted in the middle, showing the various attractions of the gardens. Song Lan fixes his attention to it, happy to have a reason to avoid looking Xiao Xingchen in the face.

“Where to now?” he asks, circling the sign.

Xiao Xingchen ponders, his index finger tapping against his lips rhythmically. It’s hypnotic, and Song Lan can’t help but stare. He quickly tears his eyes away before Xiao Xingchen notices.

“How about… the glasshouse?”

The building is already visible in the distance, a large beast glittering in the afternoon sun, looking like a huge, translucent slug. Probably the wet dream of some up-and-coming architect.

“There is also the Orchid Pavilion,” Xiao Xingchen reads out loud.

Song Lan can’t help but groan and Xiao Xingchen shoots him an impish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“But I guess you’ve had had your fill of orchid facts for this week.”

“Very much, thank you,” Song Lan mutters.

He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and marches very pointedly towards the glasshouse. A giggling Xiao Xingchen follows him.

“I’m sorry, Zichen, I’m just teasing you,” he says when he has caught up, still smiling. “You make it really easy.”

No wonder Xiao Xingchen and his assistant get along so well.

“It’s fine,” it needs worse things to bother Song Lan. “I told you I was more on the boring and awkward end of the sibling spectrum.”

He is pretty sure that fishing for compliments and self-pity are not items on the checklist for dating etiquette. Xiao Xingchen, however, doesn’t seem to care much for that.

“Mh, I don’t know,” he bumps his shoulder against Song Lan’s, on purpose this time. “The jury is still out on that one.”

Song Lan has no idea how any person can be so easy to be around. He smiles into his scarf and answers by returning the shoulder bump. Xiao Xingchen laughs, the sound tinkling like tiny bells.

From afar, the description ‘huge, translucent slug’ seems rather adequate for the greenhouse.

Up close, Song Lan thinks that ‘gigantic’ is a more fitting adjective. He feels insignificant next to the absolute waste of glass and steel. There are no less than four doors at the front side, making it look more like the atrium of an office building. Several signs outside detail the construction process and what advantages it poses in contrast to the old and significantly less prestigious glasshouse.

“Modest,” Song Lan says dryly as they make their way up the stairs to the entrance.

“Yeah, it’s not Lan Wangji’s favourite design either, but what can you do?” Xiao Xingchen shrugs. “The customer is always right.”

Song Lan frowns, throwing him a glance. Xiao Xingchen offers a self-conscious grin, one of his hands immediately flying up to his neck to toy with a strand of his hair.

“The architect,” he explains. “We’re acquainted. Kind of.”

“Acquainted?”

“He’s my nephew’s boyf– husband,” Xiao Xingchen makes a pensive face. “So, my… My nephew-in-law? Is that even a thing?”

“It’s not,” Song Lan chuckles. “But I get what you’re trying to say. Newly-weds?”

Xiao Xingchen makes a sound that is somewhere between affectionate and exasperated.

“Three months, one week, four days,” they reach the top of the stairs. “I get texted a daily reminder since I’m the black sheep of the family.”

“Give it another three months,” Song Lan gestures to the door. “They’ll have stopped by then.”

“Mh.”

Xiao Xingchen nods, but his expression reads more like you have no idea who you’re talking about, but I appreciate the kind words.

It makes Song Lan anxious about his small talk skills again, and he quickly walks over to the nearest set of doors. When he holds it open, waiting for Xiao Xingchen to pass through first, he is rewarded with a smile and a wink.

“Still quite the gentleman,” he teases. “Thank you.”

Song Lan’s ears heat up and he deflects the compliment with an eye roll, much to Xiao Xingchen’s amusement. Inside, they make their way past several other visitors, most of them chattering in front of the large schematics of tropical plants and animals that line the walls. They pass through a second set of doors, the glass much heavier and thicker, and then they are inside the glasshouse.

Which is not like Frostbloom Flowers at all, now that Song Lan experiences the actual thing, although there are similarities.

For one, it is way warmer than the flower shop, and both men slip out of their jackets immediately. The air, while carrying the same mixture of sweet and earthy scents, is also a lot more humid. It is like walking into an invisible wall, sweat beading on Song Lan’s skin. He takes a deep breath, looking up. The trees and plants are so lush and thick that he cannot see the glass roof above them. He folds his coat over his arm and turns around to Xiao Xingchen, waiting for him to do the same. And then Song Lan laughs.

Not a loud, bellowing laughter, no, more something like a muffled snort that he chokes off with the back of his hand and tries to turn into a badly faked cough. Xiao Xingchen blinks at him through his fogged-up spectacles. Song Lan at least assumes he is, there is no way for him to be safe.

“…I guess I didn’t think this through,” Xiao Xingchen admits with a sheepish grin, taking his glasses off.

He wipes them on the fluffy oversized sweater he is wearing, but they immediately fog up again. In the end, he folds them and hooks them in the collar of his sweater. Song Lan watches, his face growing hot. He clears his throat and gestures ahead, blaming the heat under his skin on the humid environment of the glasshouse.

“Shall we?”

Xiao Xingchen fidgets awkwardly.

“Would you mind me holding on to your arm?” he twirls his hair again. “I’m as good as blind without my glasses. Sorry.”

Song Lan stares for a second, fumbling for words. His throat is dry, and he swallows, forcing himself to walk over to where Xiao Xingchen is standing, offering his right arm.

“Sure.”

Xiao Xingchen links their arms.

“Thank you,” he says, his slender fingers curling around the fabric of Song Lan’s shirt.

Before, Song Lan has almost imploded only from their shoulders touching. Now, Xiao Xingchen is leaning against him, holding on to his arm. They’re in the middle of a greenhouse, yet everything Song Lan can smell is the sweet scent of lilies wafting right into his nose.

No, there is no way he can deal with this. No way at all.

Somehow, he manages to lead them down the winding path through the glasshouse. The surrounding greenery grows thicker with every step, plants and trees leaning into their path. It feels like walking through a proper jungle, he can even hear the twittering of birds.

“Do they keep birds in here?” Song Lan asks, desperate to say something.

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Xiao Xingchen sounds chipper. “Quails, for example, do a very fine job as pest control. Perhaps we can spot some.”

“Quails?”

“Well, you’ll have to do the spotting,” Xiao Xingchen shrugs. “I couldn’t tell a stone from a bird right now.”

“You’ll know once you pet it,” Song Lan suggests drily.

Xiao Xingchen laughs, his fingers tightening a little around Song Lan’s arm, making his skin feel warm beneath the fabric.

“I guess I better keep my hands on you then,” he says, leaning just a little too much against Song Lan. “For safety reasons, of course.”

One part of Song Lan’s brain short circuits immediately. The other half comes up with a lot of different reasons for Xiao Xingchen’s hand to stay on him - not all of them strictly safety related - before it also short circuits.

“Oh, do you smell that?”

The only thing Song Lan smells are lilies.

He watches as Xiao Xingchen sniffs and turns his face towards a tree to their right, reaching out until his hand lands on one of the low branches. His fingers slide along the bark until they find a crown of leaves, several small white flowers sitting in a circle at its centre. Xiao Xingchen’s fingers glide over the petals.

“Plumeria obtusa,” he says.

“Are you guessing from the scent?” Song Lan raises an eyebrow.

“And from the blurry white blobs I can see,” Xiao Xingchen grins. “Am I right?”

Song Lan looks around helplessly, glad when he spots a small sign attached to the trunk of the tree.

“Plumeria obtusa, also known as frangipani,” Song Lan reads out.

Xiao Xingchen gives a pleased noise, leaning down to inspect the flowers.

“What do you think of them?”

Song Lan’s eyes wander from Xiao Xingchen to the tree littered with white blooms. He shrugs, trying to think of something that doesn’t sound completely stupid.

“They’re pretty.”

Very profound. So much for not making himself look like an idiot. Once more, Song Lan wishes his hands were free so he could strangle himself.

“Hm,” Xiao Xingchen makes, straightening his back. “Do you think your mother would like them?”

“My mother?”

Xiao Xingchen tilts his head.

“I thought she might be upset about the egret flower,” he explains. “Plumeria are a little easier to handle, and they could serve as an adequate replacement until the orchid has recovered.”

Song Lan falls silent at the words.

“Just throwing some suggestions out there,” Xiao Xingchen continues when he doesn’t receive an answer.

He looks a bit nervous, glancing up at Song Lan from behind his fringe.

“There are other options, of course. I mean, you could always send her by the shop,” his fingers tap gingerly against Song Lan’s arm. “I’m sure I’ll have something else she likes.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“Oh?”

Song Lan has been dreading this conversation. After pondering how to not kill the mood the entire week, he decides to simply get it over with as soon as possible.

“My mother died some years ago,” he says, watching how Xiao Xingchen’s cheerful face falls. “Accident.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore to say these words, not as much as it did years ago, and it shouldn’t be awkward to talk about it. But somehow he always makes it awkward.

“I’m sorry.”

So much for not killing the mood. He should really stop adding the detail about the accident.

“Don’t be,” Song Lan shrugs. “It’s in the past.”

Xiao Xingchen lets go of the branch and the flowers. They continue to walk.

“It’s still sad.”

It is, but the ache has grown dull over time. Now it is just an awkward fact to ruin nice dates. Still, it is better than trying to avoid the topic. Song Lan has been through that. These dates were usually worse. Much worse.

“Do you want to talk about something else?” Xiao Xingchen asks, concern visible in his eyes.

Song Lan shakes his head.

“No, it’s… fine,” he sighs, realising he sounds defensive. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“You didn’t,” Xiao Xingchen breathes. “I asked, you answered. I’m fine as long as you’re comfortable with it. And if you’re not, we’ll talk about something else.”

Song Lan has almost ten years of experience with pitiful glances and faked sympathy. He has gotten pretty good at guessing if somebody is just playing things cool only to ghost him afterwards. Xiao Xingchen seems to fit none of these categories. Which is enough to make his heart skip a beat as they continue walking along the path.

“I think she would’ve liked the… what are they called?”

The corners of Xiao Xingchen’s mouth twitch.

“Plumeria,” he offers.

“Yeah, that. She would have liked them,” Song Lan takes a deep breath. “Good choice.”

They walk along the path, Song Lan thinking about the orchid on his kitchen windowsill while Xiao Xingchen goes quiet, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Zichen,” he says slowly. “Can I ask you a question?”

Something heavy settles on Song Lan’s shoulders. Here it comes.

“Go ahead.”***

He braces himself for the usual questions. At this point, he has gone through this interaction so many times that it feels less like an actual dialogue and more like answers for an exam he has memorised by heart.

How did she die? Accident, drunk driver crashed into her car.

How old were you? Eighteen, she was picking me up after my college entrance exam.

You were with her? Yes, I was with my mum when she died. No, there were no dramatic last words. She was there one second, and the other she wasn’t, and I went to the hospital with two broken legs, among other injuries.

Yes, I remember everything about the accident. No, I didn’t study law because of this, that’s what therapy is for, you idiot. Yes, I went to therapy; actually, I still try to go there once or twice a month, it’s good for my mental health and it helps me function as an adult human being. You should try it too, perhaps then you’d be a decent person and not such an insensible prick who is asking stupid questions.

“Your mother,” Xiao Xingchen says, and Song Lan quickly tries to step out of the movie his brain provides him with. “What do you like about her most?”

He says ‘like’ and not ‘liked’. That is the first thing that Song Lan hears before his mind even starts processing the question.

It is another kind gesture from Xiao Xingchen. Everything about him seems to be a kind gesture, from the way he smiles to the way he moves. How he talks, what words he uses and which he doesn’t. How his fingers rest so gently against Song Lan’s arm. There is an honesty to his kindness, Song Lan realises, and perhaps that is what takes his breath away and makes butterflies rise in his chest.

He pulls Xiao Xingchen a bit closer as they walk.

“She… She was good with everything that my father and I are not,” he says, smiling quietly to himself. “And she loved making sure neither of us forgets about it.”

When they reach the exit of the glasshouse, the wind has picked up outside, making it almost unbearable to leave the cosy humidity behind in exchange for the crisp autumn air. Song Lan’s right arm is cold where Xiao Xingchen’s hands have been holding on to him for the last hour.

“Where to next?” he asks while Xiao Xingchen zips his jacket back up, both of them descending the stairs leading away from the glasshouse.

“Isn’t it your turn to decide?” Xiao Xingchen chides softly, pushing up his glasses.

“I made all the calls for you in there,” Song Lan shrugs.

Xiao Xingchen shoots Song Lan a glance over the rim of his glasses. It makes him look very cute and very something else, but Song Lan refuses to think about it. Instead, he hands Xiao Xingchen the crumpled remains of his leaflet and watches in embarrassment as he studies the plan printed onto the backside.

To his credit, he doesn’t comment on the tattered shape of the brochure.

“Well, there’s always the Orchid Pavilion,” he says, waiting for Song Lan’s reaction.

Which is a long, deadpan stare.

“It was funny the first time,” Song Lan says, his voice coming out like dead leaves crunching beneath heavy boots.

“It’s still funny the second time,” Xiao Xingchen grins.

He folds the tattered leaflet and hands it back to Song Lan.

“There should be a café a bit further in this direction,” he points to their right. “I promised I’d treat you to some tea, didn’t I?”

Song Lan feels heat rise in his neck.

“You don’t have to,” he blurts, not wanting to hold Xiao Xingchen accountable for a polite note scribbled on a business card.

“But I want to,” Xiao Xingchen says firmly, already walking ahead. “Think of it as compensation for your trusty guidance.”

Song Lan thinks that he would guide Xiao Xingchen anywhere, anytime, without even the slightest hope of receiving anything in return for it.

“…I’m more of a coffee type,” he admits.

Xiao Xingchen smiles and waits for Song Lan to catch up.

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

They order together, one large mug of tea for Xiao Xingchen and a much smaller cup of coffee for Song Lan. Xiao Xingchen takes milk and sugar; Song Lan takes his coffee black. They mock-argue about who is paying, an argument that Song Lan, after much back and forth, allows Xiao Xingchen to win. And then they simply sit in a corner of the tiny café and talk some more. They skirt the topic of Xiao Xingchen’s assistant A-Qing, which ends with him apologising profusely to Song Lan for the girl’s behaviour.

“She can come off as a bit sassy,” Xiao Xingchen’s cheeks are dusted pink. “But her heart is in the right place.”

They take second orders. Song Lan learns that A-Qing spends most of her spare time at the shop, even when she is not scheduled for working.

“Trouble at home,” Xiao Xingchen explains vaguely.

They talk some more, their drinks going cold between them while the light outside grows weaker and the wind picks up. When the server comes to inform them that the botanical gardens close at sunset, they thank him and Song Lan pays for their untouched second round, despite Xiao Xingchen telling him he doesn’t have to.

“But I want to,” Song Lan says, making it impossible for Xiao Xingchen to argue with him.

It earns him a chiding look, but it is as much chiding as it is fond.

They make their way back to the entrance, and when they pass the turnstiles, the woman from the ticket booth throws Song Lan another inquisitive stare. He counters it with a polite but curt nod, and she shakes her head and continues to close the booth. They walk along the broad avenue leading to the subway station, shoulders brushing against each other whenever either of them makes way to allow any of the other visitors to pass them by.

“…I don’t live too far from here,” Song Lan blurts.

He doesn’t quite know where he is going with this. His brain is on autopilot.

“I could give you a lift home, if you want to.”

Xiao Xingchen’s head jerks up.

“Oh,”, he makes, looking bewildered. “That’s nice but… My bicycle is right here.”

Xiao Xingchen stops as he says the words, motioning to a bike chained to a street lantern. The bicycle looks old and worn, but well-cared for. The light has been fixed with a white tape. Song Lan nods.

“Ah. I see,” he murmurs, scratching his neck.

Xiao Xingchen tilts his head as he fumbles for something in his pocket. He produces a tiny key and starts fiddling with the lock of the bike.

“Since you’re not living far from here, how about I walk you home instead?” he suggests.

And before Song Lan can object, Xiao Xingchen stands next to him, elbows resting on the handlebars of his bicycle. The light that is fixed with tape flickers weakly.

“Your turn,” he grins. “Left or right?”

Song Lan makes them take a left, because taking the left is a slight detour that takes about five minutes longer. Still, he is sure that the walk home has never passed that fast, not even when he ran the same distance earlier this day. The towering blocks where his empty apartment waits for him come into sight way too soon. Song Lan is tempted to walk past his own building, just so he can spend a little more time with Xiao Xingchen, but he decides against it in the end.

It would be awkward to explain that to him later.

“That’s my address,” he stops.

Xiao Xingchen’s eyes go wide and he gives something akin to a whistle, exhaling the air through his teeth as he gazes up at the buildings looming over them.

“Whew,” Xiao Xingchen stares up at what might or might not be Song Lan’s unlit apartment. “What did you say was your job?”

He hasn’t told him anything about his job. Song Lan can feel his ears redden and coughs, hiding his face behind his scarf again.

“I’m a lawyer.”

He skips the part about what kind of lawyer. Xiao Xingchen laughs, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Of course you are,” he says, more to himself than to Song Lan. “Now you’re also the successful sibling. Three for one. Quite the catch.”

The last hours of talking and simply being around Xiao Xingchen have made Song Lan believe that yes, maybe, just maybe, he truly is not such a hopeless case after all when it comes to dating and social interactions. But in the face of such bold flirting, he reverts to his early-afternoon-self: there is no way he can deal with this.

“It’s nothing special,” he forces the words out because staying quiet would be worse.

“Hm, perhaps it isn’t,” Xiao Xingchen agrees. “Not for you.”

And that doesn’t sound good at all in Song Lan’s ears. That sounds like he has either missed accepting a compliment or made himself look like an arrogant asshole. Probably both, given his talent for social skills.

“I’m just saying that–“ he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan. “It’s nothing compared to you.”

Xiao Xingchen raises an eyebrow.

“To me?”

“Have you looked at yourself?” Song Lan scoffs. “You’re gorgeous. You’re funny, you’re clever, you’ve spent an entire afternoon without standing me up and you’re good with flowers. That’s special.”

Xiao Xingchen blinks at Song Lan, who is equally surprised at this brief outbreak. The silence between them stretches out until it becomes unbearable, and then Xiao Xingchen breaks it with his quiet laughter. He hides it behind his hand, acting coyly. Song Lan wishes he wouldn’t.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t fishing for some compliment just now, but that was a bit… much,” he chuckles and Song Lan gives an embarrassed groan. “But I appreciate it anyway. Thank you.”

“…you’re welcome,” Song Lan mutters, sounding very exhausted.

They fall silent, the only noise between them the low whirring of the street lantern under which they are standing. Xiao Xingchen leans on his bike, swaying back and forth with an unreadable smile on his face.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Song Lan asks, feeling like someone has to say something.

Xiao Xingchen tilts his head.

“What about my bicycle?” he pats the handlebars pointedly. “Taking the car would take longer anyway.”

It’s close to six, and traffic is usually hell around that time, so he is probably right. Getting to the other side of the city could take them over an hour. But it would at least be another hour Song Lan could spend with Xiao Xingchen. And think about how to say goodbye without making everything awkward again.

“It’s cold,” Song Lan says weakly. “And I wouldn’t mind.”

Xiao Xingchen leans his bicycle against the street lantern and starts rummaging through his pockets. He pulls out a set of white gloves and a wool cap, all of them matching his scarf, and presents them to Song Lan with a grin.

“I came prepared.”

He pulls the cap over his head, making Song Lan’s heart stutter at the sight.

“I’m used to the cold, don’t worry.”

“It’s no trouble, really–“

“It’s fine, Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen catches his hand by the wrist before Song Lan can start rummaging through his pockets for his car key. “Thank you.”

Song Lan’s skin burns where Xiao Xingchen’s fingers are closed around his wrist. He wants to bang his head against the lantern.

“All right,” he says, exhaling slowly. “Okay.”

What follows is more of the dreaded awkward silence as they stare at each other, searching for ways to say goodbye, and Song Lan thinking that he has just ruined what might otherwise have been an at least passable date.

He clears his throat, trying to mask a nervous laugh. Xiao Xingchen does the same, his fingers toying with his gloves without putting them on. His other hand is still holding onto Song Lan’s arm, almost forgotten by both of them. They gaze at each other, sharing a shy smile. It’s a new expression on Xiao Xingchen, and Song Lan thinks he looks beautiful, radiant even in the dim glow of a decrepit lantern.

“So…” Song Lan says because he can’t bear the silence, even if he isn’t much of a talker.

“What’s your stance on dating rules?” Xiao Xingchen asks suddenly.

As if they hadn’t been on a date this afternoon and the thought has just crossed his mind, completely unrelated. Song Lan looks up to find Xiao Xingchen stare at him with a quizzical look.

“I– I don’t–” Song Lan runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t have any?”

Xiao Xingchen furrows his brow, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Song Lan feels his cheeks grow warm. He clears his throat.

“Aside from the obvious, I mean, be on time, be yourself, ask for consent,” he shrugs. “The usual, I guess.“

Boring and ordinary. Just like the rest of his life.

“I see,” Xiao Xingchen nods slowly.

“Why are you asking me this?”

Xiao Xingchen worries his lower lip with his teeth before he gives a gentle shake of his head, taking a tiny step closer. The tips of their shoes are almost touching. He stuffs his gloves back into his pocket.

“Because,” Xiao Xingchen says, his hand on Song Lan’s arm gingerly sliding down to his palm, “Some people don’t like to kiss on their first date.”

Their fingers intertwine without either of them thinking about it. Xiao Xingchen looks straight into Song Lan’s eyes, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And I would very much like to kiss you now, Zichen. If I may.”

Song Lan’s mouth feels as useless as the crumpled leaflet in the pocket of his jacket. He blinks once, twice. Can’t find any words.

“Yeah,” he croaks, accompanying the word with eager little nods because his brain cannot process anything more complicated. “Fine.”

Xiao Xingchen chuckles, and it sounds unbearably fond. Song Lan can see the soft crinkles around his eyes as he leans in, their noses brushing against each other. And then Xiao Xingchen bridges the distance and kisses him. Just like that.

His lips are even softer than they look. They feel like warm silk against Song Lan’s mouth, smooth and intoxicating. Xiao Xingchen tastes of tea with milk and a warm smile, and Song Lan thinks he would happily remain in this moment for all eternity, suffocating himself on this taste if it means this is the last thing he remembers. It doesn’t come to that, though (which, in hindsight, is probably good for Song Lan).

He can’t remember when he has closed his eyes, but they flutter open when Xiao Xingchen pulls back. Song Lan notices the lovely pink flush on his cheeks, his glasses slightly askew. Xiao Xingchen’s breath hits his chin as a steamy cloud, the scent of tea mixing with that of lilies. They gaze at each other, warm brown eyes meeting Son Lan’s own, and something airy bubbles up in his chest, leaving his throat as a breathless laugh of relief. Xiao Xingchen joins in, resting his forehead against Song Lan’s. He squeezes Xiao Xingchen’s hands.

“I had a very nice afternoon today, Zichen,” Xiao Xingchen whispers against his lips. “Thank you.”

“So did I,” Song Lan says, his fingers tingling in Xiao Xingchen’s grip. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He leans in and bridges the tiny distance between them again for another chaste peck before he allows Xiao Xingchen to take a step back, letting go of his hands. Song Lan watches as he reaches for his gloves and puts them on. They are embroidered with snowflakes.

“Drive safely,” he says when Xiao Xingchen reaches for his bicycle and starts turning on the lights. “Text me when you’re home?”

He smiles, one hand flying to his hair, fingers twisting around a loose strand that they can occupy themselves with.

“Will do,” Xiao Xingchen assures Song Lan, the colour in his cheeks growing more prominent at the words. “…one more for the road?”

Song Lan has no idea who on earth has given Xiao Xingchen the permission to look so cute with his rosy cheeks and the coy fluttering of his eyelashes, but he also couldn’t care less because his lips are back on Xiao Xingchen’s, and frankly, that is all he can think about right now.

“And one more to keep you warm,” Song Lan says when Xiao Xingchen pulls back, chasing after him.

Xiao Xingchen giggles into the next kiss, his gloved hand coming to rest against Song Lan’s cheek. The fabric is just as soft as everything else about him.

They pull apart, but not before Xiao Xingchen leans in a third time, “And one for good luck.”

They manage to part, eventually, somewhere between the fifth and sixth kiss ‘for good luck’. Somehow, Song Lan makes the entire way from the lobby to the lift and up to his apartment without melting into a puddle. He slips off his shoes and coat, he even takes time to water the orchid. Then he finally allows himself to flop down onto his couch with the biggest, stupidest grin on his face.

His phone chimes a little later, pulling him out of the pleasant daydream he has indulged in. Song Lan blindly reaches for the couch table, almost knocking over a glass of water in his rush.

Xiao Xingchen | [6:11 P.M.]

I’m home

safe and sound, as promised 😉

Me | [6:11 P.M.]

Thanks for telling me.

Song Lan hesitates, his fingers hovering over the screen. Xiao Xingchen beats him to it.

Xiao Xingchen | [6:12 P.M.]

I forgot to ask you something today

How is the orchid doing?

Me | [6:14 P.M.]

Just watered her.

Looks fine from what I can tell.

Xiao Xingchen | [6:15 P.M.]

Send me a photo

Please?

Song Lan stares at his phone, still a bit confused, gets up from his couch and makes his way over to the kitchen to snap a few shots.

When Xiao Xingchen doesn’t answer immediately, he starts pacing and opens his fridge to glance inside it under the pretence of making dinner for himself. The moment his phone rumbles on the kitchen counter, he slams the fridge door shut and reaches for his phone.

>>>INCOMING CALL: XIAO XINGCHEN<<<

Song Lan swallows and picks up.

“Yeah?” his voice comes out winded.

“Hi”, makes Xiao Xingchen, sounding just as breathless. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. …what’s wrong?”

Song Lan’s eyes dart to the orchid. It looks just like it did last week; if anything at all, its leaves seem slightly less wilted.

“I should’ve checked on your flower today while I was there,” Xiao Xingchen says.

There’s noise in the background, like he is rummaging around in his apartment. Song Lan is pretty sure he can hear the noise of pots and pans.

“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks, his fingers nervously clawing at the kitchen counter. “With the flower.”

Xiao Xingchen laughs.

“No, no, you’re doing great,” he assures.

“But?”

“But I was thinking I should have a look at it,” the sound of something sizzling. “For completely unrelated reasons.”

“Uh?” Song Lan’s brain is, once more, not being very cooperative.

“So, here’s the plan,” Xiao Xingchen says, the words coming a bit too fast. “I’ll buy some things for dinner and I’ll bring them by your apartment next Friday. And we cook together.”

Song Lan has a bit of a hard time processing this suggestion, remaining silent and flabbergasted.

“And while I’m already there, I can check on your flower,” Xiao Xingchen gives a shaky sigh. “And you thank me by kissing me some more?”

The sheer nerve of this man. Song Lan is relieved Xiao Xingchen is suggesting this while they’re on the phone, or else he would probably kiss him again this instant.

“Xingchen, are you inviting yourself to my place?” he asks, disbelieve colouring his words. “For dinner?”

“I’m just making suggestions,” Xiao Xingchen sounds a bit defensive. “You don’t have to agree.”

And now a bit disappointed. Song Lan clears his throat, trying to sort his thoughts. And his mental calendar.

“I’m busy on Friday,” he says.

His father needs somebody to pick him up after his doctor's appointment. They’re having dinner together afterwards.

“Oh.”

“But I can make Sunday.”

“Sunday is fine with me,” Xiao Xingchen says hastily.

He sounds as giddy as Song Lan feels.

“Good,” he says, taking a deep breath. “It’s a date.”

And then, because the idea of having a second date with Xiao Xingchen is as exciting as it is emboldening, he adds, “And you don’t have to ask me to kiss you.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Oh. That’s… good,” Xiao Xingchen chuckles. “Okay. Sunday it is.”

Xiao Xingchen comes by at five o’clock sharp next Sunday, bringing two large bags full of groceries with him. They talk, and they cook, and they laugh a lot. Afterwards, he checks on the orchid, which is just as fine as it has been a week ago, and they kiss. They watch a movie, but it is mostly something to provide an excuse and background noise for more kissing.

Later that night, Song Lan insists on driving Xiao Xingchen home. This time he agrees, and in front of Frostbloom Flowers they kiss again: three times, one for the road, one to keep each other warm, and one for good luck. Then Xiao Xingchen slips out of the car with a soft smile.

“Next Sunday?” he asks.

“Next Sunday,” Song Lan agrees.

He waits until Xiao Xingchen has vanished behind the door before he drives off. On the way back through the city, Song Lan thinks that he might not be doing such a poor job at dating after all.

And maybe, just maybe, he can handle this.