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“Don’t tell me you never had these,” Wei Ying said, his frown loud across his brow. “Lan Zhan! Every kid tries candy.”
Lan Wangji gave a minute shrug. He never had many sweets as a child. There was one very memorable occasion when his mother made mooncakes for mid-autumn festival; if pressed, Lan Wangji would categorise their flavour as pink. They were pink. And sweet, he supposed.
“Lan Zhan,” with the reproving tone. “You have to.”
Since there was no feasible way for Lan Wangji to refuse him, no matter how ridiculous the request, he picked up the candy and placed it gingerly on his tongue. His eyes immediately watered at the attack.
“Good, isn’t it,” Wei Ying grinned, so pleased that Lan Wangji made himself chew and then swallow without a single hum of complaint. It was not that he disliked sweets, exactly. Simply that he was unaccustomed. He could come to like them, if Wei Ying willed it so.
“What else,” Wei Ying was muttering, tapping the bridge of his nose. “What else, what else?”
“Mn?” shamefully unfocused. It was only, the bridge of Wei Ying’s nose was a lovely place to rest his eyes; there were two freckles there that especially called to attention. It was sometimes quite difficult to have conversations with Wei Ying in the sunlight, where he shone; or under torchlight, where he was golden; or moonlight, where he glowed; or in the dark, where he was brilliant.
Oh. Wei Ying must have said something: the corners of his eyes crinkled with the smile. “What is it my husband is so busy thinking of, hmm?”
“You,” Lan Wangji answered, at once, honestly.
“Yes, yes, that’s always your answer.”
Lan Wangji blinked in confusion. “It is the truth. I always think of you.”
“Lan Zhan!” with the flushing cheeks, impossibly lovely, “Why do you always have to,” and then he was in Lan Wangji’s arms, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, burrowing. The voice came out muffled, “Just, unbearable!”
“Mn,” Lan Wangji capitulated. He felt no particular remorse for the weight of his Wei Ying crushing the air out of him, or the scent that would cling to him, sesame and sweat and rain and almonds, or the rolling waves of laughter he could still hear, choked-out and even more precious for how common they were. Wei Ying was so free with his laughter, generous with his joy. It was incomparable to anything Lan Wangji has ever met.
“We were talking about something else entirely!” Wei Ying emerged from the cocoon of Lan Wangji’s robes. “Trying to distract me with your handsome devil tricks—no longer, I am onto you!”
Lan Wangji lowered his head in repentance. “Whatever Wei Ying wishes,” he said, to another groan.
“No, silly, you’ve got it all wrong. Today we are doing as Lan Zhan wishes, remember? We’re trying to fill all these gaps in your childhood.”
“There are no gaps,” Lan Wangji said, not for the first time.
“How can you say that when we just learned you never had sweets!”
He felt himself frown. Wei Ying called it his ‘non-frown’; he was of the opinion that Lan Wangji’s face barely moved, that extracting an expression out of him was an incredible feat. He made little sense, sometimes.
“I had sweets before,” Lan Wangji said. “My mother—”
“Made mooncakes once in your life and it tasted pink! You see how that doesn’t count, yes? You don’t even remember how it tasted.”
“I remember.”
“I mean, a real taste!” Wei Ying threw his arms up, and affection so bright scorched through Lan Wangji’s middle, dazzling. For a moment, he could think of nothing at all. Blinded with this, Wei Ying, on a rainy-grey day, in a small town’s market, arguing about candy. “Pink is not a flavour!”
He was not certain what qualified Wei Ying, whose taste buds would have dissolved many years ago, to be the judge on such matters. But then again it was not as though Lan Wangji knew better. “Mn,” he said, appeasing.
“You,” Wei Ying tutted a finger in his direction, eyes bright, “will do as your gege tells you, for once in your life. What about respect for your elders, hmm?”
Lan Wangji allotted a moment for mental mathematics before declaring the matter pointless. He will do as Wei Ying tells him, of course. “Mn,” was the easiest, most sincere response, even if it came off a little eager.
Wei Ying said, “All right,” grinning wide, putting a merciful arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders, “where to, then?”
“Where to?”
Wei Ying flicked him softly. “What do you want to do. Your gege wants to spoil you, Lan Zhan, and remember, you promised to let him.”
“I…” he truly, truly, did not know what to say. Normally pleasing Wei Ying was a simple matter, requiring no conscious thought; this was a task of unprecedented proportions. “Wei Ying spoils me all the time.”
“Not nearly. And far from enough. Come on, you can tell me! What is it that Hanguang-jun is so embarrassed to do?”
“There is nothing,” Lan Wangji said, shame-faced, failing. “Wei Ying.”
“Yes?”
“I want to do as Wei Ying wants.”
Wei Ying rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well,” he said. “Suppose that would be a tough question. Put on the spot like that, my poor baby. Say,” brightening, “as a proper Lan, I bet you never even considered the concept of a nap.”
“What do you mean,” Lan Wangji said, just to make him laugh.
“Aha! Another gap unlocked. Lan Zhan, we are going back to the inn room, and you are going to curl into bed with me like a good boy and let me cuddle the nap out of you.”
A frisson of heat ran, lightning-bright down his spine. “Mn,” he said, unable to control his tone.
“Lan Zhan! Such a naughty mind. I mean it! We will nap.”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji said earnestly. “I will be a good boy for Wei Ying.”
“Ah,” with a hint of a husk in his voice, “yes, my husband is such a good boy. Back to the inn, then; there’s nothing better than a good nap on a rainy day. Oh, but we must go back to the sweets stall first and clean out the nice lady’s supply.”
“As Wei Ying wishes.”
He could imagine few things indeed that would rival being in bed, holding Wei Ying. Perhaps he will get half a shichen for this. Perhaps even longer.
“What are you thinking about?” Wei Ying asked, his voice soft, words close. He tucked a lock of Lan Wangji’s hair behind his ear, eyes wide, gentle, burning-fond. Lan Wangji sought, and sought, for the words, and knew he would never come close to conveying this.
“You,” he said eventually, defeated, delighted.
“Me again? What about me exactly is there to ponder so much?”
“My husband makes me very happy.”
For a moment Wei Ying just rested his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and breathed. Then he smiled—something new, brighter, peeled open and brimming with joy. “Good,” he said, and took Lan Wangji in his arms for a crushing embrace, “that is very, very good.”
They went back to the sweets stall, and then to the inn. Lan Wangji, who never felt the existence of gaps in his life which were not filled with Wei Ying’s return, was indulged nevertheless, and allowed it, just as he would allow Wei Ying anything. They napped. For a while. Tomorrow they would switch, and he would get to spoil Wei Ying. A very good existence indeed.
Curled, half-wrapped in the covers, dizzy on the lingering scent of almonds and sesame; it was almost unbearably sweet, being in love. Lan Wangji bore it with pleasure.