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“Wei Ying. I do not need a…” Lan Wangji stares down at his phone in quiet horror. “A… ‘hall pass.’”
Wei Ying, radiant and mirthful and utterly oblivious to his boyfriend’s distress, laughs as he bounces up and down on the couch. “I know you don’t need it, Lan Zhan, you’re way monogamous and super loyal! That’s not the point of the game. The idea is to pick some kind of crush where, y’know, the opportunity’d never actually happen in real life—but if it did, and they were down, then you’re theoretically totally allowed to hook up with them, because, c’mon, how could I ask you to pass up that kind of chance? Basically, it’s a fun thought experiment.”
This is the worst experiment in the world. Who invented this. Lan Wangji has only been dating Wei Ying for four months, since the beginning of their first year at university—but he has been in love with him since their impromptu fencing match at the start of high school, and the sheer thought of ever engaging in carnal relations with anyone else makes Lan Wangji feel like his internal organs are being ground down with sandpaper. “And Wei Ying,” he says, and swallows, “has a… person. In mind?”
“For you? I mean, I bet I know who you’ll choose,” Wei Ying says, and winks. “As for me, sure, I’ve got a great pick!” He waves his phone under Lan Wangji’s nose. “And then we write it down, for posterity, and show each other. So then on the off chance the opportunity really does arise, well! Then we can cheer each other on!” He finally notices Lan Wangji’s expression, and his smile falters slightly. “Um, but it’s just a dumb game, Lan Zhan, we don’t have to do it.”
Lan Wangji hates dimming Wei Ying’s brightness. “No,” he says, with force. “I can.” He leans over his phone. Wei Ying emits a pleased, surprised hum, then turns to his own phone to type.
Lan Wangji stares at the flashing cursor of the notes app, sweating slightly beneath his traditional forehead ribbon. He knows who Wei Ying will choose. He thinks, in fact, that there is a good chance Wei Ying specifically suggested this hall pass game because of the person Lan Wangji knows he will choose. Something that would never happen, Wei Ying had said, but that is because Wei Ying is, as mentioned, oblivious.
Lan Wangji and Wei Ying may only have been dating for four months, but Lan Wangji has known him for years, and thus knew, when he asked Wei Ying out, that there would be a certain amount of… package-deal-ery. That Wei Ying has a best friend. A roommate. A confidant. A sarcastic straight man (“““straight”””—ha! Lan Wangji has seen his eyes catch on Wei Ying’s beauty!) who dogs Wei Ying’s every move. Who cooks spicy food for Wei Ying in their shared kitchenette when Wei Ying forgets to eat, and drags him out of bars when it is too late in the evening for Lan Wangji to wake up and drive him home, and scolds Wei Ying when his pranks land him in trouble with Shufu, and tried to fistfight Lan Wangji that one time in high school senior year when Wei Ying and Lan Wangji had a terrible misunderstanding and Wei Ying thought Lan Wangji thought low of him, and in whose lap Wei Ying always puts his feet during movie nights even when he’s supposed to be full-body cuddling with Lan Wangji! He might complain about foot odor (nonsense, Wei Ying smells like lavender and sunshine) but then he rests his hands all over Wei Ying’s shapely ankles and calves as they all pretend to refocus on the film!! Lan Wangji knows!!!!
Lan Wangji knows. Lan Wangji knows why Wei Ying wants a hall pass.
He sets his jaw, and types the name.
He is forbidden to lie, but this is not a lie. Not a full lie. If Wei Ying wants to do this (…do this person), then Lan Wangji wants to be there with him. Turning Wei Ying loose with a free pass would be miserable, but an activity they undertake together could be… fine. Could be not-awful. There’s a certain aesthetic appeal in sharp cheekbones, sharper fashion, and an even sharper tongue. He and Lan Wangji had a semi-amicable rivalry on the high school fencing team after Wei Ying got bored and joined a different club. A man who would bloody his knuckles for Wei Ying’s honor, even misguidedly, has at least one positive quality. The excellent thighs are two more.
Yes. Lan Wangji can do this.
“My hall pass,” he says upon completion, and holds out his phone.
Wei Ying gives a little cheer and snatches the phone, while also passing his own over. Lan Wangji cradles it carefully. The lock screen—a photo of himself and Wei Ying wrapped around each other and glowing with happiness, with a hint of blurred hand in one corner as the photo-taker gesticulated rudely for them to stop squeezing each other’s rears just out of frame—beams up at him. “Okay, we check the names on three, and then we both gotta be ready to explain the reasoning behind our respective picks! And yes, ‘they’re super hot’ counts as reasoning, but I admit I’m hoping for something a little more detailed and rhapsodic. I wanna know all my boyfriend’s fantasies, no matter what they are! Okay, one, two—”
Meeting his fate with fortitude, Lan Wangji unlocks the phone to reveal the name of their mutual—
The name—
The—?
“Wei Ying,” he says, staring at the unfamiliar characters. “Who is this.”
“What, you haven’t heard of her?” Wei Ying bounces in his seat, waving Lan Wangji’s phone with a grin—he hadn’t even looked at it, too eager to see Lan Wangji’s reaction to his own answer. “She’s the lead singer of that pop group that’s been topping the charts for months! Well, I guess pop’s not your genre… But she’s got a great voice, clearly done some kind of classical theater training, I think you’d like her stuff. And look!” He takes the phone back, taps a few times, then turns it to show him a photo. “Isn’t she cute?”
She is a woman with symmetrical facial features. “Mn,” says Lan Wangji supportively, but his mind is still stuttering. He feels… a little affronted? But in what direction, and on whose behalf, is unclear.
But… for years—years—he has been steeling himself. Years of mutual glares and careful acclimatization to someone else’s indelible importance in Wei Ying’s life, years of sharp edges grinding themselves smooth. Lan Wangji has cycled through yearning, then jealousy, then grudging tolerance, and just now had resigned himself bravely, almost good-naturedly, to the inevitable. He knew who Wei Ying would pick. Who, to be honest, he should pick (aside from Lan Wangji). Yet instead of the clear, dare he say destined choice, Wei Ying deploys his metaphorical hall pass for some random person…? Why does she deserve that honor, instead of their—
Lan Wangji’s eyes shoot wide. “Wait,” he says. “Wei Ying.”
“Yeah!” says Wei Ying, who has just finished extrapolating at length upon the other charms of his apparent celebrity crush, and swipes Lan Wangji’s phone open. “Your turn! Oh.”
The “oh” lands like a thud. Wei Ying stares down at the screen.
Silence.
“Aha,” Wei Ying says at last. “Haha! I see what wires got crossed here. Okay, um. So. The thing is, in the hall pass game, people always pick, like, celebrities—it’s not a rule, per se, it’s just the standard. But then again, you don’t know that many celebrities, Lan Zhan. Of course you wouldn’t think of that.” He grins, but his eyes stay on the phone. “Although I did actually figure you’d choose Song Lan or Xiao Xingchen. You had that poster of them in your room all through high school…”
Wow. Damn. It didn’t even occur to Lan Wangji to choose either of his two most admired gay icon martial artists. Why hadn’t it occurred to him?!
“But I get your reasoning, otherwise. Like, obviously this hookup—” He wiggles the phone—“is just as impossible as it would be with a huge celebrity, considering he’s the straightest guy we know. Or, hm. Well actually, I guess the straightest is probably Huaisang’s brother, there’s nobody manlier than him—” Nie Mingjue has been dating Meng Yao for over six years. Yes, they’re quiet about it, but still obvious. Lan Wangji is concerned by Wei Ying’s heretofore unrevealed levels of comphet delusion. “—but aside from that I do get the reasoning, he is pretty hot, even with, like, the personality stuff. Or actually, you’re right, that kind of adds to the appeal—” What if Lan Wangji died. “—but anyway! Long story short, the vibe of the game changes if you answer with somebody from, y’know, real life, that you see basically every day. I can’t really picture it. Or, I mean, now I can, I am, it’s fine—good—could be hot! So! Even though it’s a little unorthodox, I guess it’s still a valid hall pass answer. I’m really curious as to when Lan-er-gege started thinking about him like that, haha!” Wei Ying has started rushing through his words, hands flying and teeth agleam. Then he stills, all his manic energy contracting inward to a look of intense concentration. “But yeah,” he says slowly. “I hadn’t really… thought about it. Before.”
Lan Wangji should say something. Agree that he misunderstood the assignment. Or that he mistyped. Or even explain that he tried to match what he imagined Wei Ying’s answer to be, but was obviously mistaken. Or… anything, any excuse.
But he doesn’t. He only looks at Wei Ying, waiting.
“So. Huh,” Wei Ying goes on, his tone strange. He slowly lifts his gaze to meet Lan Wangji’s. His eyes are eager, and beautiful, and extraordinarily bright. “Huh. Jiang Cheng.”
“What,” calls Jiang Cheng. The front door of the dorm suite, which neither Wei Ying nor Lan Wangji had noticed opening, slams. Shoes thump in the entrance, then things clatter in the kitchenette, and then Jiang Cheng stomps into the TV room wielding plastic bags and two empty bowls. It must have been drizzling outside; his hair is misted with tiny droplets, one lock falling across his forehead, and the damp fabric of his shirt clings to his shoulders and chest. “Got the food,” he announces. He drops one of the bowls in front of Lan Wangji, the other at his own customary spot on the couch, then the bag on the table. Lan Wangji automatically begins to distribute the takeout containers as Jiang Cheng does the chopsticks. Jiang Cheng also produces a handful of napkins, which he jams into Wei Ying’s collar. “Here, since you never agree to use a bowl like a civilized human then have a bib, you infant. I’m not cleaning up when you get sauce everywhere.”
“Needing a bowl is a skill issue,” says Wei Ying, slightly delayed; he seems to be a bit dazed. His eyes scan Jiang Cheng up and down, as do Lan Wangji’s, in sympathy. The familiar sharp lines and smooth curves of Jiang Cheng’s body have taken on new meaning in light of Lan Wangji’s maybe-misstep.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t appear to notice their gazes, just nestles into his couch-spot. “All right, what movie did you guys pick? Wangji, if you let him choose another schlocky horror B flick, I swear to god…” He continues to gripe, swatting at Wei Ying’s prodding feet without actually forcing them off his lap.
Wei Ying stares at him for a few moments longer. Then, napkin-bib rustling, he turns to Lan Wangji. His expression is like a sunrise in human form, like he’s been given an unexpected, perfect gift, like he’s getting everything he wants. “Lan Zhan, you’re a genius,” he proclaims.
Lan Wangji freaking knew it. He knew Wei Ying’s real answer. Perhaps it’s actually a sign of the strength of their relationship that he knows his boyfriend so well, including better than Wei Ying himself.
Wei Ying continues, “Although I think I should join in, just to supervise! So,” he says, and grins. “Permission granted.”
Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows as he scoops spicy noodles into his bowl. “Permission to what?”
Resigned (and certainly nothing more enthusiastic than resigned!), Lan Wangji sighs, pushes the takeout aside, and proceeds to…
Well. Whip out his hall pass.