Archive of Our Own

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“Okay, he’s here,” Jiāng Chéng hissed. “You remember your lines, right?”

Opposite him, Wèi Yīng chewed on his lip, and then nodded determinedly. “Of course I do, A’Chéng. All my theatre kid days have led me to this.”

Jiāng Chéng almost went to roll his eyes, but then the object of their intense scrutiny walked into the restaurant, and he immediately ducked his head, making sure his hair fell in his face so he could school his expression.

“Fuck, don’t make me laugh,” he whispered. “Think sad thoughts, think sad thoughts…”

Wèi Yīng huffed an amused breath, but then he straightened, gathering himself and getting into character. Jiāng Chéng was glad he was taking this so seriously, because it would be a complete waste of a six month plan if this failed now.

They’d spent considerable time drawing Lán Xīchén here to this restaurant at this point in time, to the exact seat that was beside theirs and would give him perfect view of both Wèi Yīng and Jiāng Chéng, as well as being able to overhear any conversation they had. Wēn Níng (assistant manager) and Jīn Líng (waiter) both had had significant roles in this whole operation. Jiāng Chéng owed them a dinner date each, but after this succeeded, they’d need to go out for celebratory drinks anyway.

“A’Chéng,” Wèi Yīng began, morphing his face into something reluctant and sympathetic. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I didn’t want to do this here, but I feel like you’ve been avoiding me this last week.”

Jiāng Chéng almost broke character and grinned widely as he noticed Lán Xīchén’s eyes on their table almost immediately. He watched Lán Xīchén looking at their hands, clasped in the middle of the table, and then slowly, slowly, withdrew his by pretending to fiddle with his glass of water.

“I think we both knew this was coming,” he said, but made his voice harsh, his face an impassive wall. “But go on, you say it.”

Wèi Yīng sighed, shaking his head a little. “Well, at least we can both agree on that,” he muttered quietly, but angling his head towards Lán Xīchén’s table.

Jīn Líng, the genius, had made sure there was a massive potted plant between their table and Lán Xīchén’s, so he would at least have the illusion that he was eavesdropping on a private conversation.

“This isn’t working anymore,” Wèi Yīng continued, “and I think we both know it hasn’t for a long time.”

Jiāng Chéng snorted. He had a tiny bit of chilli powder on his fingertips; he used those now to rub just under his eyes, so they would begin watering excessively and he would have an excuse to blink like there was no tomorrow.

“I tried, alright,” he said, voice choked as he tried not to gasp at the pain from his eyes now. “I was there for every date, every outing, every—but, you know what, I deserve better.”

Wèi Yīng was gripping his glass tight, and Jiāng Chéng noted even through the blurriness of his vision that it was the hand closest to Lán Xīchén, so he would be able to see Wèi Yīng’s white knuckles. “Oh, don’t blame me for this,” he snapped. “At least when we were friends you didn’t have to pretend you were into me when this whole time you’ve been pining away for someone else—“

“Shut up,” Jiāng Chéng hissed. “I was committed to this relationship. Do you know how many times people asked me where you were, when I was supposed to be bringing along a plus one? Do you know how many times I got woken in the middle of the night by a phone call from Huáisāng or Wēn Níng or whoever else you go out with at night, ‘cause you were completely shitfaced and they needed me to pick you up? And they never knew that you were the one who blew off our plans to go out with them in the first place. I can’t be following your drunk arse around everywhere you go!”

That hadn't exactly been part of their script, but they'd both always agreed that if something felt like it fit, they could do ahead and improvise.

Wèi Yīng let out a shrill laugh, loud enough to draw more than one pair of eyes. "My drunk arse? At least I'm not the one bending over backwards at every whim of his parents, trying to be the best son—no matter what you fucking do, A'Chéng, it's not going to make a damn difference. You might as well stop trying now, before you turn into someone you don't want to be around."

Well. That stung. "You're just mad we never came out to them as a couple," Jiāng Chéng said. "You're taking out the fact that they'd never agree to me dating you—"

"Your father likes me practically more than he likes you; he'd marry you off to me in a heartbeat—"

"My mother can't stand you. And there's nothing you can do that'll change that." Jiāng Chéng threw Wèi Yīng's own words back at him. The chilli probably hadn't been the best idea; his eyes were stinging now, and his heart was pounding in a way that definitely had to do with the nerves of this performance.

“Well,” he said quietly. “We’re in agreement, then. I’d say we should stay friends, but I think you’ve made your feelings quite clear. You think you’re better than me, Chéngchéng, but I think you’ll find that every relationship is a give and take, and until you’re ready to sacrifice a little, all your partners are going to end up leaving you eventually.”

Even though Jiāng Chéng had been the one to write that part of the script out, he had to admit that it hurt more than he’d expected it to, particularly after everything else that'd been adlibbed. Wèi Yīng got up smoothly, and walked out, not sparing Lán Xīchén a glance.

Jiāng Chéng buried his head in his hands, hiding his hysterical, disbelieving laughter in his palms but letting his shoulders shake. It wasn't entirely for show—he did want a moment to compose himself. This was it. This was the big test—

“Jiāng Chéng?” a gentle voice said.

Jiāng Chéng didn’t move a muscle. “Leave me alone,” he murmured, relieved that his voice sounded just as thick and snotty as it should if he’d been sobbing his heart out.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, warm and broad. Jiāng Chéng leaned into it, and slowly lifted his head. He’d spent an hour prior to this breakup with frozen spoons over his eyes, so they’d appear extra open and big when this moment happened. He gazed up at Lán Xīchén and blinked slowly, hoping the wetness from his eyes were making his lashes look longer.

“Xīchén Gē?” he said. “You saw all that?”

Lán Xīchén refilled his glass of water. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was sitting in the table right beside yours—“

Jiāng Chéng mustered a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t really care, not if it’s you.” He met Lán Xīchén’s eyes and made his smile just a tiny bit bigger.

It made Lán Xīchén lean over the table, eerily similar to how Wèi Yīng had, and take one of Jiāng Chéng’s hands—left conveniently on the table for this exact purpose—between his. “Wèi Yīng was wrong,” he said insistently. “You will find someone who loves you for who you are. And when they see how remarkable you are, they won’t leave you. They won’t be able to.”

Jiāng Chéng sniffed. “You really think so?” Another few bats of his eyelashes.

He got a reassuring squeeze of his hand at that. “People who don’t see it already are idiots.”

Jiāng Chéng smiled at him, watery and shaky. “Thank you, Gēgē. It means a lot to hear that from you.”

Lán Xīchén returned his smile, searching Jiāng Chéng’s face. “Would it be alright if I accompanied you home?”

Jiāng Chéng shook his head immediately. “No, you don’t have to do that. At least one of us should enjoy lunch.”

“I was going to meet with Dá Gē, but it seems he’s had to cancel on me. And as much as I enjoy trying out new restaurants, I don’t quite like doing it by myself.”

Jiāng Chéng straightened up. “Then I insist we stay and enjoy ourselves, as two people who would otherwise be at home alone.”

Lán Xīchén hesitated, then said, “Only if you’re enjoying yourself as well. If you would prefer to be somewhere more private, we can always order takeout.”

This was going better than Jiāng Chéng had anticipated. He nodded decisively. “My place should be empty,” he said with a sigh. “And I’d appreciate not having to go home alone.”

“Of course, Jiāng Chéng,” Lán Xīchén said immediately. “You figure out what you want to eat; I’ll grab my things.”

The plan was that he and Wèi Yīng wouldn’t have any public contact for at least a few months, until things were really solid with Lán Xīchén and there wouldn’t be any accusations of him being a rebound, or of Jiāng Chéng harbouring feelings for his ex. This, however, just meant that now Wèi Yīng was texting him before he was coming over, to check that the coast was clear and there were no dates with Lán Xīchén planned.

“So,” Wèi Yīng asked casually, around a mouthful of hot chips, “how’re things going? Has he made his move yet?”

They were camped out on Jiāng Chéng’s rug in the living room, food scattered around them and a video game they’d long since abandoned on the TV.

Jiāng Chéng pondered the question. “He’s moving forward in unpredictable ways,” he said finally. “I know all the data we have to go off is Huáisāng’s brother’s experience with dating him, and it was a while ago, but… I dunno. I thought when he approached me after we broke up, it meant he liked me. And he invited us to go somewhere private that same day!”

Wèi Yīng was studying the box of chips in front of them, but Jiāng Chéng knew he had his full attention.

“He invited me to watch a movie with him, and we shared a box of popcorn,” he recited. “And then he took me to that ice skating rink and I pretended I didn’t know how to skate so I’d be falling on him the entire time, and he seemed to like that. And we’ve been out to eat countless times, and he always seems a tiny bit uncomfortable whenever I bring up our age difference or that I’m technically in his brother’s peer group.”

Wèi Yīng took in a deep breath, lifting his head. “Then I think he’s definitely into you. Just give it time. He thinks you just broke up, so he probably doesn’t want to rush you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jiāng Chéng sighed. “Sometimes I think we should’ve had our breakup a little more amicably, but then he wouldn’t’ve needed to comfort me in my time of distress, and it would’ve taken so much longer to get to this stage.”

“So it takes you a bit longer,” Wèi Yīng said with a shrug. “What’s wrong with that? You still got what you wanted, right?”

Jiāng Chéng couldn’t exactly read the look on Wèi Yīng’s face, but he nodded decisively. “Yeah, I did. And now I just have to lock it down.”

Wèi Yīng opened his mouth to say something, when the doorbell rang.

He looked questioningly at Jiāng Chéng, who dashed up to check the camera by the doorbell.

“Shit,” Jiāng Chéng hissed, “he’s here. And he’s got… ah, fuck, he’s got takeout in his hands.”

It was times like these when Jiāng Chéng loved Wèi Yīng, loved how in sync they were with one another—without another word, Wèi Yīng quickly grabbed everything that would indicate a second presence in the house, and then dashed to hide out Lán Xīchén’s presence in the guest bedroom, where he usually stayed anyway when he was here overnight.

“Coming!” Jiāng Chéng yelled, and ran to the bathroom to check his appearance in the mirror. He quickly traded his comfy hoodie for something that still looked like it was meant to be worn at home but was actually flattering on him, and splashed cold water on his face before quickly checking his teeth.

He ran to the door, opening it cautiously as though he wasn’t sure who was on the other side.

“Xīchén Gē!” he exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you—are those…”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Lán Xīchén said as he swept inside in a cloud of manly cologne and expensive branded clothing. Jiāng Chéng just about died then and there. “I thought it’d be nice to surprise you—I know you said you didn’t have any plans today.”

“I didn’t,” Jiāng Chéng said. “This is so thoughtful of you—but you really didn’t have to.”

Lán Xīchén smiled. “I wanted to. It’s a treat for myself as well, you see; I’ve had a long day, and I wanted to spend the remainder of it with a good friend and good food.”

“Good friend, huh,” Jiāng Chéng said with a grin. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks of us—of this—so highly.” Before Lán Xīchén could say something else, he grabbed the bag and headed towards the living room. “C’mon, you know where the plates are. You can tell me all about your long day.”

All evidence of gaming and pigging out had been wiped clean. Jiāng Chéng pretended as though he always had a throw blanket over the couch, even when he wasn’t expecting company, and regularly used coasters under his mugs.

Lán Xīchén sank into the sofa, and almost toppled into the cushions. “Goodness,” he said with a laugh.

Jiāng Chéng didn’t know what to say to that, because what he wanted was to shove Lán Xīchén into his couch and ravish him, but that wasn’t an appropriate response to someone’s exclamation of goodness! “Not the best for dining on, I’ll admit,” he said, “but next time you should come over here for a movie. Nothing like your ergonomic couches.”

“Fine, fine,” Lán Xīchén said. “But only if you give my ergonomic couches a chance. They’ll do wonders for your posture. And you can sit there and do hours of work without even once feeling sleepy.”

Jiāng Chéng started divvying up the takeout. He hoped Wèi Yīng wouldn’t get too hungry in the guest room—he could certainly sneak out without being spotted, but Jiāng Chéng needed to give him the opportunity to do so.

All his sources had led him to learn a few things about Lán Xīchén. It was this knowledge that led Jiāng Chéng to incrementally dim the lights every time he got up for something, and to shift a little bit closer to Lán Xīchén whenever he returned.

By the time they’d both finished eating and were in the middle of a husky conversation about the nurture and care of Dobermann, Jiāng Chéng’s knee was brushing against Lán Xīchén’s thigh. And to his delight, when he went to subtly fold his leg upwards, to better face Lán Xīchén, Lán Xīchén reached out and placed a hand on Jiāng Chéng’s knee.

Jiāng Chéng glanced down, making sure to really take his time so there was no way Lán Xīchén would miss the gesture. And then he made eye contact, and said, “Gēgē,” wet his lips, “am I reading this right?”

Lán Xīchén kissed him in response. Jiāng Chéng couldn’t fight back the massive grin his face broke out into as he kissed back, though he tried to hold back rather than lean into it with all the energy he’d been containing the whole night. Lán Xīchén was a far more aggressive kisser than he’d expected, much to Jiāng Chéng’s delight.

“This is how you were reading it, yes?” Lán Xīchén said into his mouth.

“Stop talking.”

Jiāng Chéng’s eyes shut of their own volition, and then the slightest creak sounded, making them snap open once again. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Wèi Yīng’s idiot head, peeking out of the guest room. He made a go! gesture towards the front door—surely now was as good a time as any—but Wèi Yīng merely tilted his head at Jiāng Chéng, and stood there!

Well.

This was plain uncomfortable now. There was no way Jiāng Chéng could keep making out with Lán Xīchén now that Wèi Yīng was standing right opposite him, watching judgementally!

Lán Xīchén noticed him pulling back, and immediately did the same. “I don’t want to move faster than you’re comfortable,” he said, looking contrite.

“You’re not—” Jiāng Chéng told him, saving the glare he had in store for Wèi Yīng for later. He sat back, and tried to make himself look smaller. If only he’d brought out one of those cardigans that covered his hands for this. “I just… I don’t want you think that’s all this is to me, you know? And Wèi Yīng and I—we never got to that stage.”

A strange look passed over Lán Xīchén’s face, too quick for Jiāng Chéng to pick up—not that he’d likely be able to even interpret it, because he didn’t truly know Lán Xīchén that closely—but it smoothed itself over back to that serenity that Jiāng Chéng was so accustomed to.

“Of course I don’t think anything of the sort, Jiāng Chéng,” Lán Xīchén reassured him, squeezing his knee. “And you just got out of a serious relationship—I know how hard it can be to move on. I don’t want to be a rebound for you, either.”

Jiāng Chéng positively melted at how perfect those words were—that, and how minty fresh Lán Xīchén’s breath smelled. He could practically hear the background music playing, the lights twinkling, the slow motion of the camera shot... “Xīchén Gē, how are you this perfect,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “If I’d met you sooner…”

Lán Xīchén reached out to gently grab his wrists, moving his hands down from his face. “No matter how unfortunate our circumstances, we’re here now,” he said. And then he gently extracted himself from Jiāng Chéng and stood up. “It’s getting late, though. I should let you get some rest. I’ll text you and we can arrange a proper dinner?”

Jiāng Chéng beamed. “It’s a date,” he said, watching Lán Xīchén’s face for any signs of discomfort, any clue that Jiāng Chéng was diving into this too quickly.

Lán Xīchén mirrored his expression. “It’s a date,” he confirmed. And then he leaned down for the quickest of kisses, the lightest brush against Jiāng Chéng’s mouth, before darting away again and heading towards the door. It was unfair how unrumpled his clothes looked, even after spending so much time slouched on the sofa.

Jiāng Chéng, suddenly extremely conscious of how imperfect he himself must appear after two sessions of pigging out on food, stood to let him out, saying his goodbyes from the doorway.

The moment the door closed behind Lán Xīchén, Jiāng Chéng whirled around and stalked to the guest room. He didn’t need to go that far—Wèi Yīng had stepped outside and was skulking around the living room, a small frown on his face.

“What was that?” Jiāng Chéng demanded.

Wèi Yīng sniffed. “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He planted himself on the couch, switching the TV back on.

Jiāng Chéng sucked in a deep breath, willing himself to not go over there and slap the remote out of Wèi Yīng’s hand. “I thought you’d be happy things are going according to plan!”

There was a moment’s silence. Jiāng Chéng waited him out, mostly because he was still too mad to say anything more without shouting something he was absolutely going to regret. They'd never technically gotten into anything that'd been said during their fake breakup, both of them—or Jiāng Chéng, at least—assuming those were just things one knew about each other when you'd known each other as long as he'd known Wèi Yīng.

“I am happy for you!” Wèi Yīng said. His voice had abruptly lost the aloofness that Jiāng Chéng hated so much. “It’s just that…”

“What?” Jiāng Chéng asked, when the pause had gone on for too long. Wèi Yīng wasn’t looking at him, and he was standing to the side, so all he could really see was Wèi Yīng’s side profile.

“What do you like about him?” Wèi Yīng grumbled. “You weren’t even yourself when he was over.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Jiāng Chéng demanded. “I’m not the same person around everyone—no one is!”

“Chéngchéng, there’s a difference between being extra polite to aunties or swearing less around your parents. You weren’t even, like, ‘putting on your best face on a first date’ kind of different! And,” he took in a deep breath, “you know what I think? I think you only want to date him because he’s the most eligible bachelor in our circle. I think you’ve convinced yourself you like him because he’ll make your parents happy, and you don’t hate that he’s pretty gorgeous as well.”

“Well,” Jiāng Chéng said after a moment. “What’s wrong with that?”

Wèi Yīng had been holding himself stiffly the whole time he’d been saying this. Now, he whirled around, finally meeting Jiāng Chéng’s eyes. “What?” he said.

“I said, what’s fucking wrong with that?” Jiāng Chéng crossed his arms tight against his chest, hands in fists tucked away from sight. “He is attractive, and he is the most eligible bachelor we know. He will make my parents happy. And he isn’t a total douchebag! I’ve had a crush on him ever since high school, and now he’s finally seeing me!”

“He is not seeing you!” Wèi Yīng said hotly, standing up now. “He’s seeing this weird fake you, who’s acting all shy, like that’s going to make him want you more—what did you do, ask around to see if he has a virginity kink? He might like you like this, but there’s no way you’re going to be happy acting like that the rest of your damn life, if you have it your way and end up married to him!”

“My sex life is no longer any of your business,” Jiāng Chéng said stiffly. “And neither is my love life. Our arrangement is over, remember?”

“Yeah.” Wèi Yīng grabbed his phone and keys, going around the living room and picking up stray belongings of his that Jiāng Chéng had, to be entirely honest, completely forgotten even belonged to Wèi Yīng. When he got to the front door, he said, “I don’t want to be with someone whose delusions are so far up their arse, anyway. Congrats, A’Chéng. You got everything you ever wanted.”

With that, he closed the door quietly behind him, not even deigning Jiāng Chéng worthy of a loud slam.

The annoying thing was that immediately after this, Lán Xīchén got involved in a case that needed all his attention—he was a lawyer, which honestly added so much to his appeal—and now that Jiāng Chéng wasn’t really talking with Wèi Yīng, it left him with an awful lot of free time on his hands.

Jiāng Chéng liked his own company, and he enjoyed his quiet time. But for most of his life, Wèi Yīng had been one of the few people who’d somehow been able to spot when Jiāng Chéng needed to be pulled out of his own head, and out of his dark, safe room, and forced to do something outside his comfort zone.

Jiāng Chéng didn’t always appreciate it—hell, half the time when Wèi Yīng made a new friend who was also as extroverted and high energy as he was, it was a relief as it meant Jiāng Chéng would be left alone the next time Wèi Yīng wanted to go clubbing. But it did mean that there were times like these when Jiāng Chéng would only go to work, go to his uni classes and the few lectures he attended in person, and then come home, and repeat.

The annoying thing was that he missed Wèi Yīng more than he missed Lán Xīchén, which made no sense.

Except that it did, Jiāng Chéng reasoned.

He’d been friends with Wèi Yīng since they were children—their parents had been friends, and they’d lived on the same street. Jiāng Chéng could scarcely recall a time he hadn’t known Wèi Yīng; most of his childhood had been adventures with Wèi Yīng and Jiāng Yànlí as they’d explored the block and mostly run wild.

But he hadn’t been lying to Wèi Yīng when he’d said that he’d had a crush on Lán Xīchén since high school. He’d looked at Lán Xīchén, who’d been in his final year at the time, and thought to himself, that person is the perfect specimen; I need to marry him. Many had come and gone, but none had the qualities that Jiāng Chéng had approved of so readily in Lán Xīchén.

He found himself lying in bed one night, unable to fall asleep at three in the morning, and comparing the fake dating experience with Wèi Yīng to the few dates he’d been on with Lán Xīchén.

It was a little strange how naturally things like making out had come to them. Wèi Yīng had gone in without flinching, even though Jiāng Chéng had expected him to be grossed out or unwilling to take it that far. And he hadn’t lied when he’d said he was a good kisser!

It had been easy to be with Wèi Yīng. It’d been like going on one of their roleplaying adventures. And certainly different to dating Lán Xīchén, where Jiāng Chéng felt like he was constantly ‘watching’ himself from afar, trying to judge whether he was sitting in a cute position or if his good side was showing to Lán Xīchén, not to mention being careful of how he was speaking, based on what he suspected Lán Xīchén’s type was.

It was a lot more work, was what it came down to, when the fake dating with Wèi Yīng had felt like a game. He probably just missed the company, the plotting, Jiāng Chéng mused. There was a certain pleasure in being in on a secret with someone, with being able to send them a look and know they understood what you meant.

Jiāng Chéng was stewing away in his living room, mindlessly playing Valorant, when there was an unexpected knock at his door. He glanced down at himself, and rather than dumping crumbs onto the ground, made sure to hold his hoodie so he could brush them into a bin.

When he opened the door, it was to the not entirely welcome surprise of Lán Wàngjī. What a waste of trying to be neat and tidy.

“Huh,” he said. “How do you know where I live?”

Lán Wàngjī’s face betrayed nothing at being greeted so rudely. He looked pointedly at Jiāng Chéng, until Jiāng Chéng sighed and moved aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

“Wèi Yīng is upset,” Lán Wàngjī said, getting straight to the point.

“Uh, okay?” Jiāng Chéng responded, crossing his arms as he leaned against a chair. “I haven’t talked to him in, like, well over a week, so I don’t think it’s my fault.”

Lán Wàngjī exhaled just slightly. “Wèi Yīng has been upset for well over a week,” he said, and then waited, as if he expected Jiāng Chéng to pick up whatever trail of crumbs he was dropping.

Jiāng Chéng shrugged. “I mean, we did kinda fight, but not a bad fight,” he said. “We’ve had worse fights.”

“You broke up.”

“Yeah,” Jiāng Chéng said, abruptly remembering that Lán Wàngjī was one of the few people in their extended friendship circle who didn’t know about the fake dating, entirely because of his relation to Lán Xīchén. And because Jiāng Chéng didn’t think he had the ability—or desire—to lie. “But we ended things amicably. We’re still friends.”

This finally changed something in Lán Wàngjī’s expression. He frowned, peering at Jiāng Chéng. “Why?”

“Why?” Jiāng Chéng repeated. “Like… why we broke up? Or why we’re still friends?”

“You appear to have good compatibility.”

“Good compatibility?” Jiāng Chéng snorted. “Probably ‘cause we’ve known each other since we were kids. Doesn’t mean he wants to be dating someone like me.”

“Wèi Yīng’s taste is a mystery. But do you not wish to be dating Wèi Yīng?”

Jiāng Chéng threw up his hands, ignoring the subtle slight against him. “What part of amicable break up did you not get? We both parted ways as friends. We’re just gonna go back to how things were before we tried out dating.”

“But you aren’t speaking to Wèi Yīng.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Jiāng Chéng said, “We’ll get over it; we always do.”

He got a long pause at that. “I see,” Lán Wàngjī said finally. “This has been enlightening. Tell me, what are your intentions with my brother?”

Jiāng Chéng almost smiled at how smoothly Lán Wàngjī segued into the question. “He’s been good to me,” he said innocently. “He was there when Wèi Yīng and I called it off, and he’s been kind.”

Lán Wàngjī’s eyes narrowed again. “I… see.”

“Okay, see a little less, please,” Jiāng Chéng said. “Can you leave now? Are we done here?”

“Yes.” Lán Wàngjī walked to the door with his smooth gait, neatly letting himself out despite the door being notorious amongst Jiāng Chéng’s friends and family as being deceptively difficult to open. “I am hosting tea tomorrow at noon. Come.”

“Where?” Jiāng Chéng hollered after him, but received no response.

Jiāng Chéng ran into Wèi Yīng outside Lán Wàngjī’s family home. It turned out that Lán Wàngjī had invited their whole extended friendship group, a rarity despite him living in the largest home out of all of them.

Jiāng Chéng lurked outside in the car, waiting to see when Wèi Yīng would appear. He’d rather they hash things out privately, before going inside. There was also the added bonus of not needing to make small talk with Lán Wàngjī, which was always disastrously awkward.

It was lucky he was so attuned to the sound of Wèi Yīng’s motorbike. He heard its loud screech long before he saw it, and almost laughed at how quickly such a pristine neighbourhood became chaotic.

He got out of the car, leaning against the frame as he waited. Wèi Yīng almost faltered when he saw Jiāng Chéng, but Jiāng Chéng was ready for that, darting over and grabbing his arm.

“We need to talk,” he said, tapping Wèi Yīng’s upper arm with his thumb three times, just in case he hadn’t heard him.

Wèi Yīng hesitated, then turned off the engine. “Fine,” he said, not meeting Jiāng Chéng’s eyes. “You want to do this here?” He gestured with a hand at the empty street they were standing in. The only sound, now that his motorbike wasn’t ruining the suburban peace, was a lawnmower in the distance.

“Or in my car,” Jiāng Chéng said with a tilt of his head.

Wèi Yīng sighed, like Jiāng Chéng was greatly inconveniencing him. “Out here is better. You never know what people might think of us canoodling in the front seat.”

His words shouldn’t’ve made Jiāng Chéng flush, but they brought forth memories of the night they had been canoodling, though not in the front seat, and certainly not for something as tame as a conversation.

Jiāng Chéng had wanted to start off by apologising—a fake apology, because he really didn’t think there was anything he was supposed to be sorry about—but Wèi Yīng started talking before he had the chance to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, still not meeting at Jiāng Chéng’s eyes. “I said some shit that was uncalled for. If you’re happy with Xīchén Gē, then you’re happy with Xīchén Gē.”

There was a pause. “Huh,” Jiāng Chéng said. “I think that’s the first time you’ve apologised to me without someone making you.”

That broke the ice between them quicker than anything else. “Shut up,” Wèi Yīng said. “Huáisāng did, uh, speak to me. And made me see I was being dumb.”

“You should talk to Huáisāng more often,” Jiāng Chéng said mildly. “I probably could’ve been… not like that. Y’know. It’s probably a weird adjustment to have to play the role of someone who’s just broken up and I know we didn’t tell Wàngjī, so you’re probably having to act in front of him too.”

“Right,” Wèi Yīng said, and that distance was back in his voice, in his gaze. “Yeah, well, I promise I brought my A-game to this tea.”

Jiāng Chéng hesitated. “We’re okay now, right?” he asked.

Wèi Yīng’s gaze darted up, and then flitted away. “’Course we are, A’Chéng,” he said. “Aren’t we always?”

Jiāng Chéng frowned, but at that moment, the front door opened, and Lán Wàngjī stood there, watching them expectedly. Wèi Yīng took in a deep breath and started walking up the driveway.

Jiāng Chéng hadn’t expected this to be a small tea party, but it was far more extravagant than he’d anticipated, particularly for someone whose meals consisted of no seasoning whatsoever. He’d even thought about filling up before getting here, and then decided against it, mostly in case one of the others wanted to grab a bite on the way home.

What he hadn’t expected was to see Lán Xīchén there, standing in the corner speaking with Niè Huáisāng.

He looked just as good as he always did—freshly shaven, short hair neatly combed, and wearing a cardigan that looked like it belonged to his uncle but somehow managed to make him look like he was modelling for a magazine. He smiled at Jiāng Chéng when he stepped into the room, and his beam only dimmed when it caught glimpse of Wèi Yīng stepping inside just after him, face blinking in concern at Jiāng Chéng.

Jiāng Chéng certainly hadn’t planned for this, but he sure as hell was going to use it. There was a fine line between appearing a little too okay after what should’ve presumably been a heart wrenching breakup, and being just a tad too broken up over it, and Jiāng Chéng was nothing if not meticulous. He’d spent the last few months fake dating Wèi Yīng and making both of them watch as many rom-coms and romances as he could find, wanting to see just how to toe that line.

Jiāng Chéng had also been a theatre kid, but his talents had been more in the singing than the acting. However, he was good at acting forlorn, thanks to a year-long obsession with Les Misérables as a teenager.

“Xīchén Gē!” he exclaimed, clearing his throat.

“Jiāng Chéng,” Lán Xīchén greeted with a smile. Niè Huáisāng was hiding his face behind his huge hoodie sleeve, watching them intently. “I asked Wàngjī if you were coming, but he was surprisingly tight lipped about it. Now I see why.”

Jiāng Chéng sensed there was something here he was missing. “He came and visited me the other night,” he explained. “I feel like there’s some kind of plotting we’re both victims of.”

“No plotting,” Lán Wàngjī said briskly. Jiāng Chéng almost jumped at how silently he’d slipped into the room. “Only efficiency.”

“Hey, Lán Zhàn,” Wèi Yīng said. He’d been standing awkwardly at the door, watching the three of them interact. “Quite a spread you’ve got going here. If I’d known you were so into tea, I would’ve invited myself over every weekend.”

“Wàngjī hates tea,” Lán Xīchén said, with all the energy of an older sibling intent on ruining the coolness of their younger brother. “I don’t think he’s been home a single day at this hour since he could get away with it.”

“I’ve come to appreciate it as a meal,” Lán Wàngjī said, with an expression that was somewhere between a pout and stiffness. Jiāng Chéng had never seen the two Lan brothers in the same room—this was the most expressive he’d ever witnessed Lán Wàngjī be. “Please help yourselves. The rest of the guests should be arriving soon.”

He’d just spoken when there was the sound of footsteps—Jiāng Chéng wondered who was so familiar with the household that they could let themselves in.

Wēn Qíng’s head popped into the room, and then her body; behind her was her brother, and behind them, filling up the whole doorway, was Niè Huáisāng’s older brother. Jiāng Chéng forcibly tore his eyes away from Niè Míngjué’s biceps before glancing over at Niè Huáisāng, silently asking why Lán Wàngjī would invite his brother, of all people.

Wèi Yīng was doing a remarkable job at filling in the silence with small talk as they scattered around the room; Jiāng Chéng watched him almost fondly, and had to stifle the instinct to go and stand by his side like he’d been doing so easily these last few months. Letting himself into Wèi Yīng’s bubble came so naturally after a lifetime of no personal space—it was strange to have to hold himself back from that, like reminding oneself not to use the side of the mouth that had a sore tooth.

“Jiāng Chéng?” Lán Xīchén said from behind him, materialising once again.

“Hm?” Jiāng Chéng hadn’t realised he’d been staring for quite so long.

“Is everything alright between the two of you?” He nodded to where Wèi Yīng was animatedly talking with Wēn Níng and Wēn Qíng.

“Yes, perfect,” Jiāng Chéng said on autopilot, and then mentally shook himself. “We, uh, we talked just before coming inside. I think it’s the closure I’ve been looking for, so we can both move on.”

He made his eyes widen just slightly, staring up at Lán Xīchén—who, thankfully, was taller, so this would actually work on him. From up close, Lán Xīchén smelled just like he always had, right from Jiāng Chéng’s high school days.

“Good,” Lán Xīchén said. He glanced across the room quickly, and then his hand was suddenly cupping Jiāng Chéng’s jaw. “Then it’s fine if I do this.”

He leaned down, slowly, and kissed Jiāng Chéng. Jiāng Chéng, who had not been expecting anything of the sort, stood there for a moment like a stiff plank, before working with Lán Xīchén. Lán Xīchén immediately deepened the kiss, his other hand on Jiāng Chéng’s waist.

Jiāng Chéng was going to be murdered by Lán Xīchén’s uncle and his brother if they kept this up. He feebly tapped at Lán Xīchén’s chest and pulled back, and he didn’t even have to fake how flustered he felt. He didn’t think he’d ever kissed a partner in public, certainly not to passionately.

His gaze immediately went to Wèi Yīng, who wasn’t looking at them. His arms were folded tight against his chest, and his jaw was clenched hard enough that Jiāng Chéng winced for his teeth—he’d always had issues with grinding his teeth. As Jiāng Chéng watched, his eyes darted up to meet Jiāng Chéng’s for a millisecond, and then he excused himself from the room.

And that was when Jiāng Chéng remembered who he actually needed to be looking at—he glanced as shyly as he could to Lán Xīchén hoping his lapse in attention could be chalked up to embarrassment at such a public kiss, and to his relief, Lán Xīchén wasn’t looking at him. He was looking in the same direction that Jiāng Chéng had been looking at. Jiāng Chéng followed his gaze, wondering if he was also eyeing Wèi Yīng’s exit.

Lán Xīchén’s eyes led to Niè Míngjué.

And that was when Jiāng Chéng had the first inkling that there was something laughably similar about himself and the man he’d arranged a whole fake relationship and fake break-up for. Because Niè Míngjué, with his massive biceps, was staring at Lán Xīchén like he was seeing him for the first time, realisation and dismay dawning simultaneously.

“Oh wow,” Jiāng Chéng said softly. “Your brother is efficient.”

“Hm?” Lán Xīchén’s gaze turned back to him.

“He very literally created this whole tea party—what a fucking drama queen, honestly—to out you and me!”

 “To out us?” Lán Xīchén repeated. “I don’t think Wàngjī cares who knows that we’re… well, dating.”

“Outing us,” Jiāng Chéng clarified, “because you’re only dating me so Míngjué Gē gets jealous.”

Now he had Lán Xīchén’s complete attention. Lán Xīchén’s hand was suddenly on Jiāng Chéng’s shoulder, nudging him to the farthest corner of the room, and any sign of softness gone from his face. “Jiāng Chéng, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not acting like yourself.”

It was like a weight off his shoulders, to be able to look Lán Xīchén in the eyes and not have to think about how his body language would convey demureness, or whether he was showing Lán Xīchén his best angle, or any number of other things that had plagued Jiāng Chéng’s mind ever since he’d broken things off with Wèi Yīng and finally gotten to date the man of his dreams.

He'd watched married couples all around him, biting in their sharp corners to present themselves as perfectly for their spouse as possible, publicly showing their best face and boasting about their partner’s successes, and he’d thought to himself, that looks easy.

But what had been easy had been standing beside Wèi Yīng, and feeling their barbed wire cut into each other like it had their whole lives. It’d felt natural, to be with Wèi Yīng, effortless to the point where they hadn’t even had to change very much about the way they interacted with each other when they’d started ‘dating’.

“Xīchén Gē,” Jiāng Chéng said slowly. “I think you should go after Míngjué Gē before he decides to leave. And you should kiss him like you just kissed me.”

“I—Jiāng Chéng,” Lán Xīchén looked horribly guilty, but all it did was send relief coursing down Jiāng Chéng’s spine, “you have to know I didn’t intend on using you. I didn’t speak to you that day at the restaurant intending on this—I genuinely wanted to comfort you, and then it just spiralled—”

“I get it,” Jiāng Chéng said, grasping back at the hand that Lán Xīchén had left hovering between them, “because that day at the restaurant was take fourteen of the breakup between me and Wèi Yīng. All because I thought you were the perfect man for me and that I’d loved you since I was in high school.”

Lán Xīchén wasn’t a man who was speechless often—Jiāng Chéng knew this, because he’d attended all the debates Lán Xīchén had been in during their high school’s debate club matches.

He stared at Jiāng Chéng for a moment, and then blew out a breath. “I suppose I don’t really have a right to be upset, do I,” he said with a shake of his head.

“You do,” Jiāng Chéng said. “I… I tricked you into dating me, basically. You definitely have a right to be mad at me. But I think you used me to make Míngjué Gē jealous—I’ve literally been on your Instagram since the first time you came over to my place—and today has made me realise that I don’t actually like you. Like that, that is.”

Lán Xīchén huffed a breath. “We could’ve been such a power couple,” he said, though there was nothing malicious in his voice. “I did look forward to sleeping with you, A’Chéng.”

Jiāng Chéng bit back a smile. “And I regret bringing this up before I got a chance to sleep with you, too,” he said. “But I think I’m going to regret it more if—”

“If you let Wèi Yīng leave on this note,” Lán Xīchén finished. “This is a strange ask, considering the circumstances, but I hope we can stay friends.”

“Definitely,” Jiāng Chéng said. “Let me know how things go between you two, alright? If this—” he gestured between the two of them, “didn’t work, then I have it under good authority that I’m good at writing believable breakup scenes.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Lán Xīchén said with a snort. “Go!”

Jiāng Chéng didn’t let anything else stop him. With an eyeroll and reluctant nod in Lán Wàngjī’s smug direction, he walked as fast as he could in the direction that Lán Wàngjī had jerked his head towards, heading deeper into the house.

Had Lán Wàngjī invited them here on purpose, knowing that the place was an utter maze and that it would take Wèi Yīng precious minutes to figure out how to get out of there? Whatever the thinking was, Jiāng Chéng had to applaud him—or he would, if this worked out.

It was far too eerily quiet for Jiāng Chéng to feel comfortable yelling out for Wèi Yīng. He tried his phone, but the reception inside was practically non-existent (had Lán Qǐrén also done that somehow?). Lán Wàngjī’s head nod in the direction of the door was feeling far less helpful now.

And then, by pure stroke of luck, he ran almost headfirst into Wèi Yīng just as he was about to round the corner into a random room he was sure he’d already accidentally circled around to three times.

“Goddamn—” Wèi Yīng bit back a curse as he stumbled into the wall, and Jiāng Chéng grabbed onto the nearest thing to stop his own fall, which so happened to be Wèi Yīng’s jacket.

“Fucking finally,” he said. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?!”

“Not as long as I’ve been trying to find an unlocked door,” Wèi Yīng muttered. “I think Lán Zhàn’s trying to murder us.”

Jiāng Chéng was going to suck it up and buy Lán Wàngjī a flower basket. He might even throw in some rabbit toys with it. “We need to talk.” He grabbed Wèi Yīng’s hand, sliding into it as easily as when they’d been boys, as easily as when they’d been a couple, and started tugging him somewhere that wasn’t the middle of the hallway.

Wèi Yīng, who had always followed Jiāng Chéng, didn’t move. “A’Chéng, I can’t do this with you right now,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Can’t you just—just go back to your perfect smelling boyfriend.”

“We’re not together anymore,” Jiāng Chéng said.

Surprise flickered over Wèi Yīng’s face, and then he grimaced. “Ah, shit—we went to so much trouble to bag him, too.”

“He was dating me to make Huáisāng’s brother jealous,” Jiāng Chéng told him, and watched Wèi Yīng’s face.

“He was what?” Wèi Yīng exclaimed, outraged in an instant. “A’Chéng, we have to plot his demise. I don’t care if it’s Lán Zhàn’s brother—he can’t get away with using you like that—”

“It’s okay,” Jiāng Chéng interrupted, giving Wèi Yīng a little shake to stop him from yelling in this unbelievably echo-y house. “I told him our plan, so I think we’re even.”

“Wow, this is such a clusterfuck.” Wèi Yīng scrubbed both hands down his face. “Okay, uh, so now what do you want to do? Revenge? We can try to ruin their relationship to get back at him for not liking you? We’re just going to need some accomplices, since it’ll probably be real obvious it’s you, considering all of this.”

There was probably something seriously wrong with Jiāng Chéng, because the only reaction he had to what others would deem a rather extreme reaction to this whole news was giddiness, elation because revenge plotting by Wèi Yīng meant that he cared. Even though Jiāng Chéng had basically dumped him to get with someone else, he hadn’t dumped Jiāng Chéng.

So Jiāng Chéng did the most efficient thing he could do, and kissed Wèi Yīng. It was rather messy, as far as kisses went—teeth clashed and Wèi Yīng’s almost cut into Jiāng Chéng’s lip, and they almost bumped right into the corner of the sidetable that held what looked like a horribly expensive vase.

Wèi Yīng, once he got with the program, kissed back just as hard. His hand clenched in Jiāng Chéng’s hair was tight enough that it almost hurt. Jiāng Chéng had missed this—kissing Lán Xīchén had been great, and the stubble had been extremely sexy, but it hadn’t felt like this.

“Sorry,” Jiāng Chéng said, when they finally broke apart with a gasp. “For taking so long to figure it out.”

Wèi Yīng pulled a face. “To be fair, I didn’t figure it out till I was breaking up with you. Or we were breaking up with each other. So maybe we’re both a little slow on the uptake.”

"I'm sorry, for the shit I said—I know half of that wasn't even in the script—"

"Hey, I said some shit too that I didn't mean. And certainly not the way it came out. And it's not like the stuff you were yelling at me about was news to me."

At that moment, Jiāng Chéng’s phone buzzed—extra surprising, considering none of his calls to Wèi Yīng had gone through. He pulled it out, and snorted a disbelieving laugh.

“Lán Wàngjī is never going to let this go.” He showed Wèi Yīng the message he’d received, which was of a shirtless Niè Míngjué in an unfamiliar bedroom. He didn't show him the message, which was a string of extremely suggestive emojis. Maybe he and Lan Xichen had both been playing a part when they'd been together.

Wèi Yīng whistled. “Damn, Huáisāng’s brother is built. I can’t believe he felt threatened by you.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Jiāng Chéng went to shove Wèi Yīng’s shoulder, but Wèi Yīng caught his hand and tugged at it, trying to draw him into another kiss that Jiāng Chéng was too weak to refuse.

“Yes, please fuck me,” Wèi Yīng said into his mouth. “It’s been actual torture thinking about you and Xīchén Gē—Wēn Níng even took me clubbing out of pity! Three whole people tried to hit on me, A’Chéng, and I was too sad and pathetic over our fake-as-shit breakup to do anything about it!”

Despite Wèi Yīng’s grin making it sound like it was all a joke, there was that element of sincerity, of vulnerability, that made Jiāng Chéng’s insides churn with guilt. “If it makes you feel better,” he offered, “Xīchén Gē and I never went beyond making out. Shirts never even came off.”

Wèi Yīng sighed. “It should make me feel better, but all it does it make me think of six months’ planning going down the drain.”

Jiāng Chéng tried not to roll his eyes. “Don’t make me regret breaking things off with him to date you,” he said, only half joking.

It stopped Wèi Yīng in his tracks. “So we’re dating now?” he said. “Like, properly?”

“If you want to,” Jiāng Chéng said, suddenly realising that all of this—his whole romantic chase—may have been over something he’d completely misread.

“Of course I want to,” Wèi Yīng said. “Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve said this whole time?”

“We’ve heard,” a deadpan voice called from somewhere in Lán Wàngjī’s huge house. “And to be honest, we’d love for you guys to have the rest of the conversation somewhere we don’t have to hear it.”

“Huáisāng, fuck off,” Jiāng Chéng called, wanting to sink into the floorboards. “It’s thanks to me your brother is getting laid somewhere above us right this second!”

“Okay, how do you know that—and secondly, why would you tell me that—” Niè Huáisāng’s voice went muffled, like someone had slapped a hand over his mouth.

And then there was a click, coming from the sliding doors that Wèi Yīng had been valiantly trying to get open when Jiāng Chéng had ran into him. Wèi Yīng walked over to the doors now, and slid them open.

He quickly darted over the threshold, like he was worried the doors would lock on him again, and yelled, “Thanks, Lán Zhàn. Good job on your evil plotting, I guess.” And then he looked expectedly at Jiāng Chéng, saying, “I’ll meet you at yours?” He waited for Jiāng Chéng’s nod before heading off to his bike.

Jiāng Chéng only just remembered to grab his jacket that he’d been carrying from where he’d dropped it on the ground at some point in their conversation. But when he got to the doors, they were locked tight again.

Throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh, he shouted, “I get it, Wàngjī, you’re a genius and I’m forever grateful for you getting your meddling hands into this. If you don’t unlock the door, I won’t send you a gift basket.” And then, testing the door again—still locked—he muttered a low thanks.

Jiāng Chéng didn’t expect that final word to even reach Lán Wàngjī’s ears—did the man have a microphone or something set up in the house?—but the lock clicked open, and he quickly exited the house.

He rounded the corner, and Wèi Yīng was still there leaning against his bike. “Race you?” he said.

Jiāng Chéng broke out into a run, knowing exactly how this was going to play out if he didn’t get ahead of it. “Not until I get the car started, you cheat—"

The rest of his words were drowned out by the sound of Wèi Yīng’s bike.