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"Red flag, red flag. There's been a big incident. Red flag."
Lan Wangji's breath catches in his throat, disbelieving even as he watches the fire from his rearview mirror. He enters Turn Nine, and the view of the car—up in flames—disappears from his line of sight.
"Who? Is... is he okay?" His voice is barely held together, even as Lan Wangji tightens his grip on the steering console.
"No information yet; I will get back to you. Come into the pit lane."
His breath comes out in forcefully measured exhales as Lan Wangji tries his best to juggle his attention. Between glancing at the road before him and cataloguing the cars around his own, it's hard for him to account for who the driver could have been. Still, Lan Wangji keeps his eyes peeled for a sleek black car with red highlights, nearly impossible to spot with how well it's been covered by the dark night sky and heavy plume of smoke.
After a while, when the pit entrance begins to come in sight and Lan Wangji can spot the blinking taillights of his fellow drivers, he asks again, "Who was it?"
His race engineer is silent for a while.
"We believe it was Wei Wuxian."
No.
Fuck.
"No. No... He— It can't..." Lan Wangji's heart does a pathetic little stutter as he fights to regain his ability of speech. His foot, almost subconsciously, eases down onto the brake pedal as he draws closer to the tail of his brother's car. Finally, he musters the courage to ask the weakest-sounding, "Wei Ying?"
"Affirmative. We currently have no other information on how he's faring. There seems to be no communication from his end."
Lan Wangji all but rips his steering console out, thrusting it into the awaiting hands of a mechanic before hauling himself over the halo of the car. He runs up to his team garage, shaky on his feet as Lan Xichen meets him halfway, placing a reassuring gloved hand on his shoulder.
Together, they watch the screens.
It's uncharacteristically quiet in the pit lanes, save for the shocked cries of a few. Lan Wangji's skin crawls—dead silence on the racetrack is never a good thing.
The live feed screens cut to an instant replay of the incident, and Lan Wangji can only watch with an aching heart as the back of Wei Ying's car clips the front tyre of a MolingSu car, sending him off-kilter and careening straight into the barrier. Then— the car erupts into flames.
Lan Wangji freezes at the helicopter footage.
He already knows how the crash ended up—he'd seen it with his own eyes—but... Fire. Fire, fire, fire.
So much fire.
The screens cut back to the live footage, and an awful choking noise worms its way out of Lan Wangji's throat as he takes in the thick columns of smoke rising into the air. As he takes in the way the car is completely split in half, the front half of the chassis—the one with the driver's cockpit—completely missing.
Fire.
Wei Ying.
How did his car just explode like that?
"Ah, there was something wrong with the car—the fuel tank, I think?—so they had to fix it and we got a penalty." Wei Ying's voice is still cheerful, still playful, as he winks at Lan Wangji, completely unperturbed by the fact that the grid penalty has cost him his second row starting position. A position made all the more precious since he'd left YunmengJiang for the slower, smaller YilingWen.
How fast had he been going when he crashed?
"Aiya, don't worry, Lan Zhan. I'm fast, aren't I? I just have a bit of catching up to do, but you'll be behind me in no time." Wei Ying laughs, and Lan Wangji smiles along with him by pure reflex alone.
The race had barely started. Lan Wangji had been driving for what couldn't have been more than five minutes when... when—
Lan Wangji had just watched Wei Ying crash. Had just witnessed Wei Ying go up in flames.
"Wangji," Lan Xichen's voice is an anchor, tying him down to earth. "Sit."
His brother's face swims before his eyes as Lan Xichen gently guides Lan Wangji down to an empty stool—it is only then that Lan Wangji realises his own helmet and balaclava are still on. Fingers dig into his shoulders, almost painfully so, and Lan Wangji realises that his own gloves are still on, too. His hands are tingly. Numb.
The skin on his back stretches, painfully tight. His own burn scars from a Formula Two race gone wrong. Lan Wangji remembers that injury all too well—the sleepless nights as his doctors slowly weaned him off painkillers, the salves that brought about only the most fleeting moments of relief, Wei Ying sitting by his hospital bed and holding his hand as Lan Wangji, himself, had lain flat on his stomach. Unmoving, unable, due to the sheer pain that flooded his back with even the tiniest twitch.
"Ge," he gasps out, voice soft enough that his words won't be carried out to others. "Wei Ying..."
Lan Xichen's eyes are solemn, his lips pressed into a thin line, as he helps Lan Wangji take off his helmet, balaclava and gloves. "Breathe, Wangji. Just follow me, didi, copy me."
Lan Wangji tries his best. It gets a little easier to breathe when each inhale doesn't bring with it a mouthful of soft fabric.
"Xichen, Wangji." His uncle's voice cuts through the fog in his head, but the look on Lan Qiren's face sends Lan Wangji into another spiral. Lan Qiren has never been a fan of Wei Ying—not since Lan Wangji had met Wei Ying on the karting track as little kids. If he looks this worried, his face this pinched, for someone he loathed as much as Wei Ying...
Lan Wangji jumps at the opportunity to prove himself wrong, to chase away the bad thoughts. "Shushu," his voice comes out as shaky as he feels, even as Lan Xichen tightens his grip on his shoulder to prevent him from physically leaping off the stool. He gestures, almost wildly, at his uncle's headset. "Is Wei Ying okay? Has he said anything yet? Did YilingWen say...?"
"No."
He slumps back into his brother's hold, eyes glued to the large screens in the garage. Lan Wangji watches, helplessly, as safety marshals and medics run towards the scene of the incident, fighting a fire that clearly has no intention of backing down anytime soon. He searches, desperately, for even a glimpse of Wei Ying, but he knows the futility of it.
It's useless.
Lan Wangji had just watched Wei Ying die. Had just watched Wei Ying erupt into flames from his rearview mirrors and drove away, rather than try to go back and save him. Logically, Lan Wangji knows his only option—the safest option for all parties involved; the right, rule-abiding option—was to drive back to the pit lane, but what if he had stopped by the side and rushed over? What if those precious few seconds was all Wei Ying needed, for someone to just pull him out of the fire?
Time is everything in situations like these.
And each second that ticks by is a painful reminder of how everything—his soulmate, his whole life, his entire world—is slipping away from him like oil in his palms.
Lan Wangji had just watched Wei Ying die.
His vision blurs around the edges. Something wet hits the back of his bare hand. The world darkens into almost nothing.
Then—
A sharp gasp from Lan Qiren. Another echo of it from Lan Xichen, as he whispers out Lan Wangji's name, his voice nothing but a catch of his breath. "Wangji."
Lan Wangji's eyes snap back into focus, onto the TV screens, onto the crash site, onto the medics and marshals, and onto movement from within the flames.
All things considered, this race wasn't going spectacularly bad. Wei Wuxian may be starting off 20th, smack at the back of the grid and far from what he's used to, but he isn't all that surprised. He's aware of how much his racing career would've changed the moment he made the decision to switch from YunmengJiang to YilingWen, going from a team that's been consistently one of the top three contenders of each season to one that had fallen so spectacularly from grace.
QishanWen used to be the very best of Formula One, winning championship after championship in a show of dominance that did little to encourage anyone from even thinking of challenging them. But when news of Wen Ruohan, Wen Chao and Wen Xu's scandal with the FIA broke...
Wen Qing tried her best to keep them afloat, rebranding the team into YilingWen and pumping an exuberant amount of money into the business, but between her less-than-ideal skills of team management and Wen Ning's injury that prevented him from racing any more, it was a lost cause.
Wei Wuxian didn't quite have it within him to just watch idly as his childhood friends risked losing their entire life's work.
The news of five-time championship winner Wei Wuxian leaving his home team—the team he'd grown up with, surrounded by people that he regarded as family—for another that was barely clinging on to its precarious spot in Formula One made headlines. Still, his sponsors were unwilling to let go of him and, in following him over to YilingWen, indirectly helped stabilise the team's condition. Wen Qing was finally able to hire a new principal, content to take a backseat at managing in favour of stepping up as Wei Wuxian's official performance coach-slash-physiotherapist-slash-physician.
It's been almost two years since everything. Wei Wuxian still doesn't regret his decision, not even as— chh.
"Uh, is my car alright?" Wei Wuxian's voice is solid, steady, despite the increasingly concerning noises coming out of the cockpit. It's nothing he isn't used to by now, YilingWen's car is notorious for acting up—such is the fate of having borderline insufficient funding. The track lights, bright and illuminating, fly by him.
"We are checking."
He steps harder on the accelerator, and spots blinking taillights slip right around the corner. Close enough for him to catch.
"Okay. Who's ahead of me now?"
"Su Minshan." His race engineer's voice crackles right into Wei Wuxian's ear, his words breaking up with static. "Overtake is available. Push, push."
Ah. MolingSu, a midfield team that's new to the scene and currently contending with YilingWen for 9th in the Constructors' Championships. If memory serves him right, Wei Wuxian knows that finishing this race ahead of Su Minshan would mean an easy win for YilingWen over MolingSu, what with their meagre point difference.
He directs his car into the beginning of the chicane, chasing Su Minshan's taillights. Wei Wuxian has got this—he's painfully familiar with this racetrack, the speed required, the breaking points. He knows he can outbreak Su Minshan, that he has the ability and courage to try to do so, that he has enough faith in the braking system of his team's creation. In this battle, he's got the rookie driver beat, even in a less-than-stellar machinery.
Wei Wuxian dives towards the inside line, manoeuvring his way through the chicane, braking late just in time to divebomb Su Minshan. He clears him almost easily, slamming his foot down on the throttle to slingshot him further down the racetrack—
There's a sharp jerk.
The front tyre of the MolingSu car clips his back tyre.
Oh.
Looks like he hadn't quite cleared Su Minshan after all.
"Fuck," is the only word he manages to utter out as Wei Wuxian's car careens sharply off course and decidedly into the barriers.
There is nothing, at first.
Nothing but the sound of his own heavy pants in his ears, and an all-encompassing darkness. Then, Wei Wuxian's eyes peel open (when had he closed them?) and the reality of it all crashes (haha) into him. Barrier. He'd hit the barrier. He'd crashed into the barrier at 192 kilometres per hour.
Out. Out, out, out. Wei Wuxian needs to get out.
There's a sharp pain that radiates throughout his entire body as he uncrosses his arms from his chest and attempts to pull himself out, but he pays it no attention—it'd be a wonder if he wasn't a little bit banged up from such a crash, involving so many G's.
Something smacking into his helmet foils his plan.
Fuck. Trapped, then. Perhaps he'd flipped and is upside down—he'd have to wait for a crane to lift his car. Groggily, Wei Wuxian resigns himself to the embarrassment of having to wait for the safety marshals to physically pull him out of the vehicle. Like a misbehaving kitten being scruffed by its mother. Humiliating.
It's alright. He can wait, he's in no rush; the car won't be able to cross the finish line in such a condition, anyway.
Wei Wuxian looks around to gauge his surroundings. Just how far had he gone from the track? Where is the nearest safety marshal located? The guardrail—a triple-guardrail barrier, likely—by his side looks unnaturally roughed up and jagged, as if something had split it clean in half. On his other side, is a sea of angry orange.
It takes another while for him to piece the information together.
Oh.
Oh.
He was the one who crashed through the barrier. Not merely into the barrier but cleanly through it.
A wave of heat washes over him.
Fire.
For all of Wei Wuxian's usual show of confidence, he does the (rational) thing and gives in to the unfiltered, building terror that had seized his body some time in between his failed overtake and now. Wei Wuxian remembers Lan Zhan's Formula Two crash, recalls how painstaking those few minutes had been when he'd seen fire—so much fire—and believed that his soulmate was gone. He remembers watching, horrified, as they'd quite literally fished Lan Zhan's unconscious body from the burning, mangled mess of his car and whisked him away to the hospital.
He remembers the whirring of the defibrillator, and the moments spent waiting for Lan Zhan to just open his eyes, to react, to do anything.
He remembers holding Lan Zhan's hand as the latter grit his teeth around a new wave of pain, unwilling and too prideful to even make a sound at the torment of his injuries.
He remembers the permanent scars on Lan Zhan's back, red and angry at first before mellowing out into something tamer.
Fear. All he feels is unbridled fear. Out, he needs to get out; there isn't any time for him to be sitting around waiting for help to arrive. He needs to get out of the car with a burning (hahaha) desperation he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Wei Wuxian's breath catches in his throat as all but rips away at the steering console to slip out through the front of the car, wrapping his hands around the halo for some leverage to lift himself up again. For a moment, hope swells within his chest and fills him, so much so that Wei Wuxian believes he can float and fly away with the feeling.
Until—
A jolt of pain, sharp and unforgiving, tugs at his leg and travels up his spine.
Wei Wuxian tries again, tugging, and tugging, and tugging, adrenaline helping to mask the discomfort. It's useless. He slumps back down into his seat, unbelieving, even as the throbbing of his entire body grounds him to reality. Fuck. His cockpit must be thoroughly damaged, some component—his pedal box?—crushed and taking his left foot along with it.
So this is it. This is how I die.
The fire burns brighter, almost as if encouraged by Wei Wuxian's resignation. He can see the heatwaves surrounding him, distorting his vision. Smoke clogs his nose, causes his eyes to water.
Will he burn first?
Or, will he suffocate first?
How long will it take the marshals to extinguish the fire and draw out his limp, dead body?
How will Lan Zhan react?
Lan Zhan...
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan shoots him another look. One that looks annoyed to the untrained eye, but Wei Wuxian knows it's entirely filled with fond exasperation.
"Lan Zhan," he parrots back, but Lan Zhan only shakes his head.
"Come to GusuLan with me."
Wei Wuxian sighs.
He takes his hand, and repeats himself, more insistently this time. "Come to GusuLan with me. Ge is retiring this season, you already know this. GusuLan will be more than happy to have a driver like you."
"But GusuLan has too many rules for press conferences," Wei Wuxian whines, if only to mask the real reason he'd ever say no to driving alongside Lan Zhan as teammates. "It's stifling, Lan Zhan. Not to mention the pressure of having to be impeccably polite at all times, even when some reporters are just there to make your life difficult. And your uncle hates me."
"Shushu acknowledges your skills."
"Yeah, begrudgingly."
"Wei Ying," he admonishes, albeit gently. They're both aware that it takes a certain threshold of expertise for Lan Qiren to be impressed by any driver, willingly or not.
"Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian sighs again, and places his free hand on the swell of Lan Zhan's cheek. His skin is smooth and soft, so extremely soft. Lan Zhan leans into the touch almost immediately, not unlike a purring cat. "You know I can't leave the Wens until they get back on their feet again. Steadily." He tags on the last word emphatically at the face Lan Zhan pulls—technically speaking, the YilingWens are back on their feet in the Formula One community again. Just not steadily enough, not well enough, not secure enough.
"You don't owe them anything."
Wei Wuxian sighs again. "But I do, Lan Zhan. They've helped me immensely in my starting days, especially Wen Qing and Wen Ning. I need to repay the favour, now that I can."
Lan Zhan doesn't say much else, but Wei Wuxian can tell by the resigned look in his eyes that his brilliant, bright, lovely, perfect soulmate—God, Wei Wuxian is so unbearably in love—understands. "Mn."
"And, you know, the fans have been calling me Yiling Laozu for being the first driver to even consider driving for YilingWen. I've gotta’ live up to my title, right?" Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at Lan Zhan, not unlike a toddler. "Unlike you, the illustrious Hanguang-jun who always shows up when help is needed and spends his free time volunteering, my title is tied to my team name."
"...Mn."
Lan Zhan sounds so doubtful that Wei Wuxian barks out a laugh; a loud, explosive sound that startles the other engineers and mechanics in the YilingWen garage. Engineers and mechanics that are standing uncomfortably far from the pair and tossing them dubious looks while trying their best to seem inconspicuous. Such nosy onlookers, the lot of them.
"I think my team's getting a little suspicious that you've been here for so long." Wei Wuxian grins. "Let's not fuel the rumours even more, okay? Even though they're true."
His soulmate frowns, "If Wei Ying wants, we can always confirm them."
"Ah, your uncle would probably get a heart attack."
"Ge and Shusu already know." Lan Zhan points out.
Wei Wuxian amends, "Your uncle would probably get a heart attack if the rest of the world knows. It's easier to pretend our relationship doesn't exist when it's only mere rumours in the eyes of the majority."
Lan Zhan's frown deepens, and Wei Wuxian resists the urge to run his thumb through to smoothen the furrow.
"Anyway! You should go back to your garage before your uncle comes looking. I'll see you after the race, okay? Last few races of the season—go get your team some points and get that Constructor's Championship! I'd hate if the Jins win another one."
"Mn." Lan Zhan says, "Wei Ying must grab points, too."
"Where's your faith in me, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian laughs. "I'll get so many points, and you'll win the Constructor's Championship, and your brother will win the Driver's Championship, then we can go out for supper to celebrate!"
Lan Zhan accepts the quick peck to the cheek that Wei Wuxian offers him, blinking around the garage to make sure no one had seen it.
"Don't worry, if anyone saw it, they won't tattle. I trust them."
"Mn." Lan Zhan presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Wei Wuxian's mouth, just shy of his lips, before stepping back. "I'll see Wei Ying for supper, then."
Supper. Right. The fire burns hotter, now, and Wei Wuxian bites back tears. He's afraid he won't make it for supper anymore. Lan Zhan... did Lan Zhan watch him crash from the replays? Is he in the GusuLan garage now, anxiously waiting for any sign that he's okay?
Is Lan Zhan alright?
The cool metal of his promise ring bites sharply into Wei Wuxian's chest, shielded by layers and layers of thick, protective clothing.
Fuck it. Fuck it all.
Lan Zhan's honey gold eyes swim before Wei Wuxian's face, his soft voice calling his name echoing in his ear.
Wei Wuxian is not dying.
He pushes himself up again, only to be met with the expected restraint of the weight of an unknown component on his left foot. When tugging with all his might proves futile once again, Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath and reaches down into the cockpit. He fumbles around blindly for a while, pushing and smacking at nothing in particular while wiggling his foot, until finally, something gives way and an immense pressure is lifted off the appendage. Wei Wuxian pulls at his foot once more, and with a harsh jostle that sends agony up the entire side of his left leg, he's free.
Bright orange renders his vision almost useless, but Wei Wuxian spots a way out through the front of his car, the very exit he'd tried before realising his leg was stuck. By now, the fire has spread, and flames lick greedily up at the body of the car, inching closer and closer to Wei Wuxian.
But there is no other viable way out.
Wei Wuxian plunges his hands into the fire, and grits his teeth at the feeling of his hands blistering, the fire taking any offering it's been given. He watches as his gloves—a solid midnight black with red accents to match his own race suit and overalls—char before his very eyes, as he leverages himself and pulls. Wei Wuxian clambers, desperately clumsily, for purchase against the seat, his feet scrambling to right himself up.
The pain of it all—the burns, his foot, his head, his eyes, his lungs—is nothing. Not when Wei Wuxian finally manages to see beyond the halo. He's swaying by the time his feet finds grip on the car's body, wobbling as he reaches for the barrier and despairs on how he'd get over it, even as his body moves without much preamble.
A hand tugs at his racing suit, pulling him over the rest of the way.
A broken sob—of relief? Of shock? —escapes, unbidden, from his throat.
He's out of the damned car. He's alive.
And Wei Wuxian can finally breathe again.
Lan Wangji's breath catches in his throat and he rises, just as he sees Wei Ying.
His overalls have been burnt and charred into a mottled black and grey, and his gloves aren't faring any better. Everything else, his helmet, all seem to be intact; all seemed to have played an undeniably important role in ensuring Wei Ying's life. He all but collapses against the medic the moment his feet touch solid ground, his back rising vigorously with deep pants as another safety marshal comes over to spray him down with a fire extinguisher, but Wei Ying is there. Wei Ying is standing, out of the fire.
Wei Ying is alive.
The entire pit erupts into cheers at the realisation, and despite not being known for their boisterousness, the GusuLan garage joins in on the relieved celebration. Lan Xichen places a kind hand on Wangji's back, and smiles.
But Lan Wangji can't bring himself to do the same.
Not as he watches the medic usher Wei Ying to the safety car with an urgency he feels resonate deep within his bones. Not as he sees the safety car speed over to where the ambulance is already waiting, crawling with medics, next to a bright orange stretcher.
Lan Wangji remembers the extensive treatment he had been on the receiving end of, and his own crash hadn't even been half as bad as Wei Ying's. Did Wei Ying suffer from any permanent damage? Nerve damage from the burns?
He remembers the intense rehabilitation he'd had to go through, and how much he had fought to proof that he still deserved his Formula Two seat despite taking so much time off. Formula One is so much more competitive, each seat so much more coveted; truly the best of the best. Will Wei Ying be able to keep his seat?
Another thought hits him, the blow of it crushing his lungs. Will Wei Ying be able to race again?
Wei Ying loves racing.
Wei Ying, much like the rest of them, has dedicated his entire life to the sport.
If he isn't able to race anymore...
Lan Wangji can't even bring himself to finish that thought. Wei Ying would be devastated. Beyond that, he wouldn't be Wei Ying anymore. Lan Wangji remembers those scary few weeks where he'd been confronted with the reality of his situation, thinking of backup life plans and wondering if his sense of identity would ever recover without the presence of racing in his life. He remembers being so immensely relieved when he hadn't needed any of them, when his seat was officially safe and his for the taking.
But what about Wei Ying?
Lan Wangji desperately hopes that this wouldn't be Wei Ying's career-ending crash.
"No... no stretcher." Wei Wuxian coughs out, his voice hoarse and raspy from the amount of smoke he'd inhaled.
The medic frowns at him, even as she continues to undo his helmet and remove his balaclava to promote better airflow. "You shouldn't be walking on that foot," she nods to his left leg. "It's pretty badly sprained."
Sweat beads on his face, and his hair sticks uncomfortably to his forehead and the nape of his neck.
"No stretcher," he repeats, slightly more urgently this time as he spies two more medics currently sprinting to him, orange stretcher in tow. "Please, my—" Wei Wuxian pauses. Soulmate would be too cheesy of a word to use, especially to a stranger, but Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan hadn't quite officially declared themselves as boyfriends to each other before; they'd both just... understood. With a resolve to fix this issue as soon as possible, he carries on "—boyfriend is watching. I need to show him I'm okay."
She makes a face at him, as if she's about to rebuke that Wei Wuxian is anything but okay. Eventually, she relents, "Fine. We'll walk over to the ambulance." With a wave of her hand and an okay signal from her, the medics walk away, stretcher between them. "But put your arm around my shoulder and lean all your weight onto me."
"All?" He makes a slightly alarmed noise.
The medic makes another impatient huff. "I won't be in this profession if I'm not strong enough. Lean your weight onto me," she orders, so much like Wen Qing that his heart pangs painfully in his chest. The clean-up for the car is going to be painful. And costly. "Try to keep any weight off your left foot. We don't want to make that injury worse."
"Okay."
Wei Wuxian is pliant in her hold despite how tense his entire body is, like a bow about to be shot. He limps over to where the ambulance is waiting for them, several paramedics bustling about with equipment and instrument, getting ready. Obediently, he keeps his weight off his left leg, and lets his foot merely skim the ground instead. The throbbing has heightened tenfold into an impossible-to-ignore ache.
A low groan escapes his parted lips.
"Are you okay? Should I get the stretcher?"
Wei Wuxian's grip tightens around the medic's shoulder. "No. No. I can walk. Please."
The sound of blades whirring faintly in the distance catches Wei Wuxian's attention, and he straightens up almost entirely instinctively, ignoring the sharp pain that strikes across his entire body with the movement. Helicopter: right, they've got to have a helicopter for their aerial shots. (Duh.) His next thought immediately cuts to camera crew.
He needs to find a camera crew, needs to reassure Lan Zhan that he's alright.
In an instant, almost as if Wei Wuxian had manifested it, a cameraman pops up, camera trained solely on Wei Wuxian's body. He must look like a mess, with his unruly, sweaty hair and leftover white powder all over his racing suit from when the safety marshals had sprayed him with their fire extinguishers.
Still, he faces the camera, plasters on his most award winning smile and waves.
I'm alright, goes unsaid but Wei Wuxian has faith that Lan Zhan will be able to understand.
Relief slams bodily into Lan Wangji as he clocks in Wei Ying's grin. Tired, yes, strained, yes, but still there all the same. He must be okay, to some degree—the medics wouldn't have entertained the idea of letting Wei Ying hobble across the track like that if he had actually suffered from extensive injuries, or a serious head trauma.
Lan Wangji brings his hand up to his chest and simply clutches at the ring hanging from its gold chain around his neck. He's barely able to feel the accessory, tucked away behind layers of protective clothing, but the touch does its job of grounding him. Wei Ying is okay. His beloved is okay.
His heart finally settles, more or less, as race control announces that the race will be continued once the debris is cleared and the barrier is replaced.
"Wangji," Lan Xichen's voice is gentle. "Do you wish to go see him? To go to the hospital with him?"
"I..." Lan Wangji clears his throat. He so desperately wants to be by Wei Ying's side. Right now more than ever. But Lan Qiren is giving him a look, one that he has trouble discerning (which is concerning all on its own).
A woman sprints past the GusuLan garage, heading straight for the ambulance, a red blur darting across the entire pit to reach Wei Ying.
Wen Qing.
The knowledge that Wei Ying's friend, his performance coach, will be there with him lifts a weight off Lan Wangji's shoulders.
"I will race."
"Didi, it's okay. I'm in a good position right now, we can easily secure first place in the Constructor's Championships even if you retire."
"Won't retire."
This race is an important one, a decisive one. If Lan Xichen places fourth or higher, he'll win the Driver's Championship. If Lan Wangji pulls in his weight and places fifth or higher, their combined points will propel GusuLan to overtake LanlingJin for a decisive first in the Constructor's Championship.
Lan Xichen's brows are pulled tight, although the PR-trained smile doesn't quite leave his lips. "Wangji, I'm just worried that you won't be in the right headspace to race. I don't want..." He trails off and closes his eyes, as if the thought itself is too pain to manifest into words. "It'll be better if you have a safe race."
Lan Qiren butts in, voice shockingly soft, "We'd understand if you retired now, Wangji. It wasn't a— It was a serious crash. You should be with Wei Wuxian, for both of your sakes."
Oh. The look on his uncle's face that Lan Wangji hadn't been able to identify just now... It wasn't shock or contempt or disregard. In his own way, Lan Qiren had been (surprisingly) worried for Wei Ying, worried for him.
Lan Wangji's heart thunders in his chest. Between his brother's gentle coaxing, his uncle's unexpected words, and his own primal want to check on Wei Ying, it's getting increasingly harder for Lan Wangji to reject the idea of rushing over to the hospital.
But Wei Ying's words reverberate in his head:
"I'll get so many points, and you'll win the Constructor's Championship, and your brother will win the Driver's Championship, then we can go out for supper to celebrate!"
Wei Ying had sincerely believed that the Twin Jades will be able to secure a double championship win tonight. He doesn't want to let him down.
"I will focus," Lan Wangji forces out, placing a hand over the one his brother has on his shoulder. "Wei Ying would want me to race; he'd... he'd blame himself if I retired out of the race now." He tacks on, tactfully, "We do not have a viable reason to explain my sudden retirement, anyway. Not without making the rumours worse."
Lan Xichen's PR smile threatens to break at the mention of such gossip. "If you're worried about the rumours, we can shut them down. You deserve to be able to stay by his side without fearing what others may say."
His brother loves him so much, Lan Wangji's heart constricts painfully from within the confines of his ribcage. Lan Xichen is scared, so scared, for him.
Lan Wangji squeezes his brother's hand. "I will be okay."
He meets Lan Xichen's inquisitive gaze head on, nodding out a silent reassurance that seems confident enough to quell the worse of his brother's worries. When their silent conversation is deemed over, Lan Qiren speaks again.
"I'm sure everyone is shaken up over what just happened." It's true—with how longstanding Formula One has been, with its constant upgrading and enhanced safety features, one wouldn't expect a Formula One car to just burst into a fireball of flames like that. He sighs heavily, "Xichen, Wangji, just drive safe out there."
The two brothers can only nod.
Lan Sizhui's voice is a mixture of concern (valid) and relief (also valid) when Lan Wangji relays the news to him and asks for his help to be by Wei Ying's side in his steed. The junior driver agrees readily, not having flown off yet after his own Formula Three race held just one day ago.
"Thank you, A-Yuan." The term of endearment slips out from Lan Wangji, a name he hasn't called Lan Sizhui by in nearly years. It should be odd, he supposes, that both him and Wei Ying treat Lan Sizhui like their sort-of not-really surrogate son despite their young age, but Lan Sizhui had been so young when he'd shown up at the paddock, stubbornly clinging onto their legs as a toddler whenever his parents—both mechanics—were too busy with work. After his parents passed in an unfortunate car accident, A-Yuan had refused to follow anyone but Lan Wangji, Wei Ying, Wen Qing and Wen Ning, having grown most attached to Wei Ying of all people.
It mustn't have been easy for Lan Sizhui to watch the live screening of the race and hear Lan Wangji recount everything again.
Lan Wangji's slipup must've caught Lan Sizhui off-guard, too. The line is silent for a while before Lan Sizhui whispers out a simple, "Race safe." (A man of few words, just like Lan Wangji.)
He cradles his head in his hand as he hangs up, the silence in his driver's room stifling. Lan Wangji really, really wants to be at the hospital right now; wants to be with Wei Ying and A-Yuan. He needs to see Wei Ying for himself, in the flesh, needs to take Wei Ying's hands in his or kiss his hair or something, just to reassure himself that Wei Ying is alright. Maybe he should take up his brother and uncle's offer for him to retire tonight. There's still some time before the race is set to start again—maybe he really should drop out.
No, no, he can't. Double points finish. Double Championship winners. He can do this much for Wei Ying.
Lan Wangji fumbles with his phone for a while, before clicking into Wei Ying's contact and thumbing down on the audio record button.
"Wei Ying," he breathes into the device. "You probably don't even have your phone with you right now—or maybe Wen Qing brought it along with her when she ran for the ambulance. I'm not sure. I... Wei Ying..."
He swallows, and the tips of his ears burn red at the image of Wei Ying laughing, red-faced, at his admittedly corny words.
"I was... scared. So scared. The race is restarting soon, and all I want is to be there by your side right now, but I know you would've preferred if I fought and secured the double championship you've been talking about. Wei Ying, I want to be by your side so badly." Lan Wangji's eyes flick uncertainly towards the door to his room, and he wonders if there's currently a camera crew right outside, recording his words to be released to the whole world. For the screens to capture and remember Hanguang-jun's, a Twin Jade of GusuLan's, rare moment of weakness.
Lan Wangji takes another shaky breath. "Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying," it's like an addiction, saying his name. "I promise I'll be there soon. After the race. I'll leave immediately."
There comes a sharp knock on his door, a reminder and a heads-up. The race is restarting.
"I love you, Wei Ying. See you soon."
Lan Wangji puts on his balaclava, helmet and neck brace with a familiarity that coats every fibre of his being. He accepts the hug that Lan Xichen offers him, rare and few in between given their nature to keep touch to themselves, and feels his brother's arms squeeze tight around his body. Almost painfully so.
"Wangji, drive safe." Lan Xichen whispers out when they finally pull away, a tired smile on his face.
"Mn." He nods, "Ge, too."
It takes a herculean effort for Lan Wangji to place his hands on the halo of his car and haul himself into the vehicle, settling into his seat. His race engineer does another radio check, one that he responds to successfully, and he goes through the motions of starting a race. When the lights blink on, his mind goes blissfully blank. Focused.
Five.
His car rumbles beneath his feet, a beast all on its own.
Four.
Lan Wangji forces himself to take a deep breath, hold it, and let it out.
Three.
Lan Xichen's car is right beside him, both of them having secured a front-row lockout for GusuLan.
Two.
He feels safer with the knowledge that his big brother is here with him.
One.
Wei Ying will be okay. He will get to see Wei Ying soon.
The lights drop and Lan Wangji lurches along with his car, one of his best starts in quite some time. His hands tighten on his steering control as Lan Xichen's car edges past his own, squeezing by with the inside line on Turn One. He lets his brother pass, and immediately swerves to cut off the incoming LanlingJing from behind.
Lan Wangji doesn't need team orders to know what to do in this scenario—he wants to help his brother win his last ever Driver's Championship, wants his brother to retire from the sport on a high. Lan Xichen is fast, a fact that the entire racing world is all too familiar with. He's faster, even, with the knowledge that Lan Wangji has a burning desire to end the race as quickly as possible.
They are a blur of white and light blue streaking across the track, evidence of all the Lan brothers' past races together culminating in a brilliant show of dominance, a masterclass of what it's like to have unparalleled teamwork, chemistry and tacit understanding. Lan Xichen, an unstoppable force that rockets down the racetrack. Lan Wangji, an immovable object that prevents anyone from catching his brother's taillights.
The Twin Jades playing the ultimate team game for GusuLan, securing themselves a double championship—it's a sight many will be sure to remember for years to come.
But for Lan Wangji, his focus isn't on their display of raw skill at all. On the contrary, he'd never been so relieved to see a checkered flag in his entire life.
Lan Qiren meets up with Lan Wangji the moment he sets his helmet and neck brace down onto his table, along with the tiny receipt containing his post-race weight.
"Shushu," Lan Wangji greets, stripping off the sweat-soaked balaclava and blindly reaching for his bottle.
"Wangji, go."
Lan Wangji blinks, caught off-guard.
"Go to Wei Wuxian," Lan Qiren sighs out, although Lan Wangji can tell he's doing it partly out of habit—Wei Ying has given his uncle several good reasons to make that put-upon face each time his name is mentioned. "We can deal with the press and podium."
Can he really? Lan Wangji's heart nearly vibrates out of his chest. "But, the double championship. It's a big deal." Shouldn't I be present for it?
"Wangji," Lan Xichen's voice is warm as he seemingly materialises from thin air to stand by their uncle's side. "It's okay."
"Ge," he says, because he hasn't forgotten his basic manners despite being a wrung-out, anxious mess, "congratulations on your championship." Then, because he knows his brother's been worried out of his mind for him and Wei Ying, Lan Wangji gamely accepts the hug—the second one in less than two hours—that Lan Xichen doles out to him.
"I couldn't have done it without you, didi." Lan Xichen whispers into his sweaty, messy hair. "Thank you."
Lan Wangji says nothing, even as he shakes his head minutely.
"Go on," his brother's voice takes on an almost teasing tone. "I know you're dying to get to him. We can handle everything here, Wangji. Don't worry."
After a quick bow and another round of congratulations to both his brother and uncle, Lan Wangji is off and speed-walking towards the general direction of his driver's room.
"Give us an update!"
Lan Wangji's answering, "Mn," is barely loud enough to travel above the loud sound of his room door slamming shut in his haste.
His shirt sticks to his body uncomfortably, sweat turning his sheer white top into something more of a scandalous translucent material. In his rush to hurry to the hospital, he'd forgone his usual post-race shower and opted to simply put on whatever attire was available for him. His phone and wallet are the only things he'd grabbed, resulting in his inability to cover up his shirt—his nearly exposed chest, oh gosh—with the team jacket he usually carries with him.
But none of it matters.
None of it matters, because both Wen Qing and A-Yuan had texted him details of Wei Ying's hospital room in eerily similar text styles.
None of it matters, because Lan Wangji is nearing his Wei Ying with every hurried step he takes.
His heart is in his throat as he waits for the lift doors to open. Once they do, he's off again, this time barely managing to catch himself as he half-jogs down the pristine hallway. Approaching Wei Ying's room, hearing soft and hushed voices inside, feels like taking a sharp corner, braking too late, hitting the apex and waiting, anticipating, for the right moment where his wheels get enough traction to slingshot him ahead.
The door opens, and all the air in his lungs leave him in a punched out exhale.
"Wei Ying."
The room falls silent.
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying clearly tries for happy, but the rasp in his voice and the hacking cough that follows his words fail him.
Lan Wangji hurries to his bedside, and barely stops long enough to properly thank Wen Qing and A-Yuan for being there while he couldn't, before he's placing a shaky hand on one soft cheek. "Wei Ying."
Having an audience witness such an intimate moment between the two of them—even if said audience includes only Wen Qing (practically a sister to Wei Ying) and Lan Sizhui (practically their son)—is uncomfortable at best, but nothing can deter Lan Wangji from Wei Ying's side. Thankfully, Lan Sizhui catches the minutely pinched expression on Lan Wangji's face, for reasons not related to Wei Ying, and sees himself out with a feeble excuse of locating the vending machine. Wen Qing quietly follows suit.
Lan Wangji all but collapses onto the chair by the hospital bed on unsteady feet, his hand still making firm contact with Wei Ying.
"Wei Ying," he whispers out sadly, taking into account Wei Ying's bandaged hands and his left foot, propped and secured with some admittedly scary-looking hospital contraption.
"It's okay, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying smiles, a small thing that barely reaches his eyes. "It looks worse than it actually feels—just a sprained ankle and a couple of burns. The doctors said I have to sit out for the rest of the races, but I should be back by next season. Guess our winter break will be largely spent in bed, huh!"
"Wei Ying..." Lan Wangji sighs out again.
The relief of seeing Wei Ying, of hearing him, of touching him, is nearly too much for him to take. It's almost as if he has forgotten every other single word except for the name of his Wei Ying.
Wei Wuxian watches, with a sort of sad amusement, as Lan Zhan hurriedly sets down the side rails of his hospital bed and buries his face into his sleeved arm. The feeble material of his hospital getup soon turns wet.
"Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan." Wei Wuxian mumbles, shifting closer to Lan Zhan while minding his own injuries. "It's okay. Shh. It's okay."
"Was scared." Comes the reply, muffled by Wei Wuxian's arm. Still, he lets Lan Zhan hides there for as long as he needs—vulnerability does not come easily to the Lans.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Not Wei Ying's fault." Lan Wangji's words are soft but insistent. "Su Minshan. He should've braked instead of clipping into you."
Wei Wuxian laughs at this, melodic. "Aiyo, Lan Zhan, you can't say that. I didn't do a good job of overtaking him."
Lan Wangji only shakes his head stubbornly, but refuses to say anything more.
"I can do no wrong in your eyes, can I?"
"Mn."
He sounds almost smug.
"Lan Zhan, you fuddy-duddy. You're ridiculous."
A pair of red-rimmed gold eyes peek out at Wei Wuxian, full of so much relief and love that Wei Wuxian's breath catches in his throat. "I love you," he whispers out, compelled to preserve the stillness of the room as much as possible.
"Love Wei Ying."
Wei Wuxian takes a look at his hands—both bandaged—and bites back a groan. What he would give to be able to clutch at Lan Zhan's hands and run his fingers through his hair right now. And Lan Zhan, bless him, ever so perceptive to each and every one of Wei Wuxian's needs, notices the barely-there pinched expression on his face and instantly sits up. "What is it?"
"Nothing," Wei Wuxian shakes his head. "Just wanted to hold your hand, but..." He makes a half-hearted gesture at the sight of his bandaged fists.
Lan Zhan makes a noise that sounds like a huff of exasperation, before bringing one hand up to settle over the bandages on Wei Wuxian's left hand, the other still stroking gently against his cheek. "Wei Ying only has to ask."
His words colour Wei Wuxian' face, and he chokes on nothing. "Lan Zhan!" He protests, whiny. "You can't just say that and do that, you'll give me heart failure."
"Mn." It's obvious that Lan Zhan is delighting in Wei Wuxian's flustering. "I will take note of it."
A menace, he thinks. Two can play at that game.
"Lan Zhan, ah..." Wei Wuxian pouts exaggeratedly. "What dyou' think you're doing, wearing that shirt? Everyone can see your bare chest through it. Isn't such a sight meant just for me? Mean, so mean..."
He takes delight in the way the tips of Lan Zhan's ears immediately heat up, flushing a bright crimson.
"I forgot to bring my jacket with me. And forgot that the sweat does—" he gestures to his chest "—this."
Wei Wuxian sighs heavily. "How am I going to fight off all those perverted fans of yours while I'm like this, huh?"
"With a stick?" Lan Zhan suggests, and Wei Wuxian laughs despite himself. Anyone who has condemned Lan Zhan for not having a single funny bone in his body must be cursing the heavens about now.
"Mean!" He repeats, though his unrestrained giggles show that he clearly doesn't mind. "My boyfriend is so mean to me!"
Lan Zhan raises a delicate eyebrow at him. "Boyfriend?"
Oh. Right. They needed to clear the air, settle things, with this discussion.
Wei Wuxian coughs to clear the rising awkwardness within him. "Ah. I realised we never... never really talked this part out with each other. We're together, and we love each other very much, obviously, but we've never... clarified? What we are to each other?" He shakes his head, "I just... I only realised when I told the medic that I wanted to walk by myself to reassure you, but I didn't know how I should've addressed you in front of her. I mean, obviously I couldn't have said your name, right? Haha..."
He's rambling. He rambles when he's nervous.
"Wei Ying." The miniscule frown is back on Lan Zhan's face as he gently tilts Wei Wuxian's head by his chin so that the latter is no longer looking down at his lap but directly into Lan Zhan's eyes. His entire expression is pinched in an emotion Wei Wuxian can't quite decipher. Regardless, Lan Zhan's eyes pin him down.
God, they're so golden. What the fuck.
"Lan Zhan, ah..." He sighs out. "I'm sorry. This wasn't meant to pressure you or anything. We can still be unlabelled, if you prefer."
A gentle squeeze of his cheek cuts Wei Wuxian's rambling off before it can really take flight.
"Wei Ying, of course I'd love to be called your boyfriend. It's just..." This time, it's Lan Zhan's turn to falter. His ears heat up, impossibly so. "I thought that we were... already more than that."
Lan Zhan moves his hand from Wei Wuxian's cheek to grab at the ring on his necklace, giving it a little tug to inform the latter of exactly what he'd grasped. Wei Wuxian's eyes zero in on the matching ring hanging from Lan Zhan's own chain, swinging almost hypnotizingly in the middle of his clavicle, so clear in sight due to that damned white shirt.
Oh.
Oh.
When Lan Zhan had presented the two rings to him... they were...
"Oh," his realisation manifests in the sound—the quiet whoosh—of all the air in his lungs escaping. "Lan Zhan, did you... When you gave me the ring, were you...?"
"Mn."
"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian cries out, unable to truly prevent the tears from rolling down his face.
Lan Zhan's tone morphs into one of concern at the sight. "Wei Ying! Wei Ying, are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I call for a doctor?"
Wei Wuxian shakes his head, and Lan Zhan settles. Just barely.
"Lan Zhan, I didn't even know you were proposing. I thought they were just promise rings."
"Wei Ying is promised to me, just as I am promised to Wei Ying. Lans only love once; it can't be anyone else but Wei Ying."
"Yeah, but, you know." Wei Wuxian frowns, searching for the word. "Just the sentiment of it."
It's Lan Zhan's turn to furrow his brows. "If Wei Ying wants, I can do it again. And say the words."
"No!" If Wei Wuxian's hands were functioning, he'd be clutching the ring around his neck with a death grip by now. "I've grown attached to this ring."
"Okay. As Wei Ying wishes."
"Lan Zhan," he whines. "My fiancé, the love of my life, we need to start communicating better."
Lan Zhan barely hides a smile at that. With all the seriousness he can muster, he only replies with a simple, "Mn."
Lan Wangji has, admittedly, forgotten all about his promise to update his brother by the time he'd reached the hospital. At first his mind had been buzzing with anxiety and worry for Wei Ying, and then he had been so overcome with fear that he had accidentally tricked Wei Ying into an engagement when Wei Ying had expressed confusion over what the rings really meant, and then he'd been so full of love by the end of their conversation—Wei Ying is officially, willingly, knowingly engaged to him! Ha!—that the matter had slipped his mind entirely.
Now, he's forcefully dragged back into the reality of it as his phone buzzes with a message from Lan Xichen.
"Who's it?" Wei Ying yawns, awoken from his light slumber at the noise.
Lan Wangji rushes to hush at him and settle him down, lest he aggravates his injuries by moving around too much. One hand grips his phone to read the message over, while the other one runs lazily through Wei Ying's tangled hair.
"My brother," he murmurs. "Him and Shushu are dealing with all the press and questions. They're asking if they have our permission to let them know that my current absence is because I'm with you."
Wei Ying blinks, fully awake. "Your uncle is actually okay with letting them know?"
Lan Wangji thinks back to the pinched expression on Lan Qiren's face, and how he'd encouraged him to rush to Wei Ying's side. His lips quirk into a tiny smile, "Shushu is okay."
"Ah, alright." Wei Ying thinks for a bit. "I'd rather break the news myself, to be honest, with you. If that's okay? Could you tell them to inform the reporters that you're with me, but I'll just be making my own statement soon?"
He presses a firm kiss into Wei Ying's temple. "Of course."
Lan Xichen responds back almost immediately, with a thumbs up emoji, a smiley emoji, and a picture. In it, he's gripping the Driver's Championship trophy loosely against his hip, grinning widely into the camera, with Lan Qiren standing in the background, scowling at the phone as he clutches at the Constructor's Championship trophy.
Lan Wangji smiles at the sight, and leans forward to show it to Wei Ying.
To his credit, Wei Ying instantly notices the double trophies.
"Lan Zhan!" He yells out, his voice thick with a web of emotions Lan Wangji can't even begin to untangle. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier!"
"Forgot," Lan Wangji shrugs as he tucks his phone back into his pocket.
"Lan Zhan!"
"Wei Ying was more important."
"Double championships!"
"Wei Ying is more important."
"You— Your brother—" His eyes well up with tears again as he chokes out, "Double championships!"
"Mn."
"And I missed it?" Oh. Oh, no. Wei Ying sounds horribly bad now.
Lan Wangji sighs from beside him, plants another reassuring kiss into his hairline. "Only drove faster to rush back to Wei Ying. All for Wei Ying."
"L-Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying positively wails.
"Love Wei Ying."
The man only sniffles. "Love you so much, you fuddy-duddy."
Lan Wangji can only hide his growing grin against the strands of Wei Ying's hair. The pair of them sit in companionable silence for a while, until Wei Ying is properly chattering away again, demanding for every single detail, every single move, every single strategy that had won GusuLan their first ever double championship.
Of course, just as he always has, Lan Wangji indulges him.
[@vroomying has posted a new picture]
vroomying they can't take me away from him even if they tried 💍
In the image attachment is a picture taken by none other than Lan Sizhui, featuring a grinning Wei Wuxian from his hospital bed—bandages and all—and a slightly more serene-looking Lan Wangji, dressed in a crisp light blue hoodie. A small, rare, and private smile plays along his lips. It's a candid shot; neither of them even acknowledge the camera. One of Lan Wangji's hands cup at Wei Wuxian's cheek, painfully tender, and the other rests carefully against the latter's bandaged fist.
Their matching rings, still hanging from the chains around their necks, both purposefully tucked out from under the protective layer of clothing, glint in the dim lighting.
All of motorsport news outlets and social medias explode in a matter of seconds.
Wei Wuxian absolutely basks in all the attention, and Lan Wangji is more than content to sit back and watch his fiancé glow.