Work Text:
“Oh. This is… unexpected.”
Lan Wangji looks up at the soft jingle of the bell, announcing the customer seconds before his voice does.
“Welcome to Cloud Recesses. How can I help you?”
The man’s eyes snap to him. He fiddles with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, pulled over his palms, and says, “I, uh. I’d like to get a tattoo?”
His intonation makes it sound like a question.
“You have come to the right place then,” Lan Wangji says, which seems to relax him enough for the fiddling to stop. “You did not make an appointment?” he asks, glancing at his schedule despite being fairly certain that he didn’t forget about anyone. Especially not a new customer.
“No, I, ah, didn’t. Should I- do you take walk-ins too?”
Lan Wangji’s eyes catch on his fingers, once again in motion as his anxiety seems to return with full force. He’s not the first person to be nervous upon their arrival in his parlor, though those are certainly a minority and never usually this obvious about it.
“Walk-ins are accepted, though they may have to wait, as appointments are prioritized.” He pauses. “You are in luck though. I have no other appointments tonight.”
The man slumps in relief. His loose ponytail, draped over his shoulder, shifts at the motion and disappears behind his back.
“Oh, good. Cool. Great.” He takes a few hesitant steps inside. “Do you often have appointments this time of the night?”
“Rarely. Every once in a while, someone will request a late time slot. Usually these hours are used by walk-ins like you though.”
Even those tend to come in sooner, like the handful of customers he had earlier tonight. He gets just enough traffic later on to justify staying open so late though, which is a good thing. He has grown to appreciate the quiet of the night. It’s his favorite part of a workday at this point.
“Consultations are held in the next room,” he explains, showing him the way. “If you’re happy with the design, you can get it tattooed right away.”
“Cool. Great,” the man says again as he follows him into the room, clearly more focused on his interior design choices than anything else. Lan Wangji takes a moment to try and look at it from an outsider’s perspective; it’s quite hard, having spent the better part of his days and nights in here for three years now. Perhaps it is unusual for a tattoo parlor. He just always felt that it fit.
“Have a seat,” he asks. The man’s attention snaps back to him. He sits down, watching him as he collects his sketchbook and sharpens his pencil.
“So you’re Hanguang-Jun, right? I googled you, that’s how I found this place. Well. I googled tattoo parlors and your name came up.”
He nods. “Hanguang-Jun is my artist’s name. My real name is Lan Wangji.”
“Oh. Nice. I’m Wei Wuxian, but- Wei Ying is cool. If you want.”
Lan Wangji pauses. He wouldn’t usually take a customer up on an offer like this. As personal as his job inevitably gets, he still tries to maintain a certain level of professionalism. It’s wise to remember that a customer is a customer, not a friend or… something else.
Especially when the customer is this attractive.
But this man, Wei Wuxian, Wei Ying, he doesn’t seem to be thinking in any direction Lan Wangji could oppose. He seems… vulnerable, almost, playing with the hem of his sweater, fidgety and jumpy since the moment he came in, offering his name not because he’s trying to get something out of it, only because he wants him to use it.
They’re all in need of a little connection, sometimes. Lan Wangji himself is no stranger to the craving, to the way it claws at the heart.
“Lan Zhan, then,” he says before he can talk himself out of it.
Wei Ying smiles for the first time since he came in. It’s small, but he can tell it’s genuine. He has a nice smile. It’s already worth breaking his own rules for.
“Lan Zhan,” he echoes. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says, finding that he actually means it. “Do you know what you would like to get?”
The smile falters. His throat bobbing, Wei Ying takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m- it’s, it’s a date. Nothing fancy or anything.”
Lan Wangji accepts this with a nod.
“Where would you like it?”
“It’s, um. Can you. Can you do it over my heart?”
His voice wavers on the last word. Lan Wangji does him the courtesy of not acknowledging it.
“Of course. What date is it?”
Wei Ying tells him, and then adds, “I, hm. I think I want it in like- Roman numerals? It’s not- not for the aesthetic, you know?” he says, making air quotes. “Or not just. It’s- she used to take Latin classes? And she loved them, and she was really good at it. So I thought it would be… a nice touch. Or something.”
His voice drops to a whisper on the last part. His eyes, bright and shining, are averted.
Lan Wangji doesn’t ask who she is. If Wei Ying wants to tell him, he will. Besides, he fears the question might break the dam that was clearly never stable to begin with, and he doesn’t want to be the one responsible for it.
“You do not have to justify your choices to me,” he says instead. “I am not here to pass judgment over the design you pick. It is yours to decide. I am only here to make sure that you receive the tattoo you want.”
Wei Ying is looking at him again. He swallows, then nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, yeah.”
“If you are uncertain, I can make drafts of Roman as well as Arabic numerals – and Chinese?”
Wei Ying nods, supporting his chin on his sleeved hand as he watches him get started.
“This will only take a moment,” Lan Wangji says, narrowing his eyes in focus.
Wei Ying hums. “Take your time. I’m not in a rush.”
The tattoo really is rather straightforward, so he only plays around with different fonts, preparing three designs for each version of numerals to show to Wei Ying.
Usually the customer is the first to break the silence during this part, with Lan Wangji focused on his sketch and the fact that he isn’t much of a talker anyway, but today-
“You said this was unexpected when you came in. First time?”
“Getting a tattoo? Yeah. I always kinda wanted one, or several, but.” He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Didn’t really happen. Before.”
Instead of asking what made him decide to get one now – even if the details elude him, the reason is quite clear – Lan Wangji inquires, “What was unexpected about it?”
“Huh?”
“This place. It surprised you.”
“Oh. Yeah. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but- I just had a very different image in my head of what tattoo parlors look like. You know, black walls, dimly lit, skulls everywhere. Hardrock playing in the background. Which is probably super stereotypical and offensive to tattoo artists, so, like, sorry about that.”
“No offense taken,” Lan Wangji gives back, quietly amused. “I myself have seen quite a few places that match your description.”
“Ah. Right. But… yours is different. Obviously.” He laughs a little awkwardly. “No hardrock music here, I guess!”
“What gave it away?” he asks dryly.
“I mean, the classical piece you have playing right now is kind of a big hint.”
“Hm. I can change it, if you prefer something else.”
“God, no, don’t worry about it. You’re the artist at work here, you should play whatever gets you… all creative. Besides, I like this one.” His lips curve up. “I learned how to play this when I was a kid. It was one of my favorites.”
“You play?”
“Well. Not anymore.”
He leaves it at that, so Lan Wangji doesn’t pry.
“When I opened this parlor, I wanted it to represent myself and my work,” he tells him instead. “I suppose the design choices are somewhat unconventional.”
“Yeah, it’s… unexpected, like I said. Looks more like a waiting room at a really fancy doctor’s office, or some sort of showroom from a magazine. But it’s good. I like it. I think it suits you very well.”
Having chosen each piece with care, turning the empty shop into a wide open and well-lit space for people to feel welcome and at home in, Lan Wangji allows himself a small smile. When he glances up, Wei Ying is staring at him in surprise.
“Thank you.” He hesitates, then, without quite knowing why, adds, “This may be… offensive to other tattoo artists as well, but it was important to me for this place to reflect that it is a space for art. It does not change the opinion of those who refuse to see it as such, but I wanted that nevertheless. For myself.”
“That’s… really cool, actually. And in my humble opinion, you definitely succeeded.”
Wei Ying looks around before gazing at him, gnawing his lip. “So… who’s saying what you’re doing isn’t art?”
Lan Wangji meets his eyes, acknowledging the quiet understanding in them.
“My uncle,” he tells him, surprising himself. “Other members of my extended family as well, I’m sure. I am not close enough with those for that to matter, though.”
“But it matters when it comes from your uncle?”
Lan Wangji takes a moment to finish his sketch, sorting his thoughts in the process.
“It shouldn’t. And it doesn’t really. I would do what I want to do anyway, his disapproval notwithstanding.”
“But it’s still there,” Wei Ying says when he doesn’t continue.
Lan Wangji nods curtly. “It’s still there,” he agrees.
Wei Ying hums. Lan Wangji finishes the remaining sketches in silence, then turns his book around to let him have a look.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, leaning in. His hands are curled up in his lap. “These are nice.”
“You do not have to choose any of these,” Lan Wangji tells him. “If you like one in particular, we can use it as a starting point and go from there until you have the design you want. If you don’t like any of them, I will come up with alternatives.”
“No, no, they’re really great, actually. Um, I- I think I do want the Roman numerals.” He eyes the three different fonts Lan Wangji used, then points to the first one. “I like this. The simplistic one.”
“Would you like me to make any changes to it?”
Wei Ying looks at it a little longer, then shakes his head and smiles. It’s tinged with sadness, but again, genuine. “I think it’s perfect like this, actually. Feels like- her.”
“Alright.”
Lan Wangji makes a copy of the date Wei Ying chose on a separate piece of paper, asking while he cuts it, “If you’re ready, please take off your sweater.”
“Hah, alright, alright. If you wanted to see me naked…” Wei Ying mutters, huffing out a laugh at the dry look Lan Wangji throws him before they both glance away. Lan Wangji focuses on cutting the paper while he pulls the sweater over his head and then stuffs it into his lap, hands digging into the fabric.
“I will transfer the design to your skin now,” Lan Wangji explains, allowing himself a split second and a split second only to appreciate his bare chest as he turns to him. He’s a customer, and he doesn’t ogle those on principal, but this is, as he said, a space for art. Appreciation of beauty comes with the territory. “If you have any complaints or wish to change the size or placement, let me know. It’s not too late to make corrections.”
Wei Ying nods.
“Where would you like it?”
Wei Ying blinks down at his chest, then points to a spot over his heart. Lan Wangji holds the sketch to it, lifting an eyebrow. Wei Ying glances in one of the mirrors, then gently moves his hand a little until he nods again, satisfied.
Lan Wangji transfers the design quickly. He can hear Wei Ying’s breath over his own, over the piano music playing in the background. His chest is warm where his fingers brush against it. It might just be in his head, but he imagines that he can feel the flutter beneath his ribcage against his palm as he flattens the paper.
Pulling away, he regards the design as Wei Ying does the same in the mirror.
“Like this?”
Sucking in his lip, Wei Ying frowns. “Hm. Actually, could we, uh. Go a little lower? And more to the left, maybe? Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You will carry this with you for a long time. It is my responsibility to make sure that you are happy with it.”
Lan Wangji wipes the date away, then pulls up another copy. Wei Ying gestures to where he wants it, and when they look at the finished product this time, his face softens.
“Size and placement as you imagined?”
“Yeah, looks good,” Wei Ying breathes out. “I- I want it like this. This is perfect.”
Lan Wangji nods. He goes to prepare his equipment, saying as he gets ready, “This spot is more painful than others due to the lack of fat between the skin and the bone. If the pain is too much, we can take a break at any time.”
Wei Ying waves his hand.
“That’s okay. I’m not afraid of a little pain.” He chews on his lip, dragging his eyes over Lan Wangji when he sits down before him, putting on his gloves with practiced ease.
“Are you speaking from experience? Just because, you know, you have a whole ass tattoo parlor but I don’t see any ink on you.”
“I have some,” Lan Wangji says.
Wei Ying’s eyes snap up from where they roamed his body. He blinks, and Lan Wangji can tell he wants to ask.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t think about what it means that he’d been willing to agree, had he asked to see them.
“Lie down, please,” he instructs. Wei Ying does, his sweater still held to his stomach. Lan Wangji would offer to put it somewhere for him, but he suspects it’s serving a purpose right now. As long as it doesn’t interfere with his work, there’s no reason Wei Ying shouldn’t get to hold on to it.
“I will start now,” he announces, and Wei Ying swallows, glancing at the ceiling as he nods.
He doesn’t flinch beneath the needle when it breaks the skin, barely even reacts apart from a low hum in his throat, almost considering.
“That’s not so bad,” he says.
“Some people have a higher tolerance for pain than others.” Lan Wangji dabs his skin. “Quite a lot of them enjoy this particular kind of pain too.”
“Ah, right. Once you get started you never stop, isn’t that what they say?” Wei Ying glances at him, something playing on his lips that can only be described as mischief. “Do you enjoy the pain, or…”
“Shameless,” Lan Wangji mutters, focusing on the patch of skin before him while simultaneously trying not to focus on the fact that it is, in fact, skin. On Wei Ying’s chest. It’s very hard to do that, because it’s warm and soft even through his gloves.
Shameless, he thinks at himself.
Wei Ying huffs out a quiet laugh, accepting that he’s not getting another answer.
“So how many white people do you get in here asking for Chinese characters?” he wants to know instead. “Like, you know those random ones for ‘luck’ or ‘happiness’ or whatever?”
“Not as many as you would think. I believe the general growing awareness of cultural appropriation has made that particular trend ebb away. Most of the time, when white customers ask for Chinese pieces, they have some sort of personal connection to it. They get the tattoo because it holds a special meaning to them, not because it’s in style right now.”
Wei Ying makes a considering sound. His hands play idly with his sweater, rubbing the fabric between his fingers.
“You must hear a lot of stories,” he says absently.
Lan Wangji glances at his face, but he looks faraway.
“I do. Not everyone tells them. But if someone wants to, I’m happy to listen.”
Wei Ying blinks, turning his head to look at him. His eyes are bright again when he swallows.
“Really?
“Mn.”
“Even if it’s a sad story?”
The slow notes of the piano in the background underline the moment of silence as Lan Wangji dabs the blood from his chest. The weight Wei Ying is carrying bears heavily on him. He doesn’t need to know the shape of it to feel it.
“I am happy to listen,” he repeats. “I am not afraid of sadness. I am no stranger to it myself.”
Wei Ying’s throat bobs before he nods. His eyes return to the ceiling, creating the illusion of distance between them that Lan Wangji knows from experience makes the words come easier.
“I was in a coma for six months,” he opens with, his voice detached. “Only woke up recently. And that’s not even the sad part.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t ask, continuing the slow, deliberate movements of the needle over his heart as he waits.
“There was a- a car crash,” Wei Ying continues, then stops again. “We were. My sister and her husband, and me. We were in the car and. They were, they were driving me to this place I asked them to take me to. And then this truck crashed into us and. They didn’t. They didn’t make it.”
His voice turns into a whisper, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might stop the tears from falling.
Lan Wangji pauses, the deliberate contact of his hand and his shoulder not meant to steady him this time, but to offer comfort.
“I am very sorry for your loss.”
He knows it doesn’t help, certainly doesn’t change anything, but he wants to say it nevertheless. Wei Ying nods and swallows again, blinking repeatedly.
“I barely remember it,” he carries on, his voice thick. “I just woke up at some point in the hospital, having no idea where I was or what happened. And then they told me she’d. That she’d died.”
He sucks in a sharp breath.
“I’m still not… she’s been gone for months and I didn’t even-“
He breaks off, his lips trembling. Lan Wangji waits patiently, the ink forgotten for now. The buzzing of the machine is the loudest sound in the room; it should be too loud, but neither of them seems to really process it.
“She was- she was the first person I can remember who loved me,” Wei Ying confesses, his voice breaking. “She loved me immediately. With her whole heart. And I loved her too, how couldn’t I? She was so good, so- she was so good, Lan Zhan. And I don’t know what to do without her. I don’t know how to live my life without her now.”
Breathing past the ache in his chest, Lan Wangji nods. He thinks about his own loss, different in shape but just as heavy. He thinks about the discrepancy between someone whose presence is everywhere and being informed of their absence without warning, without a way out. He has never lost a sister, certainly not like this, but he has known loss. He understands.
Wei Ying’s tears run down his temples, dripping into his hair. He doesn’t bother wiping them away, doesn’t move at all. His pain is visible, in every tense line of his body, in the look on his face speaking of a grief Lan Wangji is intimately familiar with. No wonder it’s still so fresh that it simmers just beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any given moment.
Though he’s usually wary of excessive emotions, he finds that he doesn’t mind this. There’s no pressure or expectations to provide comfort, to lighten the mood. It’s just them here, the familiar surroundings of his parlor, the quiet togetherness and the points where their bodies connect grounding him.
Wei Ying inhales sharply, sniffing a little as he does.
“It just doesn’t make sense, you know? I can’t wrap my head around it. I woke up in a world where she was just… gone. And now I have to keep doing that, every day. For the rest of my life.”
Lan Wangji makes an acknowledging sound.
“I wished I’d never woken up at all when they told me,” Wei Ying confesses. “I still do, sometimes. Because I have to go on without her. I don’t know how to do that.”
Lan Wangji nods. “You only learn it as you do it.”
He looks at Wei Ying, feels the pained rhythm of his heart beneath his palm. He switches off the machine on impulse. In the absence of the sound, Wei Ying blinks at him, his ragged breathing louder than the music weaving around them from the speakers.
It’s easy, in this relative quiet, to speak the words that have accumulated on his tongue.
“The first tattoo I got was to honor my mother’s memory. I was six when she passed away. My brother and I- did not get to see her a lot. We had a monthly visit scheduled. I always counted the days, as much as I was able to.” He exhales slowly. “When she died, I didn’t understand. Every month, I got ready for our visit and waited by the door for someone to take me to her. No one ever did, but it still took me years to fully grasp it.”
His hand is still on Wei Ying’s shoulder, who has listened silently. Another tear runs down his face, but his breathing is slower now, somewhat calmer.
Lan Wangji squeezes his shoulder and says, “There is no easy way for us to understand death. The absence of someone who was there before and now isn’t. Allow yourself to struggle with it. You cannot rationalize grief.”
Wei Ying’s throat bobs. He nods, then, blinking as he wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Thank you.”
Shaking his head, Lan Wangji says, “Not for this.”
Wei Ying’s eyes stay on him when he turns the tattoo machine back on and resumes his work. The silence between them is heavy but not uncomfortable, broken only by Wei Ying’s voice when he eventually says, “Lan Zhan. Can I- you don’t have to say yes. But can I see it, maybe?”
He doesn’t have to say it for him to know what he’s talking about. Lan Wangji cleans his chest, then looks up.
“I will show you when I’m done.”
Wei Ying nods.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” he says.
“It was a long time ago. But I am, too.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t usually speak about this, not even with his brother. Certainly not the rest of his family. He finds that here, now, in the late hours of the night with the warmth Wei Ying radiates beneath him anchoring him in the moment, he doesn’t mind the idea so much.
“I was raised by my uncle,” he says, surprising himself. “Even before her death, my brother and I lived with him. I never questioned why. My father was… absent for as long as I can remember, which I believe was for the best. The reason we didn’t live with my mother was because she was sick. I only found out later in what way, exactly.”
At Wei Ying’s raised eyebrows, he explains, “She was mentally ill. Several diagnoses, which complicated things, but they were treatable. Or they would have been.”
“Would have been?”
Lan Wangji moves on to the next part of the tattoo before he elaborates.
“My family had the means to pay for better treatment. Instead, they chose to lock her away without adequate help. She was put on medication meant to silence her, not to make her better.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes out, shaking his head. “That’s terrible.”
He bows his head in acknowledgement.
“By the time I saw the bigger picture, my mother had been dead for well over a decade. There was nothing I could do for her anymore. I had all this resentment and anger pent up and nowhere to channel it into.”
Wei Ying listens quietly.
“What did you do?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I became a tattoo artist.”
“No,” Wei Ying breathes out, his face lighting up. “Really? So this was your rebellion against your uncle?”
Lan Wangji nods. “A quiet one, all things considered, but it was incredibly satisfying. When it was time to pick a degree, I chose the arts. It was a battle in itself, but I won it by arguing that I could become a professor or something similar. So uncle agreed.” He allows himself a miniscule smile. “As soon as I got my degree, I went on to open this parlor.”
Wei Ying huffs out a quiet laugh. “Good,” he says empathetically. “Love that for you. I’m guessing he didn’t take it well?”
Lan Wangji hums. “It is unclear whether he actually disowned me, but he certainly threatened to do so enough.”
“God. Family, huh?”
“Family,” he agrees.
“Do you still talk to him?”
Lan Wangji finishes the final line of the tattoo, eyeing it carefully before sitting back. It looks good, of course it does. It suits Wei Ying. It’s always nice to see the finished product, no matter how small or large it is.
It’s satisfying. And- sad. Once it’s done, it’s done. He has to let it go.
Dabbing his skin, Lan Wangji deliberately does not examine the wistfulness filling his chest. He never usually struggles with this part.
“Yes. Sometimes.” He switches the machine off and puts the tissue away. “We have designated family dinners with my brother every month. Sometimes we call in between. We do not have all that much to say.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Wei Ying murmurs. He sits up, examining himself in the mirrors behind him.
“What do you think?”
Wei Ying slides from the chair and stands in front of the mirror, tracing the red edges of his irritated skin around the ink. He doesn’t touch the tattoo, but marvels at the sight, his eyes wide and glued to it. When he turns back to Lan Wangji, he has to swallow before he can speak.
“Lan Zhan. It’s- really beautiful.”
“Are you satisfied with it?”
He nods, and Lan Wangji exhales slowly, smiling. For a moment, they both look down at Wei Ying’s chest, the stark contrast of the black ink against his pale skin, the red around the edges.
I put that there, Lan Wangji thinks headily and immediately wants to smack himself for it. Of course he put it there. That is his job. That is what was asked of him. It should not be as pleasing a thought as it is. It should not be this satisfying that he will walk around with a piece of him on his body for the rest of his life.
Wei Ying is a customer. A customer like any other. Nothing about this tattoo is different from the dozen others he does on the daily. This is a business transaction that should reach its natural end right about now, except neither of them is moving, unwilling to disturb the bubble around them in which it is peaceful, in which it’s easy to speak of the things that weigh them down.
Of course, he cannot ask him to leave just yet. He promised to let him see his tattoo, and Lan Wangji keeps his promises. He should offer to show it to him, then wrap his tattoo, explain how to care for it, process his payment, and send him on his way.
“Would you like some tea?”
Wei Ying is the farthest thing from a customer like any other.
He blinks up at him, looking small and impossibly young in the bright lights of his studio.
“I- sure, yeah,” he breathes out, smiling for the third time that night. It looks good on him. Like the weight hasn’t lifted, but gotten lighter for a moment. “Tea would be great.”
Lan Wangji nods and gets up. He makes quick work of wrapping his chest, explaining how to best care for his tattoo before discarding of his gloves and the tissues he used and leading him to the backroom with the small kitchenette.
“Herbal blend,” Wei Ying reads when he holds out the box of tea to him, nodding. “Sounds good.”
“I have peppermint as well, though nothing else, I’m afraid.”
“Herbal’s fine. Not one for green or black, I take it?”
“One should not drink caffeine this late.”
Wei Ying snorts as he switches on the kettle and takes out two mugs. “Doesn’t your job literally require you to be up and alert at this time of the night? I don’t think that rule applies to you.”
“I was raised in a strict household with many rules,” Lan Wangji says. “I may be breaking a lot of them now, but they are still ingrained. I cannot keep a sleeping schedule my uncle would approve of, but I can still take care of my sleep hygiene.”
“That was a rule in your household, growing up? Take care of your sleep hygiene?”
“One of many. Not the strangest one, I’m sure.” He has never really considered them strange himself, having known nothing else, but he can acknowledge now, looking back, that the people his uncle was trying to raise him and Xichen into were not sustainable outside the bubble of their family’s dynamic, in the real world.
He fills up the two mugs, setting a timer (which makes Wei Ying snort for some reason) and passing one on to him before grabbing a small plate for the tea bags and tilting his head towards the consultation room, motioning the way.
“I reject some of the rules now, because they are in conflict with my lifestyle or my values,” he explains as they sit back down. “I try to follow the others whenever I can.”
Wei Ying tilts his head curiously. “Why?”
He has thrown on his sweater again, which he notes with a hint of disappointment he is definitely not examining closer. It is not at all disappointing that Wei Ying follows standard social rules, like not being undressed in a public setting. Not in the slightest.
“They are comforting,” Lan Wangji says simply, wondering if he’ll understand.
Wei Ying hums, considering. “Because they’re familiar? A structure to fall back on?”
He nods. “They offer stability,” he adds, and Wei Ying makes an acknowledging sound.
“The therapist I’ve been speaking to is a big fan of that.”
“I am as well,” Lan Wangji says, and Wei Ying laughs. It’s more a huff of air than anything, but it’s delightful nevertheless.
“You’re really great, Lan Zhan, you know that? I really like you.”
Lan Wangji blinks. His ears burn in a way that tells him they are no doubt doing something treacherous, but Wei Ying is still smiling rather than making fun of him, so he allows himself to look past it.
Saved by the timer, he foregoes a response and instead takes the teabags out of their mugs. Wei Ying has curled his fingers around the hot porcelain, protected from the heat by his sleeves. Lan Wangji is very aware of the point where their hands brush.
Ridiculous. He’s had his hands all over his chest tonight, and this is what gets to him.
He takes a sip of his tea to steady himself, narrowly avoiding a burnt tongue. Then he pushes his chair back and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Wei Ying makes a startled sound. “A-alright, that’s- forward of you, Lan Zhan,” he says around a nervous laugh.
Lan Wangji gives him a look. “You were asking about my tattoo.”
“Oh. Oh, right!” Eyes lighting up, Wei Ying leans in and picks up his mug, blowing on the steaming surface. He takes a small sip, then pauses when Lan Wangji takes off his shirt and reveals his torso.
Lan Wangji has given up on his ears at this point, but he desperately hopes his face won’t betray how hot he’s growing beneath the weight of Wei Ying’s gaze. This isn’t the first time he is taking off his clothes in another person’s presence, but it still feels – different. More exposed, more naked somehow than when he does it for sex.
Remembering to set down his mug as an afterthought, Wei Ying shuts his mouth with a click.
“Okay, so you weren’t lying when you said you had some ink.”
He sounds distracted, cataloguing the array of tattoos stretching across his skin. Without having to check, Lan Wangji knows which ones he’s looking at simply from watching his face, the mix of focus and curiosity, intrigue and delight.
He gets up and moves around the table, tilting his head as he examines him.
“Can I take a look?” he asks, nodding towards where the ink wraps around his sides to his back, and Lan Wangji merely turns around in response, hoping that not seeing his face while he looks at him will help, only to find that it’s somehow worse now that he doesn’t know where his eyes are.
Wei Ying makes a soft sound, an oh that somehow travels perfectly over the gentle violins in the background. “Lan Zhan. They’re beautiful.”
Lan Wangji knows this. He also knows beauty is subjective and it doesn’t really matter whether Wei Ying approves or not. But hearing the genuine awe in his voice sends a shiver through him that he suppresses by turning back around swiftly, making some vague noise in his throat that hopefully counts as acknowledgement.
Lan Wangji is sure he meant to speak at some point, show him the specific tattoo he mentioned earlier and tell him about it, but the words seem stuck in his throat and won’t come out as Wei Ying takes his time looking him over.
In the end it’s Wei Ying who asks.
“Which one is for your mother?”
Lan Wangji points towards the gentians winding around his ribcage.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says again, surprise and delight evident in his voice as much as his gaze. He lifts his hand, then pauses.
“Can I…”
He trails off, suddenly unsure. Lan Wangji catches his eyes, nodding before he can really think about it, before he can remember that he doesn’t usually let strangers touch him, not like this. Not without a purpose, a promise of mutual pleasure, a transaction of sorts.
But there is nothing usual about Wei Ying. And despite the fact that they are still strangers, technically, he certainly doesn’t feel like one.
Swallowing, Wei Ying reaches out to brush over the fine, delicate linework of the gentians. Three flowers, representing the three of them; his mother, his brother, and himself. Lan Wangji allows him to trace them along his waist, feeling the light touch so acutely that he can barely stop his breath from hitching.
It goes straight through him, down to his very core. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can hear his own blood rustling in his ears over the violins and his uneven breathing, why he feels the touch in parts of his body Wei Ying has never been in contact with.
His throat is tight with the closeness of the moment, wrapping around them like a blanket. It’s too cold to be standing around motionless with no shirt on, but Lan Wangji feels nothing but warmth. He likes this, he realizes with a start. Exposed and vulnerable as he is, standing bare before someone else, he likes the feeling of being seen. He likes that he can show these most personal parts of himself to Wei Ying, that he’s letting him in on the secret he carries around on his skin and yet never shares with anyone.
He likes that Wei Ying wants to share it with him.
He’s still touching him, his hand having come to a halt, but never falling away. When he looks up, he seems startled to find Lan Wangji’s eyes already on him. For a beat he fears that he scared him off, but he doesn’t look away, doesn’t move.
“Why gentians?”
His voice is low, acknowledging the fragile tranquility that’s woven around them. Lan Wangji is surprised to find his own voice rough when he answers.
“They were her favorite flower. She had several of them in her room, taking up every inch of the windowsill. I remember spending hours looking at them. Looking at her looking at them. I think they made her happy.”
Wei Ying blinks at him, his fingers curling against his ribs. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“That’s beautiful.” He swallows, looking back at the gentians. “A beautiful idea,” he repeats quietly. “She- my sister. She had a favorite flower too. The house we grew up in had this big lotus pond right next to it. She was out there all the time. I think they made her happy as well. Every time I see one, I think of her.”
He inhales sharply, then drops his arm, wrapping it around his middle instead. His smile is shy when he meets his eyes again.
“Thank you. For showing me. And telling me the story.”
Lan Wangji nods. “Thank you for listening.”
He reaches for his shirt as Wei Ying returns to his seat, sipping his tea. As he works the buttons, an idea forms in his head that makes him pause.
At Wei Ying’s questioning glance, he says, “Excuse me for one moment.”
He can feel his eyes following him as he retrieves his sketchbook and a pen, opening the page with the designs from earlier and promptly getting to work.
He wasn’t sure if it would translate well from the image in his head to the one on paper, but is pleased to find that the lines frame the date really well. He’s so caught up in it that he startles when Wei Ying breaks the quiet to ask, “What are you doing?”
“I’ll show you in a minute,” he promises absently, focusing on getting the linework right. Frowning, he hovers the pen above the page, then sets it down to add the finishing touches.
He looks at the lotus blooming behind the date, the lines incorporated to make it look natural, organic, and then turns the sketchbook around to show Wei Ying.
“It’s just an idea I had,” he says into the silence when he stares at the design. “I wanted to see if it would work.”
It does work, he privately thinks. And Wei Ying, he believes, thinks so too.
“Lan Zhan. That’s-“ He breaks off, his throat bobbing as he traces the lines on the paper. “It’s gorgeous,” he whispers. “You- could you do that? With the tattoo?”
“Of course.”
Wei Ying blinks at the design, then at him. “Will you?”
“You do not have to. It was just an idea.”
“I want it,” Wei Ying says immediately, shaking his head. “I really, really want it. Lan Zhan, it’s perfect. Is that- can you do it right now? I don’t care how much it costs. This is-“
“Wei Ying. I can do it,” he cuts him off gently. “If you are sure.”
“I’m sure. I’m really, really sure. I know I’m crying right now but these are good tears, I promise. This is- perfect. This is how I want to remember her.”
There’s indeed a new wet trail on his cheek that he impatiently wipes away with his sleeve. His eyes are bright, not just with tears, when he looks at him.
There is really only one answer Lan Wangji can give him.
“Take off your sweater,” is all he says, and Wei Ying is out of his seat and topless again faster than he can look. He doesn’t try to hide his smile.
“Do you want to stick with black or get it in color?” he asks while he peels away the protective wrap.
Wei Ying’s eyes widen. “Oh,“ he breathes out, pausing in his movements. “In color?”
“Mn.” Retrieving one of the folders from his shelf, Lan Wangji shows him a few examples of colored tattoos he has done.
“Wow. Lan Zhan, these are incredible. Shit, don’t ever let anyone tell you that you aren’t a real artist, I’m serious! If I catch your uncle as much as implying anything like that, he’s gonna have to take it up with me.”
Lan Wangji huffs out a quiet laugh. Then he imagines a scenario in which Wei Ying and his uncle would meet, a family gathering, an introduction dinner perhaps, and the laughter sticks in his throat.
It won’t get to that. Best not to dwell on it before he does something stupid like get attached.
“I’ll be sure to let him know,” he says instead. “I appreciate it,” he adds, ignoring his heart jostling when Wei Ying smiles up at him. “You are in favor of color, then?”
“I actually think I am, yeah. It’s gotta be purple. Would that be okay? Jiejie loved purple. She wore it all the time. Her entire room was-“ He pauses, swallowing repeatedly. “It was all purple,” he finishes, his voice cracking.
He sniffs when Lan Wangji hands him a box of tissues and grabs a handful to wipe at his eyes and nose.
“Thanks. I’m sorry for all this,” he mutters, gesturing towards himself.
Lan Wangji shakes his head. “No need. It is… good to express one’s feelings. I’m glad you are able to do that here.”
With me, he doesn’t add. It’s still true.
While Wei Ying composes himself, he picks out a few samples of purple tattoos he has done, showing him the different colors. Wei Ying settles on a calm lavender quickly, and Lan Wangji checks the backroom, relieved to find the ink in question.
When he sees Wei Ying’s chest, he pauses.
“Do you want it filled out with color or accentuations? A faded effect such as this one might be nice,” he says, pointing at one of the references.
Wei Ying gnaws his lip as he thinks. It’s a good thing Lan Wangji doesn’t need to pay attention right now; the sight is rather distracting.
“It doesn’t need to be completely purple. Maybe that’s too much, with the date at the front and everything, you know? Accentuations sound nice. I think I’d like that.”
Lan Wangji nods and reaches for his sketchbook.
“I will draw up another design.”
Wei Ying’s hand closes around his wrist. He shakes his head when he looks up.
“No need. Just… just do it, Lan Zhan. I trust you.”
“Wei Ying. You should know what you are getting tattooed before getting it tattooed.”
“I do know,” he says stubbornly, his lower lip jutting out. “I trust you,” he repeats.
Lan Wangji narrows his eyes.
“I plan on doing the outline in black and filling in the tips of the petals with color, fading more and more towards the center,” he explains. “It is no bother drawing up a design.”
“No, but it’ll take forever, and I want you to do it now. It sounds lovely, Lan Zhan. Please. Just do it?”
Exhaling slowly, Lan Wangji finally relents. “If you are certain.”
“Yes. A hundred percent. Ink me up, sir.”
Lan Wangji nearly drops his pen. Clearing his throat, he gets up to prepare a copy of the lotus to apply to his skin, get the tattoo machine ready, and put on his gloves. Only then does he turn back to Wei Ying, who is watching the entire process attentively.
“Lie back,” he instructs, taking his seat beside him.
Wei Ying thankfully does so without calling him sir again.
Lan Wangji transfers the design to his chest, mindful of the fresh ink, making sure that Wei Ying is happy with the position before starting up the machine.
He inhales sharply when the needle breaks his skin despite the warning Lan Wangji gave him, then huffs out a laugh.
“Okay, yeah. I can see why people keep coming back for more. I like this.”
Lan Wangji grips the machine tightly and very deliberately chooses not to react to that.
For all the fidgeting Wei Ying does at any given moment, he lies perfectly still beneath his needle, all the nervous energy thrumming in him being channeled into his hands and feet instead, tapping a rhythm that does not match the music at all.
Lan Wangji gets so lost in the methodical application of the outline and the warmth of Wei Ying’s skin that he nearly startles when he breaks the silence.
“Man, if I had a dollar for every time I had to play Für Elise on the piano as a kid, I’d be filthy rich now.”
“You did not enjoy it?”
“No, I did. I liked the challenge of it. I just didn’t like the piano all that much in general, and especially not that I was being forced to play it.”
Lan Wangji hums. “It is hard to imagine you doing something you do not want to do.”
Wei Ying huffs out a laugh. “Wow, you know me so well already. I guess once you’re ugly crying in front of someone there’s no more room for secrets.”
“Not ugly,” Lan Wangji says.
“Huh?”
Swallowing, he makes himself repeat, “You were not. Ugly. You aren’t.”
Wei Ying stares at him. “Oh,” he says, and then, for some reason, he laughs again. Lan Wangji allows himself to relax at the sound.
“You’re really good at this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying muses when he has fallen silent again, which is funny because he has no idea what Lan Wangji is currently tattooing on his chest. He could be butchering the design, for all he knows.
When he points out as much, Wei Ying snorts and shakes his head. “I mean in general. Making people feel comfortable and at ease while they’re exposed like this. But also definitely the artistic aspect of it, because you’re, like, insanely talented.”
“I would not go that far,” Lan Wangji says, still somewhat hung up on the fact that Wei Ying just complimented him on his social skills.
He doesn’t think that has ever happened before.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be modest. I’ve done my fair share of drawing and all that, and it’s never come as easily to me as it does to you.”
Lan Wangji dabs his chest, keeping his eyes on the tattoo. He’s sure that he would do something embarrassing if he met Wei Ying’s, like blushing.
“It is all about practice,” he gives back.
“Well, I guess you’re getting more than enough of that here. Though I’m surprised that you aren’t, like, fully booked with how amazing you are.”
“Business is good,” Lan Wangji tells him. “I am comfortable enough not to have to worry about paying the bills. If I were more popular, work would become stressful. I prefer it like this.”
Wei Ying hums, conceding. He watches Lan Wangji switch from the black ink to purple, taking a moment to look at the outline before getting started. More than ever, it is imperative that he gets this right. He has never once let a client down, he is not going to start with Wei Ying of all people.
Only when he has brought the needle down and gotten started does Wei Ying disturb the quiet again.
“So you’re happy with your decision of opening this place? You’ve never… I don’t know, looked back and wished you’d rebelled in a different way?”
“No. I am happy with my work, and I am content with how I live my life because of it. I enjoy it.”
“Good.” He sounds happy about the fact. “That’s really good, Lan Zhan. I don’t know many people who actually enjoy their work.”
He takes a moment to think about that, to think about his own family, all of which excel at their jobs but do not seem to actually like them.
“Me neither. It is a privilege,” he agrees.
He can feel Wei Ying eyeing him curiously. He has not taken his eyes off him since he got started on the tattoo, actually. Lan Wangji is sure there must be something more interesting than his face in the room, but he seems perfectly content just looking at him.
“What’s the worst part about this job then?”
“People getting tattoos of their partner’s name when they have clearly only been dating for a short time.”
That startles a laugh out of Wei Ying. “Wow, okay, that was quick. You get a lot of those?”
“Unfortunately.”
Wei Ying cackles. It shouldn’t be an attractive sound. Lan Wangji focuses hard on his design.
“And what’s the best part about it?”
He doesn’t have to think for long.
“Customers like you,” he tells him truthfully. When Wei Ying doesn’t react he looks up, lifting an eyebrow at his startled expression.
“What- really?”
He laughs nervously, like he expects Lan Wangji to announce he was kidding any second now.
“Yes. I enjoy the creative aspect of this job, but there is more to it than just artistic expression. Getting to give someone something meaningful that will accompany them throughout their life. That will hopefully be a continued source of joy or comfort for them.” His eyes drop to the lotus on Wei Ying’s chest, only a hint of what it will become by the end of this and already so significant that it has brought him to tears. “That,” he says quietly, “is the best part.”
Wei Ying is silent, his throat bobbing before he drops his head. “Okay,” he gets out eventually, more to himself than to Lan Wangji, and then something muffled that suspiciously sounds like fuck.
Glancing at him, Lan Wangji suspects that he likely does not wish to address whatever crisis he is currently experiencing and thus changes the subject.
“What do you do?”
“Hm? Oh, for a living? Nothing yet, really. I should get on that, I know. I was about to finish my degree, before… before. Don’t really know if I want to go back now. If I can.” He huffs out a laugh, devoid of any humor this time. “Maybe this is something I’ll regret. But I can’t- I can’t think about that right now.”
“You do not have to.”
“I mean, I do need to think about making some money eventually.”
“Yes. But not right now.”
Wei Ying blinks at the finality in his voice, then nods.
“Yeah. You’re right.”
He lets out a deep breath, playing with the sweater in his lap.
“It’s just- hard. Have you ever thought about starting over? Or, I don’t know. Is it starting over if you never really finished anything?”
“I have not,” Lan Wangji says in regard to the first question. “I imagine it’s quite daunting.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees quietly. “It’s scary.”
Putting the finishing touches on the first petal, Lan Wangji eyes it critically before moving on to the next one.
“I believe that’s the thing about life. No matter what, it will always be scary.”
Just because he hasn’t been in the same position as Wei Ying doesn’t mean he hasn’t had his fair share of fear. It’s everywhere, all the time. Just because he has learned to deal with it doesn’t mean he isn’t still affected by it.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying sighs, cracking a small smile when he looks up. “Well. Can’t let that stop you, huh?”
It’s so clear to see, how hard he’s trying to be brave. Like he isn’t already facing the devastating reality that has been thrown at him day after day.
Lan Wangji doesn’t look up from the lotus petal filling with color when he says, quietly, “You’re going to be okay, Wei Ying.”
The words hang in the air for a suspended moment, the taste of Wei Ying’s name lingering on his tongue, the echo of it seeming to resonate between them.
After everything they’ve done tonight, this shouldn’t be the thing that makes his hair rise. It shouldn’t feel this intimate, this personal.
Wei Ying takes a rugged breath, his voice off when he speaks.
“You really believe that.”
It’s not a question, but he can hear the disbelief behind it loud and clear, the incomprehension begging for an explanation. If he could, Lan Wangji would simply hold up a mirror in front of him to let him see what he sees.
“I believe that it is the human spirit,” he explains instead. “People go on even when they think they can’t. Even when they don’t want to.” He finishes the second petal, pausing before he moves on to the third. It feels dangerous to look at him from this close, but he can’t not do it. “I believe that it’s your spirit, too.”
Wei Ying’s forehead is creased. “Why?”
Lan Wangji switches off the machine, considering his words carefully.
“You said you don’t know how to live in a world without your sister. You said you don’t know how to go on without her. But you are already doing it. You woke up in a world where she was gone, and you decided to do something about it.”
He nods towards the tattoo, taking shape before his eyes. It will look beautiful when it’s done.
“You are commemorating her. You are keeping her with you, on your skin. Above your heart. You are not letting her disappear, but making her a permanent fixture in your life instead. You are already going on, even if it doesn’t feel like it. And you will keep doing it, every day.”
Wei Ying blinks at him, his mouth parted. He swallows, his lips trembling as he tries to find his voice.
“Wow. I thought this was gonna go in the direction of me being like a cockroach, you know, indestructible no matter how hard the universe tries. But this is… better.”
Lan Wangji gives him an affronted look, and he huffs out a laugh.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not that I expected that from you, specifically. Just force of habit, I suppose. Once you hear it often enough from your adoptive mother, it kind of sticks.”
He waves his hand at whatever must be showing on his face. “It’s okay. Strangely motivating, in a way.”
Before he can come up with an appropriate response to that, Wei Ying smiles.
“You’re really nice, you know that? No,” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “Kind.”
There’s gratitude in his words, which Lan Wangji appreciates, but feels undeserving of either way.
“You deserve kindness,” he says simply, switching on the machine again and resuming his work on the petals.
Wei Ying huffs, shaking his head to himself as he glances at the ceiling.
“So do I have to pay extra for the therapy session or is that included in the price?”
“It’s on the house,” Lan Wangji deadpans, earning himself another short laugh.
They sit in silence for a while, comfortable and easy.
“Lan Zhan.”
“Mn.”
“Your other tattoos.” Wei Ying hesitates. “Do they all have a meaning?”
It’s an easy way out. He could just say yes and leave it at that if he didn’t want to talk about it, and Wei Ying wouldn’t press for more.
As if there is still anything between them that they couldn’t talk about.
“The guqin and xiao are for my brother and me,” he begins.
“Oh? In an abstract way or because you actually play?”
“We play.”
“Right. Should have known. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Team sports,” Lan Wangji gives back immediately. Wei Ying snorts.
“I see. So you’re close with your brother?”
“Yes. Perhaps not in a way others would describe as such, but… he understands me. We understand each other.”
Wei Ying blinks, humming thoughtfully. “That’s lovely. Which one is he?”
“The xiao.”
“Hm. So you’re the guqin? I’m dying to hear you play now, Lan Zhan, I hope you know that. I bet you’re amazing at it.”
Before he can come up with a response to that, Wei Ying asks, clearly encouraged by how forthcoming he was, “The coordinates?”
“My childhood home.” He pauses, hesitating, but the need to explain himself wins out. It’s a novel sensation; he doesn’t usually feel the desire to make other people understand his meaning. “I have… mixed feelings about how I grew up. Many things were not ideal. Many went wrong. But home was always a sanctuary, despite everything. It always comforted me.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Wei Ying agrees. “I- didn’t have the greatest childhood either, as you may have gathered from my previous comments about my adoptive mother. But it was still home. I think about it all the time. Sometimes I wish I could go back, even though I know it wasn’t- it wouldn’t be great, to be in that situation again. But the feeling of home is still there.”
“There was an innocence to it,” Lan Wangji agrees, nodding. “That childlike outlook on life. The feeling of safety. It painted everything in a softer light.”
Wei Ying blinks at him. “Yeah. That’s… yeah. I think I miss that, sometimes. I didn’t realize that I did, but now that you say it- do you? Miss it?”
“I think I do, yes.”
Feeling Wei Ying’s eyes on him, he looks up and promptly finds himself unable to look away. Wei Ying’s face is unmasked and vulnerable, in a way Lan Wangji has never been able to be with other people. It’s intoxicating to be trusted like this, and it somehow feels like it’s contagious too. Whatever his own face displays, Wei Ying drinks it in hungrily, never looking away either.
The music changes, the next piece starting with a sharp note from a violin that startles them both, and the moment shatters.
Returning his eyes to the lotus, Lan Wangji feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. He hopes that Wei Ying won’t pick up on it.
If he does, he isn’t letting it on.
“So,” he just says, clearing his throat. “The pattern?”
It takes him a moment to make the connection, then he understands that he’s asking about the tattoo stretching over his stomach and his right hip.
“It’s a resolving pattern,” he explains. “It represents the rules I grew up with. The world view my uncle taught us was very rigid. Black and white, no margin of error. The older I got, the more I struggled with living within those boundaries. That’s why the pattern starts resolving around the middle. Because it was impossible for me to remain inside of it.”
“Wow. That’s… so cool. Lan Zhan, you’re so creative!”
He sounds genuinely impressed. Lan Wangji hums noncommittally, hiding his pleased smile.
“I’m really glad you found a way out,” Wei Ying says. “It’s not easy to shake off what you thought was true your entire life.”
“It’s not,” he agrees. “It took a lot of work. It still does.”
“Yeah. Every day, right?”
He nods. “Every day.”
Wei Ying hums.
“What about the rabbit?” he then asks, poorly concealing his curiosity. No doubt he’s expecting him to reveal some great meaning to it, something equally heavy or fundamental as the reasons behind the other tattoos.
The corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth lifts. “I like rabbits.”
Wei Ying blinks at him. “You- you like rabbits. Of course you like rabbits. Oh my god.” He buries his face in his hands and groans.
“Wei Ying?”
“Sorry. Sorry, it’s just- that’s so cute. You’re so cute, Lan Zhan.”
Cute. The last time he was described as cute was when he turned eighteen and took his first (and last) shot in his brother’s company. He doesn’t particularly think of himself as cute. Wei Ying, on the other hand. His restless fidgeting. His earnestness, the open look in his eyes that only disappears when he teases. The mischievous smile Lan Wangji has only caught glimpses of but is already enchanted by.
Now that’s what he calls cute.
“I apologize for causing you distress,” he says, making Wei Ying groan again and shake his head.
“Stop. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lan Wangji says, his gaze drawn to the enticing flush on Wei Ying’s cheeks. Cute, cute, cute.
Wei Ying drops his hands and glares at him.
“You do! You’re- complimenting me and flirting with me and you’re so earnest about it, and- I mean. That’s. Or maybe you’re not! I’m just kidding, ahah. Obviously you’re not flirting with me. Hey, can I have some water? I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
Lan Wangji blinks at him, frowning. “Are you alright?”
Wei Ying nods as he gets up to take his gloves off and retrieve some water.
“I’m good, I’m good. Thanks.” He laughs nervously. “Don’t mind me. I’m just- never mind.”
Lan Wangji narrows his eyes at him. “Do you wish to take a break?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Keep going.”
Taking another look at him, he decides, “We are taking a break.”
“No,” Wei Ying whines. “Lan Zhan, come on. I’m fine. I’m real good.”
“Then you will still be real good in five minutes,” Lan Wangji says dryly, getting up to retrieve his cup of tea. It’s cold now, but there’s no need to waste it.
Wei Ying watches him move around the room with a pout, then uses the time to glance down at his chest.
“Oh.”
Lan Wangji pauses. “Do you- like it?”
“Like it?” He huffs. “Lan Zhan, this is amazing. It’s gonna be so beautiful when it’s done.”
Trying to hide his relief, Lan Wangji tells him as he sits down, “It will not take much longer.”
Wei Ying, weirdly, looks disappointed by that.
“Right. You know what? Maybe a break was a good idea. You should probably have taken one a while ago, you’ve been working so hard.”
“It is no harder than other designs I have done today.”
“Ah, ah, you’re being too humble again. This is great work, you deserve a break! So let’s take one, and you can use the time to tell me more about yourself.”
Lan Wangji lifts an eyebrow, crossing his legs delicately.
“What would you like to know?”
Wei Ying waves his hand. “I don’t know, whatever! Why do you like rabbits? How old is your brother? Are you single? Ahah, whatever you wanna tell me!”
He won’t meet his eyes. Slightly bewildered, Lan Wangji says slowly, “Rabbits are cute. My brother is twenty-eight. Yes.” He pauses. “What about you?”
“Oh, like- all of them? Well, uh, I guess they’re cute too. My brother is the same age as me, like, five days younger to be exact, but he’s totally my younger brother no matter how much he disputes it. And yes, I am. Single. As single as I can get. Just super available.”
Lan Wangji takes a moment to process that. “Right.”
There is an obvious opportunity here, but Lan Wangji, never quite having figured out the intricacies of social interactions, has no idea how to get from this point to the one where he asks Wei Ying on a date without making a complete fool of himself.
“Right,” Wei Ying echoes, staring at his hands intently. For the first time, the silence between them is unbearable.
“Hey, so do you have any pet bunnies, or…” Wei Ying asks suddenly, and with that the opportunity vanishes.
“Two,” Lan Wangji confirms. Wei Ying’s eyes bulge.
“No way. No fucking- you have two bunnies. Two of them.”
“Yes, that is what I said,” he agrees, amused.
“Well, that’s just. Hm! Do you have pictures?”
Lan Wangji takes out his phone and shows him. Wei Ying looks like he wants to cry again, but in a good way this time. He stares at the picture of him with both rabbits on his lap that Xichen took for so long that he’s starting to get worried, but then he makes a high-pitched wailing sound and says something about his poor weak heart, and Lan Wangji figures that if he’s back to his theatrics, he must be alright.
After the impromptu bunny slideshow, he puts his phone away and asks, “Are you still feeling ‘real good’?”
Wei Ying huffs, suppressing a smile. “Yeah. You?”
“Yes, I am also real good,” Lan Wangji tells him seriously, though that might be a bit of a lie, considering that he’s still racking his brain for a way to return to the matter of his relationship status so that he may ask him out. “Let’s finish, then.”
“Right. Sure. You probably have other stuff to do,” Wei Ying mutters, frowning.
Lan Wangji gives him a look as he puts on fresh gloves. “Not particularly, but usually customers don’t plan on spending their entire night here.”
“Oh. Right.”
He settles back in, and Lan Wangji returns to the petal he was working on before. Only one more to go after this one. They must have been sitting here for a while, which a quick glance at the clock confirms. Certainly didn’t feel like it. Lan Wangji finds himself disproportionally glad that Wei Ying came in this late, at a time when there are no other customers to disturb them.
Selfishly, he doesn’t want to share a second of his time here with anyone.
Lost in his thoughts as he is, he doesn’t notice the quiet that settled between them until Wei Ying breaks it to ask, “Lan Zhan, if you could give your uncle a tattoo, what would it be?”
Lan Wangji nearly drops the machine at the mental image.
Wei Ying snorts at his expression.
“I… don’t know. I have never considered it,” he says truthfully, because that scenario is about as likely as his mother returning to the land of the living.
“Well, think about it now! Go wild. It doesn’t even have to be serious, just, like, imagine what you would go for if you had free reign for some reason.”
Lan Wangji really tries, but, “I cannot.”
Wei Ying makes a thoughtful sound.
“How about something like a list of rules, only it ends after the first bullet point and it reads, ‘rule number one: there are no rules’?”
“If I wanted to give him a heart attack, that would certainly be an appropriate choice.”
He lets Wei Ying’s quiet laughter wash over him as he considers the question again.
“A minimalist tea set,” he then says.
“Huh?”
“My uncle is very traditional. And very fond of tea. I believe a traditional Chinese tea set would be… fitting for him.”
“Oh. That actually sounds really nice.”
He ponders that a little longer, then asks, “What about your brother? What kind of tattoo would you give him?”
“I have given him one.”
Wei Ying lifts his head, his eyes wide. “Ohh. Really? Does your uncle know?”
At the look he gives him, he snorts. “Right. Didn’t think so. So what was it?”
“It’s a quote he chose. Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.”
“Wow. That’s deep.”
Lan Wangji allows himself a smile. “Brother has had similar struggles with the moral code we were taught as children,” he explains. “The tattoo is a reminder that ultimately, it is our own conscience that dictates what is right and wrong rather than any fixed rules. As long as we preserve our integrity, we will not stray from the right path.”
“So your brother’s really into that philosophical stuff, huh?”
“He is a very thoughtful person,” he amends.
“Well, he sounds like a really cool person, too.”
“He is,” Lan Wangji agrees. “Very cool.”
Wei Ying laughs, delighted.
“I think I’d give my brother a lightning bolt or something,” he then says. “Feels very- him.”
Lan Wangji is not quite sure how to take that. “If he is open to the suggestion, you may refer him to me,” he remarks, which makes him huff out a short laugh again.
“Right. You know what? I don’t think I will. Even if it deprives you of a paying customer, I’d rather just keep you to myself.”
The rush of warmth going down his spine at that is entirely unexpected and equally nonsensical. Lan Wangji desperately wants to feel it again.
“That,” he says slowly, deliberately, “is acceptable.”
Wei Ying blinks at him, then drops his gaze. “Right. Right, right, right,” he mutters under his breath. It should not be as endearing as it is.
Returning to the final petal, Lan Wangji notes with a distinct sense of regret that all that’s left are the finishing touches. He adds them quietly, making sure that they are perfect. Wei Ying deserves only the best.
When he’s done, he takes a moment to look at the tattoo as a whole. It’s beautiful, if he does say so himself. He hopes it’s everything Wei Ying wanted it to be.
Usually, he would take a picture of the design for his folder of references. Tonight, he decides to let it go. He doesn’t strictly speaking need one, and this feels… personal. It’s between the two of them only, and as sentimental as it is, he would like to keep it that way.
“Wei Ying.” He switches off the machine and sets it aside, ignoring how heavy his heart feels. “I am done.”
“Oh.” Wei Ying sits up, blinking down at his chest before hopping up and coming to a stand before the mirrors. “Oh, wow. Lan Zhan.”
Lan Wangji steps behind him. They both look at his chest.
“Is it what you imagined?”
“Uh, no, actually. It’s much better than that.” Turning around, Wei Ying meets his eyes. “It’s perfect. Genuinely, truly perfect. Thank you so much for this, Lan Zhan. I don’t know what to say.”
Lan Wangji relaxes, allowing the softness he feels to show on his face.
“You do not have to say anything. Your satisfaction is enough.”
Wei Ying smiles at that, reaching for his wrist and giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m really, really happy with it. I didn’t think I would come out of here with something so beautiful in a million years. You’re an incredible artist, Hanguang-Jun. Thank you.”
Swallowing, Lan Wangji nods. “Thank you too.”
They look at each other. Wei Ying belatedly drops his hand.
“So. I guess it’s time to wrap me up, huh? Again.”
Nodding, Lan Wangji turns and gets the supplies, covering Wei Ying’s tattoo carefully. He pulls back to take one last look at it, saying goodbye, then glances up at his face.
“It has been a pleasure, Wei Ying.”
He’s not good with words, never has been, but as he watches the smile spreading on his face, he thinks he understands him just fine.
It feels strange somehow, leading Wei Ying to the counter and charging him for his tattoo. He does leave out the extra cost of the purple ink, ready to insist that it’s on the house for reasons he cannot fathom even in his own mind. Wei Ying gives him a suspicious look at the low number he names, but doesn’t ask.
“Well. This is it,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Back in his big sweater, the tattoo hidden from sight, he looks just like he did when he came in, except he really doesn’t, not to Lan Wangji. There are miles between those two versions of Wei Ying, every moment in between having fed into his perception of the man. When he looks at him now, he thinks he really sees him, the shape of his grief in his eyes, the fierceness he cares with hidden in the line of his mouth. He is not a stranger anymore.
Still, Lan Wangji finds himself wishing he could be more than whatever it is he is now.
Wei Ying, funnily enough, seems equally reluctant to leave things as they are. He shifts back and forth on his heels, pursing his lips as he glances at Lan Wangji.
“Well,” he says again into the quiet. “I should.” He points over his shoulder.
Lan Wangji clears his throat, his hands curling around the counter. “Yes.”
Wei Ying lets out a deep breath, then drops his shoulders in resignation. He gives him one last smile, tinged with something at the edges that seems to resonate in Lan Wangji’s chest, something that reminds him a lot of regret.
Before he can turn around, he blurts out, “Wei Ying. I was.”
Wei Ying blinks. “You were what?”
“Flirting.” He clears his throat. “With you. I am- not good at it, I believe. But I was.”
Wei Ying stares at him, his lips parted before they pull into a blinding smile, bigger than any of the others he has given him tonight.
“Oh. Oh! You- you were. That’s good. Great! It’s great. Um, would you- do you want my number, or-?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, cutting him off. “Yes. I would like to get your number.”
“Cool. Okay. Great, yeah, let me just-“
He holds out his hand as Lan Wangji holds out his phone, and he huffs out a laugh before he types in his number. When he looks at the screen, he finds it saved under Wei Ying with a bunny emoji and a purple flower.
“Thank you,” he says.
Wei Ying, for some reason, makes finger guns at him.
“You’re gonna call me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows as he backs towards the door.
Lan Wangji considers this.
“I will probably text you,” he amends.
Wei Ying grins. “That’s fine. But you’re gonna do it, yes? Promise?”
Lan Wangji promises.
“Great. I’ll hold you to that! I’ll be waiting.”
He will not be waiting for long. Lan Wangji watches him leave with the strangest sensation in his chest, something he only identifies as elation when he has already disappeared. As soon as he does, he unlocks his phone and sends a message.
To: Wei Ying 🐰🌸
Caffeine during the day is acceptable. Would you like to get coffee with me tomorrow?
He has barely put his phone down when it buzzes with a response.
From: Wei Ying 🐰🌸
Lan Zhan!!!!
I would LOVE to grab coffee with you!! Anything would be fine tbh, but coffee is a good start. Meet you at the parlor at two?
Lan Zhan smiles at his phone. The music in the background changes to something soft and tender, and he finds himself humming along as he responds an affirmative before heading to the backroom to clean up.
No matter what his uncle says, he always knew staying open late was a good decision.