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One of the main considerations of having a college library open twenty-four hours, seven days a week is that it needs to be staffed at what some may call ungodly hours.
Lan Wangji, being that he is already up at said hours — which in his opinion are entirely reasonable times for human activity — is perfectly content staffing the circulation desk during a shift that nobody else wants to take. The Thursday morning shift, to be precise.
Today, Lan Wangji enters the library and greets the security guard, A-Tong, who closes out of the game of 2048 that he’s playing on the computer. During the hours of midnight till six am, the circulation desk is technically closed while the building remains open, so the library only employs security personnel during that period of time.
“It’s been quiet as usual,” A-Tong reports. “One student left a pair of headphones, if you could check that back in, please?” He points to where the headphones lie on the table.
Lan Wangji nods as A-Tong leaves and boots up the library system on the computer to scan in the headphones. He makes sure to backtrack the time stamp to the previous night, so that the student won’t be fined. Sixty cents for every overdue hour can really add up.
After Lan Wangji has gone through the opening routine of checking the return book bin and sorting any holds that were left out from whoever was on the previous night’s shift, he settles down into his seat and pulls out his print-out of Can a Methodology Subvert the Logics of its Principal? Decolonial Meditations for the Power and Identity in Philosophy of Science reading group.
Mornings in the library are calm: the halls are still dormant, with only the occasional murmur and movement from some poor hapless undergraduate who still happens to be studying at this hour. Lan Wangji relishes the peace and the sensation of being awake to watch the day rise out of its slumber, the quiet eventually evolving into the commotion of students bustling around.
He’s also perfectly willing to essentially be paid to read or write for his dissertation since hardly anybody needs help from the circulation desk at this time.
This morning, however, someone does approach the desk.
Lan Wangji hears the footsteps coming before he sees who it is. He carefully pauses to mark his page with the bunny paperclip bookmark that Lan Xichen gave him before looking up to give the patron his full attention.
It’s a student who Lan Wangji recognizes from his previous shifts but has never properly spoken to before. Today he wears an oversized red hoodie and black sweats, and his hair is tied up with a red bow in what is probably supposed to be a bun — though most of it has fallen out, giving him a half-up half-down look that somehow manages to be attractive despite also looking like he’s just rolled out of bed.
“Hey, could you renew this course reserve book for me? It’s probably overdue,” the student that Lan Wangji only knows of as all-nighter boy (pretty) in his brain asks. He stifles a yawn and pushes a copy of Theorizing the City across the counter.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji responds. “I can backlog the return so you avoid any fines.”
“Oh my gosh, you can do that? Thanks a bunch,” all-nighter boy (pretty) exclaims as Lan Wangji scans the book. The screen tells Lan Wangji that his name is Wei Wuxian. “You’re probably not supposed to do that, so I appreciate it. Hey, you’re the guy who saw me putting up flyers that one time, right? Thanks for not saying anything about that either, haha!"
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, a bit taken aback that Wei Wuxian has brought up that encounter. Wei Wuxian had been as beautiful then as he was now. “Not a problem. This happens frequently.”
“What, the ‘horribly disheveled, sleep-deprived guy accosting a favor from drop-dead gorgeous librarian because he is horribly behind on his TA assignments’ part or — ?” Wei Wuxian asks as he slides his university ID card across the counter.
“Those who utilize the course reserves often need them for durations longer than the allotted time, and since nobody else has requested the book at this time, there is no issue with renewing it. Also, I am not a librarian,” Lan Wangji says without thinking. He immediately wants to reprimand himself for rambling, but his brain had been fixated on the word ‘gorgeous’ — him?
Lan Wangji takes the ID card and swipes it, to re-check out the book.
“Ahh, I see. Makes sense.” Wei Wuxian nods. “What are you then, if not a librarian?”
“Doctoral student.” Lan Wangji keeps his answer brief, afraid of embarrassing himself yet again.
“Oh, I just assumed since I only see you around at the library,” Wei Wuxian says conversationally. “This is by Hlabangane, right?” Wei Wuxian completely butchers the pronunciation of the name as he taps on the packet of papers that Lan Wangji has pushed to the side. “Cute bunny, by the way. She seems like a lot of fun.”
“You’ve read it before?” Lan Wangji finds himself asking. He keeps from saying ‘Hlabangane’ to avoid indirectly correcting Wei Wuxian’s pronunciation, which would probably come off as rude.
“Yeah! I appreciated the critique of Euro-Western knowledge as academia’s default system of knowing and the political implication of the methodologies that are attached to it. It’s been really helpful for my work on Chinatowns. Like, I was already aware that there are all these white as fuck takes that completely fetishize the space.” Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkles a little as if in disgust. “But after reading the article, I had to deal with the fact that I was utilizing ethnographic methodologies in a way that only served the colonial project that, unfortunately, is anthropology,” Wei Wuxian says with a tsk.
Lan Wangji eyes widen at him, astonished that Wei Wuxian is being so friendly.
Wei Wuxian stops when he notices Lan Wangji’s expression. “Ahh, sorry, I’m rambling.”
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “Here’s your ID.” He hesitates before continuing to say the name on the card aloud, “Wei Wuxian.”
He’s never done that with a library patron before. He wonders if he’s being too forward.
Wei Wuxian laughs as he reaches out to accept his ID card. It echoes through the library, warming the empty space. Lan Wangji imagines that Wei Wuxian’s laughter would be an appropriate sound to ring in each new day.
Their fingers brush. Lan Wangji hopes his fingers are not cold.
“Call me Wei Ying,” Wei Wuxian says.
Lan Wangji feels a warmth unfurling in his stomach at the thought of Wei Wuxian inviting him to call him by his personal name, if he even knows the implications. “Wei Ying,” he repeats, testing the words. He savors the taste of it in his mouth with satisfaction at the intimacy of it.
Wei Ying pockets his ID before pausing, waiting. Lan Wangji is not sure why he’s lingering; he’s given both the book and ID back to Wei Ying.
“Did you have a book on hold as well?” Lan Wangji asks.
Wei Ying flushes. “Ah, no, I was waiting — ” He makes a strangled noise that might be embarrassment, before blurting out, “Your name. What’s your name?”
“Lan Zhan,” Lan Wangji says, despite the fact that nobody has used his personal name since he was a child. He can feel his ears burning.
It feels right, though, to say it to Wei Ying.
Wei Ying grins up at him, the smile lighting up his face despite the bags under his eyes. “So, I’ll see you in three hours for a repeat then, Lan Zhan?” He wags the book in his hands.
“No, I’ll be finished with my shift by then.” Lan Wangji is bothered by the implication that Wei Ying plans on continuing to camp out in the library despite the all-nighter he’s clearly just had; his sleep schedule is already concerning enough.
“Oh.” Lan Wangji doesn’t dare to hope, but he thinks that Wei Ying sounds disappointed. “Well, it was still nice to meet you, Lan Zhan!”
/
Despite the fact that this is Lan Wangji’s first proper introduction to Wei Ying, he’s actually known of Wei Ying since the beginning of the semester.
As an undergraduate, Lan Wangji had also worked the early shifts at the library. When he started his graduate studies at the same institution, he hadn’t been expecting to continue working there, what with his studies ramping up and with the volunteering he began to do at the local high school. But his former boss, Lan Yi, hadn’t been able to fill the morning shift on Thursdays this fall. When she had learned that he was still on campus, she’d reached out to him for a favor, promising it’d only be once a week.
For a PhD student living on a meager stipend, it also helps that the pay for this shift is time and a half until full-time employees come in at the start of regular business hours. Not that he doesn’t have family money to fall back on if necessary, but Lan Wangji would like to avoid that if possible.
So he’d said yes.
Lan Wangji appreciates the sense of routine that one can find in the library, a rare contrast from the chaos of the rest of campus. In those morning hours before the university really wakes up at around ten or eleven, Lan Wangji sits at the circulation desk located by the entrance of the library. Privately, Lan Wangji relishes the people watching opportunity it affords him, cataloguing the patterns in the comings and goings of the building’s patrons.
During nearly every shift Lan Wangji has had since the start of classes, he’s seen Wei Ying. He has even come to expect it by now. Lan Wangji will settle into his seat at the circulation desk right on the hour and Wei Ying will descend from the library stairs from yet another all-nighter shortly afterwards, like clockwork.
Once early on, before the leaves had started to fall, they’d made eye contact as Wei Ying walked towards the exit. “Good night,” Wei Ying had called out, drowsily, as the perfunctory customer service greeting of “Good morning” had rolled off Lan Wangji’s tongue.
They’d both startled and a small laugh had emerged from Wei Ying, who shook his head while continuing to walk away.
So Lan Wangji had filed Wei Ying in his mind as all-nighter boy (pretty), and he had continued to see Wei Ying regularly: one week Wei Ying had descended from the stairs carrying a rolled-up banner, another week he had been accompanied by a woman who was also in a red sweater (were they matching on purpose?), and, once, Wei Ying had even rushed out of the library with a shiba inu stuffed animal tucked under his armpit.
Lan Wangji had found it concerning that someone’s sleep schedule was messed up to the point of effectively making them nocturnal, but he hadn’t thought much beyond that. He had no intention of doing anything with his observations until Lan Wangji had walked into the library one morning as usual and found Wei Ying taping up flyers over every possible surface — the walls, the circulation desk counter where A-Tong was snoring away, and even the glass windows had not escaped Wei Ying’s flyering.
Wei Ying had taken one glance at him before running away in the opposite direction. When he’d realised that the exit was behind Lan Wangji, he’d pivoted so abruptly that Lan Wangji had thought he was going to fall over. Somehow, Wei Ying managed to maintain his momentum though and pushed past Lan Wangji out the library doors.
Lan Wangji, baffled, had stepped closer and taken a look at the posters, which read Grad students: do you feel fucked by the university? with a tinyurl link listed below for more information.
Lan Wangji had never considered deeply whether or not he felt fucked by the university, but he did know that posters pasted outside of the approved flyer wall in the library cafe were not allowed.
Snagging one of the flyers, Lan Wangji had approached the circulation desk and shaken A-Tong awake, telling A-Tong no, he wouldn’t say anything and, yes, he’d take care of the flyers.
Before Lan Wangji had proceeded to clean up the mess, though, he had decided to check out the link. He had been intrigued to know why one might feel fucked by the university to the point of flyer vandalism.
The webpage had been sparse, featuring several long winded paragraphs detailing the corporate nature of universities, the exploitation of graduate students and their research, the subsequent need for a graduate student union, and what Lan Wangji supposed was a meeting time and location.
Lan Wangji had considered the posters. Although profane, they made a valid point.
He had still wound up taking most of them down; the ones in places that library administration would certainly require the custodial staff to remove, at least. Lan Wangji did leave a few up in places that were still visible but would escape notice from admin for a few days.
To Lan Wangji’s satisfaction, the remaining posters — specifically the one on the pillar facing the first floor seating area but hidden from the view of the front desk — had lasted a week before a staff member finally noticed and took them down.
The next time Lan Wangji had seen Wei Ying was not until a few weeks afterwards. Wei Ying had descended from the stairs as he clocked Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji, who had been on the lookout for Wei Ying since the incident, had watched as Wei Ying seemed to brace himself before he had scurried past the desk, gaze resolutely not meeting Lan Wangji’s.
Lan Wangji had been hoping for the opportunity to ask Wei Ying about the union, perhaps even strike up a conversation with the pretty all-nighter boy, but Wei Ying’s reaction had made him hesitant to reach out.
(He had even considered attending an open meeting to learn more, but the group’s scheduled meeting time was listed as nine pm on Saturdays. And that is an ungodly hour to be doing anything other than tucking oneself into bed.)
A week later, Wei Ying had passed by again, still antsy, but this time he had flashed a nervous smile at Lan Wangji. With each instance that passed where Lan Wangji did not mention the posters, Wei Ying had seemed to relax more and more, and so Lan Wangji had let the weeks pass until it seemed that things were normal again.
/
The Thursday after Lan Wangji first learned of Wei Ying’s name, Wei Ying bounds up to the circulation desk where Lan Wangji is reading. It’s Dialectics of Nature this time.
“Hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice is far too loud for the library. Wei Ying holds his hands up when he sees the reproach in Lan Wangji’s gaze. He lowers his voice and says, laughing quietly, “Okay, sorry, I get it, silence in the library and all that. Just don’t fine me for it.”
Wei Ying rests both elbows on the circulation desk and props his head up in his hands. Wei Ying’s too tall to comfortably lean on the counter this way, which means his ass sticks out a little in order to contort his body low enough.
“Do you only work Thursdays?” Wei Ying asks, and barrels on without waiting for Lan Wangji to respond. “I’ve been trapped in this hellhole literally every night since last we spoke, but I didn’t see you so I was wondering.”
“Thursdays,” Lan Wangji confirms.
“Ahh, I knew it,” Wei Ying says with a playful smile. “Good to know though. I doubt any of the other staff are as kind or generous as you, helping me evade the university’s agenda to nickel and dime me at every turn. You’re the only one I can rely on to help me with my illicit library returns. To think, I only just found out when I could have been taking advantage of you all semester.” He winks.
There’s a pause where Lan Wangji tries to process what Wei Ying has said, but he also realizes he needs to continue the conversation or nothing will happen, and that’s the opposite of what Lan Wangji wants, so after a beat he asks, “Why have you been at the library all week?”
Wei Ying groans theatrically and flops his head down, face-first, onto the counter. “I’m having the worst week ever. My adviser basically ghosted me all semester — like I actually still haven’t even met her — so I was just like lah-di-dah, biding my time reading books, doing research, the whole shebang, figuring that if nobody was reaching out to me, I was fine! But then,” Wei Ying pushes himself back up and pauses here for dramatic effect, “my adviser finally got in contact with me over email last week and it turns out I have a whole fucking chapter due, like, yesterday, literally.”
“Your adviser should have reached out in a timely manner,” Lan Wangji says, mentally making a note to look up what the process of recourse would be in this situation.
“Yeah, it sucks, but it’s fine. I’m sure she got busy with everything else on her plate. Plus, I’m managing alright!” Wei Ying dismisses automatically with a wave of the hand.
“It is still inappropriate,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying hums noncommitally, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I guess, but what can you do? I’m getting through it.”
Wei Ying chews at his lower lip and Lan Wangji wonders if he’s made Wei Ying uncomfortable, overstepping somehow. So Lan Wangji summons the will and courage to ask, “What are you researching?” like he hadn’t immediately done a deep internet search the moment he was equipped with Wei Ying’s name and found Wei Ying’s profile listed on the university’s Urban Anthropology page.
Wei Ying seems grateful for the pivot and launches into a spiel about the complexities of funeral rites within Chinatowns and the potential of mourning practices as sites of political resistance, which Lan Wangji does pay attention to, but since he knows a little about what Wei Ying is going to say, he allows himself to take in the sight of Wei Ying. He’s never been up close this long with Wei Ying. Objectively, Wei Ying looks horrendous: his hair is oily and unkempt, his lips are chapped, and his skin is ghostly pale, likely from not having been outside in a while.
But Wei Ying’s eyes twinkle as he speaks animatedly with his whole body, hands gesticulating in the air, and Lan Wangji has never been more charmed.
“-when the city decided to bulldoze the Chinatown back in the 60s — to build the fucking baseball stadium, can you believe it, those racist assholes? — many families lost access to the land their ancestors had been buried on and what do you do when that’s taken from you? I’ve been trying to conduct some interviews with folks that relocated but it’s hard to find accurate records since the city, again, didn’t care about them. Not to mention all the prior research on the wider subject is horrible, basically just a bunch of early 1900s orientalist garbage-”
Wei Ying cuts off suddenly and fishes through his pockets to pull out his phone. Lan Wangji can hear it buzzing incessantly.
Wei Ying thumbs at the screen and reads the texts that seem to be coming in one after the other. His face darkens and he’s frowning, chewing at his lower lip again.
“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Wei Ying?”
Wei Ying’s head snaps up like he’s forgotten that Lan Wangji is there and he grimaces. “Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan, I’ve got to run and take care of some things.”
Lan Wangji can feel his brows furrow slightly as he asks, “You’re not going home to rest?”
“Ah, no. No time — such is the life when you’re trying to juggle both academia and organizing! Plus, I actually haven’t been able to sleep these days. The brain, she’s a funny one, you know what I mean?”
Lan Wangji is about to respond, but Wei Ying has already turned around and is rushing out of the library, yelling “Bye!” as he waves one hand behind him.
/
The next Thursday, after Lan Wangji has woken up at five am and done his extensive skincare routine, he’s in the middle of packing his breakfast to eat at the library when he remembers the box of Sleepytime Tea on the counter and pauses.
He’d bought it that past Sunday while he was in the beverages aisle restocking his own supply of green tea during his weekly grocery store run. When he’d seen the Sleepytime Tea, he’d thought of Wei Ying and the sunken bags under his eyes, and how Wei Ying had said that he’d been having trouble sleeping, and had automatically put the tea into his cart.
Lan Wangji also thinks that Wei Ying would like the dozing bear that was printed on the box. She seems trustworthy, Wei Ying might say.
So, hoping that he’s not in over his head, Lan Wangji heads to the library that morning, heart thumping, with a warm thermos in hand.
Lan Wangji tries to reassure himself, as he’s learned to do in therapy, that the stakes of this endeavour are relatively low. He reminds himself he could survive the worst case scenario where Wei Ying would say no to the tea and still have trouble sleeping and Lan Wangji would have to crawl into a corner and maybe lie down with the feeling of shame and humiliation at being rejected and — God, who is he kidding, he wouldn’t be able to survive the worst case scenario at all. He’ll probably need to find some excuse to quit his job. There’s only a month or so left of the semester; he could convince Lan Yi to find someone to replace him.
Wei Ying descends from the staircase at the same time Lan Wangji enters the library. (Wei Ying’s early!) He sees Lan Wangji and waves aggressively even though no one else is present. Lan Wangji finds that he can’t help the small smile playing on his face.
Wei Ying waits off to the side, bouncing back and forth on the ball of his feet, as Lan Wangji greets A-Tong, who reports that as usual nothing much had happened the previous night. After A-Tong departs, Wei Ying comes up to the desk and stage whispers, “Lan Zhan!” It’s still far too loud but much more appropriate for the library than his typical greeting.
Lan Wangji nods at him before settling his belongings behind the counter and walking to the far end of the circulation desk to check the drop-off bin. There are only five books, which he stacks up on one arm. A brief glance at the empty holds shelf tells him there’s nothing new to shelve. He carries the books with him to his seat where Wei Ying is watching him from across the counter.
He settles down and begins to scan the books in. After scanning the second book, Wei Ying is still just watching him, so Lan Wangji asks, “Did you finish your chapter?” It’s probably better to engage in some conversation before presenting the thermos, he figures.
“Yeah!” Wei Ying says with a triumphant grin, “Yesterday morning, actually. A week late, but I’m counting it as a win. Also, I got to get my very necessary dose of vitamin D when the sun rose. Did you know that the floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the third floor make it a perfect place to catch the sunrise?”
“No, I did not,” Lan Wangji answers. He finishes scanning the books and pushes them to the side on the desk; he will bring them to the back, where the return carts reside, after Wei Ying leaves.
“You should check it out one day! Since you’re up already and all,” Wei Ying says. “I particularly like this spot in the corner facing the field. You can get this really nice unobstructed wide-angle view.”
“Why are you here today then, if you have finished?” Lan Wangji is glad to see Wei Ying, but he also would like it if Wei Ying slept at an appropriate hour or slept in general.
“Old habits die hard.” Wei Ying shrugs. “I’ve always been a night owl, so I’m used to it. Plus, there’s always more papers to write, assignments to grade, things to do. The unrelenting grind of the university and capitalism, blah blah blah. But things started getting really tragic for me when I started trying to organize a grad students union. I was in a four-hour-long meeting that ended at two am last week.”
“Is that why you are always up so late?” Lan Wangji asks.
“Yeah. Our organizing meetings always take ages. Even though Jin Zixuan — and I hate the words that are about to come out of my mouth — is actually the best class traitor I know who’s actually helping our campaign take off, he could learn to shut the fuck up sometimes, most times really.” Wei Ying says, rolling his eyes.
Lan Wangji blinks. Wei Ying knows Jin Zixuan? “I know Jin Zixuan,” he says.
“You do?” Wei Ying looks similarly surprised.
“Family friends,” Lan Wangji explains. Jin Zixuan and he have suffered countless hours of being stuck at the only decent Dim Sum restaurant in town as their families chat into the night long after the food has been finished, delighted to see each other for their monthly gatherings.
“Y’all are local to the area?” Wei Ying inquires, cocking his head to the side.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says.
“Makes sense,” Wei Ying says knowingly. “Every Asian family in the midwest is, like, contractually obliged to know each other.”
Lan Wangji nods.
Wei Ying seems to absorb the information for a second before suddenly asking, “Wait, why hasn’t he tried to recruit you then? You said you were also a graduate student? I realized I never asked because I’ve been making our convos all me me me, but then I couldn’t find you online. What do you study? Are you still reading Engels?”
Lan Wangji tries to parse through the slew of Wei Ying’s questions.
Lan Wangji would not describe Jin Zixuan as his friend or as someone who strikes him as particularly chatty –– because they don’t actually talk. Their camaraderie comes from silently looking at each other across the dining table and knowing that neither of them want to be there either. (Lan Wangji does appreciate the way that Jin Zixuan subtly tries to help encourage Lan Wangji’s uncle to leave by reminding him of the time though.)
And Lan Wangji is still reading Dialectics of Nature, not having had the chance to finish it because it is, firstly, a four-hundred page book and, secondly, Wen Yuan, a senior at the high school he does tutoring at, had made major last minute changes to his college application essay and had asked Lan Wangji to read it. Lan Wangji had wound up having to spend the whole of his Saturday with Wen Yuan at a coffee shop workshopping the essay with him.
Lan Wangji decides to answer what seems most relevant. “I am in the History and Philosophy of Science department. My research surrounds the socio-political implications of Paul Feyerabend's philosophy as a liberatory epistemology. I am also intrigued by social justice philosophy and Marxism, particularly in promoting marginalised perspectives in philosophy, especially in the context of efforts to ‘decolonize’ the academy.”
Wei Ying nods along vigorously as Lan Wangji speaks. “I think I got most of that. Not familiar with Feyerabend though,” he says and waits for Lan Wangji to continue.
And even though Lan Wangji could let himself go on, griping about methodology, his problems with Newton, and how Marxism is a science, but Lan Wangji knows that if he does, he’ll lose his nerve and get comfortable in the companionable, easy rapport that these mornings have begun to bring. Lan Wangji enjoys these moments, but he wants more.
So instead, he forces himself to say, “Wei Ying. I have something for you.” He pulls the thermos out from under the counter and pushes it across the desk. “It’s tea to help you sleep.”
“What, Lan Zhan, no, this is too much! You shouldn’t have.” There’s a funny look on Wei Ying’s face, one that Lan Wangji hasn’t seen before. Lan Wangji wishes that he knew what it meant, wishes for the opportunity to learn and catalogue each and every one of Wei Ying’s expressions till he knows them like the back of his hand. Lan Wangji thinks that learning all of Wei Ying might be a never ending undertaking, but it’d be alright if that were to be the case, more than alright really.
“It’s no issue,” Lan Wangji says. “I wanted to.”
“I can’t take this,” Wei Ying says, weakly, and with one hand, he grabs the thermos and pushes it back across the desk toward Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji, impulsively, reaches out his own hand and places it over Wei Ying’s on the thermos, stopping him. “Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying freezes, sucking in a breath, eyes on their hands. His hand is warm underneath Lan Wangji’s.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats. Wei Ying’s eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “By the time I head to bed, the tea will no longer be warm and it will go to waste.”
Lan Wangji watches as Wei Ying’s face softens. “Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says.
Lan Wangji removes his hand from Wei Ying’s and watches as Wei Ying takes the thermos. He fiddles with the handle, causing the metal to clink.
Wei Ying has averted his gaze and is now looking down at the thermos, the floor, out the window, everywhere except Lan Wangji. “Thank you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying finally says.
“I hope you can get some sleep later,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying nods. “Ah, speaking of, I, uh, probably gotta run now.” Wei Ying sticks the thermos under his arm and pulls the zipper up on his black winter coat. “Uh, well, see you.”
“Next week,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying finally looks up at Lan Wangji, lifting a hand slightly, and gives a small wave before turning around and walking away.
/
Lan Wangji spends the rest of the week turning over his interaction with Wei Ying in his head. He thinks about it through his courses, his weekly dinner with his brother, and his reading group session, to the point where he still does not finish Dialectics of Nature that week either. Lan Wangji is fairly certain that Lan Xichen did not believe him when Lan Wangji said that he had been distracted by his studies, but fortunately Lan Xichen had been kind enough not to press the matter further.
Lan Wangji’s not sure how to characterize the exchange with Wei Ying. Although Wei Ying eventually accepted the thermos, he’d essentially fled the premises immediately afterwards. But then again, Wei Ying had also said, see you, so perhaps all hope is not lost.
Lan Wangji figures he’ll have to wait to see Wei Ying again and gauge his success then, but when Thursday morning comes, Wei Ying does not show up. Ten minutes pass after Lan Wangji arrives for his shift, then another half hour, and by the time the hour is over, Lan Wangji resigns himself to the fact that Wei Ying must not have spent the night at the library. A small part of him worries that perhaps he scared Wei Ying off, but he reminds himself, like his counselor would, not to assume when he doesn’t have all the facts; this isn’t necessarily about him.
Lan Wangji forces himself to dive into his book and he manages to make some progress before the undergraduate student worker shows up at eight am. Normally he would send the student worker to shelve the books that have piled up on the return cart, but this time, with an hour left to kill before his shift ends, he decides to do the task himself.
Pushing the return cart, Lan Wangji takes the library elevator and starts at the basement level, making his way through each floor. Lan Wangji enjoys the simplicity of shelving, checking the call number on a book, and returning it to its proper place on the shelves. It gives him a small sense of achievement to restore order in this simple way. He takes his time, checking the other shelves as well in case someone has put a book back in the incorrect spot.
Lan Wangji finally makes it to the third floor, and as he passes by the section where the PS class of books are located, he spots a familiar red ribbon out of the corner of his eye. Lan Wangji catches his breath and he parks the cart next to the wall before walking swiftly towards the direction of the red ribbon.
It’s Wei Ying.
He’s asleep, settled in a pod created by two sofa chairs that have been pushed together. Wei Ying’s curled onto his side, breathing softly. He looks, for once, rested.
Lan Wangji breathes a sigh that feels like a mixture of relief, longing, and joy; his day already feels brighter for having seen Wei Ying. He almost reaches his hand out toward Wei Ying before he catches himself.
Clenching his fist behind his back, Lan Wangji checks the time. He’s got fifteen minutes left on the clock, and he only has a few more books to shelve, so he leaves Wei Ying be in order to complete his task.
When Lan Wangji finishes, he checks to make sure that Wei Ying is still asleep before heading back to the ground floor. By now, it’s nine am and the library is awake, not as alive as it will be with the traffic that emerges around the lunch hour, but bustling with the arrival of staff and the opening of the library cafe.
Lan Wangji collects his belongings from the circulation desk before making his way to the cafe where he gets in line. It’s not until Lan Wangji reaches the cash register that he realizes he doesn’t know if Wei Ying would like a savory or sweet breakfast, so Lan Wangji buys both options: a yogurt parfait and a breakfast burrito, before climbing up the stairs to the third floor.
He goes to the corner that Wei Ying’s tucked himself away into and as he’s setting the food down onto the table where Wei Ying’s belongings rest, Wei Ying shifts in his little couch pod. Lan Wangji freezes and watches as Wei Ying yawns and stretches, blinking up at him.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, voice gravely with sleep.
“Mn,” Lan Wangji says.
“Wait, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, bolting upright and rubbing his eyes fiercely. “What? What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might want breakfast,” Lan Wangji says, feeling a little exposed.
“No, I mean, why are you here specifically?” Wei Ying says. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the front desk?”
“I am finished with my shift.”
“Wha — ? What time is it now?” Wei Ying looks around wildly, noticing the sunlight streaming into the building.
“It is 9:13am,” Lan Wangji answers with a brief glance at the clock on the wall.
“What the fuck.” Wei Ying scratches the back of his head and Lan Wangji tries not to let his eyes linger on how his sweater rides up a little. “Wow, I must have slept through my alarm.”
“Alarm?” Lan Wangji asks, confused.
“Ah, no. I didn’t — I mean. I just, I wanted to make sure that I’d catch you. I wanted to give you this, wait, agh.” Wei Ying clambers out of the couch pod that he’s made. He nearly falls over, but manages to extract himself and make his way to the table where he digs through his backpack, pulling out the thermos that Lan Wangji gave him last week. Wei Ying shoves it into Lan Wangji’s hands.
It’s heavy. Clearly, it is not empty like it would be if Wei Ying had drank the tea. Lan Wangji’s heart falls.
“Did you not like the tea?” Lan Wangji says, trying but failing miserably to sound casual.
“No!” Wei Ying says, a little too quickly. “Agh, no, I mean, I did. It was nice. I finally got a straight six hours of sleep for the first time in ages. I, just. It’s soup.”
“Soup?” Lan Wangji echoes, not comprehending.
“The thermos,” Wei Ying says, pointing at it a little helplessly.
“The thermos is filled with soup,” Lan Wangji says, slowly, to clarify.
“Yes, it’s the best. My sister made it. It’s lotus root and pork rib soup and it’s supposed to be super helpful for your studies and reduce stress. And it’s chock full of vitamins and fiber or something and even helps regulate your blood pressure,” Wei Ying rambles, wringing his hands.
“I… Thank you,” Lan Wangji says, heart slowly crawling back up into his chest. “There was no obligation to return the favor.”
“Nooo, like you said, I wanted to. Plus, it’d been ages since I got to see my sister. Jiejie lives just outside of the city, so I usually don’t have the opportunity to trek all the way over to harass her into making — ” Wei Ying cuts himself off, face turning a deep red.
“You… asked your sister to make soup specifically for me?” Lan Wangji dares to hope.
“No!” Wei Ying cries out, voice too loud for the library, but Lan Wangji doesn’t care. “Argh, no! This keeps happening. No, not specifically for you, for me too, but also yes, I guess, for you.”
“And you could have left the library earlier, but instead chose to sleep here so that you could see me?” Lan Wangji asks, just to be sure, but also because he wants to see Wei Ying’s reaction.
Wei Ying groans, hands covering his face in mortification. “Lan Zhan, are you really going to make me say everything aloud?”
“I did not want to assume,” Lan Wangji says, trying to remain impassive, but he can’t help the way the corner of his mouth curves upwards.
“Lan Zhan, you’re unbelievable,” Wei Ying says and smacks Lan Wangji on the arm, but there’s no meaning behind it.
“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says.
The two of them stand there, looking at each other. Lan Wangji is realizing that, other than that instance with the posters, this is their first time interacting without a counter between them. He’s a few inches taller than Wei Ying, which means that instead of gazing up at him like he’s gotten used to from his seat at the front desk, Lan Wangji has to tilt his head down to look at Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji feels unsure of what to do next. There’s nothing that separates them anymore. Is he allowed to step closer into Wei Ying’s space? He searches Wei Ying’s face for the answer and under the sustained eye contact, Wei Ying flushes, looking away past Lan Wangji’s shoulder toward the window.
“Want to get out of here?” Wei Ying asks after a moment, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater.
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying packs up his stuff. It turns out he enjoys his breakfast sweet, so he takes the yogurt parfait and insists that Lan Wangji take the breakfast burrito.
They’re descending down the stairs, almost at the ground floor, when Wei Ying exclaims, “Oh! I have to return this,” and pulls a computer charger out of his bag before promptly tripping over the chord and tumbling down the stairs.
“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji calls out as he rushes to Wei Ying’s side.
“I’m fine,” Wei Ying says immediately, pushing himself up from the floor. “I only fell down like three stairs, I’m totally fine.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” Lan Wangji asks, reaching a hand down to help Wei Ying up.
“No, I’m alright. I just can’t believe I did that.” Wei Ying laughs and takes Lan Wangji’s hand, before immediately wincing into his grip and jerking his hand back, hissing.
Wei Ying turns his palm up to look at it and they both can see that the skin on his right hand has chafed from taking the impact of the fall.
“Wait here,” Lan Wangji says.
Lan Wangji picks up the fallen computer charger and walks to the circulation desk, nodding at the staff there. Nobody blinks an eye at him; it’s not uncommon for students who work at the library to duck behind the front desk to help themselves pick up their own holds or process their own check-outs. Most staff are grateful for it since it keeps the line moving and spares them the work.
Lan Wangji heads over to the island that has the spare computer and checks in Wei Ying’s charger, which is overdue by thirty-four hours. He also notices this time that Wei Ying has a fine total pushing triple digits. He waives the fee. The university will survive.
Grabbing the first aid kit under the island, he returns to Wei Ying, who’s seated himself on the stairs. Lan Wangji kneels down and takes Wei Ying’s hand in his own.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says.
Lan Wangji tenderly examines Wei Ying’s hand. It’s not horrible, but the abrasion has caused the skin to turn red. Lan Wangji begins to gently dab an antiseptic wipe at the wound, holding Wei Ying’s wrist firmly despite his attempt to pull back.
“Lan Zhan, this is really unnecessary. It’s okay. I’m going to be fine. I’ve recovered from worse,” Wei Ying says.
“You risk infection if you do not treat it properly,” is all Lan Wangji says in response.
Lan Wangji finishes wrapping Wei Ying’s hand with a gauze. He looks up and notices that Wei Ying is staring at him.
Lan Wangji tilts his head, inquiringly.
“Lan Zhan, would you like to get coffee?” Wei Ying blurts out.
Lan Wangji stares.
“Like, I mean, to talk and — I don’t know — maybe you’d want to help organize for the graduate student union I’m trying to form,” Wei Ying continues. “We still need someone from your department — ”
Lan Wangji, who had been trying to keep the disappointment from showing on his face, must not have succeeded because Wei Ying stops and asks, “Lan Zhan, what is it?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji inhales and says, “Are you asking me to coffee solely to organize me? Because while I would indeed like to join the union, I don’t want to assume this invitation is more than it might be.”
“Oh my god, how do I keep fucking this up?” Wei Ying asks, looking up at the ceiling. He shuts his eyes close and says, very fast, “I want to get coffee with you to talk about organizing, but also I would like for it to be a date. Or, we could do a separate meeting, I guess. An organizing meeting, and a date. Both.”
Wei Ying peeks an eye open at Lan Wangji, and Lan Wangji can’t help but smile.
“Both sounds good,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying smiles back so widely that his eyes crinkle. “Yeah?”
Lan Wangji nods and they sit on the stairs like that, grinning stupidly at each other until someone coughs behind Lan Wangji. The two of them startle, realizing they’re blocking the stairs, and clamber up to get out of the way. They nod apologetically at the student who walks past them, shaking her head, looking highly amused.
They look at one another sheepishly and Lan Wangji becomes aware of the fact that Wei Ying’s good hand is in his. He must’ve taken it when they were scrambling up. Wei Ying’s hand is a perfect fit in his, almost like it belongs there. He doesn’t want to let go, but it’s probably no longer appropriate to keep holding on since Wei Ying is properly up.
Lan Wangji loosens his hold, but then Wei Ying tightens his grip around Lan Wangji’s hand. He laces their fingers together and wordlessly tilts his head toward the entrance, eyes twinkling.
This time, they leave the library together, hand in hand.