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The hours before the beginning of classes are Lan Zhan’s favourite. That intimate feeling of being one of the very few people awake, soaking in the quiet murmurs of the early morning, reminds him of his home, his old routines, and the peacefulness that came with that. He hasn’t lost the habit of waking up at 5 every morning, and that gives him plenty of time to do his own thing. To go at his own pace, for a few precious hours.
He usually gets up and prepares his first cup of tea of the day in almost total silence. Not that he needs to. He got incredibly lucky with the college roommate roulette. The student sharing the space with him is a quiet soul, keeps to himself, and sleeps like the dead. Still, Lan Zhan is used to moving like a cat, effortless in the control of his body, and it’s not just out of consideration (even if he would never admit this out loud). There’s a specific joy he feels when he can completely immerse himself in the silence and dim light of dawn, when the sounds are only ticklish feathers around his temples, not the sharp, deep-digging vibrations he has to tolerate throughout the day, everyday. As if he can actually become silence and dim light, a secret he goes back to anytime he needs.
Lan Zhan does miss home, often. He’s been at college abroad for a few months now, and even though he quickly escalated to the top of all his classes, he’s grateful he’s not being ranked for his social life too. If Lan Zhan’s brother were the type of person to pass judgment, he would probably give him a pretty low grade. But Xichen, as almost everyone else Lan Zhan knows, is not here. And yes, Lan Zhan misses him as well.
Some mornings, these are the thoughts that occupy his mind while he slowly goes through his routine. When the weather allows it, he likes to walk out of the dorm and settle on his favourite part of the surrounding garden, to stretch, meditate, or do some yoga. A light rain has never stopped him, but sometimes the air is just too icy, or the rain too strong, so he allows himself to climb back into bed with his cup of tea, and read or study until it’s time to get ready for class. This is one of the perks of being away from home. Lan Zhan had never, in his whole life, returned to bed right after getting up.
This particular morning, as Spring is slowly approaching, Lan Zhan has managed to get his outdoor work out time, have a quick shower, and let his hair air-dry on the way to the dining hall and throughout breakfast. He’s as calm as he can be on a normal, uneventful weekday, before the day actually unfolds, with its possible surprises, or unpredictable inputs.
Some inputs, though, are more predictable than others – he thinks while entering the third class of the day, already knowing he’s probably going to walk out of it slightly more annoyed than he is now. He tries to release some of the tension in his shoulders as he sits in the front row closer to the door, the place informally assigned to the top students who help the professor and the TA, and waits for the flow of people swarming around to stop.
Right before the professor is about to get into the room, a hand silently flies right at the center of Lan Zhan’s vision. As usual. The fingers are long and thin, and the nails today are painted in a deep burgundy that makes Lan Zhan think of blood. Two fingertips gently tap on his desk, just a couple of times, and then slide away. Lan Zhan refuses to lift his head up to acknowledge the presence of the hand’s owner. The slender, dark-clothed figure seems to hover above him for a moment longer. When the shadow walks away, it disappears from Lan Zhan’s perception only for a few seconds, reemerging soon enough, as if it took a dive underwater, on the left side of his peripheral vision, on the fourth row near the windows, or, more specifically, Wei Ying’s favourite spot.
Lan Zhan doesn’t have to look to know how Wei Ying is slamming his bag on the desk, while carelessly pulling the chair out just to collapse on it and leave it out of place. He doesn’t need to check in which ridiculous manner he’s sitting today. Lan Zhan doesn’t need to, because Wei Ying is one of the noisiest students he’s ever met, and because he has already looked in the past, those first times where he thought Wei Ying was trying to catch his attention, tapping on his desk every time, with no further explanation. Or worse, that he was just randomly tapping away, breaking Lan Zhan’s peace of mind without even noticing.
So Lan Zhan had looked, and gathered data. No, Wei Ying was not tapping on every desk and no, he didn’t seem to want to say anything to Lan Zhan. The times Lan Zhan would actually look him in the eye, Wei Ying would do just one thing. Smile. And then he would float away again, as if nothing in his head deserved more than two seconds of attention. Lan Zhan never smiled back. First, he didn’t really know how to smile at a stranger. Second, Wei Ying’s smile would always cause many difficult-to-process reactions inside Lan Zhan, and he never had the time to sort through them in order to let them show on his face. It became easier, with time, to just ignore all of it. The hand, the smile, and his own feelings about it. For some reason, he still receives the same greeting every time, and he still has no idea what to do with it.
The moment Lan Zhan is about to snap a tendon for the effort of not turning his head to the left, the professor barges in without even looking at the rest of the room, and starts demolishing an innocent marker on the shiny surface of the whiteboard. Lan Zhan nods, to no one in particular, and opens his notebook.
It’s not that Wei Ying hates college. He actually enjoys quite a few aspects of it. He definitely likes the variety of people he gets to spend time with. He does miss home, sometimes, but the thrill he gets from meeting students from all over the world, getting to know them, learning new things everyday, really soothes his melancholic tendencies. He’s able to constantly distract himself and find passions he never thought of. He almost feels free to do what he wants, when he wants. Even if he manages to always get to class on time, he still has many hours that are unaccounted for, to use as he pleases. No one is checking on him, and for some miraculous reason, he has been able to self-organise and make the most out of every day.
The first weeks were indeed hard, the lack of a fixed schedule and the pressure taking a toll on him, but he seeked counseling and was lucky enough to find a therapist (another perk of this college, free mental health support) who’s educated about the needs of neurodivergent students, and it helped a great deal. And considering how little Wei Ying actually needs to study in order to be prepared for his tests, and how much he thrives in the art lessons, he doesn’t find any reason to complain about his current situation.
Still. There are some classes where he knows he can’t shine for his unique personality, his sharp mind, and most of all his alternative appearance. These are the classes where professors are known to be too old-school, and you can smell their judgmental, if not outright discriminatory behaviours from a distance. Wei Ying has built his own curriculum around this, and has succeeded in avoiding almost all of them. Almost, except this one. “Between light and shadow: a deep analysis of Chiaroscuro” is still just an elective, but Wei Ying needs more credits in art history and this was at least a topic he’s passionate about, even if he regrets his choice every week.
The professor is unbearable, and Wei Ying has to constantly fight the urge to… well, fight him. He has managed to endure it until now, six weeks in, and he just hopes his tongue will not fall off for all the times he has to chew on it. He tells himself that he can’t drop this class and it’s wise to not make an enemy of this moody man, but he knows that there’s another reason why he keeps coming back.
The “reason” in question is now observing the whiteboard with a frown on his face. A deeper frown than usual, at least. Wei Ying can’t help but smile, forgetting to check if the professor is saying something outrageous. It’s just that he likes to look at Lan Zhan, especially when the golden pupil is diligently taking notes on his perfect notebook, with his perfect posture, draped in a perfectly ironed white shirt.
There’s something almost childlike in the way Lan Zhan behaves in class, Wei Ying thinks, like he’s been taught a long time ago and has never considered to stray from what he knows. It’s sweet, and maybe a bit sad. And Wei Ying can’t stop looking at him, his elegant movements, the way his hair falls all the way on his back, or how it leaves the neck exposed those days he wears an updo.
Even more interesting to Wei Ying are the almost imperceptible reactions Lan Zhan’s whole body manifests depending on the environment, what’s being said, what noises are invading the class from the windows, which light is getting to the desk. Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan even knows about all of these telling twitches and wrinkles that appear on his smoothed surface, and how much one could learn from observing them. It feels like watching a secret, and Wei Ying’s skin tingles with the excitement of these continuous discoveries.
It takes Wei Ying a moment to realise that Lan Zhan’s frown is not caused by anything the professor is spouting, but from the music blasting through the window next to him, coming from the students’ main courtyard. Without even thinking, Wei Ying silently gets up and shuts it closed, dampening the annoying noise, careful to keep his eyes on Lan Zhan’s expression. It has an immediate effect.
Lan Zhan seems to be sighing in relief, his eyes closing and his shoulders slowly dropping as he relaxes against the back of his chair. Wei Ying swallows, a sudden realisation settling inside him and wrapping around his stomach, like a warm knot: he’s now vividly aware that he would do anything to see that expression on Lan Zhan’s face again. Then something even more unexpected happens and the same knot painfully twists his guts. Lan Zhan turns to look at him, and finds him staring.
Wei Ying freezes, with a hand still on the closed window. Lan Zhan has a questioning expression on his face, and Wei Ying doesn’t know how to address that, so he lifts his free hand and fucking waves, with a smile that attempts to be cheerful but can’t hide the hot wave of embarrassment flowing through him. He can even feel his cheeks turning red, and he wishes he could just disappear in thin air. He also wants Lan Zhan to keep looking at him, like, a lot. Lan Zhan, instead, raises one eyebrow at him, and turns his stare away. Wei Ying collapses on his chair again, exhaling a long breath, and can’t focus on anything at all for the rest of the day.
Later that day, Lan Zhan enters his dorm room so carefully that his roommate, who’s lost in a book with noise cancelling head-phones on and long dark hair covering the majority of his face, doesn’t notice him at all. Lan Zhan remembers the first awkward times he found himself in this situation. How he didn’t know how to make the other see him, or if he was even supposed to. How one time he stood for more than a minute on the threshold, trying to process the feeling of inadequacy overwhelming him. With time they got to know each other, and things got better. Now Lan Zhan knows exactly what to do, as it comes natural to him to step inside the room, gently approaching his friend’s desk, and moving a hand that projects a slow growing shade on the pages.
Wen Ning doesn’t get startled in the slightest, and turns toward Lan Zhan with a wide smile. “Oh hi Lan Zhan, welcome back,” he says in his familiar soft voice.
Lan Zhan nods with a small smile in return. He has learned to appreciate these daily warm greetings, especially in those days where the loneliness he’s supposed to be used to stings a little bit too much. “Tea?” He asks, already knowing the answer.
“Only if you make it for yourself as well,” Wen Ning answers promptly, following their usual script. Lan Zhan nods again, and turns to the little table they have filled with a boiler, different packets of tea leaves, and the occasional cookies (Wen Ning is the only one to buy the cookies, that’s just how it goes.)
“How was class today?” Wen Ning asks, and Lan Zhan knows he’s genuinely interested.
“Mmh, today was… ok,” he answers, and his mind goes back to the moments of the day. But to his surprise, all he can see is Wei Ying’s frozen face standing out against the light of the windows and… that little wave. He doesn’t know what to think about that. His mind, though, lingers on Wei Ying’s reddened cheeks, and the shine in his eyes, and his…
“Lan Zhan, let me get the boiler for you,” Wen Ning’s voice brings him back, and he realises he’s just standing in front of the table, staring at the shelves on the wall. He abruptly grabs the boiler’s handle and pours the water in a teapot to let it get to the right temperature. A questioning, surprised noise escapes Wen Ning’s lips, and Lan Zhan quickly addresses it to avoid further prodding: “Sorry, I have a couple of essays to write by the end of the month and I’m struggling with inspiration.” It’s not even a lie. Apparently his brain has been wandering a lot lately.
“Ah, speaking of inspiration!” Wen Ning chirps behind his back, and Lan Zhan turns with a curious expression. “I found ano-o-ther,” Wen Ning sings with a teasing smile, showing off a piece of paper with a drawing on it.
“Oh?” Lan Zhan murmurs, leaning forward to observe the drawing up close. His pupils widen while he takes in all the beautiful details and the unerased, somehow messy lines brushed all over the paper.
“Do you think it’s your ‘mystery artist' again?” Wen Ning asks, perching over the drawing as well. It’s not the first time they have found drawings lying around in the proximity of their daily paths. Well, in Lan Zhan’s daily paths, mostly. This must be the tenth drawing that somehow gets in their hands.
Lan Zhan, a little more tense than before, keeps studying the drawing. This time it’s of a beautiful scenery, with water and vegetation blending together on the limited space of the page. “They’re not my ‘mystery artist’, Wen Ning.” Wen Ning laughs and nods knowingly. “Sure, sure. But do you think it’s them or not?”
It’s definitely the same artist. Lan Zhan just knows it. He answers with a firm nod and then, more hesitantly, he asks “May I keep this one as well?” He’s a little ashamed of this, but he’s been collecting the drawings since the first one he found on the table where he usually sits at breakfast.
Wen Ning’s expression turns incredibly soft for a moment. “Of course, Lan Zhan. You already know what I think about it. I have the feeling you have a special connection with these.”
Lan Zhan’s ear tips warm up and his throat dries, but he doesn’t speak another word as he delicately puts the drawing away, in the decorated folder he has designated for this purpose. He would never comment out loud on Wen Ning’s theory, but he knows, deep inside himself, that these drawings speak to him in a way he can’t explain. They feel a bit like home, while being foreing and mystical at the same time, and they pull at him with the bittersweet feeling of longing, and want. Lan Zhan, for some reason, can’t give this up.
For once, Wei Ying is actually early to class. It happened almost by accident, his chaotic roommate getting back drunk the night before and setting the alarm super early, and super loud. Wei Ying would normally sleep through his own alarm without a problem, but the fact that this was his roommate’s had forced his big-brother-side out, and he had woken up to make sure that the other didn’t have some important, forgotten appointment. When the roommate had mumbled some sluggish apology and gotten back to sleep, Wei Ying had found himself with nothing better to do than to get ready and get out.
And now he’s planning to use this to his advantage. He doesn’t have to wait long before Lan Zhan, early himself, enters the classroom. To Wei Ying’s slight disappointment, Lan Zhan sees him as soon as he walks in. Wei Ying thought he would have had the luxury to observe Lan Zhan for a while without being noticed, but that’s impossible now. Lan Zhan looks at him for a few moments with a stern expression, but when Wei Ying attempts the friendly waving again, he just looks away and proceeds to sit down in his usual spot. Wei Ying takes some time to bask in the knowledge that Lan Zhan knows he’s being looked at. He wonders if he likes it, or hates it, and decides to play with him a little.
When he gets to his desk, Lan Zhan, who had already hidden his face inside a book, actually jumps a little in his chair. Wei Ying laughs awkwardly, maybe a bit high on the excitement of this stunt, then leans in from his tall build to reach Lan Zhan’s ear, and whispers into it “Lan Zhan, do you mind if I keep an eye on you? I can help with the noises and stuff, like the other day.” Lan Zhan lifts his head abruptly, and Wei Ying could swear his ear tips have turned a light shade of pink.
“Why would you do that?” Lan Zhan spits out, the lack of control audible in the wavering of his voice. Hard to say if out of anger, or something else.
“Because I like to see you relax,” Wei Ying answers, honestly, lingering close to Lan Zhan’s cheekbone just a little bit longer. He walks away before Lan Zhan can answer to that, not without gently tapping the desk first.
That day Lan Zhan turns at least a couple of times in his direction, and Wei Ying notices just with the corner of his eye, since he’s trying not to openly stare at him the whole time. He ends up smirking like a satisfied cat for the whole class anyway, and for the most part of the day as well.
The next time Lan Zhan sees Wei Ying is in a completely unexpected situation, which doesn’t help. He opens the door to his room one afternoon and Wei Ying is just there. Lan Zhan freezes on the threshold, his brain unable to compute the scene in front of him.
Wei Ying, who’s flinching like he got caught doing something bad, has turned grey all over and is apparently trying to disappear into the wall. Which is, unfortunately for him, a very difficult thing to accomplish for someone of his build.
Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to say, or how to move apparently, until Wen Ning – ah! Yes, Wen Ning is here! – intervenes to save both of them, probably disturbed by the awkwardness spreading in the air like gas. He coughs, and tries to announce in a casual tone: “Welcome back Lan Zhan! I believe you already know Wei Ying?” Wei Ying is the first one to react, whipping out his brightest smile and turning towards Lan Zhan as if trying to blind him, “Ah, I don’t think we’ve ever been properly int…” But Lan Zhan brusquely cuts him off. “Yes, we know each other,” and then proceeds to focus only on Wen Ning. “What is he doing here?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t really mean to be rude, but he’s not good with surprises. Worst of all, he’s having feelings about this. And now that Wei Ying’s eyes are filling up with worry, Lan Zhan has feelings about that too. He’s hating all of this. Wen Ning, who might just be the sweetest person to ever exist, takes control of the conversation with a polite smile and starts explaining: “We met at the tutoring class organized by my sister. We’ve been helping out with the younger kids, and Wen Qing has asked us to go back every week.” Wei Ying vehemently nods while Wen Ning talks, visibly relieved to actually have a good reason to be there, under Lan Zhan’s scrutiny. Lan Zhan, on the other hand, tilts his head and observes Wei Ying with inquisitive eyes. Wei Ying, a tutor for kids? It sounds absurd.
“Yes, we’re taking notes to prepare some lessons together, you know how Wen Qing is, she’s…” Wei Ying stops for a moment, laying his eyes on a frowning Lan Zhan, and swallows audibly before continuing “...scary?”
Lan Zhan feels suddenly, absolutely furious. He thinks they’re messing with him. His brain shrinks in the moment of rage, trying to figure out what’s really going on. Why would a terrible student like Wei Ying be asked to tutor? Moreover, by someone like Wen Qing. And with his roommate, as if to personally attack Lan Zhan with his proximity. It doesn’t make any sense and Lan Zhan struggles with things that don’t make sense. He would excuse himself, normally, and avoid any contact with people for a while, but they’re in his room. And then he says, in a sort of matter-of-fact voice “Yes, I know Wen Qing. What I don’t understand is why would she need someone like you.”
He says that, and he’s instantly horrified by himself. But while he’s frantically considering if and how to apologize, he can already see Wei Ying’s expression starting to change, darkening, from the cute, polite embarrassment to a terrible shade of… hurt. Lan Zhan thinks of the moon getting eaten by dark clouds, but he can’t understand why that image is flashing in his mind, or why there seems to be a hole in his chest now, the size of Wei Ying’s disappearing smile.
Wen Ning’s soft, slightly panicked voice lifts in the stony silence that has filled the room. “Uuuhh, Lan Zhan, Wei Ying is–” but the sound dies there, with a sharp look coming from Wei Ying's narrowed eyes.
Lan Zhan feels like he’s shattering into pieces. This has never happened to him. Being mistaken for arrogant, pretentious, rude? Yes, all the time. Actually being those things? Never. He doesn’t know what to do, and he might just start crying. He takes a long, deep breath, and gathers the courage to open his mouth again.
“I’m sorry Wei Ying, I didn’t mean to offend you, I…”
But he doesn’t know how to proceed from that. Meanwhile Wei Ying is slowly crouching to retrieve his bag from the ground, his face hidden for a few moments. When he gets up again, his features are completely different. They’re like the distant memory of his open, warm expression, and something opaque has settled deep in his eyes. He chuckles, a small, eerie noise, and murmurs “It’s fine Lan Zhan, I’m used to it,” before walking towards him, only to get into the space between Lan Zhan and the door and quickly disappearing from their sight, adding with a louder voice from the corridor “Thank you Wen Ning, I’ll see you soon!”
And then he’s gone. And Lan Zhan lifts his head up and meets Wen Ning’s shocked gaze. He feels all the blood leaving his cheeks. His lips tremble, but he can’t speak. Wen Ning, the face of despair, timidly starts “Lan Zhan… I suppose it’s not going to be very useful to tell you now that Wei Ying, well, he has the best grades in our course after… after you…”
Lan Zhan, who’s discovering an enormous, never-touched-before pit of rage inside his stomach, counters that with a hoarse voice. “It doesn’t matter, Wen Ning.” And after thinking it over for a moment, he continues “I should not be allowed to talk ever again.” He clicks his teeth shut as if to manifest his wish into reality, while Wen Ning silently, solemnly nods in approval.
“I think you did. I think you did! Fuuuck that was the perfect answer!”
Wei Ying isn’t really talking to anybody. He’s shouting at himself, as usual when the perfect comeback comes to him a whole day too late. He keeps revisiting the confrontation from the day before, while sitting upside down on a bench along the main path between the art division buildings, under huge trees and the bewildered looks of students walking by. It doesn’t help that he’s mimicking as well.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you Wei Ying,” he’s saying, with an exaggeratedly low, kind-of-sexy voice, before squealing “Yes. You. Did. Mean. It. Lan Zhaan!” He groans, letting himself slide down from the wooden board to the grass, head first. People are actively avoiding him at this point.
The problem is that he really believes that. He believes that Lan Zhan wanted to offend him. He believes that Lan Zhan thought of him as scum. Worse than that, Lan Zhan thought so little of him that he didn’t find it hard at all to insult him to his face. Ookaay, Wei Ying doesn’t know Lan Zhan that well, but he always thought that he was the most polite person in the world. So he must have really thought Wei Ying was a worthless waste of space, to react like that. And to say it out loud. And it’s true that Wei Ying is used to it, to people constantly misunderstanding him, judging him, talking about him like he’s not even there, but he really thought that Lan Zhan was…
“Fuck’s sake,” he hisses through his teeth, “speak of the devil.” Even turned on his head, he could recognize those long legs everywhere. Lan Zhan is definitely coming his way, and Wei Ying realises too late that he’s still sprawled on the ground with his calves stuck in the middle of the bench. He wiggles out of it until he can get up, but Lan Zhan has already spotted him. There’s no way Wei Ying can face him right now. And when Lan Zhan has almost reached him, he does the only thing he can think of. He runs in the opposite direction.
Lan Zhan is living in a whole new kind of hell he didn’t even know existed. It’s a specific, cursed circle for people that should put a foot in their mouth. And for those who should get their heads out of their asses. And especially for those who don’t realise their feelings in time and hurt people exactly because of that.
No. This is not about people. He doesn’t hurt people. This is about Wei Ying, and he did hurt him. His head snaps to the side as the intrusive memory of Wei Ying’s expression occupies his mind for the umpteenth time. Lan Zhan’s week has been a nightmare. He walks around like he’s drowning in embarrassment and guilt, sticky and heavy like a honey-filled pool. He barely sleeps. He sees Wei Ying everywhere, even though he knows it can’t be him, because Wei Ying has been avoiding him like the plague. As he should, an awful voice says in his head.
Lan Zhan has never hated himself so fiercely. What he hates the most is that he can’t fix it. It was not a misunderstanding. He really said what he was thinking, and the problem is that he was thinking those things. He doesn’t even know how to apologize for something like that. And now that he knows he had misjudged Wei Ying, he feels even more guilty about judging him in the first place.
But Lan Zhan didn’t know. He’s learning. Slowly, so slowly. That sometimes the only way not to choke with self-hate is to become a wall of rules and precepts, an unapproachable, disciplined perfectionist, that still believes he is barely what he was taught. Lan Zhan is starting to see, so, so cautiously, that he’s much more than that, or he could be, and that Wei Ying was the first person to get closer to all of it, even though why it had to be Wei Ying is still a mystery, a tentative root in his mind, the answer to a yet unspoken question.
And Wei Ying won’t talk to him, and Lan Zhan is in hell.
Wei Ying could smell it as soon as he woke up, that this was going to be a bad day. Not that it would take a psychic, to guess that. It’s already been a very bad week. He feels drained, unfocused, spiraling. He knows how risky it is for him, to even have “just a bad week”. How hard it is, for him, to maintain his routines and his mental health in check. How quickly it all burns down, sometimes, because of something going wrong, a bad decision, a sad moment, a… someone. How impossible it feels, then, to get back up.
He’s ruminating on this, chewing the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood, while sitting in his usual spot in the class he hates. He’s tired. The shadows under his eyes match his mood and his clothes. He doesn’t like to feel like this. He doesn’t like anything at all. The neon lights above his head, particularly depressing on the cloudy day. The empty faces of the people around him, collectively being tortured without a complaint by the unbearable voice of this unimaginative, bigoted professor. The professor most of all, he doesn’t like, but then there’s Lan Zhan distracting him with his sorrowful glances and…
Ok he might like seeing Lan Zhan’s mortified face a bit. It’s the first time they have class together since their “argument” or whatever the fuck that was, and Wei Ying was not expecting Lan Zhan to show so much effort in appearing worried and remorseful. He feels a little tingly on the inside. Not because he enjoys the idea of Lan Zhan being in pain, but because it makes him hope, just slightly, that maybe Lan Zhan has something more to say about what happened, and maybe Wei Ying could try and give him a chance to explain, and then… Ugh, no. He can’t go there. Lan Zhan is probably just pitying him. Wei Ying looks more like a failed rockstar than anything right now, it would only serve him right, and why would someone like Lan Zhan–
He can’t even follow his self-destructive thoughts in peace because the professor is saying… Wait, what the hell is he saying? Wei Ying has to take a moment to make sure he’s not actually losing his mind. The lesson is about Artemisia Gentileschi, one of his hardcore favourite painters, and he feels a bit guilty to be in such a shitty mood exaclty on the day he’s been looking forward the whole course. But two minutes of listening, and he’s silently raging. Is the professor really trying to imply that every story about her is basically fiction? Oh hell no, did he just… No, it can’t be, he didn’t just joke about “the feminists” appropriating her historical importance!
Wei Ying is shook. Even gathering all the most closed-minded, uneducated professors of this college, one could not reach the same level of misogynistic delirium he’s witnessing right now. He’s so mad he can’t react at all, actually. Out of habit, as if to break a spell, he glances over at Lan Zhan and has another confirmation of what’s happening. Lan Zhan is glaring at the professor with an expression Wei Ying has never seen on his face before. His chest is heaving, the waves of his breathing moving clearly through his body, so transparent in showing how it feels. Wei Ying had missed this. Looking at Lan Zhan, being the unknown receiver of all that understated grace, being the admirer instead of the center of attention. He’s so elated to be sharing Lan Zhan’s indignation that a bubbly feeling climbs up from his chest and. He just. Laughs. Out loud.
At the same moment, Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying with genuine panic in his eyes, and the professor abruptly stops. “Who was that? What’s so funny?” He obviously asks, as the predictable asshole he is. It’s still not the end of the world, right? Wei Ying tells himself, while looking into Lan Zhan’s eyes. Eyes that seem to beg him to shut up, oh please, just this time Wei Ying, shut the f– “What’s funny, and sad really, is how you’re still allowed to teach, professor,” Wei Ying yells, standing up to make it clear that he’s the one who laughed, and he’s the one who’s not shutting up now.
In the corner of his eye, he can see Lan Zhan knocking his head on the desk, and in front of him the professor is turning all shades of red. He starts talking and there’s nothing that can stop him now, not Lan Zhan’s self flagellation, not the professor’s death stare, not the sheepish silence of the stunned students. He gives the facts, he quotes the books, he adds his own passionate opinions. He’s about to open a debate on the fourth wave feminist movement when the professor loses it. Wei Ying smiles like he hasn’t in days, as the old man spits diminishing insults, sounding like he’s about to choke. He’s not even really paying attention until the threat to be kicked out flies in the air, and it’s at this point that a low, powerful voice raises from the front row.
“He’s not wrong,” Lan Zhan – Lan Zhan! Wei Ying might die of happiness – is saying, standing up and talking over the professor, looking like he’s about to fling him out of the window. The professor looks even more horrified than before, probably because no one would expect that type of stance from a student like Lan Zhan, right? “Wha…” He sputters, fixed on Lan Zhan’s serious face. Lan Zhan huffs, then repeats, slower “The student is not wrong, professor. You can’t report him for sharing actual, proper information.”
Oh, to be Wei Ying right now. He’s feeling like he could do anything. The idea of having Lan Zhan by his side is so great that it feels almost addictive. And now he watches as the TA, having given into the panic of this impossible situation, intervenes to deescalate it, reining the asshole in. Lan Zhan turns one last time, and Wei Ying is hit right in the middle of the chest by his stare. It’s a look he’s never received, of urgent, tangible concern, and relief, all at the same time. It makes him feel small, but not in a bad way, and yet he can’t really make sense of it. As soon as Lan Zhan glances away, Wei Ying grabs his stuff and runs outside of the class, ignoring all the eyes on him. Escaping, all those eyes on him.
The next morning Lan Zhan wakes up and for the first time in his life he doesn’t want to get up. He lies in bed scowling at the ceiling above him, skin grayed by the lack of rest, black hair framing his face in a dark, messy halo, spreading on the thin pillow. He remembers he hadn't braided it the night before. He remembers the rest of his evening too, and sudden pangs of pain in his chest make him twitch against the mattress. He pulls the duvet up to cover his face and hides under it for a while, going back over the events of the previous day.
He had looked for Wei Ying, of course. Calmly, at first, simply walking around and checking the most likely spots, and getting more and more anxious with the time passing, every empty corner another spike piercing his insides. And with every spike came a certainty he wasn’t really asking for. How alarming it felt, not knowing where Wei Ying could be, or what he was doing, and how he was feeling. In the end Lan Zhan had almost barged into his own dorm room, a little bit sweaty and a little bit panting, under Wen Ning’s worried stare. Wen Ning hadn’t heard anything and, when asked, found out that Wei Ying had probably turned his phone off.
Lan Zhan is getting agitated even now, rethinking about it. He considers that it might also be the suffocating warmth of the fabric pressing on his nose, and finally throws the blanket away and sits up. In the naive attempt to address the aches in his body, he skips the tea and goes straight outside for some stress-relieving workout. He walks to his favourite spot, finds a befitting tree and tries to breathe and relax against the dew-covered bark for a few minutes.
He’s almost ready to start stretching when he hears the noise of steps on the grass, and his muscles tense up again. He immediately opens his eyes, just in time to see Wei Ying, who was apparently swaying towards him from the edge of the garden, trip on an uncovered root and plummet to the ground like a ropeless puppet. His instincts kick in and without thinking twice, he jumps forward.
The next thing he knows is that there’s a passed out Wei Ying in his arms. Lan Zhan’s brain tries hard to process all of the emotions brought on by this sudden change of pace, from the painful silent treatment of the past week, to this unexpected, overwhelming contact. Lan Zhan also realises that this is the first time he’s touching Wei Ying, and has to take a couple of long breaths to digest that information. After quite some time of inner freaking out, he finally has the lucidity to actually lay his eyes on Wei Ying, but when he does, his brain shuts down for real.
Wei Ying’s face is… Luminous. Draped by wavy, shiny locks that highlight the emerging cheekbones. The rest of his hair is styled in a soft bun, which serves as a small pillow between Wei Ying’s nape and Lan Zhan’s forearm. His eyes are closed and he seems to be… sleeping? But the deep, dark circles extending under his lashes make Lan Zhan’s stomach twist with worry. In stark contrast, Wei Ying’s lips, slightly open, are almost red. They’re full and wet, trembling a bit with each breath. Lan Zhan doesn’t know if this is a curse or a blessing, he just knows it doesn’t feel real.
Silently praying to whoever would listen, he decides to properly check on Wei Ying’s state, hoping to regain focus. Wei Ying really does look asleep, but what is he doing there? And why was he staggering along the way? Is he… drunk? Lan Zhan raises a shaky hand and rests it on Wei Ying’s neck, where the heartbeat meets the skin. Everything seems fine, except that (and Lan Zhan’s fingers flinch at the discovery) Wei Ying’s skin is incredibly cold. Horrified, Lan Zhan realises that the whole body lying on him doesn’t spread any warmth at all. How did he miss this?! Wei Ying must have been out all night, and it can get chilly, even in this season. Especially if, a swallowing Lan Zhan notices with a glance, a certain someone is only wearing a thin, semi transparent v-neck under a flowy and unbuttoned shirt. Lan Zhan instinctively pulls Wei Ying closer to his chest, as if to warm him up with his own blood flow.
And Wei Ying moans. Lan Zhan almost sobs out loud. He holds his breath and shuts his eyes, every part of him trying not to react too vivaciously to a Wei Ying in need and clinging to him. While he’s barely managing that, Wei Ying starts murmuring and twitching, nearly sliding out of Lan Zhan’s grasp. Lan Zhan lets out a sigh, and timidly attempts a “Wei Ying,” not wanting to let go, but not knowing what else to do to wake him up. Wei Ying opens his eyes, blinks a few times, and exclaims “Lan Zhan!” with the brightest smile. Lan Zhan is taken aback, his own mouth bending into a small smile as well. At the same time, though, Wei Ying frowns and starts glancing around with a confused expression. He narrows his stare back on Lan Zhan’s face and mutters “Lan… Zhan?!” in a much less enthusiastic tone.
And then he’s falling again, from a few inches above the ground, but still managing to hit his head. Lan Zhan would try to hold him, but he has turned to stone after seeing Wei Ying’s frightened face. Wei Ying is looking at him from under his bangs, now, sitting up and scratching his head with a pained expression. “Lan… Lan Zhan? What am I doing here?”
Lan Zhan is not a booze expert, but he tries his best to be understanding, and politely informs Wei Ying of what had happened minutes earlier. “Wei Ying, is it possible that you might be... drunk?” Lan Zhan asks in the end, trying to be as delicate as possible. Wei Ying looks at him with wide, shocked eyes, before bursting into a loud laugh. Lan Zhan’s whole body stills, in silent despair.
“Oh, oh no Lan Zhan I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. But that must have been hilarious to watch!” He keeps laughing for a while, until he looks Lan Zhan in the eye and stops abruptly, his head dropping into his shoulders. “Yes, I’ve been drinking. I’ve been… out,” he adds, with something in his voice like guilt, or shame, or both.
Lan Zhan’s stomach keeps doing weird things this morning, and is currently trying to climb up his throat, making it very hard to breathe. “You’re cold,” he says, through little gasps of air, “I’m afraid you might get sick,” he proceeds, but Wei Ying instantly cuts him off. “Stop pitying me,” he blurts out, his eyes (sad? Angry? Lan Zhan can’t guess) fixed on the grass.
It hits Lan Zhan like a kick in the stomach. It plunges into him, right to the center of his heart, and suddenly all the pain and rage he’s felt all this time are spilling everywhere inside of him. It feels like poison, tainting his blood and turning into a thick, dark concoction. He can’t take this anymore. He can’t take this anymore. He can’t take this any– and just like that he’s launching forward and grabbing Wei Ying’s wrist with fingers rigid as claws. He’s yelling “Wei Ying!” And it’s a frightened, strangled thing, the voice that comes out of his throat. Wei Ying’s head snaps back up, and he gapes at Lan Zhan with wide eyes. Lan Zhan softens his grasp a little, but doesn’t let go. He locks eyes with Wei Ying and, holding all the anguish back in a hole beneath his ribs, declares “I don’t pity you, Wei Ying!”
It might be that miracles happen. It might be that Lan Zhan was not cursed but just too scared to believe in a blessing. Whatever the reason, it feels like warm sunlight on his skin, when Wei Ying’s eyes slowly soften and start sparkling along with the smile appearing on his face. Lan Zhan lets go of his wrist, suddenly too embarrassed to even raise his gaze. He’s pretending to be completely absorbed in a spot on the grass, when he hears Wei Ying’s voice again.
“Really, Lan Zhan? You don’t hate me?”
And in a moment Lan Zhan’s eyes are burning with tears. He looks up with a deep frown, and hurriedly answers “Why would I hate you? I’m the one who– Wei Ying!”
Right in front of him, Wei Ying seems to lose his strength all at once, sliding to the side like he’s moving in slow motion. He waves his hands apologetically in the air while Lan Zhan rushes to hold him up, and mutters “Forgive me? Lan Zhan… I haven’t slept in two days and I’m still a bit dr–” but Lan Zhan doesn’t let him finish.
“That’s enough. Come with me,” he snaps, and then proceeds to pick Wei Ying up and carry him all the way back to his room.
Wei Ying doesn’t say another word the whole time he’s in Lan Zhan’s arms. Now Lan Zhan is laying him down on the bed, and Wei Ying lets him, still in silence.
“You can sleep here,” Lan Zhan whispers, “I’m sure Wen Ning won’t mind.”
Wei Ying snaps a bit out of it, and giggles into his own palm. He rests his head on Lan Zhan’s pillow, and smiles fondly. Lan Zhan wants to kiss that smile. He wants to pet Wei Ying’s head until he’s asleep. He wants to hug him until he’s warm, safe, and possibly happy.
As if he’s reading his mind, Wei Ying raises a hand and places it against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingertips faintly digging in the fabric and the skin underneath. He seems to have regressed to a childlike state. He giggles again and mumbles “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, don’go. Tell me something. Tell me about you! Where did you grow up, Lan Zha’?”
Lan Zhan can’t help but smile. He looks at Wei Ying through slightly wet lashes, and takes the clinging hand in his own. “If I tell you about me now, will you remember tomorrow?” He asks softly. Wei Ying hides half of his face in the pillow like he got caught, and answers “Ah, you’re right, prolly not,” still smiling.
Lan Zhan leans in a bit more and says in his ear “Then I’ll tell you another time.” Wei Ying nods and closes his eyes, seemingly satisfied. But when Lan Zhan gets up to carry on with his morning routine, Wei Ying’s small voice resonates behind him once again.
“Promise?”
Lan Zhan’s heart clenches for the twentieth time that morning. He turns and, knowing it to be true, finally answers “Yes, Wei Ying. Promise.”
Wei Ying wakes up and has no idea where he is. Even before opening his eyes he can tell he’s not in his own bed. The mild sandalwood fragrance coming from the pillow is foreign and familiar at the same time, and he gets lost in it for a while, trying to determine if he might still be dreaming. The first thing he sees after accepting the idea that he’s definitely awake, and not in his room, is a glass of water on the nightstand. Next to it, a couple of aspirin still in the blister, the sight of which seems to activate the fierce headache he somehow hadn’t noticed. He groans loudly and sits up pressing his hands against his throbbing temples. With the headache, a whole set of memories comes flowing into his brain, and he writhes in pain at every unlocked piece of the puzzle.
He perfectly knows where he is, now, and a wave of shame mixed with weird, unexplainable euphoria washes over him. Images of Lan Zhan flood his mind, and goosebumps rise all over his arms and neck. He swallows the aspirin with a few sips of water and gathers enough strength to get up. The moment he does, though, the door clicks open, and he freezes in place in the middle of the room, trying his best to embody the image of innocence.
When he sees Wen Ning appearing from behind the door, he falls back into Lan Zhan’s bed – Lan Zhan’s bed! – exhaling a huge sigh of relief. Wen Ning chuckles lightly at his reaction and greets him cheerfully. Wei Ying playfully kneels in a deep bow, apologising for the inconvenience. Wen Ning laughs more openly at that.
“Don’t worry about it, Wei Ying. Tell you the truth, I was only shocked when I woke up because I thought Lan Zhan was still in bed,” he jokes, “then I saw the message he sent me while I was sleeping, explaining the situation.”
At the mention of Lan Zhan’s name, Wei Ying feels his face getting hotter, and he tries to deflect attention from it by asking a bunch of questions: “Yeah, I’m a bit foggy at the moment, what did Lan Zhan tell you? Is he ok? Have you heard from him?”
Wen Ning shakes his head with a small smile, and starts answering all the questions while pointing at the boiler, silently offering to prepare some tea. Wei Ying nods energetically and sits properly on the bed, listening and waiting like a good boy. Apparently Lan Zhan had only mentioned that Wei Ying was not feeling well. Wen Ning knows nothing more. How is Wei Ying now, by the way? He’s asking. Wei Ying points at his head and just says “Hungover,” while Wen Ning pours the brew in two cups and nods knowingly.
“Drink this, you’ll feel better,” he says with the warmest smile, and Wei Ying suddenly feels dangerously close to tears, the kindness of this day slowly chipping away at all of his defenses, leaving him emotional and exposed. It might be the hangover as well, he secretly hopes, while sipping the delicious tea, already starting to feel better.
They drink tea, eat cookies, and chat for the best part of an hour, and Wei Ying’s headache has finally stopped splitting his whole body into two, decreasing to a much more manageable soreness. After a bit of indecision and fidgeting, he feels almost ready to thank Wen Ning for the umpteenth time, and go. Maybe it’s better this way, right? He doesn’t know how he’ll feel seeing Lan Zhan, and he has no idea what to tell him, not without a lot of rehearsing first. But while he’s buying time and pondering on all of his options, the door clicks open once again.
“Oh Lan Zhan, welcome back!” Wen Ning chirps loudly, almost giving Wei Ying a heart attack.
It’s much worse though when he looks over and Lan Zhan is standing there, smiling at them, and Wei Ying’s heart jumps like it’s flipping upside down in his chest. He pulls out a shy smile, and attempts to say something, anything.
“Hi, Lan Zh…” But Lan Zhan is suddenly interrupting him with an unclear urgency and a concerned expression on his face.
“Wei Ying, are you… leaving?” He asks, looking like he might be in physical pain at the thought, and those eyes, those eyes are enough to bring back at full force all the feelings that Wei Ying was trying to suppress, all the elation and the longing, the shame and the comfort.
Above all, he recalls the memory of having felt vulnerable, after decades, in front of someone, and it hadn’t hurt. Wei Ying stands there gaping for a while, trying to remain still under the impact of this surging blow. It didn’t hurt, he remembers. Which is why a moment later, as if reborn from his own ashes, Wei Ying is gracefully twirling between Wen Ning’s and Lan Zhan’s gaze. Then he whips out a priceless smile and shamelessly announces “You know what? I think I can stay.”
So they had brought food back from the dining hall. They had sat together, eaten together, joked, chatted, glanced at each other with red cheeks and shiny eyes. It had been… Perfect. And now Lan Zhan is lying in bed, trying to keep his breathing under control, because he can’t believe all of this is actually happening. He turns on his side and glances over the edge of his pillow.
On the ground, between his and Wen Ning’s bed, sprawled on the extra mat they keep for emergencies (never used once), there’s Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Sleeping in his room. With Lan Zhan present this time. Lan Zhan turns away, another hot flash of embarrassment racing through his body, and he’s thankful that everyone’s asleep, so he can try to sort through his emotions with some peace of mind. If only Wei Ying weren’t. Just. There. Snoozing with his mouth open, wiggling his nose in his sleep, his face painted in a pearly blue by the damn moonlight that’s allowing Lan Zhan to look, and look, and look.
He really doesn’t want to creep, he thinks while turning on his back again, suffocating a frustrated sigh. But he’s also overwhelmed by this turn of events. For the whole day he has felt like being hit by a train, surviving, and having to walk around with his head turned backwards. He’s never experienced anything like this and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He spirals for some more minutes, until he gets to a good enough conclusion. He decides to let it go. For now. Mostly because whatever he might have to do to deal with the situation, is not something he could do right now anyway. And he’s been sleeping awfully for more than a week, he needs to rest. If there’s a perk to the unbelievable circumstances he’s in, is that he’s finally feeling somehow relaxed again.
He checks on Wei Ying one last time – and almost gasps at the sight of Wei Ying’s freshly exposed collarbones – then turns to stare at the ceiling, shuts his eyes with determination, and curses himself to sleep.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he opens his eyes again. It’s still night time, and the room is darker than before. It takes him a while to realise he's sleeping on his side. He’s not used to that, and maybe that’s why it takes him even longer to become aware of another foreign sensation. His right arm is hanging from the edge of the bed, and his hand is… Lan Zhan stops breathing. He perches over his pillow, and manages to catch a glimpse of Wei Ying’s shadow. He’s still sleeping in the same spot, but now he’s curled against the base of Lan Zhan’s bed, and one of his hands is raised up against the side of it, and is intertwined with Lan Zhan’s hand. Lan Zhan flinches back, careful not to slide out of Wei Ying’s grip. He has no idea how this might have happened, and yet he immediately knows he’s not going to give it up.
He closes his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of Wei Ying’s hand wrapped around his own, the warmth and the smoothness of the skin, the comfort in the holding. He falls back to sleep without even noticing, his breaths synching naturally with Wei Ying’s breaths, his heartbeat with Wei Ying’s heartbeat.
It’s a little later in the morning than usual when he finally wakes up. He knows by the cut of the light on the walls. He curiously notices that he’s lying on his back again, and he’s tucked in under the blanket. He’s also suddenly sure that Wei Ying’s not sleeping alongside the bed anymore. He looks over and has to breathe through the feeling of emptiness that takes over his chest when he finds out he’s right, and Wei Ying is gone. In his place, only folded sheets and an empty mattress.
When he gets down to gather the used linen, his fingertips touch something different than fabric, hidden under the pillow. Paper? Lan Zhan carefully extracts the page and is pleasantly surprised to see that there’s a note scribbled on it. “It made me think of you – Wei Ying”. Lan Zhan can’t hold back a questioning noise, a mix of interest and uncertainty. How is he supposed to know if the note is for him, or for Wen Ning? But when he turns the page and glances over the drawing on it, all of his doubts disappear, and his heart drops to the bottom of his stomach.
Wei Ying is a mess. He’s a mess in a way he didn’t know he could be a mess. He’s pacing back and forth on one of the paths behind the college library, talking out loud. He’s fairly hidden from the majority of the students, but he’s not invisible. He also seems oblivious about the fact that his voice is being heard by half of the people in the library’s study rooms, through the huge open windows above his head.
“Lan Zhan, first of all I wanted to thank you proper– Ugh, what the fuck is that, I sound like a boy scout,” he’s yelling now, while people passing by turn to look at him and then rapidly walk away. Even when he’s not shouting, he’s gesticulating and pulling at his hair. “Ok ok ok, let’s try again,” he says to himself, inhaling a long breath.
“Lan Zhan, I need to tell you that– Agh, noooo!” He crouches down and hides his face in his arms. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he sighs. “How do I tell him? He’ll think I’m out of my mind,” and then, suddenly, he bursts out laughing. “Damn, I am out of my mind, ain’t I? Speaking to yourself is the first sign they say.” He props himself up and pats the dirt out of his black jeans. He shakes his head, the ghost of his laughter still hanging on his mouth.
“Who could have known that I, Wei Ying, would have lost my mind over a hot piece of…”
“For fuck’s sake, Wei Ying! Confess your feelings once and for all or SHUT UP FOREVER!”
Someone shouts from inside the library, and Wei Ying does a one-eighty in mid air for the shock.
Wen Qing is perched over the windowsill, glaring at him with her infamous death stare. Wei Ying loses the you-gave-me-a-stroke face and pulls out one of his most charming smiles. It doesn’t work.
“I don’t know if you know, but some of us are actually trying to get a degree and get out of here! How am I supposed to study while you blabber about something silly like love?” She doesn’t need to yell anymore, her voice sharp and crystal clear in the air between them.
Wei Ying’s smile falters, he raises his hands up and starts muttering: “Woah woah woah Wen Qing! Who said anything about love?”
Everyone in a mile radius can hear Wen Qing’s exasperated groan. She grabs the window by its handle and, before slamming it closed in Wei Ying’s face, leaves him with a clear task.
“Go tell him you like him, you desperate asshole,” and as abruptly as she appeared, she’s gone.
Wei Ying blinks a few times at the stained glass window, until awareness settles in his bones, and he finally has to admit that Wen Qing might be right. As usual. He shuts his eyes and whispers to a tree close by “Lan Zhan, I like you.”
When he opens his eyes again he’s almost convinced he might be able to pull this off. Then his phone vibrates in his pocket, and a notification from an unknown number flashes on the screen. He slides it open and. What. The. Hell.
“Wei Ying, it’s Lan Zhan. I asked Wen Ning for your number. I hope it’s ok. Can you come over? I need to show you something.”
Lan Zhan thinks he might be losing it. He’s staring at his phone’s screen, where Wei Ying’s answer is unmistakably showing, black on white.
“Sure thing! Be there in 10”
Lan Zhan didn’t expect such a fast response, and now he doesn’t know how to calm down. His hands are shaking and… Oh no, is he sweating? He gets up and walks towards his closet, opening doors and drawers in search of a better shirt, and most of all a distraction. He changes into a light cotton shirt, the color of the sky on a clear day, that feels nice on his skin, and focuses on the pleasant sensation for a minute. Then his brain goes back to tearing him apart.
He only had the courage to text Wei Ying in the rush of adrenaline he got from discovering the drawing. All the audacity is gone now, and he really has no idea what to tell Wei Ying when he’ll show up. In a couple of minutes. Ugh. Lan Zhan picks up the piece of paper again, and finds out that it has an amazing soothing effect on his nerves.
His eyes linger on the details of it, so beautiful in their simplicity. The page is a mirror of the square of sky one can see from their room’s window. Pastel colored clouds stand out against the first rays of dawn, blending with the shadow of the residual darkness above them.
Wei Ying must have drawn it when he woke up that morning. Lan Zhan gets lost in it, wondering why Wei Ying has thought of Lan Zhan while making this, and why he feels like it’s speaking to his soul. Like it’s a part of Lan Zhan, what Wei Ying has seen in the sky. A part that Wei Ying could feel, and portray, and present to Lan Zhan, as a gift.
The knocks on the door violently bring him back to reality, and for all of his carefulness Lan Zahn risks to rip the precious drawing right in the middle. He sets it down, clears his throat and calls “Come in.” The door opens and Wei Ying’s head pops in from behind it, eyebrows arched in a silent request for permission, and Lan Zhan forgets how to behave. He stands there, powerless under Wei Ying’s stare, and can’t get a word out. Wei Ying is smirking, of course, and after a brief inquiring peek around the room, he finally walks in.
“Hey, Lan Zhan, is everything ok?” He asks in a gentle voice, his lips curving up in what must be the sexiest smile Lan Zhan has ever seen. Lan Zhan slowly retreats until his thighs hit the desk behind him, and manages to answer with an almost imperceptible “Mn mn.”
Wei Ying moves closer, seems to hesitate for a moment, and then leans in with a mischievous grin, lowering his head a bit to be at Lan Zhan’s eye level.
“Did you want to show me something?” he whispers teasingly, and Lan Zhan has to muster all of his willpower not to exhale straight into Wei Ying’s face. Instead, he somehow maintains a serious, cold expression, and nods firmly. He blindly grabs the drawing and brings it up to his chest, as if to shield himself with it. Wei Ying’s gaze follows Lan Zhan’s movements and falls on the piece of paper, and right away red spreads on Wei Ying’s cheeks, and he steps back a bit.
“Ugh, Lan Zhan! Why are you showing me this?” He moans, visibly embarrassed, a hand nervously fidgeting in his hair.
Lan Zhan is befuddled by this reaction, and falls back to the ironclad logic behind his actions, stating “You drew it.” Wei Ying chuckles lightly, averting Lan Zhan’s gaze, and tries to explain, “I know, I know. But I always get shy about my own drawings after I finish them.”
Lan Zhan watches as uneasiness washes over Wei Ying’s body, noticing how he’s the one squirming under Lan Zhan’s gaze, now, and a rush of excitement surges in his abdomen. If it were for Lan Zhan, he would reach out and grab Wei Ying’s nape to pull him closer and taste the sweat on his neck, and–
But, uh, he’s drifting, he thinks, alarmed, when he feels his whole body tense up at the thought of Wei Ying’s breath against his skin. Wei Ying is still avoiding to look at anything in particular, and Lan Zhan can’t bear the discomfort hanging between them anymore.
“I have something else to show you,” he says, turning around and opening a drawer. Wei Ying, apparently forgetting all his troubles, perches over his shoulder – Lan Zhan can feel the warmth coming from his body – to check what he’s fumbling with.
When Lan Zhan turns again, there’s a beautifully decorated folder in his hands, and Wei Ying is looking at him with the face of a cat who’s contemplating a particularly alluring prey. Lan Zhan channels all of his focused energy into untying the satin ribbon wrapped around the thin cardboard, and frees the folder’s content in front of Wei Ying’s eyes.
Wei Ying gasps. Lan Zhan’s holding a dozen different drawings, while carefully checking Wei Ying’s expression. “Lan Zhan… you found them?” Wei Ying asks in disbelief, taking some pages in his hands, going through them with half a smile. Lan Zhan’s heart starts beating faster.
“Are these all yours?” he asks Wei Ying in return. Wei Ying finally looks at him again, with surprise and ease growing on his face. “Yes! I left them around and never thought that you… Lan Zhan, did you keep all of them?” Lan Zhan feels a sudden, stabbing pain thumping against his ribcage, and has to prop his hands on the desk to keep himself steady.
Wei Ying seems to notice the change in his state, and his eyes fill with concern. “Lan Zhan? What’s wr…” – “So the drawings weren’t for me?” Lan Zhan spits out abruptly, unable to hold it in anymore. He feels so useless. He really thought there was some magical connection between him and the “mystery artist”, and when he realised that the artist was Wei Ying, he thought… He wished that…
“No, they were not for you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says in a serious tone, and Lan Zhan thinks his heart might be breaking. His heart is breaking in front of Wei Ying, and there’s nowhere to hide. Maybe he deserves this, he thinks, his brain already floating away from his desires and needs, showcasing pictures of his life, of how it’s been until now, and how it will go back to being just that, now that Wei Ying...
“They were inspired by you, though,” Wei Ying adds at the same moment Lan Zhan is about to turn into an ice sculpture. What? When Lan Zhan looks back up, eyes wide and shocked, Wei Ying winks at him.
“What?” Lan Zhan remembers to ask out loud. Wei Ying leans in again, getting closer and closer. “Yes, Lan Zhan. I made them all while thinking about you. I just never thought you would find them, or care. Never in my wildest dreams I could imagine you would…” and he lifts the drawings up to his face, fanning himself with them, evidently amused by the whole thing.
Lan Zhan starts breathing again, slowly, trying to process what this means, when Wei Ying glances over his shoulder and something catches his attention. “And what’s that?” he asks, pointing at the opened folder on the desk.
“Oh, this…” Lan Zhan murmurs, picking it up and showing it to Wei Ying, “It’s the folder I made for… your drawings.” Wei Ying’s eyes sparkle while he passes his fingers over the intricate pattern on the sides of the blue folder. “Clouds, Lan Zhan?” he asks with a widening smile.
“I… I like clouds.” Lan Zhan answers, glancing over at the drawing of clouds still being held in Wei Ying’s hand, and wishing to disappear to escape his own silliness.
“Oh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs, tilting his head to meet Lan Zhan’s lowered gaze, “that might just be the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
And when Lan Zhan raises his head again, Wei Ying bends down and kisses him.
It’s one of those things that happens so fast, one wishes to be able to go back to it, over and over again, to relive it and savor it instant by instant, but Lan Zhan’s mind is capturing it all, etching it in his memory forever.
The way Wei Ying’s neck curved just before he started leaning forward. The way Wei Ying’s half-lidded eyes got so close to his own that everything had become blurred and glossy, and Wei Ying had kept watching him while Lan Zhan turned pink and soft. How Wei Ying’s lips twitched nervously against Lan Zhan’s mouth, and then moved on it without effort, smooth and warm.
And Lan Zhan, freezing at first, then melting in the contact. Lan Zhan shivering and trying to stand as still as possible, too afraid to do anything, to touch anything, or to even open his mouth.
It’s Wei Ying that moves his hands and wraps them around Lan Zhan’s waist. It’s Wei Ying that moans in a low voice when he steps inside Lan Zhan’s space and presses their bodies together. It’s Wei Ying’s voice that unlocks something in Lan Zhan’s brain, finally freeing gestures he didn’t even know he had inside of him.
And now his hands are reaching up to hold Wei Ying’s face, and when Wei Ying leans into the touch, Lan Zhan’s lips part naturally, allowing the kiss to deepen, the closeness to grow. He can feel Wei Ying’s heartbeat against his chest, and a whirlwind of emotions rises from his stomach to his head, making him dizzy.
They stop, simultaneously, as if the intensity has hit both of them in the same way, and they stand there, together, leaning against each other, breathing with their mouths open.
When Lan Zhan opens his eyes, Wei Ying is staring at him. “This…” Wei Ying begins to say, while brushing his fingertips against Lan Zhan’s cheek, “This was the face I wanted to see.”
Lan Zhan blushes so hard he might be glowing, and hides said face in Wei Ying’s neck, too overwhelmed to speak, or reciprocate his gaze. He can feel Wei Ying smiling in his hair. He breathes deeply as Wei Ying’s hands raise to caress his back. He wants to let go completely, and get lost in the touch, but the feeling that none of this can be real is still hanging in the back of his head.
“Wei Ying, shouldn’t we… talk?” he says against Wei Ying’s jaw. He freezes, waiting for a reaction. Wei Ying brings a hand up to pet Lan Zhan’s hair, and kisses his temple. “Yes, we should,” he says in a sweet, reassuring tone. “But for now, I just want to hold you until this feels real, Lan Zhan.”
And Lan Zhan finally sobs out loud, like he hasn’t done in years, like he’s never done in front of anyone, and he holds Wei Ying closer, and tighter, and swears in his heart to never let go.
* * *
A month later, Lan Zhan is sitting on a bench outside one of the main buildings, his bag neatly set on the side and a book opened on his thighs. The contents of the book are completely lost on him, as he covers them with the last drawing Wei Ying had given him.
It’s a portrait of Lan Zhan, made in what is now their favourite spot in the backyard garden. On the page, Lan Zhan is meditating, a gentle expression on his face, and a flower in his hair.
Lan Zhan’s lips twitch into a small smile as he remembers Wei Ying begging him to let him put the flower on his head, and how Lan Zhan ended up loving it. He secretly kept that flower, which is now resting inside one of his notebooks.
Sometimes Lan Zhan wonders why he’s already collecting memories of Wei Ying when he has barely started to live Wei Ying, but he can never find a clear answer. He thinks it’s one of his coping mechanisms, a counterspell against the fears that he grapples with on some nights. He’s imprinting in his mind all the words, the looks, the touches. He’s gathering every little thing Wei Ying leaves behind.
This portrait, though, softens the grasp of the fear around his heart, as much as being seen by Wei Ying does. Lan Zhan nods and delicately places the drawing in the middle of the book. He puts everything away and looks over to the building’s entrance, waiting.
A few moments later, Wei Ying’s raven-like figure appears in the crowd. He’s laughing out loud, turned towards Wen Ning, who’s walking beside him. Lan Zhan watches as both of them make their way towards him, and his heart suddenly fills with warm, unbridled joy.
Yes, he’s scared, but he’s also never been so happy in his whole life– Lan Zhan thinks while preparing to welcome a running Wei Ying in his arms. And if Lan Zhan’s body needs time to finally understand what happiness, comfort, and safety feel like, then ok. Lan Zhan is going to give his body all the time it needs, and he and Wei Ying can hold each other until they know all of this inside their cores, and keep holding each other for the rest of time.
Wei Ying kisses Lan Zhan’s lips and brings him back to the present. “Are you ok, babe?” he whispers, their forehead still pressed together. “Never been better, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says while smiling.
Wei Ying’s whole face lights up, and he turns to grab and shake Wen Ning, who has just reached them, by his shoulder. “Can you believe it, Wen Ning? Lan Zhan is my boyfriend!”
Wen Ning lets Wei Ying shake him around, while nodding with his most dignified face. “I’ve actually won a bet with my sister about this, you know” – “Whaaat? You have to give me half…” Their voices blend with the chatter around them, and moments later Wei Ying is dragging Lan Zhan to his favourite food stall, threatening to make Wen Ning buy for all of them.
Every day, Lan Zhan thinks fondly. This happens every day. And he never wants it to stop.