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Chapter Text

Lan Wangji was not the kind of person to be accused of having an overactive imagination.

His upbringing had discouraged spinning tales and imaginative play. “Lying is forbidden,” his uncle scolded, and Lan Wangji learned to live in a world bound by rules and logic, filled with the predictable and the mundane. It was a ticking machine, intractable in the spinning of its gears. 

But no machine is perfect.

Sometimes, it was a movement caught out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, it was a door he had shut swinging slowly open.

Sometimes it was a book falling open to a long forgotten poem.

Sometimes it was a phantom of sound, a laugh, maybe, though he was never certain if that was just a memory.

He didn't look too closely at these things. Strange things happened, but it didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean anything, until that night when he tucked a-Yuan into bed, and his son said, "Will you read me a bedtime story?"

"I have already read you a story," Lan Wangji replied.

"Not you, a-die," his son said, "the smiling man."

--------

Lan Wangji finished tucking a-Yuan in, flicking the switch by the door to turn off the light, leaving only the dim blue glow of the bunny nightlight to illuminate the room. He had asked a-Yuan about the smiling man, letting the boy talk himself to sleep. Lan Wangji had read enough parenting books to know that children were inventive at this age, that creating stories was an important part of their development, to be encouraged and fostered. 

He still had an hour until bed, time Lan Wangji made use of to prepare for the next day’s lesson, reading over the passage of Lan An’s poetry he planned to cover with his undergrads. He marked a passage with a blue strip, carefully highlighting the lines he would ask his students to dissect the next day. 

She dries to ice,
and freezes them
into her glory.

She loves them,
wraps them in her arms forever--
like children's
portraits set in wax.

The room went dark. 

Lan Wangji blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden blackness, only a soft light from the window illuminating a small square where the moonlight spilled in, and the glow of a-Yuan’s nightlight from his bedroom.

He stood and walked over to the window. The other homes on the block were all lit -- so it wasn’t a power outage. He moved carefully over to his desk, where his phone rested, face down, charging for the night. 

The circuit breaker was in the basement, hidden away inconveniently in a high crawl space. Using the light of his phone’s flashlight, he made his way down, trying various light switches along the way.

The basement was large, the crawlspace taking up a small section in the back. He climbed up into it, stooped low as he made his way to the box, trying not to flinch at the spiderwebs that clung to him as he went.

None of the circuits were thrown.

He frowned. It was beyond him to figure out what could have caused all of the electricity in his house to have gone out at once. He was considering whether or not he should just call his brother and ask Nie Mingjue to come look, when, without warning, his phone died. 

The darkness of the basement was complete.

Lan Wangji was not the kind of person to fear the dark. 

The dark held nothing that was not there in the light. 

Or so he told himself, as he stumbled blindly out of the crawl space and something warm and close brushed across the back of his neck, the distant echo of a laugh.

--------

“Morning, Wangji! You’re calling early, how are you?”

“Good morning, ge. I was wondering if Mingjue would be able to assist me with a home matter.”

“Ah, he’s actually showering right now. What’s happened? I can pass along word for you.”

Lan Wangji explained the events of the previous evening. He had made his way back upstairs, intending to use his laptop to call his brother, when, as suddenly as they had turned off, the lights flicked back on. All of them at once, with blinding brightness, even as his phone chimed to life in his hand. 

He’d gone to turn off a-Yuan’s light first, not wanting him to wake, only to find the room was still dark. 

That night, he’d slept uneasily, the lingering sensation of breath on his neck.

Lan Xichen promised to have Nie Mingjue come over to take a look at things that day, and Lan Wangji thanked him. He disliked having strangers in his home and was grateful that his brother’s husband was handy and willing to provide assistance when things came up. 

He bid his brother goodbye, and moved a kettle to the stove.

No sooner had he set it down on the flaming burner, than the kettle began to whistle. Lan Wangji jumped, unprepared for the sound. He lifted the kettle and the whistling stopped. Disbelieving, he poured a bit of the water into his mug, then raised it to his lips.

The water was cold.

He frowned, and placed the kettle back on the burner.

It immediately began to whistle again, a shrill sound like a flute being blown, the note seeming to bend into a song. 

Frustrated, he turned off the stove. The kettle must be broken. He would get a new one.

He skipped his tea that day.

--------

When Lan Wangji picked a-Yuan up from daycare, Mianmian greeted him with a sly smile. “A-die!” a-Yuan cried, running forward and wrapping himself around his legs the way he always did. Lan Wangji smiled down at him and scooped him up. “I made a picture!” a-Yuan said happily. “Miss Mianmian said I could take it home and we could put it on the frij-gator!” 

“Refrigerator,” Lan Wangji corrected him. 

“Re-frij-rator,” a-Yuan said back to him. “Can we?”

“Yes. Do you want to show it to me?”

“Yeah!” a-Yuan said happily, squirming to be put down and running over to his station and grabbing his drawing.

“He was very excited,” Mianmian said, the smile growing wider. “We were drawing our families today.”

Her smile made him feel strange, nervous. He had only adopted a-Yuan a little over a year ago. He often wondered if he’d done the right thing. Not for himself. A-Yuan was the best thing that had ever happened to Lan Wangji, and he felt poured over with love for his son. But some days, he wondered if a-Yuan would be better off in a family with two parents. With siblings. A loud, warm family like they sometimes saw out at parks. He sometimes mourned that he could not provide a-Yuan something that looked more like a real family.

A-Yuan ran back and presented the drawing to him, smiling so wide his eyes nearly closed into tiny crescents. Lan Wangji bent down, kneeling to take a look, but wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

“It is very good, a-Yuan,” he praised. The boy smiled impossibly wider. “Tell me about your drawing.” He’d learned it was best not to guess, to let a-Yuan explain things to him lest he got it wrong.

“It’s me and you and the smiling man!” A-Yuan said pointing one pudgy finger at each of them as he spoke. A-Yuan was, predictably, the smallest figure in the middle, with a single curved line for a mouth, two stick arms poking out from a rectangle of blue up towards the figures framing him on either side.

Lan Wangji was, apparently, the largest of the figures on a-Yuan’s right, also a blue rectangle, a black circle crowning the head in approximation of Lan Wangji’s favored bun, and a stern line for a mouth.

And then, on a-Yuan's other side, another figure -- red bodied, black hair drawn in two crayon swipes on either side of its head, and a large semi-circle smile taking up half its face.

“Is that bo bo?” Lan Wangji asked, though he knew the answer.

“No, a-die! It’s the smiling man!”

Mianmian laughed over his head. “He’s been talking about him nonstop for weeks! Whoever he is, a-Yuan is clearly a fan!” she said, and winked at him knowingly. 

“We should get home,” Lan Wangji said, standing and taking a-Yuan’s hand. “Xuehua and BingZhu need their dinner, and so do you.”

“Can I feed the bunnies today?” 

Lan Wangji nodded. It was good for children to learn responsibility, and a-Yuan was always excited to help with the rabbits. A-Yuan squealed and started to tug him forward. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily, Lan Zhan!” Mianmian called after him. “I want to know more about this smiling man!”

--------

A-Yuan held out a bit of lettuce to the bunnies, who hopped forward with interest, only to freeze and refuse to move closer.

Lan Wangji frowned. Xuehua and BingZu were usually very food motivated, and had never shown any shyness around a-Yuan before.

“Gege, they’re scared of you!” a-Yuan scolded, hands on his hips. “Go over there!” he pointed to Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji wondered if he should say something. Imaginative play was good, but he wasn’t sure if there was a line. 

But no. His own discomfort was no reason to stifle his son’s creativity. Imaginary friends were normal, he reminded himself.

Still, he shivered as a-Yuan eyes followed a slow path toward him and then nodded satisfied just as the hairs of his arm prickled as though something gentle had brushed over them. A-Yuan held out the lettuce again, and this time the bunnies both hopped up to him and began to nibble.

It was a warm evening, loud with the sound of cicadas, the wind in the leaves. The quiet huff beside him was just his mind playing tricks on him.

--------

Lan Wangji came home and immediately knew something was wrong. He had not yet picked up a-Yuan from school, wanting to drop off his laptop bag first.

The house looked the same as it had when he’d left that morning, mostly. It took him a while to figure out what was different.

He walked over to the coffee table where Lan An’s book of poetry lay open. Hadn’t he put it back on the shelf last night? He tried to remember. He was certain he did. He always did, he was careful with his things.

But here was the book, open on the table, stating otherwise. 

He picked it up to reshelve it, when he paused, his eyes caught on the page.

It was open to the poem he’d been reviewing the other night, but red marks marred the page.

She dries to ice,
and freezes them
into her glory.

She loves them,
wraps them in her arms forever--
like children's
portraits set in wax.

He snapped the book closed, dropping it back to the table. His heart hammered as he searched the house, room by room. There was nothing. No sign of entry, nothing misplaced or taken. Only the book, the markings, and a red pen found where it had rolled beneath the couch. 

Lan Wangji put the pen back in the cup on his desk and reshelved the book. He opened his mouth as though to say something, then shook his head. It was an empty room. There was no one to hear him. 

If the door shut behind him when he left before he could pull it closed, it was just the draft, surely.

--------

“A-Yuan, come here,” Lan Wangji said, patting the couch next to him.

A-Yuan, who had been putting his toys away before bedtime, walked over quickly, careful not to run, and plopped down, swinging his legs. “Can you tell me about the smiling man?” Lan Wangji asked, feeling more than a little foolish. But he’d already had this argument with himself, and had decided there was nothing wrong with asking his son more about his imaginary friend. It didn’t mean anything to ask a-Yuan about him.

“He’s very silly!” a-Yuan said enthusiastically. “He makes funny faces and he plays dinosaurs with me. He likes to be t-rex!”

“He is nice to you?” Lan Wangji asked. 

“Yeah, a-die! He’s nice!”

“That is good,” Lan Wangji said, not examining the feeling of relief too closely. “When do you see him?”

“When I play, and when we eat, and at bedtime when you read me stories.”

“Is he at school too?”

“No, he’s only here.”

Lan Wangji nodded even as a chill tremored through him. “Is he here now?”

“Yeah, a-die, we were playing! He’s right there!”

A-Yuan pointed towards his toy chest in the corner. Lan Wangji followed his finger, and his heart leapt. For a moment, he thought he saw --

No. No, it was only a trick of the light. There is nothing there but a-Yuan’s toy chest, and few stuffies still spread on the floor. 

He sighed, smoothing a-Yuan’s hair from his forehead and kissing him. “As long as he’s nice to you. Remember you don’t have to play with others if they’re mean.”

“Right! If other kids are mean I just say, ‘I only want to play with nice friends!’”

Lan Wangji smiled. “And if your friends do something mean? What do you do?”

“I tell them and then they ‘pologize.” 

“Good boy,” Lan Wangji said. “Remember, we have to be kind and generous with our friends, even if they make mistakes.”

“Yes, a-die.”

“Go finish picking up your toys, and then we’ll go read a story.”

“But a-die,” a-Yuan said, wrinkling his nose, “smiling man already got them!”

Lan Wangji was about to reprimand a-Yuan for trying to get out of picking up after himself, when he stopped. Without knowing why, he looked back over at the corner.

The toy chest was open, the stuffed animal sitting inside. 

“Oh,” Lan Wangji said, as rules of his world fell to pieces around him.

--------

That night, long after a-Yuan was asleep, Lan Wangji sat in the living room, a notebook in front of him turned to a blank page, a blue pen in his hand, the red one waiting on the table. 

A cup of tea sat to the side, having grown cold long ago. Lan Wangji frowned at the paper, uncertain how to proceed.

Finally, he decided the best path forward was simply to return to smiling man’s greeting. 

Hello, he wrote. Then added, My name is Lan Zhan.

He wasn’t sure what drove him to use his name instead of his courtesy name, except that it felt somehow too formal for the absurd situation he was in. He placed his pen back on the table, leaned back, and waited. 

Nothing happened. 

Of course nothing happened, Lan Wangji thought. Why would something happen? He was sitting alone in his living room. There was nobody to answer him.

“Ridiculous,” he said to himself in an agitated huff, before taking his spoiled tea to the kitchen to dump it and clean up. He was getting himself worked up over nothing. He was just out of sorts. Forgetting things, and then filling in the blanks with nonsense. Lan Xichen had been harassing him about working too hard, telling him he should take a vacation. Perhaps his brother was right.

Lan Wangji stood at the sink for a long moment, thinking that it might be nice to drive up north for the tulip festival. He didn’t let himself walk back out to the living room until he’d gotten himself under control, rooted out the shivery anticipation that seemed to be overtaking him.

As he walked back over to the couch, the illusion of control shattered. 

He watched as the red pen rolled across the floor, as though it had just been dropped.

He walked over to the notebook, a surreal feeling coming over him, and looked down.

Hi, Lan Zhan! I’m the smiling man, but you can call me Wei Ying ;)

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji talked to Wei Ying until long past when he would usually be asleep.

His understanding of the world had unwound with the scrawl of Wei Ying’s reply, and he was slowly pulling it back into something, if not understandable, if not rational, then at least manageable.

Wei Ying, he discovered, couldn’t remember much. He didn’t know how long he had been in the house. He thought he remembered Lan Wangji and a-Yuan moving in, but he wasn’t sure. He did reassure Lan Zhan, however, that he had tried to hide himself from a-Yuan, afraid of scaring the boy. 

I didn’t want to freak him out, Lan Zhan! He’s just a kid!

However, he hadn’t been able to resist leaving small surprises for him. Arranging his toys into funny little scenes, gifts of flowers from the garden, one time a piece of candy snuck from the kitchen after dessert had been withheld as a punishment for throwing a tantrum at the dinner table.

So harsh! And he was so sad, Lan Zhan, what was I supposed to do?

Eventually, a-Yuan had taken notice of Wei Ying. Wei Ying didn’t know why the boy could see him but Lan Wangji couldn’t.

Probably just something about being a kid. Kids are always more attuned to spooky shit, don’t you think?

Rather than being scared, though, a-Yuan had deemed Wei Ying a friend, which suited Wei Ying just fine.

He’s such a cute kid. 

Lan Wangji had smiled at that. “He is. I am lucky.”

He’s lucky to have you for a dad.

Lan Wangji made a noncommittal sound at that, but felt the pride swell in him nonetheless.

“Wei Ying,” he asked finally, “was it you who turned out the lights that night?”

He looked away from the notebook. Wei Ying, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to be able to move things when he was looking at them. When he looked back, the page was filled with hesitant words, as though Wie Ying had written them rather sheepishly.

It was. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that it gets pretty boring. I didn’t mean anything bad by it. A-Yuan is great, but it gets kinda lonely with only a 5 year old to play with. It just felt 

I just wanted to tease you a little! Maybe get your attention, get you to notice me.

Lan Wangji couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that escaped him as he read this. “You have my attention now.”

There was a shimmery quality to the air across the coffee table from him, like heat rising off of sand, a trembling that had the quality of a laugh, even without the sound. 

Lan Wangji stared, willing himself to see, but the shimmer dissipated again into nothingness. He looked out the window, sipping the cup of tea he had made himself to steady his nerves, despite the late hour.

Lan Zhan!!!!! Be careful or I’ll be trying to get your attention all the time! I can be greedy like that!

Lan Wangji quirked an eyebrow at the place where the shimmer had been a moment ago and shrugged one shoulder demonstrably.

The air shimmered again, the barest edges of a man visible.

--------

Lan Wangji did sleep eventually. He had classes to teach the next day, no matter how much his worldview had shifted in the night. 

He prepared for bed with perhaps more care and self-consciousness than usual, closing the door carefully before he undressed and changed into his pajamas. He didn’t know that doors actually were any sort of obstacle for Wei Ying, but he expected that Wei Ying at least would respect the intention of it.

Still, before he climbed into his bed, he made sure to open the door. It wasn’t that he was inviting Wei Ying in, exactly. It was just that something about Wei Ying had opened the aching, lonely part of Lan Wangji in sympathy. It reminded him of his childhood, of the months he’d spent waiting for his mother to return home from the hospital, when nobody would tell him what was happening, when nobody would explain the sadness and loss that swallowed him and his home. Lan Wangji knew that being stuck, being in-between with no explanation, could be the loneliest place to be.

So he opened his door so that, at least, Wei Ying would know that he wasn’t unwelcome.

Wei Ying was here, whatever the reason or circumstance. It was his home too, and Lan Wangji wouldn’t make him feel otherwise.

He fell asleep quickly once he made it to his bed, exhausted from the discoveries of the evening and the late hour, and slept soundly, only stirring once to a sensation like fingers brushing through his hair.

--------

As the week passed, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying developed a means of speaking to one another, to supplement their evening conversations over the notebook. A-Yuan, delighted to discover that his a-die and the smiling man were finally friends, took particular pleasure in including Lan Wangji in his games with Wei Ying. Lan Wangji enjoyed it as well -- found that Wei Ying slotted easily into their lives, filling in empty spaces with the sensation of laughter.

Wei Ying, for his part, took their friendship as an invitation to tease Lan Wangji as much as he could, given the circumstances. Lan Wangji had learned to be wary of anything even slightly out of place. Partially opened cupboards waiting to be slammed shut once his back was turned, toys that would rearrange themselves into not-kid-friendly positions whenever a-Yuan was away. Once, he had found himself in a hurry after a rare, challenging morning with a-Yuan. A-Yuan had insisted that he wanted to go to school in his frog onesie. Normally, Lan Wangji wouldn’t have fought him so hard. Letting kids have the autonomy to pick their own clothes was a good thing -- it was healthy to give them some control over their world, and especially their bodies. However, the frog onesie was also not particularly clean after a-Yuan had spilled a good portion of his breakfast down the front.

By the time Lan Wangji had coerced a-Yuan into an acceptable and clean alternative, he was running late and hadn’t noticed the strange way his papers had stuck up out of his bag. It wasn’t until he got to school and had opened his book in front of his class of first years and discovered a pornographic drawing shoved between the pages of the Whitman’s Leaves of Grass that he realized his mistake.

Wei Ying had laughed so hard when he got home and reported back the events with a red face, that he had trembled into view before Lan Zhan, an apparition of joy, head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed as his arms hugged around his middle -- so vivid, so wild with laughter that Lan Wangji felt the need to hear it like a physical ache. 

He never told Wei Ying about these times, the times when Lan Wangji could see him. Somehow, these moments, as precious as they were, made the longing worse. It made the distance feel more real, to know that Wei Ying was there, was really there, and out entirely out of reach.

--------

It didn’t take long for Lan Xichen to notice that something was happening with Lan Wangji. 

They met weekly for dinners, trading off between Lan Xichen’s, their uncle’s, and Lan Wangji’s homes. 

Dinner at their uncle’s was always something of a strained affair. As much as Lan Wangji loved his uncle, loved that his uncle had taken in him and Lan Xichen and cared for them when their father had left, their views on parenting differed greatly. The clash was a constant source of tension during family meals, more than once leading to Lan Wangji leaving with a-Yuan before dinner was over. He didn’t want to be unfilial, but he also would not subject a-Yuan to the criticism that he had endured.

Tonight’s meal was unremarkable. They ate in silence, a-Yuan fidgeting over the broccoli on his plate. It was a normal evening, except for Lan Xichen’s frequent, inquisitive glances in Lan Wangji’s direction. 

At 8pm, Lan Wangji said his goodbyes so that he could get a-Yuan home to bed. The boy had already lost the battle against sleep, his head lolled into Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he carried him to the car with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. 

“A-Jue, why don’t you go wait for me in the car?” Lan Wangji heard Lan Xichen say to Nie Mingjue as he gently maneuvered a boneless a-Yuan into his booster seat. 

Nie Mingjue said something in an inaudible rumble, and Lan Xichen laughed lightly. “You were great tonight. I’ll hurry, I promise,” he said. 

Lan Wangi waited a moment before closing the car door and turning to face his brother.

“It was good to see you tonight, ge,” he said, a little awkwardly.

“You too, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, his eyes twinkling. “You seem well.”

“I am.”

“Yes, you are,” Lan Xichen agreed. “What has you so well, Wangji? I don’t think I’ve seen you like this since … well, since a-Yuan’s adoption went through. Is he going to be getting a sibling?”

Lan Wangji looked through the car window to make certain that a-Yuan was sleeping. The last thing he needed was for him to start getting ideas about a sibling. “No,” he said pointedly. “A-Yuan is enough for me.”

“So you say,” Lan Xichen said, alluding to the old fight -- Lan Xichen’s insistence that Lan Wangji needed to put himself out there and date, and Lan Wangji’s adamant refusal to do so. “Will you tell me what is happening?”

“Nothing,” Lan Wangji said, immediately feeling his stomach twist with guilt at the lie. 

“Wangji. You just smiled through a whole meal with uncle.”

Lan Wangji blinked. Had he been smiling? He hadn’t noticed, but, of course, if anyone would notice it would be his brother.

“I have made a friend,” Lan Wangji offered, feeling that if it wasn’t the full truth it was, at least, not a lie. 

“Wangji! That’s wonderful!” Lan Xichen sparkled at him. The guilt twisted more. “Tell me about them!”

“His name is Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. Lan Xichen stared at him, clearly waiting for more. Lan Wangji said nothing, not knowing how he could actually explain any of this to his brother.

When it became obvious that Lan Wangji wasn’t going to offer anything else, Lan Xichen smiled at him. “I hope I can meet him soon, Wangji. He seems to be making you very happy. I want to meet anyone who can make my brother smile like that.”

Lan Wangji felt his ears burn, and hoped that they were hidden in the dark. “Ge,” he said, scolding.

“Okay, okay. Get a-Yuan home, Wangji. We’ll talk later.”

Lan Wangji nodded and bid his brother goodbye. He spent the drive home wondering what it would take to get Lan Xichen to forget about the whole thing, only to give it up as an impossible task.

--------

“Wangji, you should invite Wei Ying to dinner.”

“Ge …”

“Uncle won’t be coming this week. He has dinner plans with the seniors at the Chinese Heritage Center. Remember? He told us last night.”

“I remember,” Lan Wangji said tersely. 

The smile in Lan Xichen’s voice was obvious, even distorted as it was through the speakerphone. Lan Wangji was busy pouring and flipping pancakes for breakfast. A second pan sat heating on the stove next to his, put there for Wei Ying. He took his time moving his completed pancakes onto the serving plate, giving Wei Ying an opportunity to use the squeeze bottle of batter to make little messages for Lan Wangji. He’d gotten the idea the other week, when he’d turned his back on the stove to help a-Yuan, who was struggling with the zipper of his onesie, only to find that Wei Ying had drawn him a smiley face in the skillet. It gave him a warm, content feeling to include Wei Ying in these small, domestic moments. 

“A-die, are you talking to bo bo?” a-Yuan called from the other room, padding over to the entry of the kitchen and looking in excitedly, as though he had not seen his uncle just the night before. 

“Would you like to say hi, a-Yuan?” Lan Wangji said, walking over to him. A-Yuan knew he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen while Lan Wangji was cooking, so he held the phone out to him. 

“Hi, bo bo!” a-Yuan yelled at it. 

“Hi, a-Yuan,” Lan Xichen chirped back. “I was just telling your a-die that his friend should join for dinner next week.”

“ Xichen ,” Lan Wangji scolded. 

“A-die’s friend?” a-Yuan said, confused, looking at the phone, then up at Lan Wangji. “Who is a-die’s friend?”

Lan Wangji was about to tell a-Yuan not to worry about it, to go back to his show while he finished, when the boy looked over Lan Wangji’s shoulder and his face cracked into a happy, knowing smile. 

“Oh! You mean Ying-ge!”

“Do you know Ying-ge, a-Yuan?” Lan Xichen asked. 

Lan Wangji stood quickly, trying to turn off the speakerphone, but he wasn’t quick enough. 

“Ying-ge is my friend too!” a-Yuan said excitedly. “He lives here!”

“A-Yuan, go watch your show while I finish breakfast,” Lan Wangji said, before raising the phone to his ear. “I need to finish cooking,” he said. “Goodbye.”

“Wangji, wait--!” Lan Xichen’s voiced piped through the phone, but Lan Wangji hung up. 

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. That would be challenging to explain away. Unfortunately, he only had a week to address it before Lan Xichen was here, digging for information on his quiet brother’s life over dinner.

Lan Wangji filed it away as a problem for after breakfast, and turned back to the stove.

To his surprise, there were pancakes going in both skillets.

Lan Wangji smiled in spite of himself, a surge of fondness crashing through the breakwater. He waited for them to begin to bubble, then flipped them, revealing a pair of perfect golden rabbits.  

Chapter Text

The best way forward, as with all things, was honesty, Lan Wangji decided. His stomach felt leaden as he waited at their usual table in the downtown cafe, a short walk from the university and Lan Xichen’s office. He sipped his tea and winced. He’d left it to steep for too long, and it had turned bitter. He frowned and fished the tea bag out, placing it on the small dish. He was considering buying another, when Lan Xichen swept in, approaching the table and sitting across from Lan Wangji with obvious excitement. “Hello, Wangji,” he said, with a placid smile no doubt meant to put Lan Wangji at ease.

“Ge,” he said, taking a sip of his bitter tea and immediately regretting it. 

“I am sorry to keep you waiting. The case I’m working on now … well, a-Yao is a tough negotiator, we were having something of a back and forth.”

Lan Wangji nodded, replacing his tea on the table and pushing it slightly away. “I am going to get another tea,” he said, standing. “What would you like?”

“The usual, please,” Lan Xichen said. 

Lan Wangji returned a few minutes later with a green tea for himself, and an oatmilk latte for Lan Xichen. His brother accepted it from him gratefully, taking a long sip and sighing happily. “I know that I drink too much caffeine, but ever since a-Yao gifted a-Jue that coffee subscription last year, I haven’t been able to give it up. Uncle would be disappointed.”

“Perhaps you could cut back.”

Lan Xichen chuckled, taking another sip before setting his mug on the table and fixing an eager look on Lan Wangji. “So, Wangji. You wanted to talk to me?”

Lan Wangji’s stomach, for all it had been a heavy stone a moment ago, swooped with an anxious feeling. “Yes,” he said, his hands on his tea to keep them from fidgeting with his building nerves. “I wanted to speak to you about Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue, even as he leaned slightly forward in his seat.

“I have known Wei Ying for about two weeks,” he said. “He is kind, good with a-Yuan.”

He paused, not knowing how to continue, how to tell Lan Xichen the next part.

“I’m glad to hear it, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. He hesitated, then continued, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to criticize. Only, isn’t it early to be introducing him to a-Yuan?”

Lan Wangji breathed in deeply, preparing himself. He would just need to rip it off, like a band-aid. He could do this. “Circumstances were such that it was not something I could control,” he said. “A-Yuan knew Wei Ying before I did.”

“Oh? Is he a teacher at a-Yuan’s school? Or, his daycare?”

“No,” Lan Wangji said. He straightened his spine, sitting up tall. “Wei Ying is a ghost.”

The moment hung heavy and pregnant between them. Lan Wangji’s ears burned even as he attempted to radiate sanity and stability at his brother, who, had they been raised with less poise, would be gaping at Lan Wangji.

“A ghost,” Lan Xichen repeated back. 

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said. “He seems to be attached to the house. Has been since before we moved in. A-Yuan has been aware of him for some time, although I only came to know of him recently.”

“A ghost,” Lan Xichen said again.

Lan Wangji could feel the headache blossoming, a small red bud of pain behind his eye. “Yes, ge. A ghost. A friendly one.”

“Wangji--” Lan Xichen began, then stopped. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out.

“I know this is hard to believe,” Lan Wangji offered. “But I have spoken with Wei Ying, and he would be happy to meet you, if you would like.”

“...to meet me. Your ghost wants to meet me.”

Lan Wangji nodded, resisting the urge to correct Lan Xichen. Wei Ying was not his ghost. Wei Ying belonged to no one but himself. 

“Wangji, I…” 

“You may come over after work, if you like. I have arranged for a-Yuan to have a playdate with Jingyi.”

“Okay,” Lan Xichen said, still looking unmoored, unable to find stable ground in the conversation.

“Thank you, ge,” Lan Wangji said, standing. “I must return to campus, my next class begins soon. I will expect you around 6pm?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said. “I’ll be there.”

--------

Wei Ying was ecstatic with the news. 

I can’t believe I get to meet your brother! Is he anything like you? I don’t think I’d be able to take it if there were two of you! My heart would explode, I’d die, Lan Zhan!

“While I do not know much about ghosts, I do not believe you would die,” Lan Wangji said.

He was sitting at the dining room table, the notebook next to him. His heart had been hammering ever since his conversation with Lan Xichen. He didn’t know how he made it through his afternoon classes. He had been uncharacteristically distracted, unable to focus on his students’ discussions, more than once finding his attention drifting, only to re-attune and find a room of eyes watching him expectantly.

Don’t be so worried, Lan Zhan. I’ll be on my best behavior. Your brother will love me!

Lan Zhan smiled down at the notebook. “I’m sure he will, Wei Ying,” he said, hoping it was true.

The doorbell rang promptly at 6pm, and Lan Wangji greeted his brother solemnly, inviting him in. 

He led him over to the table, indicating the chair on his right, and moved the notebook to the place setting at his left. 

“Wangji, what--” Lan Xichen began.

“The notebook is how Wei Ying communicates with me,” Lan Wangji explained. “He cannot use it while we are watching, however. We will need to look away if he is to respond.”

“I -- okay, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said indulgently.

Lan Wangji nodded, swallowing the anxious bile in his throat. “Wei Ying, this is my brother, Lan Xichen,” he said. “Lan Xichen, this is my friend, Wei Ying.”

It felt a little strange to be introducing his brother to someone he couldn’t see, but Lan Wangji had resolved to treat this situation as normally as possible, for all that it was not normal at all. 

Lan Xichen looked at Lan Wangji, then at the chair across from him. “Hello, Wei Ying,” he said gamely. 

They waited, Lan Xichen staring at the notebook. “Ge,” Lan Wangji said. “He cannot speak if you are watching.”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away to look at Lan Wangji instead. “Wangji, how have you been feeling lately?”

“I am well, ge,” he said. “You do not need to worry.”

“I worry, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “I always worry. Have you been lonely? Have you looked into any of those apps I sent you?”

“I am not interested in dating apps,” Lan Wangji said firmly, for what felt like it must surely have been the hundredth time. “I am not seeking a partner.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “I would feel better knowing you had someone, Wangji.”

“I have a-Yuan. And Wei Ying.”

A complicated look passed over his brother’s face. Lan Wangji saw the doubt and concern. He could put a stop to at least part of that, he thought. He turned back to the notebook. “Wei Ying has responded,” he said.

Lan Xichen looked back to the notebook and gasped. 

Hi, Xichen-ge! It’s good to finally meet you! You and Lan Zhan look so much alike, he should have warned me! It’s overwhelming, both of you in the same room! 

“Wangji, what--?”

The space next to Lan Wangji trembled. Lan Xichen’s mouth fell open as he turned to Lan Wangji. “How--? Who--?”

Lan Wangji felt more than a little smug as he shrugged. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”

--------

Lan Wangji walked Lan Xichen to his car, taking in his brother’s pale face, the faint tremble in his hands. “I can drive you home,” he said.

“No, no, Wangji, I’ll be fine. I’m shocked -- really shocked, actually, but I can drive,” Lan Xichen said. “It will be nice to have a little time to myself to process all of this, if I’m being honest.”

Lan Wangji nodded. This he understood. “Very well. I am glad you came over.”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said. “I am too. I was worried that you were -- well. I am glad I came.”

“Wei Ying was happy to meet you as well,” Lan Wangji said.

Lan Xichen couldn’t stop the shudder, but he smiled all the same. “He seems kind, like you said,” he paused, as though considering his next words carefully. “Wangji, do you know why he’s here?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. He had asked Wei Ying this same question, but Wei Ying had had no answer for him.

Why is anyone anywhere, Lan Zhan?

Lan Xichen frowned. “Are there others? Other ghosts? Shouldn’t he be … moving on?”

“On to where?” Lan Wangji asked.

“I don’t know,” Lan Xichen admitted. “But if he’s here, if ghosts are real … surely there is somewhere to move on to? What if he's stuck, Wangji?”

Lan Wangji considered that. He had never asked Wei Ying if there were other ghosts around. It had never occurred to him. Lan Wangji had only been interested in learning more about Wei Ying, had not fully considered the implications of Wei Ying’s existence. Only, now that his brother had said it…

“I will ask Wei Ying about it,” he assured him.

Lan Xichen's eyes were soft and scrutinizing as he looked at Lan Wangji. “Okay, Wangji,” he said, shaking his head at whatever he saw there. “Please just … be careful, okay?”

It was an unnecessary warning. Lan Wangji knew that Wei Ying would never hurt him, or a-Yuan. “I will be,” he said. There was no harm in reassuring his brother. 

Lan Xichen just shook his head again, before getting into his car and driving away. 

--------

Lan Wangji wasn’t able to sleep that night. He’d gone to bed at 9pm, as usual. He and Wei Ying had spoken over the notebook, as was their routine, but Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to bring up his conversation with Lan Xichen. Instead, they discussed the unit Lan Wangji was currently teaching on Post-Colonial Literature. Wei Ying, Lan Wangji has long since discovered, was intelligent and well-read. For all that he seemed unable to recall memories from his life, he spoke at length about the Chinese diaspora and the fetishization of so-called Eastern culture. Lan Wangji enjoyed these conversations, found himself enriched by Wei Ying’s perspective, delighted to incorporate his ideas into his lessons. 

After he had closed the notebook for bed that night, though, his conversation with Lan Xichen had rushed back to him, urgent and insistent. Why was Wei Ying here? Why didn’t Wei Ying move on?

A little after midnight, Lan Wangji gave up on sleep. He sat up, holding his head in his hands. A light flicked on and off in the hallway outside his bedroom, a question. 

“Wei Ying, come here,” Lan Wangji said in answer.

The light turned off, and a moment later that familiar, tingling sensation appeared at Lan Wangji’s side. 

Lan Wangji took the notebook and pen he kept on his bedside table for journaling and placed it on the bed next to him. 

“Wei Ying, do you know why you are here?” Lan Wangji asked.

Ah. Well, I hate to break it to you, Lan Zhan, but it’s because ….

I’m dead.

Lan Wangji huffed a small laugh. “Are there others? Other ghosts?”

Not many. Some. I’ve seen them outside. None here though, Lan Zhan, don’t worry!

“I am not worried,” Lan Wangji said. “Wei Ying. Are you … stuck? Unable to move on?”

The hairs on his arms raised. He waited, giving Wei Ying extra time to answer. When he looked back at the page, it was filled with halting sentences, Wei Ying’s hesitance obvious on the page.

I don’t know 

I’m not sure if there’s a beyond to move on to. But

sometimes it feels like something is pulling at me but I can’t go

I feel

I don’t think I’m supposed to be here

“Wei Ying,” he said, his voice choked. He swallowed. “Does it hurt?” 

sometimes

Lan Wangji breathed in around the too-large feeling in his chest. “I will help you.”

Trying to get rid of me, er-gege?

“Only want what is best for Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. He did not want Wei Ying to go. If it was up to him, if it was only for him, he would never let Wei Ying go. But Wei Ying was in pain. 

Don’t worry about me, Lan Zhan. I’m fine .

Lan Wangji shook his head. “I will help you,” he repeated. 

He looked out the window into the dark leaves that shook in the wind, silhouetted in the pale light of a waning moon. 

okay

May I

Is it okay if

Can i stay here tonight?

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said, his voice breathy and low. The air next to him shimmered. Wei Ying was sitting on the bed, so close to him, his knees hugged up to his chest, long hair falling in curtains around his face. To Lan Wangji’s surprise, he didn’t fade back into nothingness. The image stayed, trembling as though it might break apart at any moment. Lan Wangji’s heart pounded as he looked.

He laid back in the bed, situating himself carefully, spreading out an arm towards Wei Ying. “Come here,” he said.

Wei Ying turned toward him, pausing just for a moment before lowering himself to lay next to Lan Wangji, head pillowed on his arm. The contact shivered in goosebumps up his arm -- not sensation, not contact, but the suggestion of it. Lan Wangji turned his face towards Wei Ying. He was only a distortion of the air, incorporeal, featureless, impossible to hold. 

Lan Wangji reached out and let his hand fall through Wei Ying’s cheek. His fingers felt hot, the air turned somehow thick and heavy between them. 

“Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji looked down at his phone, wondering how to respond.

Er-ge says you are looking for an exorcist.

This was not a conversation Lan Wangji felt equipped to handle. After Lan Wangji had conveyed his conversation with Wei Ying back to Lan Xichen and had expressed his desire to help him move on, Lan Xichen had wasted no time.

Lan Wangji knew that his brother’s network of associates far exceeded his own. Lan Xichen had an ease with people that Lan Wangji knew himself to be incapable of. As such, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when he received a text within an hour informing him that someone named Meng Yao would be reaching out. Apparently, he had connections in the occult community and would be happy to put Lan Wangji in contact with someone who could help.

I do not know if an exorcism is required.

Lan Wangji texted back. The image that the word ‘exorcism’ evoked was not one that felt right. Surely, exorcism was for expelling evil spirits. Wei Ying was not evil.

I only am seeking assistance in helping a spirit move on.

His phone chimed a minute later, and he looked down at the message Meng Yao had sent back.

I understand. I believe I know someone who can help. I will let them know.

Lan Wangji did worry, but he tried to put it out of mind. Meng Yao knew people who could help, and seemed to know this world. Lan Wangji didn’t. He would have to trust him. It was for Wei Ying.

--------

The man who arrived at Lan Wangji’s home the next day was not what Lan Wangji had expected. Perhaps he should have, but when Men Yao had said he knew a spiritualist who was willing to assist with Wei Ying’s situation, the word had conjured to mind a woman in a flowing silk dress, perhaps wearing an overabundance of scarves and a headwrap. He had not expected this eager looking man with the sharp smile, dressed in black with pentagram tattoos emblazoned across his knuckles, one heavily pierced eyebrow lifted in amusement.

“You’re Lan Wangji?” he said, walking past Lan Wangji into his home without invitation. “Wow, you’re as stiff as Meng Yao said. You can call me Chengmei.”

He kicked off his shoes, and strode into the living room, looking around at Lan Wangji’s home with interest. “God, you Lans are loaded aren’t you? And here I agreed to do this for free.”

Lan Wangji watched the man as he moved through his home, swallowing his displeasure. It was for Wei Ying. “I can pay you.”

Chengmei smirked and waved a hand at him. “No, don’t. I owe Meng Yao, and it’s worth more to me to be out of his debt. Wouldn’t help at all if he’d heard you’d paid me. Not worth it. Ah! There he is.”

Chengmei walked over to the couch, leaning forward. Wei Ying shimmered weakly before fading back to nothing. “You can see him?” Lan Wangji asked, curious. 

“No,” Chengmei said. “But you can feel these things out if you’re attuned to it. So, what do you want here? What’s the goal?”

Lan Wangji frowned, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I thought Meng Yao explained the situation.”

“Yeah, sure. Ghost stuck in the house, looking to get him to move on.”

Something about the way he said it made Lan Wangji’s uneasy. “Wei Ying should be allowed to move on,” he said significantly.

“Moving on I can help with.” He walked over to Lan Wangji, standing too close. Lan Wangji took an involuntary step back. “I’ve gotta get some supplies. I can come back tonight, if that works.”

“That is fine,” Lan Wangji said, somehow pressing the words out through his tight throat. “I will make arrangements for my son.”

“Sure, whatever. You’ve got my number, feel free to make use of it.”

He winked.

Lan Wangji was happy to close the door behind him.

--------

“Thank you for taking a-Yuan tonight,” Lan Wangji said as his son climbed up Nie Mingjue with happy shouts of “bo fu!”

“It is no trouble, Wangji. We are happy to watch him.”

“Kid doesn’t need to be around any of a-Yao's spooky friends,” Nie Mingjue said. “I don’t know where he meets these people. What’s this Chengmei guy like?”

Lan Wangji paused before answering. “Spooky,” he said.

Nie Mingjue considered him. “You sure you don’t want someone else there? I’d be happy to come over.”

“That is unnecessary,” Lan Wangji said. He liked Nie Mingjue, but Lan Wangji did not want company tonight. “I will be fine.”

Lan Xichen smiled at Nie Mingjue. “I’m going to step outside with Wangji for a moment.”

“Sure,” Nie Mingjue said, bending down slightly to plant a kiss on his husband’s forehead. “Come on, a-Yuan, let’s go get you in your pjs.”

“Okay! I brought my bunny feet!”

“Sure, kid.”

Lan Xichen smiled after them, before gesturing towards the door, following Lan Wangji out onto the porch. 

“Have you told a-Yuan?” he asked as he pulled the door closed. 

Lan Wangji sighed, nodding. “In a way. I told him Wei Ying was going to be going away, that he needed to go home. He seemed to understand. He and Wei Ying have said goodbye.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “Does he know it will be permanent?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Wangji said. Then, “No. I do not think so.”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, both gentle and firm, “You should explain it to him. If Wei Ying just disappears and no one tells him --”

“I know,” Lan Wangji said. He knew well, how it felt for somebody to disappear without warning, for no one to explain what was happening, where they had gone. “I will explain it to him. He was able to say goodbye, at least.”

Lan Xichen looked at him, his eyes warm and sad. “Call me if you need anything, okay? You’re welcome to come over.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment, then grasped Lan Wangji’s shoulder, squeezing tenderly. It tore at the tissue paper veil over Lan Wangji’s heart. He swallowed. “Thank you, ge.”

--------

The setup involved far more candles than Lan Wangji suspected were strictly necessary. Chengmei arranged them in a circle in the center of the floor, the lights turned off. The candlelight dripped in eerie, oily waves over the room, something that Chengmei had assured him was normal. “Ghosts bring resentful energy with them, no matter how nice they are,” he explained. “This Wei Ying is really attached to this house. He’s got some kind of connection that’s keeping him tethered here. What we’ve got to do is sever it.”

Lan Wangji had not liked the sound of that. The way Chengmei described things sounded unpleasant. Violent. He tried hard to convince himself that it was just the man’s affect, but he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. His heart hammered in his chest, as his side tingled with Wei Ying’s presence. He thought that, perhaps, Wei Ying was trying to hold his hand. He wondered if Wei Ying was as nervous as he was. But, then, Wei Ying was brave.

“Will it take long?” Lan Wangji asked.

“Naw, should just be a couple of minutes, if the spirit is willing to leave.” 

Lan Wangji nodded. 

“Alright, let’s get this show rolling,” Chengmei said, stepping back from his completed salt array, leaving one end of the circle open.

“Alright, ghost dude, you go in the center here.” 

The shivering sensation at Lan Wangji’s side moved away. The candle lights flickered. 

“Good,” Chengmei said. He fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped a few times.  Lan Wangji noticed that his nails were painted black, the polish chipped. Eerie music piped out of the speaker, tinny and grating. 

“Atmosphere,” he said. He set the phone down and grabbed the salt again. He closed off the circle of the array with another generous pour, then took a stick of palo santo wood from his bag of supplies on the coffee table and lit it. 

At first, a thin curl of white rose from the lit wood. Then, Chengmei snapped, and the quality of the smoke changed. As though signal had been given, as though a door had opened, the smoke began to pour out of the wood. It was impossibly dark and thick, joining the smoke of the candles to ooze viscous tendrils through the room, starting a slow, inexorable spiral around the array.

“What--?” Lan Wangji started, but then Chengmei started to speak.

“We drive you from us,
whoever you may be,
unclean spirits,
all demonic powers,
all infernal invaders,
all wicked legions,
assemblies and sects.”

Infernal invaders? Wicked legions? A blade of fear cut through Lan Wangji’s confusion. “Chengmei, stop!”

Lan Wangji tried to move, to run forward and put a stop to whatever was happening, but found his feet rooted to the spot, coils of the black smoke swirling up his legs and holding him in place.

“Wei Ying!”

He stared at the center of the array, just visible through the blackness. In the center, a shifting silver figure, the edges sharper than they’d ever been. Lan Wangji watched in horror as Chengmei continued to repeat the chant. 

“We drive you from us,
whoever you may be,
unclean spirits,
all demonic powers,
all infernal invaders,
all wicked legions,
assemblies and sects.”

Wei Ying was screaming. Lan Wangji couldn’t hear it, he didn’t know how he knew. But Wei Ying was screaming.

“Wei Ying!” he cried, reaching out to him. Wei Ying reached back, but it was no use. Neither of them could move. “Chengmei, stop! You’re hurting him!”

Chengmei didn’t stop. 

Wei Ying fell to his knees, dropping the arm that reached out to Lan Wangji, palms pressed to the floor. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said again. His voice cracked and quiet. 

Wei Ying looked up at him. This time, for the first time, Lan Wangji saw him. Could see his face, his eyes creased in a pained smile. 

“Wei Ying. I’m sorry,” Lan Wangji said, a sob.

“--Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, and his voice was beautiful. Beautiful and torn and desperate and dear and --

A rope of black smoke twined up him, up his arms and his chest, up his neck, pulling his head back into a horrible scream.

The smoke poured into him, emptying out of the room and into Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji fell forward, his legs released and ran for him. “Wei Ying!”

There was a blazing flash, the smell of singed hair, as Lan Wangji crossed the salt perimeter of the array. 

He was thrown backwards, the breath knocked out of him, his hands burned and painful. He blinked the spots from his eyes, looking, searching, hoping for Wei Ying.

But there was nothing there.

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang. There was still half an hour to go before the party started. Lan Wangji finished a final flourish with the frosting, looking at his work with a feeling of satisfaction. He wiped his hands on the kitchen towel and went to answer the door.

“Hello, Wangji!” Lan Xichen said, Nie Mingjue standing behind him, both of them holding gifts and smiling.

“Come in,” Lan Wangji said, stepping to the side. “I was just finishing up the cake.”

“You know you can pay people to make cakes for you,” Nie Mingjue said as he bent over to remove his shoes.

“A-Jue, Wangji is a great baker,” Lan Xichen scolded gently.

“Sure, but he’s got a whole party to plan and run.”

“I always make a-Yuan’s cakes,” Lan Wangji said. It was a tradition for them -- no celebration went by without a homemade cake, ever since Lan Wangji’s first semi-disastrous attempt for a-Yuan’s first Gotcha Day. He had improved over the years, creating more and more elaborate cakes. It seemed, now, that they had all been leading up to this moment. 

“It’s a lot of people,” Nie Mingjue pointed out.. 

“All the more reason for us to help,” Lan Xichen said. “Where do you want the gifts, Wangji?”

“There is a table in the living room, along the back wall.”

Lan Xichen took Nie Mingjue by the wrist and steered him out of the entryway. Lan Wangji returned to the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the cake -- a mortarboard hat with a white and blue tassel over a set of scrolls, atop a border of clouds. 

“A-Yuan!” he heard Nie Mingjue’s booming voice from the living room. “Get over here and give your uncles a hug! You’re not too big for me to pick you up, you know, graduated or not!”

Lan Wangji moved the cake to the fridge to wait for the party, and joined his family to get the final things in place before the guests arrived. 

--------

His home had never been so full. It had started to rain, moving the party fully inside. Teens were crammed in from wall-to-wall. Unobtrusive, bouncy music played as a backbeat to the banter. Lan Wangji stayed out of the fray, only venturing in to replenish the snacks and collect dirty dishes at intervals. Otherwise, he stuck to the kitchen with his brother and Nie Mingjue. Lan Qiren had made a brief appearance to congratulate a-Yuan on graduating as valedictorian, but had not stayed long. Lan Wangji was glad. He didn’t think he could manage his uncle’s foul mood that would undoubtedly result from being around so many loud teens, wild with triumph and the illusion of freedom. 

Guests flowed in and out of the party, making the rounds to other graduates' homes to make appearances with well wishes and gifts. They had given up on the doorbell, filing in and out at will, so Lan Wangji was surprised when it rang a few hours into the party. 

Things were beginning to wind down. The sun had begun to set, which meant that the teens were quickly abandoning their parties for more raucous and less family-friendly events. A-Yuan had retreated to his room with his group of friends to play video games and wonder in loud voices about their future roommates and what classes would be like. 

Lan Wangji opened the door to the late arrival. A young man stood on the doorstep. He looked at Lan Wangji with his mouth hanging open, before snapping it closed. Lan Wangji looked back at him, confused. He looked too old to be a classmate of a-Yuan’s, probably in his mid-20s. The young man laughed quietly, and deja vu shivered like an itch up Lan Wangji’s spine.  

“May I help you?” he asked.

The young man seemed to mentally shake himself, standing up straighter, eyes sliding away from Lan Wangji. “This is a-Yuan’s place?” he asked.

Lan Wangji nodded. “Are you here for the party?”

“I -- yes. Mo Xuanyu,” he said, holding his hand.

Lan Wangji took it, a little surprised at the formality, and invited him in. “A-Yuan is in his room,” he said. He looked at Mo Xuanyu, unable to avoid noticing the thinness of his face, the frailty of his movements. “There are refreshments in the living room. Please help yourself.”

“Thanks,” he said, still not looking at Lan Wangji as he moved past him and walked into the living room. 

Lan Wangji’s eyes followed him. Mo Xuanyu moved through the home with familiar ease, as though he knew the place, though Lan Wangji was certain he had never visited before. He would have to ask a-Yuan about him later.

--------

The last of the party guests left by 8pm. A-Yuan and his friends piled out the door with a wave of  goodbyes and thanks to Lan Wangji, heading out for a late night movie and sleepover at Jingyi’s place. 

“Be safe,” lan Wangji said to his son as he left.

“Of course, a-die,” a-Yuan said, giving him a quick hug before joining his friends.

Lan Wangji watched them drive off and returned to his now empty home. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had made their exit an hour earlier, claiming they were too old to keep up with the young people. 

He moved around the place, cleaning up the paper plates and cups where they had been left behind, perched precariously on bookshelves, the arms of the sofa. The detritus of the party spilled out into the backyard, where some of the guests had abandoned them when it began to rain. 

The plates and cups were soggy. Lan Wangji cleaned them, taking his time. Even once he was certain he had everything, he lingered. Lan Wangji would never admit to it, but he did not enjoy being in his home alone. It would be hard, when a-Yuan moved out to attend college several states away. It had occurred to Lan WAngji that he could sell the house, move somewhere smaller, somewhere with less emptiness, fewer memories. 

But he didn’t want that. Not really. Lan Wangji didn’t want to lose the memories, not when the memories were all he had.

It was a damp night, the wet from the rain lingering in the air. Lan Wangji allowed himself to rest for a moment, breathing in the warm, green scent of the early summer. He closed his eyes. These moments in life were always the hardest. The in-betweens, the transitions, where the previous chapter closed, and there was only the unknown ahead. Maybe he should take his brother’s advice at last, he thought, and try to find somebody. It was not too late. He was still young.

The thought held no appeal. It never had. Lan Xichen had tried for thirteen years to pull Lan Wangji out of what he called his “guilt spiral”. “Wangji, when are you going to stop punishing yourself? It wasn’t your fault. You deserve happiness.”

“I am happy enough,” had always been Lan Wangji’s answer. And he was. He was happy enough to be there for a-Yuan. Happy enough to carry the ache and not let it consume him, the way it had consumed their father.

Lan Wangji could not free his heart from Wei Ying, but he was strong enough to carry the snuffed torch in his chest. 

The summer insects were singing into the warm dusk of the overcast sky. Through the chirps of the crickets, it took Lan Wangji a while to realize what he was hearing. A whistle, a song, coming from the tangle of trees at his property’s edge.

Lan Wangji frowned and walked forward, following the sound.

There was a figure in the trees, hard to make out amongst the leaves in the dim light. They sat high up in the branches of an oak tree. He marvelled for a moment, wondering how they had managed to climb so high. 

“Hello,” he called up to them, quietly, not wanting to startle them and cause them to fall. 

Whoever it was gasped. “Oh, shit!” they said. “Look out!” 

Something hit the ground with the sound of broken glass a few feet from Lan Wangji. He walked over to it, and his heart skipped. It was a picture frame, taken from the house. Water spots shaken from the tree overhead began to blossom over the exposed paper where the glass had shattered. 

He bent down and picked it up, shaking loose the shards. The water beaded off of the wax of the crayon drawing. 

“I’m sorry!” the person overhead said. Lan Wangji looked up at them. “I didn’t mean to break it! I shouldn’t have taken it at all, I shouldn’t be here, I’m sorry! I’ll go, I’ll get you a new frame --”

“Mo Xuanyu?” Lan Wangji called up to him.

The rambling stopped, the silence sudden and full. “Yeah,” he said at last, like a disappointed sigh. “Yeah, that’s me, Lan Zhan.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh!” Mo Xuanyu said. “A-Yuan must have told me.”

“Have we met before?”

The feeling of deja vu had returned. Something about Mo Xuanyu was pressing at Lan Wangji, like a thumb against an old bruise. Not painful, but the memory of an old pain. 

Mo Xuanyu sighed in the branches above him. “I don’t know, Lan Zhan,” he said, his voice laden with resignation and remorse. “You tell me. Maybe not in this life. Probably not in any life at all.”

He laughed. It was sad, bitter as unsweetened chocolate. It burned Lan Wangji’s tongue, it sent shivers through his skin. 

He looked at the drawing in his hand, his fingers sweeping down the red figure. He poked at the bruise and found that it had a name. “Wei Ying.”

Above him, Mo Xuanyu gasped. Lan Wangji looked up at him. He could see, now, the man’s face -- his eyes wide, lit with the dim light of the moon.

“Lan Zhan …”

It was a lightning strike. There was a flash of feeling, so bright and hot and sudden it wrested his body away from him, control given away to the currents weaving through his skin. He reached out, his arms ready to catch what his head had not yet accepted or understood. 

“Wei Ying,” he said again, louder this time. A name not for the ache within him, but offered to the man who was dangling limbs over the branches above him. 

“Yeah,” answered a breathless voice. “Yeah, Lan Zhan, it’s me.”

Lan Wangji was numb. He was the opposite of numb. He had become nothing but sensation. “Wei Ying,” he said, the name pulled out of him by the force of his need. “How?”

There was silence above. Lan Wangji stared up at him, waiting, unwilling, incapable of looking anywhere else, or doing anything but waiting for Wei Ying. “Do you remember that day?”

Lan Wangji nodded into the darkness. “I cannot forget it.”

A laugh, sweeter this time. “Me neither, and I’m a master at forgetting things. I don’t know what that guy did, exactly, but -- I didn’t move on. I was thrown from here and ended up latched on to the first vessel I found.”

“Vessel?”

“Yeah. Vessel. A body without a spirit. It happens when a spirit moves on, but the body doesn’t die. Doesn’t happen a lot. Usually a spirit hangs around until the body is dead. We’re all hopeful like that, you know? Unless…” there was a pause, and Lan Wangji heard Wei Ying swallow. “Unless there’s a reason that they really don’t want to. In this case, it was a 10-year-old named Mo Xuanyu. Hospitalized. His family keeping him alive on machines to avoid manslaughter charges. They were actually pretty happy when I woke up. Made the case easier. Especially when I didn’t remember any of what had happened to Mo Xuanyu.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Ah, don’t sound like that, Lan Zhan. I’m fine. I got away from them, didn’t I? I’m a grown up now, after all.”

He fell silent again. Lan Wangji didn’t know what to say. “Wei Ying.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” Wei Ying said, as though the name had roused him back to his story.
“For years, if you can believe it. My memories are … foggy. I didn’t have a lot to go on, until I saw a-Yuan in the paper. A National Merit scholar! You must be so proud. I know I was.”

“Wei Ying.” It was all he could say, the name spilling out of his mouth from his heart.

“After that, it wasn’t that hard. I knew what school, you know, and then I just looked for the congratulation signs that matched his name. I didn’t mean to bother you. Really I didn’t. I just had to come and see for myself. I shouldn’t have but sometimes it just … it doesn’t feel real,” his voice changed to something different, something faraway. “I have these memories, this different name, these feelings and none of them belong to Mo Xuanyu. Sometimes, I thought I was crazy. Lord knows they tried to commit me enough.”

“Wei Ying.”

“You don’t -- I don’t expect you to believe me, Lan Zhan. You don’t have to believe me --”

“I believe you.”

Silence again. Lan Wangji breathed into it, shivering and formless. 

“I used to climb a tree like this,” Wei Ying said above him. “Back at the Mos’, when things were bad. I’d climb all the way to the top. Back then, it felt so scarily high. But that fall … it really wasn’t that high at all.”

Lan Wangji stepped toward the tree, his arms still outstretched. “Wei Ying,” he said. “It is not that high now.”

Above him, Wei Ying laughed. This time, the laugh wasn’t sad or bitter at all. It was the full, joyous laugh he felt in his skin all those years ago. And like all those years ago, the laughter sent Wei Ying into beautiful relief before him. 

And Wei Ying let go, falling through the branches.

He tumbled into Lan Wangji’s arms, which wrapped themselves around Wei Ying. He held him. Held the feeling of his weight against him, how their bodies pressed together.

“Wei Ying.”

“You caught me,” Wei Ying said, as though he hadn’t really expected him to at all. He looked up into Lan Wangji’s face, his arms around his neck, his breath a ghost between them. Their eyes met. “Hi,” Wei Ying said. And then he smiled. A smile that Lan Wangji could see, had waited so long to see. Lan Wangji knew he wanted to see it everyday.

He reached one hand up to Wei Ying’s face, and rested it against his cheek. 

“Hello.”