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“Please,” Nie Huaisang said with a wave of his hand, the bangles on his arm rattling like a warning, “tell your man he’s harshing my vibe.”
Wei Ying sputtered halfway through a sip of Bubly at the loaded phrase your man and shot a glare at Nie Huaisang, who cowardly refused to meet his eyes.
Nervously, Wei Ying slid his gaze sideways towards Lan Zhan, only to find him thankfully unruffled. He was still sitting rigidly upright, peering down at Nie Huaisang with thinly veiled judgment.
Wei Ying was cursed by a growing awareness that agreeing to a last-minute smoke sesh with his two closest friends—one of whom he was in love with, and the other, acutely aware of that fact—was, perhaps, not the smartest decision in his fragile state.
Nie Huaisang groaned, dropping his dab pen and sinking further down against the edge of the bed, an accusatory finger pointed at Wei Ying. “You said he’d be chill.”
“You said it was medicinal.” Lan Zhan bit back, one eyebrow arched in that devastating way that could always immediately strike Wei Ying silent.
Shockingly, the brow seemed to have no such effect on Nie Huaisang, who arched upwards, the gauzy greens and browns of his caftan (“what? It’s boho-chic!” he’d retorted to Wei Ying’s initial, questioning appraisal) fluttering behind him as he faced Lan Zhan head on.
“Excuse you,” he said, suddenly heated. “I have an actual fucking script for it! Not all ailments are visible, dick.”
Wei Ying winced as he watched Lan Zhan lean back slightly, something akin to regret flashing across his eyes. He was probably seconds away from actually apologizing, because Lan Zhan was a decent human being like that.
“He slipped a disc in his neck while working out with his brother,” Wei Ying explained in a rush, giving Lan Zhan a consolatory pat to his knee. “Over a year ago,” he added pointedly, rolling his eyes.
Nie Huaisang failed to catch the obvious dig, sitting back once again to take another puff. “One sloppy shoulder press got me out of the gym for good and a legal weed card. The universe works in mysterious ways.”
Noticing Lan Zhan’s eyes were cast downward, Wei Ying followed their path, startling when he realized his hand had apparently settled in for the long haul on Lan Zhan's kneecap. He yanked his hand back as if scalded, mumbling an apology under his breath.
Lan Zhan delicately cleared his throat. “I am aware of the palliative benefits of marijuana,” he said slowly. “I wrote a paper on it last term.”
Nie Huaisang snorted, leaning over to snatch a honey butter chip from the bag at Wei Ying’s feet and popping it into his mouth. “Well where the hell was that energy when we were picking our topic, huh?”
Although the three of them had briefly met during the orientation mixer for new Public Health graduate students, they only began spending time together in the final semester of their first year, having been grouped up for a project in Geriatric Care Management.
Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying had hit it off relatively quickly, bonding first over their shared focus on infection control before delving into more innocuous topics like music and gaming.
The two of them soon began hanging out regularly, occasionally venturing out to explore the local queer club scene only to complain the next morning about the overly-sanitized, pedestrian nature of it all. “Ten years ago I heard that the theme every Sunday was Leather Daddies,” Nie Huaisang had told Wei Ying forlornly as they exited one such club after an unfulfilling evening. “And now it’s 90’s Trivia?”
Lan Zhan, however, had been much harder to win over. At first Wei Ying, thrown off his game by Lan Zhan’s almost stupidly handsome face and reserved demeanor, had practically tripped over himself in a rush to compliment him in their every interaction, gradually losing steam as he received only tepid responses.
Wei Ying had been preparing to write Lan Zhan off as yet another pretty, privileged snob—Jin Zixuan with wider shoulders and better hair—until the day he showed up early for a shift at the campus community clinic.
He was just settling into their tiny, makeshift office space in the back when he overheard the distinctly smooth baritone of Lan Zhan’s voice carrying from the closest curtained exam room.
Wei Ying had stood frozen in place, lab coat half-on and half hanging from one shoulder, clipboard forgotten, and listened to the entirety of Lan Zhan’s consultation with the mother of a young diabetic. Lan Zhan had obvious concern in his voice as he offered reassurances before confidently launching into a wealth of information on low-cost insulin resources, nutritional subsidies, and clinical trials.
He was still motionless when Lan Zhan stepped out from behind the curtain, hand-in-hand with a boy who appeared no more than 7 or 8 years old and was staring shyly up at Lan Zhan with open awe on his face while his mother repeated her profuse thanks.
Lan Zhan had caught his eye, the briefest flicker of surprise showing, before he nodded at Wei Ying and continued down the corridor with his patients, walking them out.
Wei Ying had spent the rest of the afternoon slightly on edge, unsettled by the strange fluttering sensation deep within his chest.
From that day on, he found himself paying closer attention in the few lectures he shared with Lan Zhan; his classmate did not speak up much, but when he did, his comments were insightful and intelligent, nuanced to the point they would easily capture an entire room’s attention despite being delivered quietly and with no pomp or fanfare. Lan Zhan spoke with heartfelt passion for his concentration in nutrition, and frequently teemed with rage toward government policies that exacerbated their region’s food insecurity crisis.
Although Wei Ying gradually came to stop berating himself for having badly misjudged Lan Zhan, he was left uncertain how to approach him, how to interact with him. The growing respect he felt for Lan Zhan left Wei Ying incapable of falling back on his shamelessly assertive habits, and created a chasm between them that he had no idea how to bridge.
Unexpectedly, it was Lan Zhan himself who first broke the ice. Wei Ying exited the lab one day to find Lan Zhan waiting for him, back against the wall and a textbook in his arms. Wei Ying had nearly tripped over his own feet, muttering a half-hearted farewell to his classmates before approaching Lan Zhan, who asked him for assistance in their BioStatistics class, expressing his struggles with their latest model-building exercise.
Wei Ying had gaped at him. “Uh...are you sure you want to be asking me?”
Lan Zhan had stilled, lifting his head up from the textbook page he’d been pointing out. One perfectly groomed eyebrow arched up as he regarded him so coolly Wei Ying almost shivered.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan had said slowly, an air of incredulity in his tone, “you’re at the top of our class. Of course I’m sure.”
He left no room for argument, so Wei Ying stammered his acceptance and they made arrangements for what became the first of many joint study sessions.
Wei Ying had been surprised, at first, by how easy it was to fall into a rhythm with Lan Zhan. Their differences seemed more complimentary than a hindrance; Wei Ying preferred lab work to writing papers and excelled at statistical analysis, while Lan Zhan had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of policy and could draft off an effective and eloquent grant proposal in the blink of an eye.
It wasn’t all academics, however; as Lan Zhan grew more relaxed around him, Wei Ying soon realized he had a subtly devastating sense of humor, able to toss out quick retorts with a dry sarcasm rivaling Nie Huaisang’s. Wei Ying learned Lan Zhan hated fast food but enjoyed cooking, spoke to his older brother nearly every day and his uncle once a week, and dearly missed both his vegetable garden and his pet rabbits back home.
Wei Ying also learned that the line of Lan Zhan's mouth tilted down to the right when he was displeased, and twitched at the corners when he was amused. He learned, thanks to a graceless stumble as they were descending the lecture hall stairs, that the arms hidden beneath layers of turtlenecks and sweaters were unmistakably strong, toned and firm. He learned that Lan Zhan smelled like a forest in autumn, woodsy and warm and crisp, and that his eyes glowed like amber when the sun hit them just right.
Then, one afternoon, he learned Lan Zhan was gay...entirely by accident, although Wei Ying felt guilty about it for days afterwards.
Wei Ying had been listening to Nie Huaisang describe, with some derision, a drag bingo event being held at a club later that evening. “Sounds obnoxious,” he finally said when Nie Huaisang paused for a breath. “I’m totally in.”
Nie Huaisang had then, for some reason, nodded at Lan Zhan across the table. “How about you, you coming?”
Wei Ying had no explanation for the surge of panic that rose up within him at that. “Oh, ha, haha, it's really not his scene, I don’t—Lan Zhan, never mind him, I know you’d hate—I mean, not that you’d be mean about it, I know you’re a good person, I just—it’s okay to be uncomfortable with that...kind of place.”
His awkward rambling trailed off, and Nie Huaisang and Lan Zhan had both stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Nie Huaisang had appeared openly bewildered, but Lan Zhan’s expression was one of cautious concern.
“Why would I be...uncomfortable?” he asked slowly.
Why are we having this conversation? Wei Ying thought frantically, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. “Um, you know, most straight guys aren’t...I mean, not that you’re not open-minded, but I wouldn— “
Lan Zhan immediately, effectively silenced him by holding up a single hand, the other shoving the last of his books back into his bag. “Wei Ying,” he said, the slight hint of disappointment in his quiet voice managing to land like a sledgehammer, “I’m gay.”
“Oh—” Wei Ying responded numbly, as Lan Zhan zipped up his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Oh, okay, cool, cool. Cool.”
He was fumbling, desperately prompting his brain to recall a single other word in existence besides cool, when Lan Zhan merely nodded to them both before turning away and heading toward the exit.
Wei Ying watched him depart in miserable silence.
Immediately and mercilessly, Nie Huaisang held up a fist below his chin, miming a microphone. “Local queer disaster embarrasses self and friends by making assumptions about others’ sexuality! Full story at 11.”
He ducked skillfully as Wei Ying swung a notebook at his head.
Wei Ying replayed that interaction for days after, uncertain why he’d felt so unmoored by the entire line of conversation.
A week later, Nie Huaisang, righteous and all-knowing bastard that he was, had been all too happy to help spell things out for him.
They had gathered in the library again to work on their project. Wei Ying had struggled to sleep the night before, unexpectedly nervous, and was on his third iced coffee by the time he met up with them.
But Lan Zhan behaved normally, as if that whole messy exchange had never occurred, and Wei Ying allowed himself to feel some semblance of relief.
The excess caffeine, however, soon hit him, leaving him jittery and bursting with restless energy. Instead of solemnly apologizing like he’d originally expected, he found himself spending half their study session pestering Lan Zhan incessantly—slipping him hastily-scribbled notes, infringing on his personal space to ask pointless questions, constantly rearranging all the supplies that Lan Zhan had neatly laid out on the table before them.
Lan Zhan chided him gently at first, urging him to focus, but as time passed he grew surprisingly, graciously tolerant, responding to Wei Ying's inane queries and passing notes of his own. Nie Huaisang released several loud sighs and at one point even kicked Wei Ying under the table by ‘accident’, but otherwise let them be as he typed up his notes.
When Lan Zhan went for a bathroom break and Nie Huaisang left to refill his water bottle, Wei Ying decided to walk through the corridor outside the library, stretching his limbs in the rays of sunlight beaming in through the large windows lining the hall. He tapped at his phone and was surprised to see a snap notification from Nie Huaisang, sent just minutes ago.
The image loaded, and Wei Ying nearly dropped his phone onto the concrete floor.
The photo was of him and Lan Zhan, mid-study. Or, at least, Lan Zhan was studying, intently looking at a diagram of their project timeline. Wei Ying, however, was turned toward Lan Zhan, their faces barely a foot apart, chin on his hand and unabashedly gazing at Lan Zhan like he’d hung the moon, a faint flush on his cheeks and a wistful expression in his eyes.
Wei Ying sank down onto one of the benches lining the corridor, a prickling sensation creeping up the back of his neck.
Deep down, some part of him had recognized early on that he had a crush on Lan Zhan, but like with most problems, the greater it grew in intensity the further down Wei Ying suppressed it, choosing avoidance as the best tactic like any responsible adult.
It also...explained some of the turmoil he’d felt when Lan Zhan revealed his sexuality; Wei Ying had elevated Lan Zhan onto a pedestal, one reinforced by the presumed straightness that removed him from any realm of possibility. Straight Lan Zhan was off-limits, which meant Wei Ying could look but not touch, and would never, ever be forced to confront the noxious landfill that was his feelings.
Feelings he thought he had been hiding, all this time! But instead there he was, broadcasting them across his face so blatantly that even undergrad psych majors could accurately identify them.
“Fuck,” Wei Ying muttered under his breath, burying his hands in his hair and shaking his head, making a disaster of the short ponytail gathered at his nape.
When he finally mustered the courage to return to his study group, Nie Huaisang blinked up at him innocently, a shit-eating grin on his face.
Lan Zhan, however, regarded him with that ever-earnest concern.
“Wei Ying,” he said, and the warmth of his name on his tongue was something Wei Ying wanted to make tangible, put in his pocket and carry with him forever. “You were gone awhile. Are you alright?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lan Zhan lifted a hand toward his head, and Wei Ying held his breath as he felt Lan Zhan's long fingers smooth down his wayward bangs.
The unexpected intimacy of the gesture overwhelmed him—surely, Lan Zhan, a good friend, was alarmed to see him standing in the middle of the library looking like he’d just lost a fight—to the point where Wei Ying could no longer bear the weight of such undeserved consideration.
Wei Ying had mumbled an apology and a half-assed excuse before grabbing his stuff and bolting, running the entirety of the way back to his dorm and throwing himself down onto his bed with the dramatic flair worthy of someone whose entire sense of self had just been shattered.
He’d gone into hiding shortly after, dodging his friends and even his classes for a few days by faking a cold. He’d holed up in his dorm and spent hours on the phone with his sister, pouring his heart out while filling his bed with tissues and pretzel crumbs.
When he finally emerged from his cocoon of insecurity and decided to rejoin the world, Nie Huaisang had proposed that, instead of their usual study session, the three of them just hang out in his dorm for an evening. “We can just relax, catch up, maybe smoke a bit.”
Nie Huaisang had made the offer breezily, not missing a beat before adding, “you just seem like you might need to...unwind?”
There was no hint of malice in his expression, and his assessment did not hit Wei Ying as unkind.
He didn’t bother telling Nie Huaisang he didn’t smoke, that he wasn’t a fan of how it felt traveling down his throat and into his lungs, triggering distant memories he could never fully recall.
Now Wei Ying was sprawled on the worn nylon carpet of Nie Huaisang's dorm room, watching him puff from a black steel dab pen that didn’t quite mesh with the earth tones and patchworked fabrics that covered everything else around them.
Lan Zhan, clad in a marine-blue sweatshirt and absolutely awful khakis Wei Ying would have mercilessly teased him about under normal circumstances, sat calmly sipping from the thermos of tea he’d brought with him, like he had somehow predicted Nie Huaisang’s mini-fridge would be stocked with only an unholy combination of beer and kombucha.
Every now and then Wei Ying became aware of those warm brown eyes flickering his way, as if checking to assure he was still in one piece and not slowly crumbling apart.
If only Lan Zhan knew the half of it.
“Wei-xiong, come on,” Nie Huaisang urged, handing over the pen. “You said you wanted to relax.”
Wei Ying stared down at the pen and, for the first time in his life, found himself wishing they’d chosen to study instead. “Yeah, but actually— “
“But what?” Nie Huaisang waved his arm impatiently. “Please, all that stress is not doing any favors to your skin. You've smoked before, right?”
Wei Ying was even more acutely aware of Lan Zhan’s attentive stare then. “No, of course I have, it's just...to be honest, I’m one of those unlucky bastards who kind of reacts, um, badly, to it? You know, full-blown paranoia, the works.”
He tried to hand the pen back but Nie Huaisang just groaned. “You’re really gonna make me smoke alone? Don’t you remember when I did that hot wing challenge with you?”
Wei Ying forced out a laugh, feeling increasingly awkward. “You’re not alone! I’m here for you, aren’t I?”
He paused, then leaned over to nudge an elbow into Lan Zhan’s side. “Unless Lan Zhan decides to join you,” Wei Ying added jokingly. “Then I’ll have to take care of you both.”
Nie Huaisang’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head as he snatched the pen back from Wei Ying’s fingers.
Lan Zhan merely blinked back at him. “Take care of us?”
“Uh...yeah, you know,” Wei Ying explained, “making sure you’ve got snacks and don’t wander the halls, putting a pillow under your head when you eventually pass out, all that.”
Nie Huaisang leaned forward again, newly energized and extending the dab pen toward Lan Zhan. “So? You've researched it, you know there’s like, zero negative side effects. It’s natural! It’s a leaf! Just like your precious tea.”
“Okay, okay,” Wei Ying interjected quickly, holding a hand up in front of Nie Huaisang. “Calm down, he’s not going to...to…”
His words died out when Lan Zhan’s elegant fingers plucked the pen from Nie Huaisang’s outstretched hand, inspecting it curiously.
“Uh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying stammered, shooting an incredulous look at Nie Huaisang, whose eyes were suddenly wide with glee. “You don’t have to—“
“Shhh,” Nie Huaisang hissed, his tastefully-messy bun bouncing with the vehement shaking motion of his head. “He’s his own person!”
Wei Ying bristled, then turned to Lan Zhan, who was still inspecting the pen thoroughly. He dropped it to the edge of his sweatshirt suddenly, using the hem to wipe at the mouthpiece, and Wei Ying bit back a laugh as Nie Huaisang gave an affronted gasp.
“How do I..." Lan Zhan hesitated, bringing the pen up to his lips.
Nie Huaisang’s voice was suddenly stripped of all annoyance, melting into something soft and reassuring. “Hold it between your lips and breathe in through your mouth, but like, deeply, okay? Breathe in and hold it for a bit, then exhale through your mouth.”
He was practically the picture of patience and kindness as he added, “it might take a few tries, don’t worry.”
Lan Zhan nodded to him and then turned his gaze toward Wei Ying as he slipped the mouth of the pen between his lips.
Wei Ying suddenly felt acutely uncomfortable, like his skin had been stretched too tightly around his body, but he maintained eye contact as Lan Zhan, with great concentration, inhaled deeply and paused.
Both Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying stayed frozen, silent, until Lan Zhan’s lips parted and a puff of smoke escaped.
Nie Huaisang finally sprang to life, letting out a victorious whoop. “Yes! Perfect! Damn, you didn’t even cough! He really is good at everything, huh Wei-xiong?”
Wei Ying suppressed the urge to slap the wink straight off of Nie Huaisang’s face, ignoring him in favor of focusing solely on Lan Zhan. “Was that okay?” he asked.
Lan Zhan nodded slowly, and Wei Ying’s eyes combed over his face, looking for any indication of the dreadful sensations Wei Ying experienced when smoking. Lan Zhan’s face showed no signs of distress, however, and was surprisingly blank.
Huh. Wei Ying had really expected to see some level of distaste and confusion, like when the cafeteria had run out of Lan Zhan’s preferred almond milk and he’d been forced to try oat milk for the first (and last) time.
He was even more surprised when Lan Zhan immediately went in for a second puff, once again smoothly breathing out a smoke cloud worthy of an experienced stoner.
Nie Huaisang clapped his hands together with delighted glee. “Oh, it's on now.” Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he bent his hand back to the mattress behind him, bracing against it to push himself to his feet. “I’m getting more snacks.”
As their host scurried off to the corner of the room that held his makeshift kitchen, Wei Ying turned to Lan Zhan, reaching out to give him another reassuring pat, only to pull back when he realized his hand had once again fallen to Lan Zhan's apparently magnetic knee.
Wei Ying cleared his throat. “You sure you’re okay? You know, you can stop whenever you want.”
Lan Zhan, looking unfairly attractive in the dim yellow glow of Nie Huaisang’s weird beaded lamps, nodded. “I’m fine.”
Wei Ying sighed. “Alright, just checking. You’re probably gonna start getting sleepy soon,” he added, his mind recalling the first and only time he’d witnessed Lan Zhan drink alcohol. “But I’ll make sure you’re comfortable, 'kay?”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, releasing another puff of smoke, and Wei Ying momentarily berated himself for finding this simple action devastatingly hot, like he was some sort of giddy pre-teen with a bad boy complex.
Lan Zhan lowered the pen before calmly adding, “Wei Ying said he’d take care of me.”
Fuck Wei Ying thought, temporarily blindsided by the sincerity of that statement, but he nodded fervently just as Nie Huaisang shuffled back to the bedside, triumphantly brandishing a package of cookies.
“Yeah, Lan Zhan, of course I will,” Wei Ying assured, checking the time on his phone and giving it 30 minutes, tops, before Lan Zhan passed out for the night.
30 minutes later Lan Zhan was most certainly not passed out and was, instead, giggling rather maniacally.
“Wait, wait wait,” Nie Huaisang gasped, nearly breathless with laughter. “What about...the dietetics prof, Doctor Im? What animal is he?”
Lan Zhan sucked in his cheeks and rolled his gaze upward momentarily before reaching an apparent decision. “Penguin,” he declared resolutely.
“PENGUIN!” Nie Huaisang shrieked with glee.
And Lan Zhan burst into giggles once more.
Wei Ying looked back and forth between the two of them, feeling for the third or fourth time since this animal game had started like he had entered some sort of alternate universe. Being completely sober for a conversation this inane was like standing outside a window, peering inside at a party he wasn’t invited to, watching everyone else have fun.
Which was certainly...not a situation he was accustomed to.
Still, Wei Ying could shamelessly admit that watching Lan Zhan loosen up to this extent was sort of entertaining, in its own way. The man had no right to be so charming while saying such dumb things.
Especially when his gaze had turned to assess Wei Ying, and, without even a moment's hesitation, he'd declared him a bunny. A bunny!
Lan Zhan’s cheeks rounded as he blew out a puff of air, aimed upwards in an attempt to get some errant strands of hair out of his face. Wei Ying nearly clutched his heart at the cuteness.
Nie Huaisang batted the paper fan he’d unearthed out of nowhere in Lan Zhan’s direction helpfully. “OK, then...how about those undergrad brats you teach?”
“Hey, hey, hold up a second,” Wei Ying protested, noticing the slight sheen of sweat that had broken out across Lan Zhan’s face. “Before you pick on Lan Zhan’s babies, I think he needs a hydration break.”
Wei Ying had, anticipating this, dug through Nie Huaisang’s mini-fridge moments ago until mercifully unearthing the last can of sparkling water hidden behind all the beer. He popped the top now and faced Lan Zhan, ignoring the way their knees brushed against each other.
“Here, Lan Zhan,” he urged, holding the can out encouragingly. “Drink some water.”
Lan Zhan peered at the beverage with disinterest, so Wei Ying grabbed his hand out of his lap and forced the can into it. “Come on, be a good boy and take a few sips,” he pleaded. “Please?”
Seemingly convinced, Lan Zhan brought the can to his lips, tilting his head back to take a long sip.
Almost immediately, his head whipped to the side and he spat out the mouthful of water, droplets flying across the dorm in a translucent arc.
“Lan Zhan?!” Wei Ying gasped.
“What the FUCK?” yelled Nie Huaisang.
Lan Zhan calmly, messily, wiped his mouth with the corner of his sleeve. “Hate spicy water.”
Wei Ying’s shock gave way as he burst into laughter. “Oh my god,” he practically wheezed.
Nie Huaisang seemed to agree, his anger deflating instantly. “Spicy!” he guffawed before falling back onto the floor, tears streaming down his face, blissfully ignorant to the fact that half of his imported wall tapestry was currently drenched in black raspberry Bubly.
Lan Zhan just sat there demurely, looking vaguely put-upon.
Wei Ying forced himself to calm down and hastily rose to his feet. “Right, well…” he started, then looked around and bent to grab Lan Zhan’s long-emptied thermos from the floor. “You stay put and I’ll go get you some perfectly bland water, ok?”
That word choice set Nie Huaisang off again, and Wei Ying only had a moment to notice Lan Zhan’s eyes widen slightly before he turned to flee the room.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it briefly, the unexpected turn of events leaving him feeling off-kilter, before heading down to the communal kitchen on the floor below Nie Huaisang’s dorm.
Wei Ying had just made his way back up and was exiting the stairwell when a flash of blues and browns in his peripheral caught his attention.
He turned his head just in time to see Nie Huaisang and Lan Zhan dart into the elevator at the end of the hall.
“What—GUYS?” Wei Ying yelled toward the elevator, but the doors had already closed.
Cursing himself for leaving his friends alone, he turned back toward the stairs yet again, flying down four flights and groaning about all the excessively unnecessary cardio.
Panting slightly, he threw the door open into the lobby corridor, panicking when he saw it was empty. He darted toward the dorm entrance, stepping outside and sweeping his gaze across the courtyard, eyes straining against the dusk in the glow of the dim street lamps.
There was no sign of them, and Wei Ying was halfway up the sidewalk, heading toward the university center, when he heard a familiar wail coming from the opposite direction.
He circled back, following the sounds, stopping dead in his tracks when he reached the side of the building and spotted his friends next to one of the campus security phone stands.
“Hey!” Wei Ying called out as he approached; then, noticing Nie Huaisang appeared to be actually using the phone, he broke out into an all-out run.
When Wei Ying finally reached them, Nie Huaisang was nearly sobbing into the bright blue receiver. “No, you don’t understand,” he was saying, voice trembling. “Wei Wuxian was kidnapped! You have to send help!”
Lan Zhan was at his side, squatting on the sidewalk with his head in his hands. “Wei Ying,” he was repeating under his breath, almost rocking back and forth on his heels. “Wei Ying.”
“GUYS!” Wei Ying yelled, lunging for the phone in Nie Huaisang’s hand and experiencing a moment of sheer, all-encompassing terror at the thought of campus police speeding over to discover his friends blazed out of their minds.
“Oh! You ESCAPED!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, eyes wide, and Wei Ying hastily turned away from him, gripping the phone tightly.
“Um,” Wei Ying started to say into the receiver, only to be struck by a huge wave of relief when he raised the phone to his ear and heard the looping, automatic instructional message; Nie Huaisang had, apparently, never hit the call button on the pole to actually connect to security.
Never more grateful for his friend’s dumbassery, Wei Ying gently hung up the phone and turned back around to Nie Huaisang, who engulfed him in a sudden, fierce hug.
“Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang positively shrieked. “How did you get out?! You are SO brave!”
Wei Ying rolled his eyes and wiggled an arm free from Nie Huaisang’s embrace to awkwardly pat him on the head reassuringly. “There was no kidnapping. I’m fine, we’re all fine, ok? Now let me go!”
Once freed from the tight hold, Wei Ying crouched down next to Lan Zhan, who had yet to so much as lift his head.
“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said softly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put? You’re supposed to be the obedient one.”
Lan Zhan finally looked up, his beautiful, slightly hazy brown eyes making contact with Wei Ying’s.
“Wei Ying,” he said quietly, almost forlornly. “I couldn’t save you.”
Wei Ying blinked, briefly trying to recall if Taken had been playing on the TV in Nie Huaisang’s dorm earlier, because what the fuck.
“No, hey,” Wei Ying said quickly, reaching out to squeeze Lan Zhan’s shoulders reassuringly. “I was never kidnapped," he reiterated. "OK? I’m fine.”
“Oh,” Lan Zhan said, his gaze falling away quickly before rising again, eyes widening. “Wei Ying wanted to leave?”
Wei Ying’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Silly boy,” he admonished, keeping his voice upbeat and raising the thermos to wave it at Lan Zhan. “I was getting you water, remember? I’d never leave you like this. Now here, you need to—uhhhh?”
Halfway through Wei Ying’s reassurances, Lan Zhan had shot up to his feet and grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt, tugging it up and over his head in one sudden motion.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said desperately as Lan Zhan wiggled, his arms caught in the sleeves and suspended above his head. “What are you doing?”
“Hot, too hot,” Lan Zhan’s muffled voice replied, and he wiggled again, his undershirt riding up to reveal the entire lower half of his torso, muscles rippling beneath the faint line of hair trailing down into the waistband of his khakis.
Yeah you are, Wei Ying thought dumbly, his mouth going dry.
Behind them, Nie Huaisang seemed to agree, hollering his encouragement with a clap of his hands. “Take it off!”
“Woah, woah, hang on,” Wei Ying urged, tucking the thermos under his elbow so his hands were free to reach up and tug at the fabric of the sweatshirt, pulling it free from where it had been stuck around Lan Zhan’s neck.
“There,” Wei Ying said, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment as Lan Zhan’s t-shirt lowered with his arms. “Is that better?” he asked, busying himself with tying the discarded sweatshirt around his waist. He hooked the clip attached to Lan Zhan’s thermos onto the sweatshirt as well, not trusting Lan Zhan to care for his belongings in this present state.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed primly.
Wei Ying grinned at him. “What do you say, then?”
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan replied without hesitation.
“Thank you gege,” Wei Ying prompted, deciding to have at least a little fun with the situation.
“Thank you, gege,” Lan Zhan parroted sincerely.
Wei Ying couldn’t help but melt a bit; next to him, however, Nie Huaisang flopped down onto the brick garden wall and let out an extremely world-weary groan.
“Please, can you two go bang it out already?” he sighed in a moment of striking lucidity, lowering his head to the wall.
“Huaisang,” Wei Ying hissed through his teeth, snapping his head around toward him. “Don’t be fucking weird, ok? And sit up, come on, you’re gonna ruin your pretty caftan.”
With a groan of protest, Nie Huaisang accepted his help to rise from his prone position, limbs loose as Wei Ying pulled him to his feet.
“OK,” Wei Ying said in a huff, one of Huaisang’s arms thrown over his shoulder. “Let’s head back in now. Lan Zhan?”
Not getting a response, Wei Ying craned his neck against where Nie Huaisang slumped against him, looking over his shoulder to see Lan Zhan already halfway down the sidewalk, long glossy hair flying out behind him as he dashed away from the dorms.
“Lan Zhan!” he yelled, bewildered. “What the hell?” Exasperated, Wei Ying unceremoniously dumped Nie Huaisang back onto the garden wall.
“Oof, Wei-xiong, soooo rough, were the kidnappers like this?” Nie Huaisang whined, flopping down onto his back once more.
Wei Ying resisted the urge to bang his own head against the brick and knelt down next to Nie Huaisang, shaking him insistently.
“Nie Huaisang,” he warned, “stay here and do not move or I swear to god I will tell Jiang Cheng about those photos you snuck of him when we all went to the beach, understand?”
Apparently indifferent to his threats, Nie Huaisang merely burst into a fit of giggles, but melded further into the wall and did not seem poised to move anytime soon.
Wei Ying sighed, hoping his friend wouldn’t be hit with a sudden second burst of energy, before rising back to his feet to take off in a jog.
“Lan Zhan, wait!” he yelled in vain, resenting every second of this forced physical activity during what was meant to be a relaxing evening.
There’s no way I’ll catch him, Wei Ying thought with a sense of panic; Lan Zhan worked out regularly and even ran in the mornings for fun , like an actual sociopath. It was his one questionable trait.
Well, that and the khakis.
Wei Ying was just considering unhooking the thermos and lobbing it at Lan Zhan's head to try and knock him out cold when Lan Zhan came to an abrupt stop, turning to face him.
Wei Ying silently thanked the universe and slowed his pace to a jog, closing the distance before leaning over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Lan Zhan, you...you’re legitimately trying to kill me tonight, aren’t you? Can you please stop running ?”
He pushed his bangs, now slightly damp with perspiration, out of his face with one hand as he unhooked the thermos from his waist with the other, popping it open and taking a long swig of cold water, grateful now to have it with him.
“Ahhhh,” Wei Ying exclaimed with a gasp, feeling mercifully refreshed, before noticing Lan Zhan was now staring him down.
Wei Ying blinked, goosebumps rippling across his arms when he became acutely aware that Lan Zhan’s eyes seemed locked onto his mouth.
“I want it,” Lan Zhan murmured, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Wei Ying was momentarily transfixed by the motion before realization hit him and he jolted, glancing at the thermos he’d just been drinking from.
“OH, shit, of course!” Wei Ying hastily handed the thermos over. “Sorry. I got this for you, didn’t I?”
Lan Zhan raised the thermos to his lips and Wei Ying cooed encouragement. “Drink up, okay? No spitting this time! You have to swallow it, Lan Zhan.”
Realizing what he’d just said, Wei Ying turned his face away as his cheeks reddened, but Lan Zhan just continued guzzling happily from the thermos, his throat bobbing rapidly.
“Lan-qianbei! Wei-qianbei!”
Wei Ying nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voices, turning quickly to see a trio of unfortunately familiar undergrads approaching them on the sidewalk.
Shit shit shit Wei Ying thought as they grew closer, faces so openly curious and eager to greet their TA out in the wild.
Their currently blitzed TA.
“Keep drinking, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying hissed quietly over his shoulder before stepping forward, a warm smile on his face.
“Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy guys!” Wei Ying all but yelled, overenthusiastic in his attempt to draw attention from Lan Zhan. “Why are you out so late? Isn’t it past your curfew?”
That earned him an eyeroll from Jingyi, but Sizhui, kind as ever, merely smiled sweetly. “The student union meeting ran over a bit. What are you two up to?”
“Oh, just, you know, getting some evening cardio in,” Wei Ying confessed with perfect honesty. “Uh, Lan Zhan worked up quite a thirst, don’t mind him.”
At that moment Lan Zhan, as if on cue, lowered the thermos and turned to Wei Ying, holding out the now-empty vessel with a sense of accomplishment.
“No spitting,” Lan Zhan confirmed proudly. “I swallowed.”
Wei Ying let loose an awkward, high-pitched laugh as he hastily snatched the empty thermos back, decidedly not looking at the undergrads’ reactions to that statement. “Yeah , wow, you sure did inhale that water! Some workout, huh buddy? Boy, I’m beat, we should get going...”
Zizhen spoke up, voice hopeful. “Wei-qianbei, you’re still coming to speak to our epidemiology class next week, right?”
Lan Zhan emitted an uncharacteristic snicker beside him at that, and Wei Ying briefly wondered if he should feel insulted.
“Uh, yes!” Wei Ying replied. “Wednesday. You’ll have to listen to me drone on about immunology for an entire hour, so bring plenty of caffeine!”
Zizhen’s face lit up at his response, and Wei Ying, remembering some enthusiastic emails the boy had sent him in response to the department's feature on his thesis project, immediately softened.
“That excited about enteroviruses, huh?” Wei Ying prodded with a grin.
Suddenly the sharp point of an elbow dug into his ribs, and Wei Ying gaped at Lan Zhan, who gestured toward the undergrad with an uncharacteristic jerk of his head.
“Jingyi calls Zizhen your fanboy,” Lan Zhan announced derisively, lips curling into nearly a sneer.
Sizhui’s eyes widened in surprise, but Jingyi just hooted with glee. “I mean, he has that newsletter photo of Wei-qianbei on the front of his lab binder!” the boy practically shrieked.
“Jingyi,” Sizhui hissed as Zizhen’s face flushed and he stammered to respond. “I, um-”
Wei Ying’s head was spinning with how much there was to unpack here right now, but he shot a stern look at Lan Zhan for embarrassing the poor kid. “Well, hey, everyone knows I love to talk about my work, so feel free to reach out to me anytime, ok?”
Lan Zhan actually frowned at him as Zizhen offered profuse thanks, and Wei Ying just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“It really is getting late,” Wei Ying said pointedly. “We need to head back. But it was nice to see you all!”
The trio joined in with farewells, but Lan Zhan reached out to rest one hand on Jingyi’s shoulder and the other on Sizhui’s, leaning in conspiratorially to them as if poor Zizhen didn’t exist.
The boys stared up at him with wide, trusting eyes, as Lan Zhan declared, with utmost solemnity, “Doctor Im is a penguin.”
Wei Ying raised his eyes skyward, silently pleading to the heavens for help, before grabbing Lan Zhan’s arm to quickly steer him away from the increasingly confused undergrads.
“Haaaa, that’s a metaphor kids, just let it sink in for a bit. G'night!” he hastily exclaimed over his shoulder as he firmly dragged Lan Zhan off in the opposite direction.
Lan Zhan obediently let himself be led, and once they’d made it safely back to the lawn of the dormitory Wei Ying let out a deep sigh.
“What was that about, huh? You love your students! Never thought a little weed would have you picking on poor Zizhen.”
Almost petulantly, Lan Zhan’s lower lip stuck out and he refused to meet Wei Ying’s gaze. “I don’t have a photo of Wei Ying,” he mumbled.
Something in the back of Wei Ying’s mind attempted to flare to life, but he ignored it. “Well whose fault is that?" he asked, exasperated. "I know for a fact that you had a copy of that same newsletter, you could have pretended to be my fan, too.”
Lan Zhan’s pout only inexplicably deepened at that, and the sight nearly made Wei Ying weak in the knees. “Not...pretending," Lan Zhan huffed. "I am a fan.”
Wei Ying’s mouth dropped, and briefly he wondered if Nie Huaisang’s cannabis oil had been laced with something stronger. “Lan Zhan, that’s super hilarious but, I mean-I don't deserve fans , let's not be ridic—uhhh?”
Lan Zhan had stepped closer until their faces were inches apart, and was staring at him as intently as he could with eyes that were slightly glazed over.
Wei Ying’s heart skipped a beat as Lan Zhan’s large, warm palms came up to rest on each side of his forehead.
“Wei Ying’s mind is iiiiiiincredible,” Lan Zhan drawled in a daze, before sliding his hands down over Wei Ying’s temples and cheeks until they rested at his jaw, leaving him essentially cradling his face in his hands. “Wei Ying is incredible.”
Wei Ying’s breath caught in his throat.
An eternity seemed to pass between them as Lan Zhan’s hazy eyes roamed over his face. A voice in the back of Wei Ying’s mind was frantically reminding him, at the top of its lungs, it’s the weed talking, it’s the weed talking when Lan Zhan abruptly pulled one hand back, putting a finger to his own lips.
“This is a secret,” Lan Zhan warned, blinking slowly, seemingly struggling to keep his eyes open. “Don’t tell him I like him. No one knows.”
Wei Ying stood frozen to the spot, a roar of blood rushing through his head until a resounding grunt at his feet pulled him back down to earth.
He shook himself free of his thoughts and looked down to find Lan Zhan had apparently reached his limit, and was now sprawled across the sidewalk, hands folded primly across his chest as if he were safe and warm in his own bed.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying squealed, bending down quickly and tugging at his hands insistently. “Oh sweetie no, you can’t sleep out here, we’ve gotta go back inside, ok? Lan Zhan! ”
Twenty minutes later, Wei Ying collapsed onto Nie Huaisang’s hideous butterfly chair, pulling his legs up beneath him, physically and mentally exhausted yet completely wide awake.
After he’d managed to coax Lan Zhan up off the ground, he’d had to practically drag him back to the courtyard, a pit of anxiety in his stomach as he feared finding it empty.
Luckily, Nie Huaisang had remained right where they left him, only he was now covered in an array of leaves he’d seemingly plucked off the bushes lining the garden wall.
“Call me Demeter!” he’d greeted them cheerily.
Wrangling the both of them into the building and up the elevator had been an experience to say the least; Nie Huaisang leaving a trail of discarded leaves on the ground behind them and Lan Zhan half-asleep but somehow still able to press the button for every floor in the building before Wei Ying could stop him.
When they finally made it back into the room, Wei Ying had practically flung Nie Huaisang onto his bed before stooping to quickly gather cushions and blankets, feeling a new flicker of appreciation for the bohemian aesthetic since it seemed to involve an abundance of soft textiles.
He prepared a make-shift bed for Lan Zhan on the floor just in time for him to sink down once again, passing out the moment his head landed on a pillow. Up on the bed, Nie Huaisang had starfished out face-down and was already lightly snoring.
Quickly and quietly, Wei Ying had covered both of his friends with blankets before slinking off to the chair in the corner.
Now he was curled up nearly in a ball, head resting against a stuffed bird toy, his mind replaying the evening’s events on an endless loop and pressing pause every time he got to Lan Zhan’s sudden declaration.
Remembering the warmth of Lan Zhan’s hands against his face, the curve of his lips and the timbre of his voice as he praised Wei Ying, building him up right before tearing him down.
Don’t tell him I like him, Lan Zhan had confided.
Him who?! Wei Ying now wanted to scream in response until his voice was hoarse, but it was too little, too late.
Wei Ying turned his head to stare at the peaceful, resting form of the man he desperately liked, his mind combing over every student body member he knew of in a pathetic attempt to identify the object of his affection.
He shifted in the chair and suddenly remembered the sweatshirt still tied around his waist; he briefly lowered his feet back to the floor in order to raise his hips up and off the seat, untying the garment and yanking it free.
Wei Ying resumed his prior position, pulling his knees up toward his chest and spreading the sweatshirt across his torso.
He buried his head into the neck of the cotton fabric, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, inhaling the scent of leaves and smoke and Lan Zhan.
Hours seemed to pass before sleep overtook him.
Wei Ying woke some indeterminate time later to sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains and onto his face. He lifted his head, groggy and sore, to see Nie Huaisang still passed out in his bed, hugging a pillow and facing the wall.
Lan Zhan was gone, but the blanket that had been stretched over him was now draped over Wei Ying, and over the sweatshirt still clenched tightly in his hands.
Wei Ying made the trek back to his own dorm practically in slow motion, worn down and starving as he crossed the campus in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, like a walk of shame without any prior payoff.
He’d taken a blissfully restorative shower and was just starting to feel human again, staring into his mini-fridge and dressed in his rattiest, most comfortable pajamas, when his phone buzzed with a notification.
It was a text from Lan Zhan, asking if he could stop by.
Wei Ying rapidly went though roughly three out of five stages of grief before he tapped out a short affirmative reply. Then he looked down at himself, at the worn purple t-shirt with holes in two different spots practically falling off his shoulder, at the fleece joggers covered in rainbow sea creatures, and cringed.
Well, at least he had time to make himself presentabl—
His thoughts were cut off by a sudden knock at his door.
Incredulous, he yanked it open without hesitation, somehow still managing to be surprised when he saw Lan Zhan standing at the threshold, a drink carrier balanced on one arm.
“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan admitted. “I was already on my way when I texted you.”
Then he lifted one of the to-go cups from the carrier, extending it toward Wei Ying. “Coconut milk mocha latte, extra shot.”
Wei Ying instantly forgot about his appearance, grabbing the coffee greedily and breathing in the heady scent of caffeine doused in sugar. “You’re officially forgiven,” he said gratefully, before taking a sip from the cup.
His words seemed to hang in the air between them as he swallowed, and Lan Zhan fidgeted, shutting the door behind him only to stand awkwardly in front of it.
“Wei Ying,” he began, setting the carrier down on an end table, making no move to grab the other cup, which surely contained some sort of weak, criminally overpriced tea. “I need to apologize-”
Wei Ying held up his free hand to cut him off, feeling a frantic need to prevent Lan Zhan from saying whatever words were coming next.
“Lan Zhan, please, there’s no need for that. Do you even want to imagine what Jiang Cheng is like when he’s high? You were an absolute angel in comparison. I know you’re probably worried because you don’t remember much, but you were fine, ok?”
“I do,” Lan Zhan responded quietly.
“Hmm?” Wei Ying mumbled back around his mouthful of coffee.
“I do...remember,” Lan Zhan clarified, somewhat urgently. “Everything.”
“Oh.” Wei Ying said flatly, gaze fixed on the plastic lid of his cup. “Oh, well—well, that’s. That’s good.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan continued, a plea in his voice. “I am deeply sorry for having made you so uncomfortable.“
And here it comes, Wei Ying thought bitterly, taking another sip of coffee and steeling himself. There’s going to be an explanation, and possibly a name, and Wei Ying will have to spend the rest of his life hating some poor dude undeservedly. “Lan Zhan, ah, it’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Lan Zhan rebutted quickly. “It was never my intention to confess my feelings for you, especially not in such circumstances.”
“No, really, I—” Wei Ying blinked, pausing, wondering if he was having an auditory hallucination. “Wait...huh? Feelings...for...who?”
Lan Zhan stared at him.
“What do you mean...feelings for me?” Wei Ying asked, eyes wide, his brain buzzing with the faint sparks of a tenuous connection.
Lan Zhan visibly paled. “Did...did I not...tell Wei Ying...that I liked him?” His words were clipped, stilted, as if his mouth wasn’t quite sure how to form them.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying started, then stopped to lick his lips, his mouth suddenly, achingly dry. “That. That wasn’t...you said— ‘don’t tell anyone I like him.’ That him…”
Wei Ying became distantly aware that his voice sounded shrill, frantic. “Did you mean...me? Lan Zhan, do you like me?”
Lan Zhan seemed to instantly deflate. Never before had Wei Ying seen his beautiful friend look so thoroughly beaten down, shoulders drooping with resignation, voice weary as he responded.
“Yes, Wei Ying. I like you. I have for...some time now." Then, in a rush, Lan Zhan continued. "But, I value your friendship, and neve— “
“Like me, like me? Ro...romantic like?” Wei Ying pressed desperately, too frantic to be embarrassed about the juvenile phrasing, inching forward delicately and feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a very dangerous tightrope.
Lan Zhan visibly cringed, the corners of his mouth drawing down. “Yes. Wei Ying, please, ju— “
Without a shred of guilt in his heart, Wei Ying interrupted Lan Zhan for what may have been the hundredth time. “Shut up,” he ordered, a smile burgeoning at the corners of his lips.
Lan Zhan snapped his mouth shut, hurt flashing in his eyes briefly before he turned his gaze to the floor.
Wei Ying set his coffee down and stepped closer toward him. “Lan Zhan,” he said, every ounce of heartbreak and envy that had poisoned his mind over the last ten hours suddenly evaporating from his body, leaving him practically buoyant.
“Lan Zhan,” he repeated, giddy and sleep-deprived and entirely too bold, too reckless when he added, “do you really have no idea that I'm kind of in love with you?”
Lan Zhan’s entire, ridiculously tall frame stiffened as he froze like a deer in headlights. “I...you…?” he stammered, sounding unusually ineloquent. His head lifted and when his eyes once again connected with Wei Ying's, his expression stunned.
Wei Ying managed to shuffle over on his socked feet until he was directly in front of Lan Zhan, fully aware that he probably looked unhinged because of the wide grin frozen on his face, but he couldn’t help it.
Lan Zhan liked him. Lan Zhan liked him.
“Lan Zhan,” he began, his voice raspy, heart pounding in his chest, “you’re just...you’re smart, and sexy, and you work so hard to help others because your heart is so damn big, and you’re quiet but somehow SO damn funny— not enough people know how funny you are, Lan Zhan, it's kind of criminal—and you’re just...you’re so good, you’re the best, really, the best person I know, and sexy as hell—did I already say sexy?—and I spent all night torturing myself, trying to guess which lucky bastard was good enough to catch your eye, hoping it was someone I could possibly take in a fight, and-and…”
He had just paused to gulp in big mouthfuls of air, having unleashed that torrent of nonsensical words without remembering to breathe, when Lan Zhan shifted closer to him, all the tension seeming to fall from his body in a wave.
Wei Ying suddenly felt Lan Zhan's warm hands at his back, circling him and pulling their bodies close together, and found himself breathless all over again.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s own voice was thick and hoarse, the tips of his ears bright red and all hesitation gone from his eyes as he asked, “may I...kiss you now?”
Speechless, Wei Ying could only nod, and had just a second to close his eyes before Lan Zhan lowered his head, slotting their mouths together.
It was like nothing Wei Ying had ever imagined—shamefully, frequently, in quiet moments of weakness—kissing Lan Zhan would be like.
This kiss wasn’t soft or precise or awkward.
This kiss was heated and wet and sure, messy with a hint of teeth and too much enthusiasm.
The press of Lan Zhan’s lips against his was insistent, possessive, and his mouth tasted like mint and jasmine and hope.
Wei Ying felt a hand wrap around the nape of his neck, tugging him closer, and when his lips parted on an instinctive gasp Lan Zhan licked into his mouth, a low murmur sounding from his throat.
Wei Ying’s knees wobbled when Lan Zhan gently nipped at his lower lip, rolling the flesh of it briefly between his teeth before they broke apart, both nearly gasping for air.
“Ummm, wow,” Wei Ying breathed out, one hand clutching onto Lan Zhan’s shoulder for dear life while he fanned himself with the other, the temperature in his dorm seemingly having jumped up 20 degrees in a matter of minutes.
Lan Zhan dropped his hands to his waist, looking at him fondly, appraisingly. “Did that help clarify how, exactly, I like you?”
Gleefully disregarding the heat, Wei Ying stretched both arms up and around Lan Zhan’s neck.
“I mean...I’ll still need more data to have any degree of certainty,” he declared, eyes shining. “Help me gather more research?”
With a contented sigh, Wei Ying flipped a page of the journal article he was reading, his eyes glued to a data graph as he reached a hand out to grasp his coffee mug from the side table.
He brought the cup to his lips and frowned when he discovered it was empty, but before he could even reach maximum pout, a soft, gentle voice called out to him.
“Wei Ying, here” Lan Zhan said, appearing at his side like he’d been summoned, coffee pot in hand.
Beaming, Wei Ying lifted his empty mug up for Lan Zhan to dutifully refill. “Thanks, love,” he practically purred. Satisfaction and fondness flickered across Lan Zhan’s face before he turned to move away.
Wei Ying’s eyes roamed across Lan Zhan’s aproned form appreciatively before he shot a hand out and gave him a firm, loving smack to his ass, the sound solidly reverberating through his tiny dorm room.
Lan Zhan froze where he stood, ears turning crimson.
Nie Huaisang let out a loud groan, turning away from the window he’d been wiping and shaking his cleaning rag at Wei Ying in indignation. “Please, you guys promised, not while I’m in the room,” he grumbled through clenched teeth.
Lan Zhan had already shuffled back to the shelves he’d been dusting, and Wei Ying smiled sweetly at his angry friend. “The less time you spend complaining instead of working, the sooner your penance will be over~” he retorted in an intentionally grating, sing-songy voice.
Wei Ying gave a mock gasp when Nie Huaisang responded with an incredibly rude hand gesture before turning back to the window in a funk. The noise caused Lan Zhan to look back, and when their eyes met, Wei Ying blew him an obnoxiously wet kiss.
A shudder rolled down Nie Huaisang’s back at the noise, and he wiped at the window more vigorously. “I’m never smoking again,” he muttered under his breath.
Wei Ying snorted at that. “Well, then, your grades this semester will thank me, huh?”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Lan Zhan’s lips, and Wei Ying’s heart filled with warmth at the sight.