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The TV plays gently, background music blending into the conversation between the lead characters. The sound is quiet, words heard more from the subtitles than the audio itself.
Lan Zhan’s preferred volume for movies and TV is detested by the majority of the population. Wei Ying, however, claims that the words don’t make sense to him without subtitles anyway, so they may as well listen to it quietly. No harm done. No feelings hurt, except for those that sit in Lan Zhan’s throat and choke him when Wei Ying sits so close he can feel the inhale and exhale of his breath, cheek pressed against his chest.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, never quiet for long. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. are you listening to the movie?”
Obviously not. The moment Wei Ying speaks, Lan Zhan is listening to him, no matter if he’s so close their skin presses together or across a crowded room. But this is not the sort of thing friends and roommates tell each other.
Lan Zhan settles on an agreeable, “Mn.”
“I’ve had an idea,” Wei Ying announces. He sits up. Lan Zhan feels the absence of his body wholly, immediately. “A good idea, not like that time Wen Qing had to stitch together my shoulder after Jiang Cheng tore my muscle.” Lan Zhan looks at Wei Ying. He laughs like Lan Zhan has made a joke. “Let’s play a game.”
A game. Wei Ying likes games. Likes tricks, twisting language and intentions until everything is a tangle and he is left on top, giggling with bright eyes and a red hair tie wrapped around his long, messy ponytail. His friends — his other friends, the ones more like him — are good at holding onto the ends of the strings and straightening him out, playing in their own ways.
Lan Zhan doesn’t play these games. More often, he’s the observer on the sidelines, letting Wei Ying run around him until he’s the one caught up in a tangle that catches in his chest.
“The game,” Wei Ying continues, oblivious to Lan Zhan’s inner monologue, “Is called chicken.” Chicken — should Lan Zhan be looking up local feed stores that might sell them? Bring Wei Ying a pair? They hardly have room with how much space the rabbit hutch takes up, but both are peaceful creatures, so perhaps chickens and rabbits will get along. Or, a more frightening thought, perhaps Wei Ying intends to eat the chickens. Maybe this is a roundabout way of saying he wants dinner. That in itself is no problem, Lan Zhan will gladly feed him, and — ah, Wei Ying is still talking. He says, “The game is called chicken and whoever falls in love first loses!”
Lan Zhan freezes. His thoughts clatter to a halt, that tangle in his chest reaching towards his throat and hooking into the soft skin of his mouth, keeping it shut tight.
“The rules are,” Wei Ying says, “We spend lots of time together. Lots and lots of time, Lan Zhan, you hear me?”
In the pause, Lan Zhan manages to grasp ahold of his thoughts again. Truly, there’s no way they can spend more time together unless they sleep in the same bed. Not that that would be bad. It’s just, Lan Zhan would implode.
Wei Ying is quiet, looking at him. Lan Zhan manages a small nod, enough to let him know it’s okay to keep talking. He’s fine. He’s not overwhelmed, not losing it, just digesting.
“A lot of time just like we have been,” Wei Ying says, “Only now you have to try and fall in love with me, okay?” His eyes are wide, two twin pools Lan Zhan could drown in. “If you aren’t trying, the game is no fun. It’s completely unfair, like when Jiang Cheng cheats at Clue and tries to pin it on me.”
That’s a blatant misrepresentation of the situation, but Lan Zhan ignores it for now. He gets caught on another part, one that he skipped over when first analyzing Wei Ying’s supposed game.
“Wei Ying will fall in love with me?” Lan Zhan says it normally, like a normal person. Possibly more normal than Wei Ying is on any given day.
“I —” Wei Ying swallows, as if about to choke on spit. Lan Zhan watches the bob of his throat. “Yes, yes, of course! The rules are true for both of us. I’m not a cheater, Lan Zhan, I’ve never cheated in my life! What do you take me for?”
“Lying is forbidden,” Lan Zhan says.
This time, Wei Ying does choke. “Lan Zhaaan! You can’t believe that Jiang Cheng, I really didn’t cheat! It’s not my fault he left the cards face up, am I just not supposed to look?”
The answer, of course, is yes, but that’s not what Wei Ying wants to hear. They both know it, and so Lan Zhan curls a corner of his mouth downwards in displeasure. Wei Ying gapes at him, so overdramatically distraught he barely stops himself from reaching over and holding both cheeks in both hands and pressing his lips to —
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. “Okay. I will play.”
“Wh — okay?” Wei Ying scoots closer, knees touching Lan Zhan’s thigh. He is all too aware of it. “You mean it? You can’t go back, Lan Zhan. This is a contract.”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying blinks at him, as if expecting something different. For his mouth to close around some other one syllable word, like Lan Zhan has ever been able to say it to him — clouded in words like ridiculous, improper, obscene, but he can never say no. Anything but no.
“Wow,” Wei Ying says, surprise coating his voice. “Okay. Okay, this is cool. You’re on, Lan Zhan!”
Lan Zhan nods. He raises his arm just a little, enough to signify that Wei Ying fits right there, head nestled on his shoulder while the movie keeps playing. Wei Ying obeys, as he always does. His body is warm and comfortable, as it always is. He is quiet, which he often isn’t, but when Lan Zhan looks at him he smiles so widely his eyes crinkle a little and the light from the TV coats his skin with a warm toned glow and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan is —
Well, Lan Zhan has won the game. There’s no way to lose when he already loves Wei Ying.
—
Wei Ying has this in the bag.
The game, that is. Somehow not his groceries, which have spilled all over the ground. Fucking paper bags. If it was plastic, this never would have happened, but Lan Zhan hates plastic and Wei Ying loves Lan Zhan which is why he limits his use, and also why there’s no possible way he can lose the game.
Jiang Cheng would say something like haven’t you already lost before the game already started? Why do you have to make this my problem? Fucking idiot, can’t believe I have to deal with your bullshit, don’t even talk to me so Wei Ying carefully left it out of their last conversation. Until he was leaving, at least, but it’s not his fault that sometimes words just slip out of his mouth, and anyway he was already half out the door so he ignored Jiang Cheng’s shouting at him like usual, and left him on read when his all-caps messages came through screaming at him to stop being a coward and tell his roommate he’s in love with him so he doesn’t have to listen to it anymore.
Wei Ying isn’t a coward! He’s never done a cowardly thing in his life! Except for like, most of the things he does around Lan Zhan. Like not telling him he’s in love with him.
Everything is fine!
Wei Ying grabs the last package of instant noodles and shoves it on top of the one bag that didn’t break on him. Carrying it is like carrying Flopsy if she was pregnant instead of fat, and precarious enough that it’s like carrying Flopsy if she had been pregnant but was now just fat and had a bunch of baby rabbits on her back. Wei Ying manages it, though, because he’s very good at impossible things! Just ask anyone who questions how he’s still a live, functioning human being!
The bag topples over when Wei Ying slams it down on the counter. A container of fancy yogurt threatens to fall over the edge, which would be awful because it would break and Wei Ying only bought the fancy yogurt so he’d stop stealing Lan Zhan’s, and then he would have to keep stealing it and they’d both have to keep pretending that Wei Ying is not a food thief when they both know he totally is.
Lan Zhan comes out of his room like a knight in shining armor, dressed all in white and loose and flowing fabrics and Wei Ying would be totally fucked if it was possible to fall in love more than once, because he’d be falling in love at least five times every single day and he hates losing games, just absolutely hates it.
But this — Lan Zhan putting away Wei Ying’s groceries silently, like he’d rather not verbally admit to being touchy about where food goes, while Wei Ying gets to just sit at the island and babble to him about what he saw at the store — is amazing. Incredible. No notes, absolutely nothing Wei Ying would ever want to change. He even says it, too! Right out loud, like he has no shame! Because he doesn’t! He never has! He says that out loud too! Wow, he really just has no filter! It’s a good thing Wei Ying has never rambled about how much he lo —
Wei Ying clamps his mouth shut.
Lan Zhan quirks a single eyebrow. The silence is noticeable. Cool. That’s cool. Wei Ying is so cool about this, has been ever since he suggested this game, half expecting Lan Zhan to throw him out of the apartment for finally crossing a line and half expecting Lan Zhan to dismiss it as yet another of Wei Ying’s ill-thought through ideas. He didn’t expect he’d actually agree. He didn’t expect he’d be fucked like this.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, tapping his cheek just to have something to do with his hands. “You’re too good to me. You have an unfair advantage, already being so nice you’d even unpack my groceries like this.”
Lan Zhan opens the fridge, slotting Wei Ying’s fancy yogurt right behind Lan Zhan’s fancy yogurt. Like he doesn’t expect Wei Ying to open it until after Lan Zhan’s yogurt is empty. Like they’re both going to eat from it. Like Lan Zhan’s yogurt is his yogurt. Like they have shared yogurt, a concept which is both completely normal and completely insane because Wei Ying cannot deal with that, at all, oh god, what the fuck has he gotten himself into, not just the game but living with Lan Zhan.
“I do not mind,” Lan Zhan says, because he’s fucking perfect and Wei Ying is a gremlin next to him. “Wei Ying’s bag broke. It is the least I can do.”
“See, like I said! Unfair!” Wei Ying lets his voice dip into a sort of whine, then continue normally as if the noise had hardly happened. “It’s illegal, Lan Zhan. If you keep this up, I’ll have no choice but to fall in love with you.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan shuts the fridge. The look he gives Wei Ying shoves his heart in his throat, because what the fuck. Equal parts determined and soft, like making Wei Ying fall in love with him is what he wants to do. “I believe those are the rules of the game.”
Ah, right. Obviously it’s what he wants to do. Because they’re playing a game. Wei Ying turned his goddamn fucking honest to god years-long torturous emotions into a game.
Maybe his friends are right when they say he does stupid shit.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “Right. Yes. Of course. You’re right, those are the rules of the game. You’re just too good at them. You’re too good at everything, Lan Zhan.” Except loving him back. Maybe. Probably. That’s the point of the whole fucking game — Wei Ying thinks so, at least, depending on whether Lan Zhan really has the capability to —
Wei Ying drops the train of thought and plasters a smile to his face. Casually, all too casually, he slips from the stool and tells Lan Zhan he’s going to his room to like, fuck around a bit, not like that though, although he absolutely would if Lan Zhan was there but he doesn’t say that part out loud — and then when he’s down the hallway and inside his room he shuts the door and leans his forehead against it and lets out a long breath.
This is fine. So fucking fine.
Wei Ying is going to scream.
The part where he’s fucked up isn’t the part where he suggested the game. That was just Wei Ying Shenanigans™ which are often known to end in either some unintended outcome that is great or some intended outcome that is completely awful. It’s just how he rolls. It’s a whole thing. He’s used to it. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Asking Lan Zhan to fall in love with him is just one more item on the list of ways he’s screwed up his life, but that part is the part he can move on from, because if they play long enough and Lan Zhan says nothing they’ll both forget and they can keep doing what they’re doing and it’s so fucking fine because Lan Zhan is his best friend and his roommate and the love of his life and he is perfectly okay with never getting to touch him or bare his heart to him and it’s —
So not fine. Nothing about it is fine. The part where he fucked up was falling in love with Lan Zhan in the first place.
But it’s not like he had a choice. Lan Zhan is just — Lan Zhan. The first time they met, Wei Ying had just transferred into a new class three weeks into the first semester of college and was late, of course he was late, nobody should trust Wei Ying with ever being on time, and nobody had said anything but Lan Zhan was there doing the tiniest, infinitesimal roll of his eyes and Wei Ying just knew he had to annoy the shit out of him. Like there was a cat in his head scratching at the walls of his brain begging to go over to this beautiful, elegant man with the stone face and neatly written notes and rub against his legs and bite the fuck out of his ankles.
Wei Ying did. He did, and then he did it again the next class session, and Lan Zhan barely saw at him but Wei Ying kept doing it until he noticed, that cat yowling in his head about just fucking look at me, look at me, look at me, and then Lan Zhan looked at him and Wei Ying knew he’d die if he ever turned away.
Selfish. Wei Ying is selfish. That’s all there is to it. He made his grave and now he’ll lie in it.
—
Lan Zhan is a selfish man.
He has known this almost as long as he’s had cognizant thought. The awareness didn’t come all at once. Rather, it slipped through, a compilation of every time he had looked at something and wanted it and discovered a way to have it that was quiet, hidden, tucked beneath his shirt and close to his chest lest someone discover it and take it away.
For example, his mother’s favorite flowers. Lan Zhan has a pot of them on the windowsill beside his bed, has grown them ever since he was sixteen and missing her. His brother isn’t allowed to see them. His uncle isn’t allowed to see them. Wei Ying is allowed to see them, but only because Lan Zhan told him what they were exactly once while he was drunk in college, and it has been long enough he’s certain Wei Ying forgot.
The flowers are a way to remember his mother, and to imagine she would be proud of him. Those are lovely flowers, A-Zhan, she might say, and he would not respond beyond a nod but something in his always-shifting heart would still.
Selfish, to keep her memory like that. Selfish, to pretend he has it all to himself, when his brother misses her and his uncle remembers her and Lan Zhan is simply pretending.
Lan Zhan knows this. He keeps it to himself. Nobody must know he wants, that he needs, that he wants to be needed so desperately he is willing to hide it.
Wei Ying, as another example. Lan Zhan has loved him since the first time he looked at him, really looked, and saw something so beautifully terrifying that it stopped his breath. Wei Ying is like a monster he sees before he sleeps and in the hazy moments right after he wakes. Wei Ying is a specter, haunting him, so close and yet so far that Lan Zhan yearns to pluck him apart and meld their ribs together, become something so much more than just himself, become something for him.
Lan Zhan is selfish. He is so, so selfish that he never kept Wei Ying at arm’s length. Never tried to push anything further, but stays beside him and is content with what he is given but wants so bad it pulses in his chest when Wei Ying looks at him and smiles like there’s nobody else he’d rather be smiling at.
He forces himself to be okay with compromises. He will play Wei Ying’s game, but he will not be upset if Wei Ying does not have the capability to fall in love with him. He will give Wei Ying all of him, but he will not be upset if Wei Ying only gives him parts back.
Lan Zhan will give Wei Ying reusable bags, and he will not be upset if Wei Ying forgets to use them, as he is apt to do.
The reusable bags are red. They were hard to find. Lan Zhan ordered them online, because he has learned that the more effort is put into something, the more satisfying it is when the recipient appreciates it. Wei Ying may never notice the color of the bags, but Lan Zhan will, and he will keep it tucked somewhere beside his heart like so much of himself.
Every effort is worth it. Lan Zhan tucks the bags into the bottom basket of Wei Ying’s bike, where he places his water bottle on long rides. It’s wide enough that there will be room for both, and if not, it will be easy for Wei Ying to move the bags to the bigger basket at the front of his bike, instead. It will be practical. Lan Zhan appreciates practical, and despite Wei Ying’s general Wei-Ying-ness, Lan Zhan knows he is practical as well.
Once the bags are secured, Lan Zhan returns inside the apartment. When he left ten minutes ago, Wei Ying was still asleep, but now he is awake and drinking coffee from a bright pink mug with DEMON BITCH written on it in impact font. It is an eyesore. Wei Ying loves it.
“Ah, it’s too early,” Wei Ying says. He is sitting on the counter, hair not yet brushed. Lan Zhan wants to step forward and wipe the sleep from his eyes, wrangle his hair into a bigger mess, press a kiss to his forehead. “I can’t believe I live with as big a morning person as you, Lan Zhan. Where are my principles?”
“I do not believe you have any,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying laughs so loudly and brightly it stills some part of Lan Zhan’s heart that is always brimming with noise.
“You’re so mean,” Wei Ying says, but he does not sound upset about it. “Nobody would believe me if I told them. You keep it all a secret just to lay it all on me, hm? How rude of you.”
Yes, Lan Zhan thinks. Yes, he does keep it all a secret for Wei Ying. Not being mean — he is hardly mean to Wei Ying — but the love. The devotion. The reusable bags that, hopefully, Wei Ying will discover before it is time to go grocery shopping again.
He will, however, say none of this. Lan Zhan busies himself with making tea, a fresh green Wei Ying bought on his most recent trip despite the fact that he doesn’t drink tea. After he came out of his room, Lan Zhan had pointed this out to him, ears tinged red — Wei Ying had simply laughed, said it must have been an accident, fallen into his cart, but ah, what to do about it now? Will Lan Zhan drink it? It is one of his favorites, after all, funny how accidents turn out to be good — and Lan Zhan had no choice but to believe his blatant lies.
Wei Ying hums, bringing his coffee to his — kissable — lips. His legs hang off the counter, waving slightly. Uncle would have a fit. Lan Zhan would too, if it was anyone but Wei Ying. He always does this on Saturdays, as routine as Lan Zhan’s regular schedule, but if Lan Zhan ever were to point this out Wei Ying would just as soon laugh him off, saying his schedule is anything but regular, he never does the same things twice, there is no reason that every Saturday morning he sits like this and waits for Lan Zhan to return from his run and waits as he makes tea and then moves to the couch and turns on the TV and dips his head into Lan Zhan’s shoulder when he sits beside him and turns on some show so quietly not even their neighbors can hear —
What is this, Lan Zhan wonders, that keeps them orbiting each other? Wei Ying does not need to be here. He does not love Lan Zhan, does not think of him when he is with his friends. He is simply present, and warm, and a weight in Lan Zhan’s chest at every moment of every day.
“Look at that,” Wei Ying says a while later, as one of the leads in the show they’re watching flirts with another character. “‘What a shitty pickup line! The writers aren’t even trying! Lan Zhan, if you ever flirt with someone, promise me you’ll do better than that.”
With — someone. Someone, not Wei Ying. Lan Zhan digests this, throat dry despite the tea he drinks. The show keeps moving. Lan Zhan forgets to read the subtitles, thoughts too loud to hear the dialogue.
“Someone that is not you,” Lan Zhan says, choosing his words carefully. “Will that interfere with the terms of the game?”
“The — what?” Wei Ying’s hands slip, his coffee almost spilling. Lan Zhan grabs onto the mug, fingers overlapping with Wei Ying’s hand. There is a spatter of red across his cheeks. Likely embarrassment from almost spilling dark liquid all over their pale couch.
“The game,” Lan Zhan says. “Chicken.” Surely Wei Ying can’t have forgotten? Is this embarrassing for Lan Zhan? Has he been overthinking this for no reason? Should he call his brother and ask for advice? Does he have the face to admit to his brother about the game? That he loves Wei Ying? No, better not to. Lan Zhan can figure it all out himself, as he often does.
“Ah, no need to remind me!” Wei Ying grips onto the mug tighter. He doesn’t tug it away from Lan Zhan’s hand, and Lan Zhan doesn’t move. “Do you — have anyone you want to flirt with, Lan Zhan? Someone at work? We don’t have to play if it keeps you from someone you’d rather do, you don’t have to agree just because you’re my best friend!”
Wei Ying is upset. Lan Zhan is not completely sure where he’s gone wrong. Surely the coffee isn’t that big of a deal?
“I have nobody I would like to flirt with at work,” Lan Zhan says, because it would be a lie to say he has nobody he would like to flirt with at all. “I was simply wondering. If you were trying to sabotage me, by implying I would flirt with someone else. I would not want to break the rules of the game.”
Wei Ying is silent. This is uncharacteristic of him, but Lan Zhan gives him time. Ah, perhaps — Lan Zhan removes his hand from the mug. He trains his eyes back on the TV, although he doesn’t process a word of what’s happening.
“You can flirt with whoever you want,” Wei Ying says, although it doesn’t sound quite right.
Lan Zhan considers this. He thinks about his work, just so he can pretend he did due diligence — he is quite sure there’s nobody but Wei Ying he would want to flirt with, but if he at least thinks about it, he can act like he isn’t completely, wholly in love with Wei Ying.
The only product of the mental exercise is disgust.
Lan Zhan turns to Wei Ying, meeting his eyes. “I will not flirt with anyone but Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying turns red. Lan Zhan watches it happen, trailing the color from his nose to his cheeks. He wants to bite his face like an apple. Hard enough to leave a mark, so everyone will know Lan Zhan only flirts with Wei Ying. Some kind of possessiveness. Lan Zhan is selfish.
“Okay.” Wei Ying’s voice is high. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again, it sounds normal. “Okay, Lan Zhan. If you want to play the game like that, you can — but if you tell me pickup lines, they have to be at least twice as bad as the ones in the show! I won’t take anything less.”
“You said I should not tell bad pickup lines,” Lan Zhan says.
“I changed my mind.” Wei Ying leans into Lan Zhan, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re too good to ever do it.”
Lan Zhan considers this. While he does, Wei Ying turns back to the show, the redness of his face staying.
Later, Lan Zhan googles pick up lines.
—
Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan, and he’s far too good to ever tell him bad pickup lines. Half a sentence would get out of his mouth and it would like, break the laws of the universe and send the walls of their apartment reeling into deep space.
That’s fine though! If Lan Zhan did, Wei Ying would fucking die! He’s sure of it!
And besides, Wei Ying has his own gameplan. He came up with it two nights ago laying in his bed wide awake — going on hour three he heard Lan Zhan in the other room, waking up at five in the morning and getting up immediately like some kind of responsible madman. Wei Ying envisioned him, a picture of refined elegance even with his hair a silky, tangled mess and his eyes heavy with sleep. Maybe a strand of hair falling over his face, sticking to his nose, wrinkling a little as he does that tiny grimace he does when he’s displeased or about to sneeze.
Wei Ying laid there, thought about Lan Zhan, and came to the conclusion — he can come out on top. Literally and metaphorically, depending on what Lan Zhan is into, he’s not really picky, but he can do it.
Lan Zhan may not have the capability to fall in love with him, but that doesn’t mean Wei Ying shouldn’t try! He knows Lan Zhan better than anyone! He can gaslight gatekeep girlboss his way into Lan Zhan’s good graces with his eyes closed!
Step one, obviously, is to keep doing what Wei Ying always does. No reason to mess with perfection. Step two is to do what he always does and do it better than usual, because it’s always possible to be perfect on top of perfect. Perfect times perfect equals more than perfect, and Lan Zhan is already so more than perfect that more than perfect times more than perfect equals absolute perfection! Stars aligned! Worlds falling into place! They’re meant to be!
Armed with rabbit-friendly snacks — namely, a quarter of an apple cut into tiny pieces — Wei Ying sits on the floor next to Flopsy’s hutch, which takes up approximately a third of their living room.
“Flopsy lopsy,” Wei Ying croons, peering into the hutch. “I, your selfless caretaker when Lan Zhan is gone, spent the last fifteen minutes cutting snacks for you. Fifteen minutes! I had to eat the rest of the apple myself! Bunny stomachs are too small, did you know that? Were you keeping that from me?”
Flopsy lays inside the hutch on a pile of hay. Her nose twitches. Yeah, she definitely kept it from him on purpose.
“Ah, you’re just like Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying opens the hutch. Flopsy fixes one beady eye on him but doesn’t move. “Like bunny daughter like bunny father.”
Flopsy’s nose twitches. Wei Ying scowls. All the research he did and for what? For this! He hasn’t even slept in over twenty four hours! Too busy Googling how to make sure that my not-boyfriend’s rabbit knows that I love her so she’ll stop biting me and he’ll see that his rabbit daughter adores me and I’m totally not not-boyfriend material, meaning I’m boyfriend material and narrowing it down to a list of yummy bunny snacks that are healthy and low sugar.
Maybe his head is an entire ball of cotton, but it’s not like Lan Zhan didn’t do the same thing before he got Flopsy. Wei Ying once saw a glimpse of his computer and he had four different tabs open with articles like Do Rabbits Understand Kisses? and 7 Ways to Show Your Rabbit You Love Them. It was so cute Wei Ying died a little.
Point being, Wei Ying is totally valid.
Flopsy doesn’t move, so Wei Ying does the reasonable thing and reaches into the hutch to grab her. She struggles a bit, but stays in his lap when he offers her the apples, so really, it’s not a big deal. Absolutely has nothing to do with why Flopsy would rather bite Wei Ying than cuddle with him the way she does with Lan Zhan.
“See? This isn’t so bad,” Wei Ying says. “Much better than sinking your teeth into my — ow!”
Flopsy leaps out of Wei Ying’s lap, hopping to the other side of the room where Lan Zhan set up a series of toys and short cat towers to stimulate her, or something, which was all very reasonable and very Lan Zhan of him. It’s completely unfair though! Wei Ying is so much better than gnawing at some tunnel made of twigs!
Ah, well. Wei Ying has a secret trick up his sleeve. He’s never seen Lan Zhan do it, but the internet said it was a good way to interact with rabbits so it must work! It has to!
Wei Ying lays flat, stomach to the floor. He closes his eyes and waits, limbs sprawled like a starfish. Any moment now Flopsy will come over. Yeah, any moment now she’ll stop biting at the twig tunnel and turn and see Wei Ying being completely rabbit-friendly and then when Lan Zhan comes home from work in a few seconds he’ll enter to Wei Ying being the most amazing friend to Flopsy and he’ll —
Flopsy keeps biting, the sound floating through the air. Wei Ying opens a single eye, looks at her, and frowns.
Punctual as always, Lan Zhan opens the door and enters the room. Flopsy immediately abandons the twig tunnel and bounces over to him, running around his legs in little circles. Lan Zhan said something once about it being to show affection, but she’s never done it to Wei Ying so that can’t be right.
Lan Zhan picks up Flopsy. He turns to Wei Ying and makes that face he does when he’s questioning, which amounts to the tiniest narrowing of his eyes.
“Hi Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. The floor is uncomfortable. His stomach is beginning to hurt. “I read this blog from a really nice lady that said bunnies like when you mirror their behavior, and also that they lay on their stomachs when they’re happy, so I thought I would let Flopsy know that I like her! By being a rabbit! But she’s so mean, Lan Zhan, she’d rather eat her tunnel.”
Lan Zhan makes an affirmative noise. He crosses the room to sit on the couch, carefully avoiding Wei Ying’s fingers. “I believe rabbits prefer you to mirror their behavior when they are actively expressing that behavior.”
Oh. That makes more sense than whatever the fuck Wei Ying is currently doing.
“That,” Wei Ying says, “Is completely ridiculous! This is rabbit behavior! Flopsy should know rabbit behavior, or else she isn’t a very good rabbit is she, ah?”
Lan Zhan covers Flopsy’s ears at that, the edges of his mouth turning down. Wei Ying smiles — he can’t help it when Lan Zhan looks like that, so adorably upset with him! Nobody would expect someone as stern as Lan Zhan to be so soft, but Wei Ying knows. He never stops thinking about it.
Wei Ying maneuvers himself into a sitting position, then stands. He collapses on the couch next to Lan Zhan. Flopsy, the little traitor she is, jumps out of Lan Zhan’s lap the moment that Wei Ying is in proximity. She hops back to the other side of the room, gnawing on that same stupid twig tunnel like it’s what she was born to do. Wei Ying watches her with a scowl, all those hours of not sleeping making the world seem all so very immaterial.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “You have bags. Underneath your eyes.”
“Hm?” Wei Ying focuses back on Lan Zhan. He breaks out in a grin, because how can anyone not when it’s Lan Zhan? “That happens when you don’t sleep for over a day, Lan Zhan, don’t you know that? Not to worry though, I’m completely fine. Not tired one bit. Hey, don’t look at me like that!”
Lan Zhan turns away, his expression shifting into its usual stone. Wei Ying, however, has spent enough time staring at Lan Zhan that he can see the glint of concern hidden deep in the wells of his eyes, the displeasure of his lips that are 1/456th of a centimeter more turned down than usual.
“Let’s watch something,” Lan Zhan says.
It’s a non sequitur, but Wei Ying is happy to do anything so long as it’s with Lan Zhan. He rests his head against the couch while Lan Zhan grabs the remote and turns on the TV, staring at the ceiling. The white of it dances in front of his eyes, creating all sorts of fun patterns that would probably be cause for alarm if Wei Ying actually told anyone about them. Ah, well. He’ll sleep eventually.
Lan Zhan turns the TV to the show they’ve been watching lately. Wei Ying can never keep track of the names or the plotlines or the dialogue or absolutely anything, but it’s hours spent with Lan Zhan, so he loves it. It’s amazing. He wants this all the time — one day Lan Zhan is going to get tired of all his Wei Ying-ness and get an apartment of his own, but for now, Wei Ying is happy with what he gets.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying starts. He hadn’t realized he’d spaced out like that.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and for some reason Lan Zhan’s lips quirk upwards at that. Even if the Flopsy thing didn’t work out, this is enough for Wei Ying to call the day a success.
Lan Zhan stretches out his arm a bit, the way he always does when they watch TV. It must be unconscious, because if he caught onto the way that Wei Ying always uses it as an excuse to cuddle with him, he’d definitely stop. But as is, Wei Ying leans on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and breathes out, like all the oxygen has suddenly flooded the room along with the scent of Lan Zhan’s body wash.
Wei Ying’s eyes flutter shut. He sleeps.
—
Lan Zhan is awake while Wei Ying is asleep.
Twelve hours have passed. Lan Zhan would be surprised, but Wei Ying once slept for sixteen after staying awake for two days, too busy working on his senior project to worry about little things such as rest. That is what Wei Ying said, at least, with his eyes bloodshot and shirt inside out. That is what Wei Ying does, worrying about everyone save himself.
That is why Lan Zhan has taken it upon himself to worry for Wei Ying.
Currently, Lan Zhan worries for Wei Ying because he has not fallen in love. It has been over a week, and Lan Zhan has only changed his behavior to be even more than it already was. He gave Wei Ying bags, and insisted he fall asleep on his shoulder — Lan Zhan was unable to fall asleep until 9:30 the previous night, only calmed once he resolved to try harder, to take concrete steps.
Now, Lan Zhan stands in the kitchen wearing his slutty blue morning robe. He knows it’s slutty because he read the reviews before he bought it, and also because it shows the dip of his collarbones into his toned chest. Because it’s slutty, he has not worn it around Wei Ying. He would not want to subject Wei Ying to one half of a fantasy he has not consented to.
But needs must.
Two plates of breakfast sit on the counter in front of Lan Zhan. Wei Ying is still on the couch. He’d hoped that the smell would wake him. Lan Zhan briefly debates whether it’s more important for Wei Ying to be well rested or well fed.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan waits. Raises his voice, tries again. “Wei Ying.”
There’s a soft mutter from the couch. Lan Zhan holds his breath against the rush of affection in his chest. Wei Ying doesn’t make any more noises, and so Lan Zhan has no choice but to walk over, bend down, and gently shake his shoulder.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says a third time.
Wei Ying opens an eye. He closes it, then starts a moment later, scrambling up so fast Lan Zhan steps backwards. He breathes heavily, eyes trailed on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, the way that a queer man does when faced with an objectively attractive close platonic male friend.
Lan Zhan knows he’s objectively attractive because Wei Ying says so. He knows it’s normal for a queer man to stare at his objectively attractive close platonic male friend because he asked his brother sometime in college, and he had laughed before saying yes, Zhanzhan, that’s definitely normal.
“I made breakfast,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying stares. “You made breakfast,” he repeats, and his voice is both scratchy with sleep and breaking in the middle. Presumably also from sleep. “Lan Zhan, you made me breakfast?”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan should go to the kitchen. He knows this. He doesn’t move. Instead, he takes in Wei Ying, from the oversized t-shirt and small shorts to the hair half fallen out of his ponytail sometime while he slept. He is incredible, so much so that something in Lan Zhan’s chest cracks. Softly, hesitantly, he says, “Wei Ying, do you know what you would look beautiful in.”
“Aaah,” Wei Ying says, as eloquent as he ever is after waking up. He rubs a hand across his face, blooming in red. “Lan Zhan, what?”
“My arms.”
Wei Ying chokes. Lan Zhan shuts his mouth tight. The crack in his chest deepens, so close to breaking he can hear the sound of it splitting in two. Wei Ying is incredible, and Lan Zhan is selfish for disguising the game they agreed to play as consent for his own feelings.
“Breakfast.” Lan Zhan returns to the kitchen. He places one of the plates in front of the island and the other in front of himself. Lan Zhan is a good cook, he knows this, but his stomach is not happy with him.
The clock on the stove says that it’s 6am. Lan Zhan can count on one hand the number of times he has slept past this time, but for Wei Ying, it’s remarkably early. This must be why he takes several minutes to get up from the couch, and why his face is all splotchy and red.
“Lan Zhaaan.” Wei Ying stops before reaching the island. “That’s red. My breakfast is red. You put so much spice in my food it’s red? You know how much spice I like? Lan Zhan, this is my favorite, how can you do this right after I wake up?”
Wei Ying sounds upset. Lan Zhan swallows back the anxiety rising in his throat. He’s not sure how he can go wrong with making Wei Ying his favorite food — maybe he really is just too tired at this time of morning, not yet able to manage his emotions.
“Mn. Eat.”
With a grumble, Wei Ying sits at the island. He stares at his food, eyes still bleary. Lan Zhan wants to step forward, take his face between his hands, and kiss him until those eyes clear or else cloud with something besides sleep.
“Ah, how can I eat this?” Wei Ying says. “It’s a masterpiece. You’re too good a cook, Lan Zhan.” There is something wrong with how he says it, like there is a robin caught in his throat and catching the part of his voice that’s alive.
“You must have energy,” Lan Zhan says. He almost closes his mouth before his next words escape, but manages to say them with his last vestiges of willpower. “I will be asking you to take off your clothes later. So I can see your wings.”
Wei Ying chokes. His face turns a shade of red much more alarming than it was a moment ago. Lan Zhan’s arms twitch to do something, to grab him water, all the tension in his limbs grounding him in place. This is bad, he is bad for this, but Lan Zhan is a selfish man and he sees Wei Ying and cannot resist.
“Those are pickup lines,” Wei Ying says with the breathlessness of one who can barely breathe. “You can’t do this to me!”
Lan Zhan can, but he shouldn’t, and he knows this. His heart beats with the weight of it, all that selfish, selfish, selfish mixed with don’t, don’t, don’t that fills his body and leads him to stand there, staring at Wei Ying, feeling the enormity of his emotions. They fill the room. Lan Zhan bought this slutty blue robe thinking of him. Lan Zhan loves him with everything he has. Nobody else looks at him like that. Nobody else ever will.
“Wei Ying, I am sorry.” Lan Zhan inhales. Holds it. Exhales. “That you are an orphanage, because I intend to give you children.”
Silence.
Wei Ying lets out a terrible sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.
The crack in Lan Zhan’s chest breaks apart, flooding him with ice. Wei Ying stands on legs that visibly shake, having not met his eyes once since he woke. Instead, he has flitted around his shoulders, his chest, like he is uncomfortable with the way Lan Zhan appears. Uncomfortable with the way Lan Zhan talks, throwing pick up lines like stones against his pale, perfect skin.
Lan Zhan opens his mouth, an apology dying on his tongue.
Wei Ying stumbles to the door, eyes shining. He isn’t wearing socks, isn’t wearing shoes, hasn’t even fixed his ponytail, but still he’s opening the door and casting a look back at Lan Zhan. A watery smile is on his face, those dark red cheeks as he says, “Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m just — just going to check on my bike. To make sure nobody stole it. You know how things go.”
Lan Zhan knows how things go.
Wei Ying leaves.
—
Wei Ying left.
Lan Zhan stood there in that ridiculously tiny robe with his ridiculously toned chest saying his ridiculous pickup lines with that ridiculously earnest expression and Wei Ying just — left.
Goddamnit.
God fucking damnit.
Wei Ying has been playing checkers while Lan Zhan has been playing 3D chess with the logic of a championship player.
Stupid! So stupid! Wei Ying thinks it with more emphasis with every step he takes. He thinks it twice as loud as he fixes his ponytail, as he curses the cold pavement underneath his bare feet. Three times as loud when he reaches his bike, standing there staring at it because Jesus fucking Christ everything fucking sucks.
Lan Zhan doesn’t like Wei Ying. Lan Zhan could never like Wei Ying. He’s too — Wei Ying, full of jokes and laughter and the kind of energy that just lets people assume he doesn’t care when he cares so fucking much that the idea of losing Lan Zhan, the idea of losing those closest to him, is so tangible that it cuts through his chest like a blazing hot knife.
Wei Ying is the chicken. Has always been the chicken.
Maybe Wei Ying should just go on a bike ride. Yes, okay, he told Lan Zhan he was just making sure his bike was still here, but anyone can tell that’s a lie. It’s not even a good one. So if he jumps on and rides somewhere with his bare feet and messy hair, it’s not that unexpected.
Bonus points, Wei Ying doesn’t have to see Lan Zhan’s face!
That gorgeous fucking face. Wei Ying drops to the ground heavily, a sigh escaping him. His cheeks are hot, the memory of Lan Zhan’s voice as he said he wanted to give Wei Ying children bouncing around in his head like the worst kind of screensaver.
There’s a burn behind Wei Ying’s eyes. It’s so vivid it feels red, like specifically very red, like a red thing in his — bike? There should not be a red thing in his bike.
Wei Ying reaches out. It’s — a bag. He takes it out of the basket.
A reusable bag.
Lan Zhan got him a reusable bag.
Wei Ying’s brain whites out.
When he comes back to himself, he’s halfway to the apartment. The burn has reached a crescendo in his chest, behind his eyes, in his fucking ears. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. Wei Ying is a chicken, has always been the kind of coward to leave things as they are, but Lan Zhan — Lan Zhan deserves better than that.
Wei Ying slams open the door, brandishing the bag like a weapon.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is shouting. He shouldn’t be shouting. Lan Zhan stands in the kitchen like a deer in headlights. “You got me a bag? A reusable bag?”
“I.” Lan Zhan buffers like a video loading with bad internet. Dimly, Wei Ying registers that there is something frantic about his eyes, the way he refuses to look at him. The fact that Wei Ying was gone for several minutes and he didn’t move, didn’t eat, just stood. “You don’t have any. Your bag broke, I thought I would —”
“It’s red!” Wei Ying is absolutely fucking blazing. His cheeks are wet. “What the fuck, Lan Zhan. I’ve been going insane over this fucking game, trying to make you like me, and you go and you just — get me a bag! Because my bags fucking break! Of course they fucking break, they’re shitty paper bags, if they were plastic they wouldn’t break but I don’t fucking use plastic because I love you!”
Lan Zhan freezes. Wei Ying goes quiet, chest heaving as he works through the air left in the room, works through his thoughts, works through the tears leaking from his eyes. His entire body is shaking.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, voice desperate as much as it is held back. “The game, I —”
“Yeah, I lost the fucking game.” Wei Ying clenches the bag in his fist. “I lost it so long ago, Lan Zhan, before we even started playing, and then I had to go and make it up because I’m a fucking idiot —”
“No.”
“— who can’t tell you how I feel because it’s terrifying! I’m so afraid! I love you, Lan Zhan, but Jiang Cheng is right, I totally cheated that time that we were twelve playing Clue, and I felt so bad about it that I never did it again! I don’t cheat at games, ever, and this isn’t even cheating but I just — I love this so much, I love living with you, I love when we watch TV and I put my head on your shoulder, and you deal with so much of my shit and I just — Lan Zhan, don’t hate me, okay? Don’t hate me, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan surges forward, placing his hands on Wei Ying’s shoulders. The sob that wracks his body is honestly embarrassing, but Lan Zhan doesn’t look like he notices, because he’s fucking Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying is — Wei Ying is —
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again. “Wei Ying, you love me?”
“Yes,” Wei Ying says, breath catching on it. “Yes, Lan Zhan, I love you, I adore you, I want you, I want your stupid reusable bags —”
“I ordered it online,” Lan Zhan says. His eyes are wide, face fucking splendid in something so unlike pity, so unlike horror that Wei Ying abruptly chokes down his tears. “I wanted red. It’s your favorite color.”
Wei Ying buries his head in Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He’s still wearing that blue morning robe, still tolerant of his bullshit even after knowing the truth. God, he’s too fucking good. How is Wei Ying going to handle Lan Zhan breaking his heart?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, hand shifting to cradle his neck. “Wei Ying, you must be exhausted.”
Wei Ying stills. Is this why? Does Lan Zhan think he doesn’t mean it, that he’s so tired he’s made up these feelings for himself? He pulls away, forcing himself to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze no matter what he sees there. Even if it’s awful. Even if it’s condescending, the word so unlike Lan Zhan it’s strange even to think.
But Lan Zhan’s eyes are heavy on his. They’re filled with something soft, smoothing the edges of his face, lips quirked up in the smallest, infinitesimal smile. Wei Ying’s heart stops in his throat.
“Because. You have been running through my mind for years,” Lan Zhan says.
Silence.
Wei Ying bursts out laughing.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying manages between gales of laughter, the relief flooding him. “Did you Google these? They’re awful, nothing like that should ever come out of your mouth, I love it.”
“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s ears are red at the tips. Wei Ying wants to kiss them. Can, maybe, if he isn’t dreaming. “And do you —”
“Yes,” Wei Ying says. “Yes. Yes, I love you, Lan Zhan. Please, do you love me? Don’t keep me waiting, my heart can’t take it! Tell me, tell me — ah!” Wei Ying dissolves into another bout of laughter, this time from Lan Zhan leaning forwards and kissing his face. “So cruel, Lan Zhan!”
“Love you,” Lan Zhan says between kisses, grip on Wei Ying’s neck tightening. “Adore you. Want you. Bought red bags for you, will put away groceries for you, will kiss you, love you, be with you for the rest of our —”
Wei Ying kisses him.
It tastes like home. And chicken.