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Meng Yao settles at the bar, and orders a sparkling water, in the hopes that the bubbles will settle the flutters in his stomach. As always, per his habit, he is a whole half-hour early.
The back wall is a mirror, reflecting his face back at him. And his face—looks fine. Presentable. He can see the sharp shoulders of his black jacket, the high neck of his dark green turtleneck, and the open lapels of the baby blue button-up in between them both; all chosen after careful study of online reviews to determine the restaurant’s clientele and general vibe. The soft, warm light of the restaurant casts a flattering glow, at least.
And in any case, the outfit seems to give him enough confidence to hide the nerves charging up his entire body. This is his very first blind date experience, and it will also, hopefully, be the last. Really, he only said yes this time because Jiang Yanli is difficult to turn down, especially when she brings out her pork rib and lotus root soup.
Besides, Meng Yao’s relationship with his father’s family is tenuous enough without insulting his brother’s wife.
Yanli-jie did not say much about who Meng Yao is due to meet. Only that it is a man, someone she thinks Meng Yao has much in common with. She had asked for Meng Yao’s free days, and returned with a time and a place, and that was all there was to that.
And it is only because she is unbearably kind that Meng Yao trusts at all that the situation won’t end in abject humiliation. The worst case scenario is probably two intensely awkward hours of small talk, after which he will hopefully never have to see this person again.
“Ah, Meng Yao?”
Here goes. Meng Yao puts on a smile, something bright and welcoming, as he swivels on the bar stool.
—And then he immediately drops his eyes because the most attractive man that Meng Yao has seen in his entire life is standing in front of him. Oh.
“Hi,” Meng Yao manages to push out, though he sounds just a little winded. “You’re—Yanli-jie’s friend?” He keeps his head down, but hauls his eyes upward.
The handsome man is still there, and still incredibly, incredibly handsome. And very tall. God, his cheekbones are so sharp—his jaw, too—they could cut a person, probably. Meng Yao finds his eyes drifting down, to the perfect line of his long neck, then back up to the sweep of his artfully tousled hair, and finally to his almond-shaped eyes, which are smiling. And. Kind. Just. So incredibly kind .
Meng Yao does not know how he can be so sure of this. He just is.
“Lan Xichen,” the beautiful man says, his voice husky and deep, even as Meng Yao slowly slides off the stool to stand on his two feet, as is polite when meeting new people.
Lan Xichen is even taller than him, like this, towering at least a head over him. That—should not make Meng Yao’s blood throb as much as it does, but. He feels it rushing to his cheeks, his neck; to every exposed part of his face, and despite himself, he cannot help gazing up again, his mouth curving up helplessly in a smile. He realises, suddenly, that Lan Xichen—unlike everyone else Meng Yao has ever met—is just as early to this meeting as he is.
For some reason, he finds himself bowing. Why is he bowing?! He isn’t a character in a xianxia novel. Yet his hands clasp together and his upper half bends without any input from his brain.
“Yanli-jie did not tell me I would be meeting the brother of Wei Wuxian’s new favourite companion,” he says, as if that could somehow hide the fact that he has just bowed in a fancy restaurant to a man in a sleek cobalt suit and a cute bow tie and a white shirt with a blue-tinted collar that shows off just an enticing hint of bare chest—
There is a slight pressure on his elbows, and Meng Yao finds himself being lifted up, even as a shiver ripples from his arms through the rest of his body in a small wave. He cannot bear to look up again. He might do something even more foolish.
But he can still hear Lan Xichen speaking, gently teasing, “I hope I am not too much of a disappointment.”
“Not at all,” Meng Yao says fervently. Unconsciously, his eyes dart up, through his lashes. He almost thinks he sees Lan Xichen staring at him, mouth slightly open, but he must be imagining things, because after he blinks, Lan Xichen is simply smiling at him again.
Against all odds, it leaves Meng Yao even more breathless. He swallows, trying to find words, but is saved when the hostess approaches them.
“Sirs, your table is ready now, shall I seat you? We’ll bring you a fresh drink,” she adds to Meng Yao, gesturing in front of her towards the main seating area of the restaurant.
“Thank you,” Lan Xichen murmurs, with a polite smile, and Meng Yao just about manages to echo it when a heavy hand lands on the small of his back. It is warm and comforting and knocks every coherent thought of Meng Yao’s head, and some incoherent ones besides.
When Lan Xichen guides him to their table, it feels protective and solicitous. Not intimidating, despite the other man’s relative height and breadth compared to Meng Yao.
And Meng Yao just wants to... curl into his side and breathe in his cologne. Lan Xichen’s scent is all fresh minty herbs and citrus and a hint of jasmine; equal parts invigorating and soothing.
The chivalry and the kindness only continue, as Lan Xichen pulls Meng Yao’s chair out for him. As he listens attentively to Meng Yao’s stories and feeds Meng Yao bites from his plate. As he laughs quietly, but with his whole face lit up, like he genuinely enjoys Meng Yao’s company.
Somehow, they end up staying till closing time—a feat, considering the restaurant is also a bar, and thus open rather late.
They walk outside, along the waterfront, and without even discussing it, end up sitting together on a bench and talking. About—everything. Their childhoods (Lan Xichen grew up in Suzhou, with his brother and uncle, loquats are a big thing there, he’ll bring some back for Meng Yao next time), their work (Lan Xichen manages the family company, it is frequently all-consuming but more often fulfilling, but really, he’s more interested in what Meng Yao does—), their hopes and dreams and interests outside of work and family (Lan Xichen paints and he plays the piano and guitar, he writes music, too, would Meng Yao like to hear sometime?).
Halfway through a story about the antics of one of his younger cousins, a boy named Jingyi, Lan Xichen stops short. “Ah—I don’t mean to bore you with this.”
“It’s not boring at all,” Meng Yao says sincerely. It’s not a lie. He has hung on Lan Xichen’s every word all night. Honestly, he would be happy to continue doing so for the foreseeable and unforeseeable future.
Lan Xichen looks down at his hands, a smile curving his mouth, and Meng Yao looks also. Lan Xichen’s fingers are so long and slender—but they seem gentle, too. A musician’s fingers, his mother would say.
Meng Yao licks his lips and swallows against the sudden desire to have those fingers all over his body. Peeling his clothes off. Caressing every inch of his skin. Making Meng Yao forget everything but the feel of Lan Xichen’s hands on him—
“May I take you home?” Lan Xichen murmurs, glancing back up, still with that soft smile. “I mean—to your doorstep,” he adds quickly, and even in the darkness of the night, Meng Yao can see that his neck and ears have turned red.
“Yes, yes,” Meng Yao says eagerly, standing up. He holds out his palm, staring down at his shoes, suddenly feeling shy. “You—can come inside too, if you want. I’ll give you a tour of the place,” he jokes, because his one-bedroom apartment is hardly big enough for a proper tour.
His heart leaps into his throat when a large hand, the one that had been so warm and protective on his back when walking to their table at the restaurant, folds easily into his. Lan Xichen is standing now also, and once again, Meng Yao has to crane his neck just a little to look up at him.
“A personal tour?” Lan Xichen repeats, eyes dancing with sweet amusement as he gazes down at Meng Yao. “That sounds like a rare opportunity.”
I’ll give you a personal tour of me anytime you like , Meng Yao wants to say. Instead, what comes out of his mouth, as solemnly as he can manage it even though laughter is seeping out of him: “It absolutely is. While stocks last.”
“I would like to cash in on this special offer, then. What will it cost me?” Lan Xichen has a way of smiling beautifully without showing any teeth, and it is delightful. His hand squeezes Meng Yao’s, very lightly.
Meng Yao takes it as an encouragement to squeeze back, more firmly. “You’ll have to come back and find out.”
He tugs Lan Xichen along, and in the space of a few seconds, they go from walking together to jogging along the waterfront. It’s more than a little absurd given that Meng Yao is on the short side while Lan Xichen is so tall and long-legged, but it doesn’t matter at all because they’re laughing together, loud and joyous in the quiet night.
And somehow Meng Yao knows that even though they’ve known each other barely a few hours, he doesn’t plan to let go of Lan Xichen’s hand, now or ever, and Lan Xichen doesn’t plan on letting him go, either.