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“Lan Zhan, you have to promise not to be mad,” Wei Ying says, muffled by a door and maybe something in his mouth. He sounds harried, and Lan Zhan doesn’t feel any particular need to mouth through the obligatory promises before he pulls his apartment door open to let Wei Ying inside.
He doesn’t know what he’d expected when Wei Ying had knocked fifteen minutes late to a date without any notice. Not Wei Ying holding the hand of a solemn-looking toddler, certainly. Maybe a kitten? Wei Ying seems like the sort of person who would find an abandoned kitten.
“You promised,” Wei Ying says around the keys in his mouth, which-- Lan Zhan had not promised that, but neither is he particularly upset. It is very difficult to stay upset with Wei Ying in general, let alone a Wei Ying with his hair caught into a ponytail and a flower tucked through, paint smudged on his jaw and his wrist.
Perhaps if Lan Zhan hated children with unusual passion? But he doesn’t feel particularly strongly about children in general, and now that he’s seen a child clinging to Wei Ying, he’s actually feeling incredibly magnanimous about the genre as a whole. Wei Ying should always have children clinging to him; it is exceedingly cute.
The toddler is quiet and serious. Wei Ying looks half like he’s about to cry, which only gets worse when Lan Zhan reaches to gently remove the keys from his mouth. Belatedly, Lan Zhan realizes that he’s been silent for too long; it’s easy to get comfortable with quiet when it’s with Wei Ying.
“Hello,” Lan Zhan says, first to Wei Ying, who bobbles a nod, and then to the toddler, who looks dubious about the entire situation. “Would you like to come in?”
Normally he doesn’t have to ask, because Wei Ying has a way of insinuating himself into spaces through any open door. Lan Zhan likes that about him; he likes nearly everything about him, but especially Wei Ying’s comfort in his space. This feels like a strange step backwards, as if the presence of another person has made Wei Ying trust in Lan Zhan less.
“Please,” Wei Ying says, and Lan Zhan steps back to let him and his small companion inside. Wei Ying brushes his fingers along the bone of Lan Zhan’s wrist as he steps past, sending a thrill of-- something up his spine. Not forgiveness, because he knows there’s nothing to be forgiven, but something like it. Thanks, perhaps, for being understanding, though Lan Zhan needs nothing of the sort when it comes to Wei Ying.
Together they get the toddler settled on Lan Zhan’s couch, which would be a terrifying proposition if the child were more energetic or less apparently well-behaved. Children and white furniture, in Lan Zhan’s limited experience, tend to be somewhat disastrous bedfellows.
“I’m so sorry,” Wei Ying says after cornering Lan Zhan in his own kitchen, voice low in deference to the sleepy, somewhat surly toddler starting to nod off in the other room. “His cousin’s got a shift she can’t get out of at the hospital, they just needed someone to keep an eye on him--”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan does not usually interrupt Wei Ying, and he doesn’t really interrupt him now-- he waits for a natural pause-- but he feels the need to make his point before Wei Ying has time to twist himself up over it. “It is no trouble. What is his name?”
Wei Ying gives him an odd sort of look, as if Lan Zhan has done something unexpected. “Wen Yuan,” He says, with the barest amount of hesitance in his voice. “He’s a great kid, I promise. The sweetest baby in the world. He’s-- I mean, he’s tired, obviously, and he doesn’t really do great with, um, not knowing where he’s going for a night, so--”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan agrees, “He is very cute. Did you think I would dislike him?”
“You like order,” Wei Ying says helplessly, “And things in their places. That’s, like, the opposite of a baby.”
Lan Zhan glances back at the sofa, where A-Yuan has curled up around one of the cushions and fallen entirely asleep. He does not seem particularly disorderly or even very excitable, though Lan Zhan’s aware there are extenuating circumstances. He wonders at Wei Ying’s vehemence, at the importance of this relationship in particular. Would Wei Ying be so defensive of babysitting a neighbor’s child?
“I like you,” He says frankly, “And I don’t dislike children. Even when they talk, which I’m told children do from time to time.”
Wei Ying looks startled for a moment, then breaks into the laugh that Lan Zhan likes most on him, which is the one that takes over his entire face and makes him close his eyes. Wei Ying is lovely all the time, but heartbreakingly so when he smiles. How fortunate that he smiles so often. “Sometimes,” he agrees. “Sometimes they yell.”
Why does it feel as if they’re having two conversations at once? He and Wei Ying have been dating for just under six months, which Lan Zhan has been told is the absolute bare minimum for asking for any amount of permanence. “I don’t mind,” He says carefully, “And A-Yuan is not yelling.”
They turn together to look at A-Yuan, who has curled impossibly smaller. He has his thumb in his mouth and his eyelashes cast watercolor shadows against the roundness of his cheeks. He is, perhaps, the world’s most perfect child.
It’s probably not appropriate to want to steal someone else’s baby. Lan Zhan carefully looks away and finds Wei Ying looking at him, an amused tilt to his mouth. “I don’t even know why I was worried,” He says after a moment, insinuating himself into Lan Zhan’s space. “You’re a total softy.”
Lan Zhan looks at the top of Wei Ying’s head, where his ponytail is frizzing a little bit from the humidity of the day and his flower’s starting to wilt and he looks so perfect that Lan Zhan’s breath catches in his lungs. “Yes,” He agrees, and doesn’t feel the need to clarify that the softness is entirely conditional and more or less directly in relation to Wei Ying. “Please keep this information to yourself.”
“No way,” Wei Ying says, putting his fingers into Lan Zhan’s back pockets. Lan Zhan doesn’t stop him, partially because he’s still holding Wei Ying’s keys and doesn’t have both hands free and partially because he doesn’t want to. “I’m gonna tell everyone your secrets. You’re gonna lose all your street cred.”
“Oh no,” Lan Zhan says flatly. “Not my street cred. My life will be over.”
Wei Ying snorts and shoves his face into Lan Zhan’s neck, rendering them entirely entangled together. “I really like kids,” He confesses. “I want a kid I don’t have to give back.”
“Alright,” Lan Zhan says, feeling a little bit insane. He feels like he could and should promise Wei Ying a passel of children even though he has no real concept of where to acquire them. He finally drops Wei Ying’s keys on the counter and wraps his hands around Wei Ying’s waist, fingers aligned along his spine. “We might need to work up to it.”
Wei Ying wheezes a laugh, nosing along Lan Zhan’s jawline. That’s not the laugh of a man who’s offended by the proposition of-- continued couplehood. Lan Zhan is not insane enough to ask Wei Ying to marry him, because he knows that’s not a reasonable thing to do, but he thinks it very hard.
“You’re probably right,” Wei Ying says diplomatically, “Most people don’t get pregnant the first time.”
Lan Zhan closes his eyes and counts back from ten, and when that’s not enough, from twenty. “Move in with me,” He says, which is only barely better than the alternative.
Wei Ying makes a stifled little noise, sounding just a little out-of-breath when he says, “Okay!” And then, “Wait, really?”
“Really,” Lan Zhan says, despairing of himself. “Whenever your lease ends.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying’s voice goes soft and syrupy, like a good-morning kiss, and he opens his mouth to say more but is interrupted by a little piping voice from the living room calling for Wei-gege?
Even the interruption isn’t enough to keep A-Yuan from being the most adorable of all children. Lan Zhan brushes a kiss across the crown of Wei Ying’s head while he’s distracted and the flower petals brush his cheek.