Archive of Our Own ^beta

Meng Yao’s hand is shaking so much when he raises it to push the button for the third floor, it is ridiculous. This is just a date. A second date, sure, but still just a date. A date with Lan Huan, who remains the most beautiful man Meng Yao has ever seen, and who has turned out to truly be a supportive brother, as well as someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and talks earnestly about his fears and desires, and who wants to be someone Meng Yao can confide in.

The thing is, Meng Yao could have probably handled all of that just fine, if that was all it was. But of course Lan Huan just had to add – while practically glowing with mischievous delight – that he would not mind being pushed up against a wall. Or, he had added with a truly lethal grin: if Meng Yao was so inclined, a bed.

Those words, more than anything else about their date two days ago, are the reason why his knees feel so weak and his hands shake so badly, as he rides the elevator that will take him to Lan Huan’s flat. A place that will be both private, and where there will most certainly be both walls and a bed.

And Lan Huan is the sexiest, most gorgeous man Meng Yao has ever seen.

So. That is… a thing, to be dealt with.

Somehow.

Meng Yao forces himself to draw a deep breath, and tries to calm down by turning his mind to other things. It is a nice elevator. The whole house is nice, from what Meng Yao has seen so far. Outside, the façade was well maintained and there were large windows on every floor, and a fancy front door that swung open soundlessly when Lan Huan buzzed it open for him. His voice had been warm even through the intercom as he said Meng Yao, and then: Come in. I live on the third floor, mine is the door on the left. Even the memory is enough to make Meng Yao’s nerves flutter to life again, and they grow even worse when the elevator comes to a gentle stop. There is a soft ding and a cool voice announces the third floor as the doors open to a brightly lit landing with four doors, onto which Meng Yao steps feeling acutely out of place. He has never dated anyone who has lived in such a fancy place, and he has not even seen the actual flat yet.

The doors are all a light-coloured wood with simple but elegant patterns carved into them, and adorned only by a single brass nameplate each. The one on the door on the left simply reads “Lan”, and Meng Yao must take another deep breath before he rings the doorbell. He cannot tell whether it actually rings inside the flat or not, but it is only a few moments before he hears the lock turn and the door opens.

Impossible though it seems, he had forgotten just how beautiful Lan Huan actually is.

“Meng Yao” Lan Huan beams, stepping aside to make room for him to enter, “welcome, come in, come in.”

“Thanks” Meng Yao manages to say as he walks past Lan Huan into the flat. The door closes behind them with a muted click, leaving them in sudden and absolute privacy.

“Can I take your jacket?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah sure.” Meng Yao unzips his jacket, but before he can shrug out of it the way he usually does, Lan Huan’s hands are by his shoulders, featherlight and easing him out of it. It is so unexpected and intimate, and yet it only lasts for a few seconds. Then the moment is over, and Lan Huan is putting his jacket on a hanger while Meng Yao leans down to take his shoes off, once again with trembling fingers.

“I hope you did not have any trouble finding your way?”

“No” Meng Yao replies as he puts his shoes on the intended rack, “none at all. Your directions were…”

He trails off, all thoughts effectively erased when his gaze is inevitably drawn to Lan Huan again.

The hall they are standing in is not small, by any standards. It is almost three meters wide and goes on for quite a bit, deeper into the flat. But they are standing closer together than they have in two full days, and they are in private, and Lan Huan just smells so good and is looking at Meng Yao with the warmest, most besotted smile, and there is a wall right there.

Meng Yao restrains himself with frankly admirable effort.

“Very helpful” he finishes belatedly.

“Good.” Lan Huan is practically radiating pleasure; it is incredibly distracting. “Come, I will give you the grand tour on our way to the kitchen.”

“Oh” Meng Yao manages eloquently. “Of course.”

He is very careful not to show it as Lan Huan begins to walk, but the words ‘grand tour’ has him slightly on edge. This whole building is already imposing enough, but what if it turns out that Lan Huan lives in a ten-bedroom luxury suite with his own jacuzzi and rooftop golf-range, or something equally ludicrous? Meng Yao might just have to run out the door, in that case, because for all his dreams of financial stability and never lacking for anything ever again, he is not ready to make that sort of socioeconomic leap.

But Lan Huan does not suddenly tap a wall and reveal… whatever a yoga-practising architect would reveal behind a hidden door. He merely leads Meng Yao down the hall and points to each door in turn, all of them on the left-hand side. Storage, bedroom, bathroom – and that is it. There is not a single door on the right-hand side of the hallway; instead, that wall holds only a series of landscape paintings. There are five in total, all in the same size and set in the same dark wooden frame. Classical, Meng Yao thinks as they walk past them, with black ink on rice paper, and only small accent details done in colour. Red maple leaves on one, pink peach blossoms on another, green bamboo on a third.

He realises he has stopped in front of the fourth painting when he hears Lan Huan laugh, in that way he did during their first date whenever he was embarrassed about something. It is a small, apologetic sound, which it has absolutely no business being.

“These are lovely” Meng Yao says before he turns to look at Lan Huan. “Are they yours?”

“Yes. They were a project for one of my courses at university.” Lan Huan looks decidedly embarrassed still, but his smile is warm as he adds: “Thank you.”

He takes half a step back and gestures at the room into which the hallway opens up.

“Please, make yourself at home. I need to check on the oven.”

Meng Yao nods and takes the few remaining steps into what appears to be the main living area of the flat. It is a large, open room, and with tall windows on two of the walls and at least three meters of ceiling height, the room is light and airy, even on a winter night like this one. Golden light reflects from the streetlights below and from the square a little bit further down the road and it all lends a sense of being… close. Not in the middle of things and not removed from them, but at a comfortable distance.

The kitchen area is located by the wall closest to the bathroom, not overly large but spacious, and with both a kitchen island and a small, round dining table. Most of the room, however, is living space. There is a rather large desk by the wall, upon which Meng Yao spots a laptop and what he guesses are tools for digital drawing, as well as a brush stand and a vase with a few branches of willow catkins. Between two of the windows stands a bookcase, and there are several potted plants scattered throughout the space, but perhaps most conspicuous in all the room is the couch and the two matching armchairs.

The couch is perhaps technically of a 3-seat variety, but it looks more like a couch monster that would eat other, smaller couches for dinner. It is longer, wider, taller and deeper than any reasonable 3-seat couch has any business being, and with its large, almost flat cushions of upholstery looking about to spill over its edges, it is probably the most opulent, lavish couch Meng Yao has ever seen.

“A white leather couch, gege?” Meng Yao says as he walks up to it, unable to keep himself from touching the back of an armchair, the leather supple under his hand. “How very ‘80s of you.”

“You have a keen eye” Lan Huan says from over by the kitchen island. “Wait until you sit in it.”

“Really? What happens if I do?” Meng Yao rounds the armchair and studies the – honestly speaking, ridiculously large – couch with a raised brow. “Is it secretly remodelled into a high-tech movie chair piece? It isn’t filled with water, is it?”

Lan Huan laughs, which should not be enough to send shivers of anticipation down Meng Yao’s spine but does anyway.

“Just try it.”

“If this has a built-in water bed, I’m leaving” Meng Yao says, and si…

Sinks down into the couch.

“Oh my god” he exclaims, before his brain can catch up and shut him up, “it’s like sitting in a cloud.”

Over in the kitchen, Lan Huan laughs, which really is not fair, given that Meng Yao is currently sitting enveloped in the softest, most debauchery-inducing couch of all time.

“Seriously” Meng Yao says, patting the cushions for any clue as to how a leather couch can be so impossibly soft, “I may never, ever leave this couch.”

“That is alright. We can eat over there.”

Meng Yao gasps, not entirely in mock-outrage.

“In a white couch, gege?”

“Of course. It is easy to wipe off.”

He says it with almost complete innocence; Meng Yao’s heart still makes a triple-beat.

“What have you made for us?” he asks, turning in the sofa so he can rest his arms against the armrest and lean his chin against them. The ‘us’ is a deliberate choice, because despite all of Lan Huan’s words about indulging him, Meng Yao is not quite ready to ask what Lan Huan has made for him.

“Oh, this and that” Lan Huan says with a half-shrug, smiling over whatever dish he is laying out on the counter. “I may have gone a bit overboard, actually. There is deep fried tofu, stir-fried sprouts, noodles…”

Meng Yao zones out a little bit as Lan Huan recounts the dishes he has prepared, and simply watches him instead. It feels safer doing it like this, from a bit of a distance. Less likely for Lan Huans’s Everything to overwhelm him and short-circuit his brain.

Lan Huan truly is incredibly handsome. He is not even wearing anything particularly spectacular, just dark blue trousers and a slightly lighter blue shirt, but they are tight-fitting and show off both his legs and his waist. And his forearms, too, because he has rolled up his sleeves.

Meng Yao is doomed.

“…and a Caprese salad” Lan Huan sums up, and grins over at Meng Yao, “because it has been a long time since I had mozzarella cheese, and this felt like a perfect opportunity.”

It is a good thing that Meng Yao is already sitting down, because that means a considerably lower risk of falling if his knees give out. Which, incidentally, it feels like they are at a risk of doing every single time Lan Huan smiles.

“Well, I refuse to put your couch at risk of either tomato or olive oil stains” Meng Yao concludes, trying and failing not to be distracted by how Lan Huan’s shirt is not buttoned all the way up. “That would be unconscionable.”

“We will eat by the table then, and move back to the couch later.”

He says it like it is no big deal, and it is not, Meng Yao knows that it is not, but it feels huge.

“Okay” he says, and has to fight a smile of his own. “Okay. Let’s do that.”

Leaving the couch feels a bit like stepping off a mound of feathery softness – perhaps that is it, down feathers? – but on the other hand, Meng Yao is walking up to Lan Huan in the kitchen area and that, too, is a great place to be. The kitchen island is covered with at least a dozen small plates, about half of them filled with what appears to be cold dishes.

“You weren’t joking about going overboard” he says. “Are we supposed to eat all of this? Tonight?”

“If we do not, I will have my lunchboxes sorted for the week” Lan Huan says lightly as he opens the oven where there is even more food. “I had no idea what you might like, so I went for a bit of everything. Think of it as a miniature buffet.”

Meng Yao suppresses a laugh.

“I’m not sure there’s any other way of thinking of it. Should I bring these to the table?”

“Please.”

Thus given a practical task to focus on, Meng Yao picks up two plates and begins the process of moving Lan Huan’s ‘let’s not make a big affair of this date’ buffet style dinner to the dining table. Everything looks delicious, and once the hot dishes come out of the oven, the appetising smells wafting through the room make him realise just how hungry he is. It is not long before the table is full of dishes, leaving not a square inch to spare except for the two places Lan Huan has already set for them – next to each other, rather than on opposite sides.

“This all looks amazing” Meng Yao says, holding the back of one of the chairs as Lan Huan pours sparkling water for them. “But you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble” Lan Huan says with a minute headshake. “I told you the other day, I want to indulge you.”

And then he smiles so reassuringly that Meng Yao must make a conscious effort to keep his knees from buckling. He does not even have it in him to protest when Lan Huan asks him to have a seat and proceeds to pull out the chair for him: he merely sits down with a quiet ‘thanks’, feeling much too warm and butterfly-fluttery inside. He might even be blushing, which has happened far too often in Lan Huan’s company already. It might give him the wrong idea.

Not that Lan Huan shows any sign of noticing, as he sits down as well.

“Please, let us begin” he says simply. “Where would you like to start?”

Maybe this is stupid. Maybe this is not the kind of indulging he meant, or the kind of attention he wants to give.

“Perhaps…” Meng Yao says slowly, taking care to look up at Lan Huan through his lashes, “perhaps you would like to pick something out for me?”

Lan Huan beams.

Dinner is good.

In fact, if Meng Yao was not so terrified of accidentally jinxing this whole thing, he might actually dare to think that this is probably as close to perfect as a second date is ever going to be. The food is exactly as delicious as it looks and Lan Huan is just as attentive as he claimed to be the other day. He seems to delight in refilling Meng Yao's glass whenever it is less than half full, and in putting more food on Meng Yao's plate whenever he is running out, but while Meng Yao is certain that he praises each dish equally, somehow, Lan Huan still manages to only offer him seconds of the dishes he particularly likes. It should probably be a little unnerving, because his unerring precision suggests that he really does pay attention – and close attention, too – but it is not.

It is exhilarating.

Their conversation flows easily as well, without a single uncomfortable silence and without even once lingering too long on a topic. They talk about food, at first, and cooking – Lan Huan learned to cook for his brother's sake, Meng Yao was taught by his mother – and then after school activities they had as kids – swimming, drawing and flute lessons for Lan Huan; drama for Meng Yao. It turns out that they were both members of their respective student councils, and they reminisce for a while about different projects, which of course leads to them talking about school teachers they have had, and even Meng Yao loses track of how they end up at a place where he confesses to having an actual degree in accounting. It is not something he brags about; if anything, it is the kind of truth that others must ply him with alcohol to have even the slightest chance of wrenching out of him, and yet, with Lan Huan, he offers it willingly.

But Lan Huan laughs in all the right places, a soft and rippling sound that makes Meng Yao's heart flutter, and sometimes Meng Yao catches Lan Huan just… looking, at him, with a small smile and absolute wonder in his gaze, and it should feel terrifying, because it is too much and too soon, but it does not, because somehow, it is not. And besides, Meng Yao loses himself in Lan Huan just as often. He smiles a lot, a myriad of different smiles, and he uses his large hands to gesture and illustrate whenever he describes something. He shows Meng Yao pictures from his work, of sketches he has made and how they were realised, and tells Meng Yao about how he specialises in sustainable and accessible architecture. He is such a sweet, kind man, and whoever made him think even for one second that he is boring should be in jail.

They remain at the table for a long time after they have finished eating, just talking. It is not until one of the tealights goes out that either of them notices how long it has been and agree that perhaps it is time to move over to the couch instead. Lan Huan asks him to go ahead and relax, but Meng Yao insists on helping out with the clearing of the table – not so much out of a desire to do dishes, but because he wants to stay close. What is he supposed to do all on his own on the couch anyway? He will just be sitting there, turned towards the kitchen and talking with Lan Huan while trying not to ogle him too obviously.

Meng Yao is put in charge of stacking the dishwasher, a task he excels at despite the added challenge of Lan Huan’s presence. He only excuses himself for a quick bathroom break when it is clear that he is more in the way than of any actual help, and now, here he is, in Lan Huan's spacious bathroom – seriously, it has both a bathtub, a giant shower and a washer and dryer unit, and it still feels roomy – trying his level best not to freak out.

Everything is going so well.

Too well? No, surely not? They are having fun. Meng Yao is having a great time – an even better time than the date on Friday was, and he did not have any expectations, then!

It is just… except for helping him take off his jacket, Lan Huan has not really tried to touch him tonight. Like, at all. Which is not something that usually bothers Meng Yao, because he likes being allowed his space and he likes being allowed to take the lead even more, but… for a self-proclaimed clingy person, Lan Huan is surprisingly good at keeping his hands to himself. Even when Meng Yao intentionally left his hand lying on the table between them, where it was definitely within reach, Lan Huan’s gaze did not so much as dart to it.

Would it be too soon? Meng Yao does not think so, not for him, but this is also the guy who kissed Meng Yao's hand two days ago, and enjoys helping him with his jackets and his chair, and presumably finds pleasure in opening doors for others. Maybe holding hands while eating a candlelit dinner on a second date would be moving too fast for him?

Okay. It is what it is. Meng Yao shall simply have to practice restraint, and patience, and a whole lot of other supposed virtues, because he does not want to fuck this up.

When he returns to the room, Lan Huan has turned out most of the lights and lit new candles on the coffee table. There are a few lamps still on and together with the reflected lights from outside the windows, the room does not feel dark at all, but a lot cosier than earlier. Warm and intimate.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Lan Huan asks from the kitchen. The electric kettle is already turned on, so he is evidently planning on having some himself.

“Sure, why not.”

“I will be with you in a couple of minutes.”

The couch is just as heavenly this time. Meng Yao only barely keeps himself from moaning as it welcomes him in its sumptuous embrace, but he is defenceless against the urge to pull his feet up under him. Somehow, impossibly, that makes it even better.

Lan Huan does join him a couple of minutes later, after a bathroom break of his own and some tea tinkering, with a tray. The teapot and cups are made of glass and even in the muted, golden light of the room, Meng Yao can see the dark swirls made by the tea leaves in the water. It smells nice when it is poured, and the cup is pleasantly warm to hold when Lan Huan offers it to him.

“Thank you” Meng Yao says and sniffs at the tea. It does not seem to hold any artificial flavours; it is simply tea. Green tea. He takes a sip, and- yes. Just like every other green tea Meng Yao has ever had, it tastes just like hay.

Lan Huan, who has also sat down on the couch and is holding a cup of his own, laughs.

“I am sorry” he says, his voice so, so warm. “Is it not to your liking? Can I get you something else?”

“No, it’s alright” Meng Yao says, shaking his head. “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I’m sorry if I made it seem- I don’t usually drink tea, and in the rare cases that I do, it’s almost always black. Green is… an acquired taste, I think.”

He takes another sip. It still tastes like hay.

“Are you sure?” Lan Huan says, and when Meng Yao nods, adds: “Do not feel obliged to finish it. It is just tea, after all.”

“But you made it for me” Meng Yao points out.

Lan Huan’s smile grows somehow deeper. Fonder.

“That does not mean you have to drink it.”

Meng Yao has no idea what to say to that without starting an argument about manners, so he puts the cup back on the tray. He does not want to be responsible for spilling tea on the pristine white leather couch, either. The only problem now is that, while he is free of the tea, he is also without distraction, and Lan Huan is simultaneously both too close and much too far away.

“So…” he begins as he sinks back into the cushions.

“So?” Lan Huan echoes brightly.

“Did you mean it? About wanting to look through Zoopla ads together?”

“Yes. I am genuinely curious. I have heard about it, but I do not believe I have ever even visited the website, myself.”

Meng Yao stares at him for a full two seconds, certain that he must have heard Lan Huan wrong. Apparently, he did not.

“Okay, we have to do it now, this is not acceptable. But you’ll have to sit closer, there’s no point in doing it if you can’t see the screen.”

It is probably not healthy to keep score of wins in an actual relationship, but this is technically only a second date, so when Lan Huan happily moves from too far away on the couch to sitting next to him, Meng Yao allows himself a score anyway. He takes his phone out of his pocket to open the app but before he can even swipe to the right section of the screen, his gaze is caught by the battery indicator. It shows less than fifteen percent.

“Shit” Meng Yao says under his breath. “It must have taken a hit on the way here. It doesn’t handle cold very well.”

“Do you want to charge it?” Lan Huan asks. “I have a charging station in the kitchen.”

“Can I?” Meng Yao asks, but Lan Huan is already on his feet again and with his hand outstretched, so Meng Yao surrenders his phone. “Thank you.”

Lan Huan returns quickly and hands Meng Yao a tablet, already unlocked.

“We will be able to see the pictures better with this” he says and sits down right next to Meng Yao again. “Do we need an app?”

“I don’t think we need it, but it might be easier to navigate.”

“Let us download it then.”

It is only the matter of a few taps – Lan Huan’s hand moving over the tablet screen while Meng Yao is still holding it, essentially in his lap – and one filled download bar later, the world of online property search is open to them.

“Okay” Meng Yao says, “what are you looking for?”

“Me?” Lan Huan says, confusion written all over his face. “I am not looking at all.”

“You don’t have to actually want to buy something” Meng Yao tells him, unable to entirely keep the laughter out of his voice, “but we will need to put something in the search engine, or it won’t find us anything.”

“Oh” Lan Huan says, confusion now shifting to embarrassment. “I have no idea. Flats?”

“Okay, let’s search for flats. Let’s see… two bedrooms, I think, and any price range, just to get started…”

As always, there are a lot of results.

“See, if you were actually looking for a new place to live, we could narrow the search by adding filters, like if you wanted access to a garden or a parking space for a car, you could put that in as must-haves. But what we are looking for today is…”

Meng Yao scrolls past a few entries – anything where the first photo shows an empty room is thoroughly uninteresting, because that means the owners moved out before the pictures were taken – until he finds one that looks promising. Before he taps the screen, however, he turns to look at Lan Huan.

“I am just going to remind you” he says, “that this was your idea, and that I genuinely meant it when I said that I judge people on how they decorate their homes.”

“Consider me reminded” Lan Huan says with another beaming smile. “Please continue.”

Meng Yao's instincts, honed by more hours on this app than he would ever care to admit to anyone, prove right. This listing is ripe for the picking.

“Oh god” he groans, swiping from one picture to the next, “look at this mess.”

“What about it?”

“All the wall-to-wall carpet, for a start.”

“I like carpet.”

“Carpet is for bedrooms and bedrooms alone, and that’s only if you can afford someone to come and deep clean it for you at least once a month. Look, look”, he swipes back, “carpet. In the bathroom. Can you imagine the bacteria living their best life in there?”

Lan Huan frowns.

“Well, yes” he says, “that is… a bit disturbing.”

“Gross, is what it is. Though I don’t know what one could hope to expect from people who think brown is an acceptable colour for an accent wall. Or have fuchsia curtains.”

Lan Huan chuckles softly and reaches for his cup of tea.

“Show me another one.”

“… okay.”

In terms of entertainment, property ads are truly the gift that keeps on giving, and it is not long before Meng Yao has found another promising listing, and another, and another. There is a veritable plethora of them out there, waiting to be found, and this is the thing, really, the realisation that strikes him time and time again: these are all real ads, of real homes. People actually live like this. And they are not all disasters, obviously, but a lot of people make some truly incomprehensible decisions about their homes, and then for some reason allow pictures of the result to be published online, where others can see them.

Like the person who apparently owns a nautically themed bathroom with a built-in aquarium. Or the flat with a kitchen trying (and failing quite miserably) to pass for the kitchen of an Italian vineyard, with grapes painted on the fake terracotta tiles above the counters and an excellent view of the downtown skyscrapers through the single, tiny window above the sink. Or, another couple of ads later, when Lan Huan is both sitting a lot closer and seems to finally have caught on to the game:

“Hold on” Lan Huan says, leaning in a little closer over the tablet still mostly in Meng Yao’s lap, “is that a-”

“Door” Meng Yao fills in. “Yes, so it would seem.”

“But why is it on the mantelpiece?”

“I’ve no idea. Maybe they have found a backdoor to Narnia, or perhaps it is a family heirloom. Perhaps it is simply a piece of junk they found in the dumpster on the street and they think putting it on the mantel makes it into some kind of statement piece. Or, maybe they just think it’s neat.”

“But it is a door” Lan Huan says, sounding not only confused but positively bereft. Meng Yao almost feels guilty for the damage he has apparently dealt Lan Huan’s innocence tonight.

“Yes. And the people who own that flat are obviously idiots with no sense of style. Honestly, I have seen much, much worse.”

“What could be worse?”

Oh dear… Meng Yao leans away from the screen, but realises as he meets Lan Huan’s gaze that this is not actually the alarmed outcry of a rich boy too overwhelmed by the eccentricities of the common folk. He only pretends to be, to get Meng Yao talking.

It is a nice move. Alright. Meng Yao can play.

“Brace yourself, gege. I have seen lounges with black garbage bags taped in front of the windows. I have seen wall-mounted TVs mounted through curtains. Dining tables constructed out of piles of books. I will have you know, that I once saw a kitchen with original 1950’s interior – except all the cupboards had been painted dark purple and it had a kitchen island constructed out of pallets.”

Lan Huan, who has made a decent job of looking aghast up until this point, bursts out laughing.

“No” he says, “you cannot be serious. Are you?”

“Yes! It was horrible!”

He remembers that kitchen vividly. It has even appeared in a few of his less pleasant dreams.

“That does sound awful” Lan Huan laughs.

He has been moving closer throughout their viewing and is now sitting right next to Meng Yao, albeit at something of an angle and with one leg tucked underneath himself, allowing him to rest one arm against the backrest. He raises that hand to his face now, to rest his chin against it, and his eyes are twinkling as he smiles at Meng Yao.

“Can I ask you something?”

It is probably telling that Meng Yao’s mouth feels suddenly parched.

“Of course.”

“What would you be looking for, then? If you were to actually look.”

That is… some question.

“If I didn’t plan on living in the city, I’d be looking for a house. Something that stands on its own and doesn’t have neighbours living right on the other side of the wall. At least two floors, with bathrooms on each floor. A fireplace could be nice, I suppose.”

“And in the city?”

Meng Yao shrugs.

“Something with a bit of character, I think, but you rarely find something that has that, and has been well-maintained, and has good public transport, and is affordable, on a single income.”

“I suppose that is true” Lan Huan says, but while he is still smiling, it is dimmer now. “You do not even try to find it? Such a place, I mean.”

Meng Yao scoffs, even though he does not mean to.

“Not really. The place where I live now isn’t worth bragging about, but it’s decent enough. Everything works.”

“A home should be more than just functional though, surely?”

Meng Yao glances at him again.

“How many times have you moved in your life?”

“Hmm…” Lan Huan actually counts on his fingers as he considers, which should not be adorable but definitely is. “Three times that I can remember. First to live with my uncle, then for university, and then here.”

“And your family hasn’t exactly been strapped for cash?”

“No.”

It is actually kind of a relief that he does not try to deny it. There are things he can never understand, because of his and his family’s wealth, and that he at least acknowledges that they have it makes it a lot easier to tell him about those things.

“I’ve moved twenty-three times” Meng Yao says – without finger counting. “We were constantly moving when I was a kid, from one cheap rental to another. Didn’t matter how great it seemed at first, there was always something. Maybe the new place had a larger kitchen, but it also had rats in the walls, or perhaps it was really close to the tube station but everything rattled whenever a train came in.”

Mouldy carpets, paper-thin walls, windows creating so much draft that it almost did not matter whether you closed them or not – Meng Yao has seen it all, and knows how to weigh one inconvenience against two others.

“Trust me, the fact that everything works is something of a miracle when it comes to rentals.”

There is a silence, suddenly. Not uncomfortable, only there – a single beat of silence before Lan Huan asks:

“Have I overstepped?”

“No?” Meng Yao shakes his head and sighs, and feels his shoulders lowering as he does so. He had not realised he had raised them. “Look, it is what it is, and anyway, I’m not looking for anything else right now.”

Lan Huan nods, a tiny little gesture. His expression is serious now, but with a veil of sadness over it.

“Can I say something that will make me sound as though I am emulating my therapist?”

Meng Yao raises an eyebrow in question. He does not particularly enjoy being talked to as though other people understand him better than he does himself, but it matters that Lan Huan bothered to preface it. Strangely, with Lan Huan, even just knowing that he might have understood something about Meng Yao makes him feel… seen, in a way he is not used to.

“… sure?”

“It sounds as though you keep yourself from looking for things that could potentially be good for you, because you are afraid of being disappointed by them.”

“That’s… perhaps not entirely inaccurate.”

It is a fucking bulls-eye hit, is what it is, and he cannot help but think that Lan Huan knows that, because his smile in this very moment is incredibly gentle.

“Does that only apply to flats?” he asks. “Or other things as well?”

Oh, he is good, Lan Huan is so good.

“It’s probably not only flats” Meng Yao admits, feeling something like anticipation gathering in the pit of his stomach.

“So if… hypothetically, of course…”

“Of course” Meng Yao agrees. His mouth feels very, very dry.

“If we were to find ourselves in a situation where I wanted you to have the best possible experience of something, and not be disappointed…” Lan Huan’s gaze is locked with his; it feels as though he is looking right through to Meng Yao’s soul. “…what should I do?”

"It'd be nice if you'd kiss me."

The words are out before he can stop them, quick and blurred together, and he has a moment of instant and utter panic. This is probably something they should talk more sensibly about, because maybe Lan Huan is not really into kissing and maybe that was why he stopped the other day, and not because he understood just how public even that empty café loft felt. Maybe hand kissing is as far as he feels comfortable going. That would be… oh, but that would be disappointing, and Meng Yao does not want to be the kind of person who is disappointed by something like that, but he really, really wants to kiss Lan Huan and now he realises that he might nev-

His rush of panic is interrupted by the touch of a hand on his cheek and a whiff of cologne, and then Lan Huan kisses him.

It is probably meant to be a small, quick kiss. A peck on the lips, darting and questing, but when Lan Huan makes to draw back Meng Yao finds his own hands rising to cup Lan Huan's face and his lips whispering desperately "nonono, no, come back, come back" and Lan Huan does.

The first few kisses are tentative, nothing but lips brushing feather-lightly against lips. It is sweet and playful in a way Meng Yao had almost forgotten kisses could be, and he can feel Lan Huan’s smile against his own. He could almost, almost, be content to let it stay this way, but Lan Huan is so close and he smells amazing of food and tea and cologne, and Meng Yao needs to know if he tastes just as good. He nibbles on Lan Huan’s lips and rubs his nose against Lan Huan’s in an attempt to get him to open his mouth, and for a moment he believes that it is working, but then Lan Huan pulls away.

“Wait” he says in an awkward tone of voice, and Meng Yao’s heart plummets in his chest before he realises that Lan Huan is chuckling. “Just- hold on, I- just give me a second, we need to rearrange…”

Meng Yao has no idea at which point in the proceedings he closed his eyes, but as he opens them, he cannot help but laugh at the sight in front of him. Lan Huan is still very close, half leaning over him since Meng Yao must have been pulling him closer towards himself when they kissed, but he still has one foot on the floor and his other leg tucked awkwardly underneath him. He is balancing himself by leaning on the hand not currently holding Meng Yao’s face, and it looks supremely uncomfortable – not conducive to making out in the slightest.

“Okay, yeah” Meng Yao nods urgently, feeling slightly out of breath but incredibly relieved. “Let’s.”

Through unspoken agreement they move together: Lan Huan leans back to sit properly against the backrest and Meng Yao follows instantly to straddle him. It is much closer than they sat before, a sense of proximity heightened by how Meng Yao’s crotch is now positioned only inches from Lan Huan’s, but it is also much, much better for kissing, and Meng Yao takes Lan Huan’s face in both his hands.

“Is this okay?” he asks, meeting Lan Huan’s gaze straight on and trying his level best not to be distracted by how Lan Huan’s large hands are also finding places to rest – one on his back, the other on his thigh.

“Yes.”

Meng Yao shifts his position slightly, letting Lan Huan’s lap take more of his weight so he does not have to put all of it on his knees. Lan Huan lets out a trembling breath at that, and the way it hits Meng Yao’s skin makes him shiver.

“Still good?”

“Yes” Lan Huan all but groans.

“Good” Meng Yao purrs, and then he leans in and kisses Lan Huan again.

This time, Lan Huan’s lips part for him almost immediately, welcoming his tongue and opening up to his kisses. Lan Huan, unsurprisingly, tastes absolutely amazing, and he kisses with the same eager earnestness as he talks, as though asking to please be allowed to give more of himself. He does not press for harder kisses so much as he makes Meng Yao claim them, kneading at his thigh and clawing on his back until Meng Yao pushes him back into the couch, at which point Lan Huan yields with a smile on his lips and a string of happy little noises, and pulls him along.

Meng Yao could devour him whole.

He tries to pace himself, he really does, but it becomes increasingly difficult to do so as he feels not only his own but also Lan Huan’s body respond to the heat and proximity of their making out. It is a flame that feeds itself, as every kiss and touch only make Meng Yao want even more touches and kisses, and while he should put a stop to it, he really does not want to.

They do, however, arrive at a point where they are both so out of breath that their kisses are hardly more than a clumsy bumblebee flight, lips occasionally brushing as they try to catch their breaths again. It is sweet, in a way, but if Meng Yao is going to just lazily mouth at Lan Huan’s body, then there is a lot more of him within easy reach that deserves to be explored. He does not even have to move away to kiss Lan Huan’s cheek and jaw, or just below his ear, or down his neck, where Meng Yao can feel the pulse beat strong and fast underneath the skin below his lips, and hear Lan Huan let out breath after trembling breath. He lingers there for several long moments, distantly contemplating whether he should give Lan Huan a hickey or not. It is incredibly tempting, and Lan Huan is making circles over the inseam of Meng Yao’s trousers with his thumb so that settles it, really. Not too hard, he thinks as he bites down, not so hard as to leave a lasting mark, just enough to make it sting.

Right next to his ear, Lan Huan moans softly, and the sound of it goes straight to Meng Yao’s dick.

Oh shit.

“Is this too fast?” he hurries to ask. “This is too fast, right?”

“No” Lan Huan replies hoarsely, his voice trembling slightly even on that single word. “Not for me. Is it for you?”

“No.”

It is not. They are not going too fast; Meng Yao has been longing for this moment, and for the moment many moments after this one, for days. If this had been anyone else, if this had been any other hook-up, he would have been tearing their shirt open right this instant.

“Meng Yao?” Lan Huan asks, his voice infinitely gentle.

Meng Yao does not reply at once. Instead, he presses a soothing kiss to the reddened skin of Lan Huan’s neck, and allows his lips to linger there as he tries to come up with any other answer than the one staring him in the face.

“It’s not too fast, but I don’t think we should go any further tonight.”

“Alright.”

“It doesn’t make sense, I know.”

“No, it does.” Lan Huan makes little circles over Meng Yao’s back with his fingers, the gesture comforting rather than enticing. “You can want contradicting things. If you want us to stop, that is okay.”

“I don’t. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you, I don’t want to stop here.”

“Oh” Lan Huan says, just the smallest little sound, and Meng Yao wonders if he is blushing. He does not raise his head to look, however, but keeps on pressing new kisses onto Lan Huan’s neck, and he feels it in his lips when Lan Huan clears his throat. “But you think we should, anyway?”

Meng Yao swallows, and raises his head so that he can meet Lan Huan’s gaze. Without breaking eye-contact he places one hand against Lan Huan’s cheek and just… holds him like that for a second, before he moves it again; traces his thumb over Lan Huan’s cheekbone, temple and jaw, down to his chin, up to his lips. Lan Huan parts them, ever so slightly, in wordless subjugation.

He would let Meng Yao have him. Tonight.

But he is not just anyone, and this is not just another hook-up.

“Yes” Meng Yao says with a nod. “Because I want this to be more than a one-time thing.”

It sounds profound in the stillness of the room, and Lan Huan does not speak, so Meng Yao braces himself to continue.

“I don’t want to get into bed with you tonight and wake up tomorrow and decide that that was all it was. I don’t want to tell myself that ‘well, this was fun, but it would never work, our lives are just too different, so why even try?’.” He swallows again, held by Lan Huan’s steady, pleading gaze. “Not this time.”

Lan Huan raises his hand to take Meng Yao’s lightly in his own, and places a kiss against the base of Meng Yao’s thumb. His lips linger there for a moment before he looks up at Meng Yao again with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and twinkling in his eyes.

“Thank you for trusting me with that” he says, and his voice is warm, so incredibly warm. “I will always be happy to stop, regardless of the reason, but I am honoured that you would tell me something so personal.”

Meng Yao shakes his head, albeit very softly.

“I don’t want to stop-stop, though” he says. “Unless you want to. I don’t know what time it is, but you have work tomorrow, right?”

Lan Huan works in an office, after all, which presumably means he also works office hours.

But now it is Lan Huan who shakes his head.

“No, not at all. Well, yes, I mean, I have work, but it cannot be that la-” He trails off as he stares at the dial of his wristwatch, then offers it for Meng Yao to see. “This cannot be right, surely?”

The clock reads a quarter to eleven.

Meng Yao arrived shortly after six; they began looking through property ads around eight and spent perhaps a maximum of an hour on that.

“Have we been making out for two hours?” Meng Yao asks, dumbfounded by the amount of time that has evidently passed without his notice. Lan Huan looks back at him with the same stunned awe in his eyes.

“It… certainly seems so.”

“Like teenagers.”

“Quite.”

They look at each other in silence for another moment, and then one more, and then Meng Yao begins to laugh. Giggling at first, then laughing helplessly at the absolute ridiculousness of it all. He leans his face against Lan Huan’s shoulder, or falls against him, and Lan Huan is laughing too, holding Meng Yao with one arm while raising the other hand to his mouth, wheezing behind his fingers.

“Two hours!” Meng Yao giggles against Lan Huan’s shoulder. “Two fucking hours!”

He cannot remember when he last lost track of time so completely. It is always there at the back of his mind, a sense of time passing, so for him to miss out on entire hours feels absolutely foreign. And for something as simple as making out on a couch?

“It was time well spent, I think” Lan Huan says once his laughter has subsided somewhat, and Meng Yao has slid off his lap and sits next to him instead. “But I must admit it is later than I thought it would be.”

“Yeah” Meng Yao agrees with a sigh. “I should get going.”

Lan Huan turns to look at him, earnestness all over his face as he says:

“You can stay, if you like. My bed is large enough for both of us, or I can sleep here.”

“Thanks” Meng Yao says, because he understands that the offer is sincerely meant, and that sleeping over would not have to mean anything more than exactly that. “But I should go home.”

“I can drive you. Save you the tube ride.”

“Gege” Meng Yao admonishes him softly. “You have work tomorrow.”

“But I would have more of your company tonight.”

“Gege.”

Lan Huan only smiles at him and takes his hand, raises it to his mouth and places one kiss on each knuckle. It sends warm tingles all through Meng Yao’s body, and is almost enough to make his resolve crumble. One smile and four small kisses, that is apparently all it takes to leave him utterly defenceless. He had better leave before Lan Huan realises this and inadvertently makes him stay by- by blinking at him, or something equally ridiculous.

“You can walk me to the door” he says, and almost melts at Lan Huan’s instant smile, so he hurries to add, “and you can give me one kiss good night, and then I’ll leave.”

“Alright” Lan Huan agrees warmly. “Let us do that.”

Getting off the couch is less awkward than it could have been. Laughter has apparently taken the edge off his desire, and if Lan Huan notices any remaining chubness, well, Meng Yao does not mention the slight bulge in his trousers, either. They simply walk to the door together, where Meng Yao puts on his jacket while keenly aware of Lan Huan standing just a foot away and watching him closely. He must tell himself sternly to put on both his scarf, cap and mittens, and unlock the door, before allowing himself to look up at the other man.

He is still unfairly tall. Meng Yao had almost forgotten, after being at eye-level with him for so many hours. He is still also criminally handsome, with his chapped lips and mussed hair, and a small, red mark on his neck.

“One kiss” Meng Yao says, unsure whether it is Lan Huan or himself he is reminding.

“One kiss” Lan Huan agrees and bends down and kisses him very chastely. The smell of him is still enough to make Meng Yao shiver with want.

“Good night, gege” he says when Lan Huan leans away again.

“Good night” Lan Huan says warmly, and adds: “Safe travels, A-Yao.”

Meng Yao literally gasps, and is just about to give Lan Huan his best look of utter betrayal when Lan Huan not only laughs, but leans back down and kisses him again.

It is supremely unfair. It is cheating, and so Meng Yao absolutely must leave. He forces himself to press down the door handle, and to step out through the door, only giving Lan Huan the quickest glance before walking towards the elevator. When he steps into the elevator, his knees feel just as weak as when he walked out of it, hours earlier. His hand, too, is shaking again as he raises it to press the button for the ground floor, and as the elevator sets into motion, he leans his forehead against the cool wall.

A-Yao, echoes happily in his brain. A-Yao, A-Yao, A-Yao…

Meng Yao closes his eyes, and allows himself to smile.