Archive of Our Own

"Come on, Lan-xiong! You won’t be completely naked! It’ll be just a little skin!" Nie Huaisang wheedles.

Lan Zhan pointedly ignores his future brother-in-law. This is the dinner table. If Huaisang intends to join the Lan family, he should learn the rule: Silence while eating. If not, he can enjoy being ignored.

But his traitor of a brother, always too soft on this particular troublemaker, chimes in: "Ah, are you still missing Mr. January? I thought Su She volunteered."

"Volunteered?" Huaisang scoffs. "He’s been harassing A-Ying to put him in the calendar! If I don’t find a hot bod for January, Su-fucking-She gets the slot! And he’s nowhere as handsome as Lan-xiong. Or as sexy!"

The only sign he reacts to Wei Wuxian’s name is the faint click of his chopstick against his bowl. His gaze flicks to Lan Huan, who offers a knowing smile.

Damn.

"Perhaps entice A-Zhan with the calendar’s purpose," Lan Huan suggests, eyes glinting.

Now his brother has joined the barbarian way of no silence when eating.

"It’s for a good cause!" Huaisang insists.

Knowing that he can’t escape this dinner conversation, he calmly arches one brow, a silent command to Huaisang to elaborate what the hell is this ‘good cause’.

And if he’s also curious what Wei Ying, the boy who unraveled his composure, his first heartbeat, his teenage crush, his everything, is scheming? Well. That’s irrelevant.

"Proceeds fund a shelter for boys kicked out after coming out," Huaisang declares.

"Boys?" Nie Mingjue snorts. "Or Wei Wuxian?"

This time, both chopsticks strike the teacup.

But the news is too shocking. 

The Jiangs threw him out.

Wei Ying likes men!

Which truth should he dwell on first?

"Boys!" Huaisang huffs. "To be exact: A-Ying’s college tuition, and the two little gays we are raising in our two-bedroom apartment."

Nie Mingjue moved in with Lan Huan a year ago, right after they defined their relationship. The apartment was left for Huaisang. Lan Zhan had loathed their domestic bliss: the gross clinginess, the filthy kisses. He wished they’d have chosen to live in the apartment and would have left this house to him. 

When Lan Huan offered to move him to the apartment instead, he’d refused after one visit: clothes strewn everywhere, half-eaten food’s mess all over the place, Wei Ying darting around half-dressed…

And now he learns Wei Ying lives with three other men while parading around like that? In those... those clothes, as if the apartment is the ninth circle of hell?

Unacceptable.

Now, with his return imminent, he’d planned to secure his own place. But meanwhile…

"Wei Ying can stay here until I find an apartment ," Lan Zhan says, breaking the no-talking rule, and joining the barbarian way. “Then he can move in with me.”

Lan Huan’s chopsticks clatter. " My didi is so generous, isn’t he, Love? " he croons, grinning.

Nie Mingjue, clueless, hums. 

Huaisang, not clueless, pounces: " But what about the others? A-Ying won’t abandon them. Can they also live with you, Lan-xiong?"

Lan Zhan’s frown deepens. "Your apartment is empty."

Huaisang gasps theatrically. "You’d leave me alone with two hot gays and expect me to stay pure?"

Why should he care?

Huaisang smirks, as if reading his mind. "It’s bad enough I share a bed with one little gay while Wei Ying sleeps with another…"

Wei Ying. Shares a bed. With a little gay.

His brain shortcircuit.

He forces his soul back into his body just in time to catch Huaisang say, "…and that's why we need more money so that we can afford matching silk pajamas! Besides, it’ll be A-Ying’s photography portfolio and my debut as a niche fashion designer: ‘Little Gays’ collection. Help a brother out, Lan-xiong!”

“Since you’re so kind-hearted, I know you’ll be willing to help them, A-Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow into icy slits. His brother has a talent for maneuvering him into impossible positions.

“Just show him Wei Ying’s work,” Nie Mingjue suggests, shrugging. “We all looked dashing.”

We?

"Yeah! Your jealousy cost us Huan-ge as Mr. January!" Huaisang snorts.

So. Lan Huan’s photos were too provocative for Nie Mingjue’s tolerance.

Typical.

"I don’t get why you are so angry with me. If A-Zhan refuses, there’s always Su She," Nie Mingjue muses.

"He booked a hotel for the shoot!" Huaisang shudders. "Su She, a gay who is obsessed with A-Ying, posing half-naked for him? Alone? Who knows what he will do to my sweet friend!” He decidedly points this statement for Lan Zhan to hear. 

He succeeds.

Lan Zhan’s chopsticks slam down. "I’ll do it."

Huaisang beams. "Thank you, Lan-xiong!"

Lan Zhan picks up his chopstick.

"Is it free?" Huaisang blurts. 

Frowning, he tilts his face to Nie Huaisang, waiting for more elaboration.

"A-Ying’s broke. Da-ge, and his uncles did it for free. Jiang Cheng out of guilt. Wen Chao was blackmailed. After finding out that Wen Ning was getting a cheek kiss, Jin Zixun demanded one, too…"

"Wei Ying kissed them?" Lan Zhan’s voice is ice.

He catalogues each name like sins: Jin Zixun. Su She. How many others had crowded into Wei Ying's life while he was frozen in Swiss winters counting their days of silence?

"Not yet! A-Ying’s terrified Zixun will angle for a French kiss…."

"Call Wei Ying. I’ll shoot tonight. No cost."

Huaisang’s grin turns feline. "Can’t. Your new and updated muscles ruined the costume’s fit. I need to alter it!” he says while magically takes out a tape measurement from his pocket and pulls his arm to check the circumference of his bicep.

"Tell Wei Ying to come tonight to discuss the photoshoot."

He needs to quickly seal the deal before Wei Ying finds someone else who demands even more exaggerated rewards.

"Where will he sleep?" Lan Huan asks innocently. He really goes straight to the point.

"Guest room." 

Lie. 

The plan was always to share his bed. If the little gay, whichever one it is, can share a bed with Wei Ying, why can’t he?

The silence stretches.

Lan Huan sips his tea. "The one currently storing Uncle's antique scroll collection?"

Lan Zhan doesn't blink. "Mn."

The guest room has been a storage closet since 2010.

"The guest room’s AC is broken," Lan Huan sighs, shaking his head. "We can’t possibly inconvenience him like that.”

“Then I’ll sleep there. Wei Ying can have my room."

For now.

A tactical retreat.

Lan Huan’s smile is pure mischief. " My didi is too kind. He’d never demand… favors like Su She or Jin Zixun. He won’t use the broken AC as a reason to sleep with A-Ying.”

"Mn." Lan Zhan turns away, lips twitching—not from victory, but defeat.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. His face stays impassive as jade, because what’s Lan Huan going to do? Expose him? Please. His brother’s known about this pathetic crush since Lan Zhan was fifteen and hid Wei Ying’s doodles in a locked drawer.

Let Lan Huan have his fun. Wei Ying will be in his bed by midnight. 

And him?

He will not be in his own bed. Lan Zhan will fold the second Wei Ying steps into his room and retreat to the guest room like a kicked puppy. He’ll lie there, sweating and staring at the ceiling, replaying every missed opportunity.

The doorbell rings barely five minutes after Lan Zhan agrees to the photoshoot. Lan Huan rises gracefully from his seat to answer it.

"A-Ying," comes Lan Huan's warm greeting from the foyer. 

“Huan-ge, sorry I am late. Trouble at the cafe.” 

That chirping voice sends an electric current down Lan Zhan’s spine. He turns toward the doorway, where Wei Ying is shrugging off his leather jacket, the movement making his red turtleneck stretch taut across his shoulders.

The sight steals Lan Zhan’s breath.

Ten months.  

Ten months since he last saw him. Ten months of biting back texts. 

Ten months of finding his name in his contacts but never dating to press dial. 

Ten months of Wei Ying’s laughter echoing in his dreams. 

Ten months of missing him.

And now here he is real, long hair cascading over crimson fabric like spilled ink, crunchy chuckle filling the room like a forgotten melody.

Distance had only sharpened his beauty.

"It’s fine," Lan Huan says, smiling. "Thank you for joining us. We’re delighted you could help welcome A-Zhan home."

"I wouldn’t miss it!" Wei Ying laughs, though it’s too bright, too forced. "Though I still don’t understand why Lan Zhan specifically requested me."

This was absolutely a conspiracy.

His brother’s doing. Of course. Lan Huan, who’d watched him unravel for months, who’d listened to him lie through his teeth ("I’m not avoiding him").

Lan Huan clears his throat. "Apologize, A-Ying, we started dinner without you. But don’t worry, there’s still plenty of food. You can sit next to A-Zhan."

Of course he can.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen, but he nods. 

"Hi Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying bounds over and delivered a hearty slap to his back that knocks the air from his lungs.

"Ah! Sorry, sorry!" Wei Ying's hands immediately sooths the spot, rubbing gentle circles. "Was that too much? I saw how buff you've gotten and forgot to moderate my strength!"

Was it a compliment or an insult?

"I was... unprepared," he manages after catching his breath.

Wei Ying slides into the seat between Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang, who is already heaping rice into his bowl with the familiarity of someone who doesn’t have to share a ‘hello’. 

This doesn't sit well with him. He knows the exact way Wei Ying likes his food, which dishes make Wei Ying's nose scrunch in delight (anything spicy enough to make normal people weep).

It's him, not Huaisang, who is most familiar with Wei Ying.

Not to be outdone, Lan Zhan selects Wei Ying's favorite reddest chili-laden dish and deposits it neatly on his plate.

"Thanks," Wei Ying murmurs, chewing on empty chopsticks. He must be nervous.

A pause. 

"So… how was Switzerland?"

Switzerland.  

Where Lan Zhan had buried himself in his study, in snow, in anything to numb the hollow space where Wei Ying’s voice used to live. 

I miss you, he thinks.

"Cold," he says.

Wei Ying’s smile flickers. "Yeah. I bet."

Silence.

Once, Wei Ying would’ve never let silence linger between them. He would’ve grinned, chin propped on his palm, and teased him until Lan Zhan’s ears burned. "Lan Zhaaan~, is there really something colder than you?"

Now, Wei Ying only stares at his plate, chopsticks moving mechanically through rice as if counting each grain.

Nie Huaisang, mercifully, intervenes. "What was the emergency at the café?"

Lan Zhan watches the tension leave Wei Ying's shoulders. He watches how relieved he looks as he turns away from him.

The chopsticks in Lan Zhan's grip creak.

"The usual circus," Wei Ying laughs, bright and unguarded, the way Lan Zhan remembers from countless time spent before that wretched day.

"Jin Zixun came demanding his 'prize,'…" a theatrical eye roll. "… and just as I was explaining we'd need privacy for something so intimate..."

Intimate.

The word slithers down Lan Zhan's spine.

Wei Ying leans toward Nie Huaisang, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. The same smirk he'd once reserved for teasing him. "… Su She barged in asking when we'd book the hotel room."

The ceramic bowl cracks beneath Lan Zhan's fingers. 

The audacity! Accosting Wei Ying at his workplace, making such vulgar demands…

"It's challenging working service jobs," Lan Huan observed mildly.

"I had to physically drag them outside!" Wei Ying groans. "Hand-holding them like misbehaving children just to prevent a brawl in the café.”

The mental image of Wei Ying's fingers curled around those undeserving wrists sends fire licking up Lan Zhan's spine. 

Mine!

How dare they? How dare they force Wei Ying to touch them, to…

His murderous thoughts scatter when Wei Ying pops a chili-drenched slice of beef into his mouth, pink tongue darting out to catch the sauce on his plump lower lip. 

"Mmm, delicious as always, Huan-ge!"

"Ah, A-Zhan," Lan Huan sighs. "Don’t just stare. Poor A-Ying’s lips are too eye-catching, aren’t they? Could you fetch him more tea?”

Lan Zhan’s ears burn, pouring more tea into Wei Ying’s cup. 

“Then? How did they settle the fight? Nie Huaisang pressed. "Please tell me you didn't have to keep holding their hands all evening."

"Wen Chao showed up and punched them both. Then it became a three-way brawl." Wei Ying rolls his eyes. 

Nie Mingjue shook his head. "Wei Ying, you're too attractive for your own good. Hire you a bodyguard."

"Please, Da-ge," Wei Ying laughs, flexing his arms. "Third-degree black belt, remember? I'm perfectly capable of defending myself."

"Wen Qing must have been furious," Lan Huan says, concerned.

"Oh, she locked the café doors and called Wen Xu immediately."

"Smart," Lan Huan nods. "Wen Chao fears his brother, Jin Zixun won't risk his family's business ties with the Wens, and Su She still remembers when Wen Xu kicked him just for being in his way."

Nie Huaisang suddenly knocks his chopsticks on the table. "Wait, why was Wen Chao even there?"

Wei Ying shrugs. "He heard about the 'free kiss' promo and threw a fit. Said he felt 'cheated.'"

"Bullshit!" Nie Huaisang snorted. "Isn't he straight?"

"Not after scrolling through our calendar." Wei Ying says with a wicked grin.

"You mean not after seeing Mr. October," Nie Huaisang corrects, glancing meaningfully at Lan Zhan. 

"Really, who could blame him? Your spread was devastatingly erotic! Like a demonic cat came to life and hypnotized you to be his willing puppet." He fans himself.

“Huaisang!” Wei Yin’s cheeks turn rosy. "Stop exaggerating! Don’t believe him, Lan Zhan. It was a perfectly modest photo. No skin shown. It’s not demonic. Or erotic."

But Huaisang is not done. "Call it what it is! That photo was a cult experience. Wen Chao probably converted as your devotee."

Nie Mingjue chokes on his water, spraying the table. "He's telling the truth!" he wheezes between coughs. Lan Huan dabs at the mess with a napkin, his knowing smile never fading.

"A-Ying," Lan Huan interjects smoothly, "A-Zhan has agreed to help with your charity calendar."

Wei Ying's chopsticks clatter to the table. His hands flies to clasp Lan Zhan's, silver eyes wide and hopeful. "Really?"

Lan Zhan can feel his ears heating up.

Wei Ying's hands are so warm, so alive in his before he remembers these same hands have recently restrained other men.

He is not special.

"Mn."

"Thank you, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying throws his arms around him, pressing their chests together.

Oh.My.Gods!

Now Wei Ying would feel his traitorous heartbeat.

Just as quickly, Wei Ying pulls back, worry creasing his brow. "But I can't pay you. Would... would a kiss on the cheek be enough?"

The suggestion stings. To be lumped in with Wen Ning and Jin Zixun? 

He deserves far more than a subtle peck. 

Can he give him more? Like his heart? 

"Unnecessary."

Wei Ying's face falls. "So you're helping me for free?"

"Mn."

Wei Ying pouts, his chili-reddened lips glistening. His thumbs absently stroke Lan Zhan's knuckles, each pass sending sparks up his arm. "You truly want nothing from me?"

Lan Zhan blinks. Is Wei Ying... disappointed?

"A-Zhan doesn't wish to burden you," Lan Huan interjected smoothly. "But I understand your reluctance to be indebted. Perhaps you can give him more time to consider it, A-Ying?"

Wei Ying's smile returns, brighter than before. He squeezes Lan Zhan's hands. "You're too good, Lan Zhan. Then I'll owe you three favors! Take all the time you need to decide. I know you won't take advantage."

Doesn’t Wei Ying understand how men think by now?

Doesn’t he realize how thoroughly Lan Zhan wants to take advantage? To claim every inch of him?

"Okay, dinner's over," Lan Huan announces with false innocence. "Mingjue and I will handle the dishes. A-Zhan, why don't you and A-Ying prepare the guest room for tomorrow's shoot?"

The guest room. With the conveniently "broken" AC. Where he inconveniently would be sleeping tonight.

Nie Huaisang, wisely excluded from Lan Huan's chore, scurries off with a knowing smirk, already muttering about alterations to Lan Zhan's outfit.

The next three hours somehow yield a functional photoshoot set, despite Wei Ying’s unique approach to unearthing a vintage sword and enthusiastically beats the mattress with it (“Dust removal! Very useful!”).

Then he continues to organize Uncle’s antique scrolls by dramatically unrolling them across the floor like treasure maps

These are all done while chattering nonstop while somehow measuring light ratios with surprising accuracy.

Lan Zhan works with silent precision: adjusting reflectors at perfect angles, positioning backdrops… and definitely not watching the way Wei Ying’s arms flex when he lifts the heavy light stands. It’s a miracle anything gets done.

Ten months' worth of stories spill from Wei Ying's lips, though Lan Zhan notices how he carefully edits out anything painful, such as omitting the scene where he was kicked out by the Jiangs, glossed over the fact he had no money and was forced to take a semester off, and focused only on the stories of his family and friends although he refused monetary offers from Jiang Yanli, his uncles, and even Lan Qiren and Lan Huan.

"Uncle Song’s scolding was scary. 'Four grown gays in one space? With Xuanyu's occult magazines and Xue Yang's inclination toward matches?'" Wei Ying laughs.

"Uncle Xiao just quietly cleared out their tool racks," he adds fondly, blissfully oblivious to Lan Zhan's internal screaming.

Why refuse this sanctuary to keep sleeping beside one of those deranged little gays?

"I accepted Jiejie's parcels, though. It always arrives on the first, rain or shine." Wei Ying's entire posture softens in a way Lan Zhan has never seen directed at anyone else. "A-Cheng pretends he's just the delivery guy, but he waits until I personally taste the still-warm soup before leaving."

This is how Wei Ying speaks of love in steaming bowls and stubborn siblings lingering beyond pride. 

"… so I kicked Mo Ziyuan through the window! Well, mostly through. Wen Ning helped with the... final push." Wei Ying's laughter rings bright as shattered glass, but Lan Zhan tracks the nervous dance of his fingers over that old scar. The night clearly left more than just window damage.

Did it hurt you too?

The question scalds his throat. Does he still have the right to ask when he wasn't there to bandage the wound?

Wei Ying suddenly changes the subject, sweat glistening on his skin. He pulls his hair into a messy bun secured with red scrunchies, having long discarded his sweatshirt. Now, only a simple white shirt clings to him, and Lan Zhan is utterly mesmerized by the droplet of sweat trailing down the elegant curve of his neck, by the loose strand of hair curling against his collarbone. 

Thank gods for the broken AC.

"The program," Wei Ying asks, voice slightly breathless. "Is it difficult?"

Lan Zhan startles at the question. "Mn."

"Do you miss home?"

He adjusts a reflector, saying nothing of the nights he spent staring at his silent phone, willing it to light up with Wei Ying’s name.

I miss you more. He wishes he had the courage to say.

Instead, he murmurs, "Every day."

Wei Ying’s smile flickers. "Make any friends?"

"Qin Su."

"Oh." A pause. The fabric in Wei Ying’s hands goes still. "Do you... like her?"

"I do." Lan Zhan watches the way Wei Ying’s throat bobs when he swallows. "Not romantically."

He steps closer under the pretense of adjusting a drape. Their shoulders brush. Neither moves away. "I would tell you first… if I date anyone."

The silence stretches, thick with ten months of omitted stories, untouched hands, unspoken secrets that crackle between them. 

"Actually," Lan Zhan murmurs, voice dipping into dangerous territory, "I prefer men…"

Coward. Only now does he dare say it, only when he's certain Wei Ying won't flinch away. Only when he won’t create distance. Only when he might give him a chance.

"… beautiful ones. With long hair." The words hang unfinished, raw at the edges. 

Does he understand?  

Wei Ying's breath catches audibly. For one suspended moment, the air between them vibrates with something perilously close to revelation until Wei Ying exhales sharply through his nose and lower his head to fuss with the wrinkled sheets.

"You know," he says, too casually, "that night..." His fingers pluck at an invisible thread. "I almost..." A quick glance up through his lashes, voice wavers on ‘almost’.

Almost called. Almost reached out. Almost….

He takes a shaky breath before continuing, "I stood in the rain with my duffle bag for twenty minutes, staring at your contact."

Lan Zhan’s chest constricts. If only he had not been in Switzerland. If only he had been texting. If only he had been there, holding his hand in the rain….

Wei Ying waves a dismissive hand before Lan Zhan can respond. "Anyway! Point is, I didn’t."

The words come too fast, filling the silence.

"Obviously. Because that would’ve been… a bother; time difference, and all. Plus, you must have been busy with..." He makes a vague gesture that could mean anything from musical research to brushing his teeth.

Lan Zhan's fingers curl into his palm, nails biting into his skin. How many times had Wei Ying swallowed his pain while Lan Zhan wasn't there to hear it?

"I'm so…" His voice raw on the apology. 

"Don't." Wei Ying's smile is guarded-a look Lan Zhan recognizes too well. "Look at me now. I survived."

"Mn."

The acknowledgment sits heavy between them. But Lan Zhan knows this truth like he knows the weight of his own regret: the sting of contradiction in his own chest. He wants to be needed, yet he is the one who created this distance. The thought that Wei Ying might no longer turn to him first settles like a stone in his gut.

"Wei Ying…." His voice is low, deliberate. "You are never a bother."

For a moment, the air is thick with all the things unsaid. Then Wei Ying exhales, a soft, almost imperceptible sound, and something in his posture loosens. Lan Zhan does not reach out, but the space between them feels fractionally smaller, as if the admission, however fleeting, had drawn them closer without movement.

The tension dissipates like steam as Wei Ying launches into a dramatic retelling of his first meeting with Xue Yang, an alleged arsonist. "I stopped him from setting his boss’ house on fire because he was fired for being gay…"

Lan Zhan lets the subject change stand, though his gaze lingers on the way Wei Ying's fingers tremble slightly as he adjusts a pillow.

By the time they finish preparing the guest room, it's well past Lan bedtime. Wei Ying flops onto the freshly made bed with exaggerated exhaustion.

"Hey Lan Zhan," he says, voice tinted with mischief, "wanna see the calendar photos? Mr. December is a joy to the world."

Lan Zhan hesitates for only a second before accepting the invitation. He is dying to see Mr. October. “Mn.”

Wei Ying settles against the headboard, the white sheets framing him like some debauched angel. He pats the space beside him, and Lan Zhan obeys, leaving exactly twelve centimeters between them; close enough to catch his familiar scent, far enough to pretend he's not counting heartbeats.

“Let’s start with Mr. December, ” Wei Ying teases, tilting the screen. “Your eyes are going to bleed.”

Nie Mingjue looms across the screen, sprawled across a velvet chaise like a conqueror on a throne. The Santa coat flung open (sculptured abs on full display) and Santa pants sinfully low on his hips. Strategically placed over his lap is a sword draped with a red ribbon (Lan Zhan now understands exactly how that particular prop was found in this room). The effect is less jolly old saint and more "naughty list warlord."

“Okay, don’t ask why he wants a sword to replace the present,” Wei Ying snorts. “It was a hint for your brother. He wants that Nie’s ancient blade from the Lan auction for Christmas.”

Lan Zhan barely suppresses a scoff.

Overrated.

What does Lan Huan see in this brawny man, flexing like a bouncer in a holiday costume? Though the way Mingjue’s fingers curl around the sword’s hilt does suggest… proficiency.

No.

He banishes the thought.

Wei Ying leans in, grinning like he’s read his mind. “Do you need to bleach your pretty eyes?”

“Unnecessary.” Lan Zhan’s voice is ice, but his ears burn. “My brother’s taste is… perplexing.”

Wei Ying barks a laugh and swipes onward, mercifully sparing Lan Zhan further Mingjue-induced existential dread.

"Nie Huaisang is Mr. February," Wei Ying announces, tilting his phone. The image is creative, for lack of better word. Huaisang in black sunglasses, a black thong, black boots and black gloves, aiming a bow like Cupid from Men In Black.

"He begged to be the Valentine's month. Said it matched his 'aesthetic.'"

“He looks like an infernal matchmaker,” Lan Zhan deadpans.

Wei Ying stops mid-swipe to gape at him, then laughs his ass off. The sound is so bright it’s mesmerizing. “You’re funny, Lan Zhan,” he wheezes, and Lan Zhan’s chest warms. He’s glad to be the one who pulled that laughter from him.

Next photo: Mr. March: Xue Yang (the arsonist form Wei Ying’s “little gays”) sprawls naked in a flower field, a cute flower tucked behind his ear, a mini picnic blanket is thrown hastily to cover his crotch, and supporting a provocatively bitten lollipop. 

"Took one hundred and fifty-three tries because he kept making obscene gestures. Still, he wouldn’t open his eyes," Wei Ying complains. "Wanted to look 'blissed out.' Such a waste! He has gorgeous eyes."

Lan Zhan's jaw tightens. He's never met this Xue Yang, but the words sting anyway. Wei Ying called someone else's eyes pretty.

"That's why you'll keep yours closed during your shoot…." Wei Ying tilts closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'm not sharing your ethereal golden irises with the world. You're still my number one for best eyes."

The possessiveness in Wei Ying’s voice sinks deep within his ribs, warm. He leans in slightly, until their shoulders press together in silent challenge.

Neither moves away.

They continue like this through April (Wen Ning looking shockingly sensual while posing as a barista). He wears only a skull-embroidered apron while crafting latte art. "A-Ning was aiming for a gothic look, but his face is too sweet. Huaisang wanted him in full BDSM gear, you know-whips and chains," Wei Ying confides. "Wen Qing nearly stabbed him with a milk frother."

Wei Ying swipes to Mr. May's photo: Xiao Xingchen emerging from turquoise waves like some mythic sea god, the sunlight carving his torso into marble. Even shirtless, Wei Ying's uncle manages to look dignified, which only makes it worse.

Lan Zhan's fingers twitch with the irrational need to throw a robe over the man. Or perhaps the entire ocean.

"He's literally a monk," Wei Ying sighs, shaking his head. "Do you know how long it took to convince him that 'aesthetic spirituality' was a valid theme?" His grin turns wicked. "Worth it, though."

No. Not worth it.

Wei Ying nods, his knee brushing against Lan Zhan's as he swipes onward. He doesn't dare move. Not when Wei Ying's touch still sends electric shocks through his system after ten months of absence. He swipes to Mr. June: Jin Zixun in his office, bow tie perfectly knotted, legs arrogantly propped on his mahogany desk. But his gaze is too heated, his grip on the blindfold suggestive.

Lan Zhan's stomach twist. "He looked at the camera like that?"

"Yeah," Wei Ying winks. “We had to blindfold him just to dim the intensity."

The strangled noise escapes before Lan Zhan can stop it. 

Can you crop his head, instead?

"Are you okay, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying blinks up at him, silver eyes softening with concern. His teeth catch his lower lip; a habit Lan Zhan has quietly filed under Heart-Stopping Gestures in his mind.

No , he wants to say. I am currently planning murder for anyone who dares look at you that way.

“Mn.”

Mr. July: Wen Chao, posed dramatically against a fire truck in full firefighter gear - except the jacket hangs open to reveal a chest so waxed it reflects sunlight. He holds a hose in what he clearly thinks is a suggestive manner.

Wei Ying snorts. "He bought the truck just for this shoot. Wanted to turn it into a fountain afterward… for 'romantic purposes.'" He makes air quotes. "I told him to donate it instead."

"Wise," Lan Zhan says, though his eyes track Wei Ying's reaction carefully.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. "Although he keeps inviting me to ‘test the water pressure."

Lan Zhan’s eye twitches. "Do not go."

"Obviously, I'm not going to his weird fountain dates, Lan Zhan! I'm not stupid" 

Good. The fire truck can burn.

Then comes the true offense: Song Lan as Mr. August, sprawled beneath a vintage car in nothing but low-slung jeans, oil-slicked biceps gleaming under garage lights. The workshop owner might be happily married to Wei Ying's uncle, but that doesn't quell the petty urge to demand pixelation over every inch of those abs.

"Look how well he embodies Leo energy!" Wei Ying enthuses, tapping the screen with reverent fingers.

Lan Zhan makes a mental note to research whether "accidentally" shredding this calendar page would violate Lan precepts. Surely there's an exception for righteous destruction of public indecency.

Jiang Cheng as Mr. September, scowling like a bulldog in a half-unbuttoned lab coat, arms crossed, the stethoscope dangling from his neck like an afterthought.

Wei Ying leans closer, his whisper tickling Lan Zhan's ear: "Had to photoshop out the vein popping on his forehead. And his chosen outfit and his pose! Such a straight man's choice!" He mocks his adopted brother affectionately.

Lan Zhan's shoulders relax marginally. Finally, someone objectively unappealing.

Wei Ying hesitates. His thumb hovers over a thumbnail; one he swipes past too quickly. But not quickly enough.

Lan Zhan catches it anyway.

The infamous Mr. October’s scandalous shot.

The next image flashes: a lithe figure draped over the edge of a bathtub, the porcelain awash in crimson-tinted water. Tiles and walls are smeared with vibrant handprints, and there, clad only in a towel, is the adorable Mr. November, with a single, cheeky handprint stamped on the curve of his right…

“Is this… my bathtub?” He barely stops himself from demanding, Is this your hand? Jealousy simmers under his skin, but his voice remains glacial.

Wei Ying’s ears flush pink. “Y-Yes! Sorry! It was just for the shoot! The handprint was… I mean, Mo Xuanyu insisted…”

He imagines peeling that towel away himself.

Then wiping every last handprint with bleach.

Wei Ying’s fingers twitch, his usual bravado crumbling under Lan Zhan’s stare. “Xuanyu got a little too creative yesterday, and I haven’t cleaned up yet. Huan-ge told us to come straight home after the shoot, said I could tidy up later…”

Ah.  

So that was why his brother had declared the bathroom out of order, herding him toward the cramped spare one with its pitiful shower stall. All to enable… this.

“When are you free?” Lan Zhan asks, brows furrowing involuntarily.

Wei Ying, ever oblivious, misreads him. “I-I can do it now?”

“No.” Lan Zhan’s voice darkens. “Not now.”

“Why not?” Wei Ying blinks up at him. “Your family already invited me to dinner, and I’m here anyway…”

“My brother is right. You should clean it when you’re free.” A pause. “I asked because I intend to help.”

“Oh.”

Lan Zhan braces for the inevitable tease, the sly Oh, LanZhaaaannnn~, offering to get wet with me?  

But Wei Ying stays uncharacteristically quiet.

The silence gnaws at him.

Why did Wei Ying hide that picture?

Doesn’t he want him to find him desirable?

Doesn’t he want to see him lose his composure like all those stupid men?

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan begins, his voice low and deliberate. The dim light of the bedroom casts long shadows across the sheets between them. "Why have you changed?"

"Me? Changed?" Wei Ying’s laugh is guarded, his fingers twist the edge of his sleeve, a nervous habit Lan Zhan hasn’t seen since their high school days. "I don’t think so."

And he’s right, in a way. Wei Ying still flirts relentlessly. Why else would his little gays worship him orbits him like planets around a sun, and those unruly men hover too close around him, like starving wolves?

But before, Wei Ying had flirted with him, too. His teasing had been relentless, personal; targeted teasing, like Lan Zhan was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

“Bet I can make you blush in under ten seconds without touching you. Want to try, Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying’s face had been a breath away, his grin wicked, and Lan Zhan’s ears burned scarlet in three seconds.

“Lan Zhaaaannnn~! It’s not fair! You’re too handsome today! Why do you cover up so much? Give me your hoodie! I’ll look cute in your clothes, and you’ll look sexy without them!”

He’d said it loud enough for half the class to hear, and Lan Zhan had nearly snapped his pen in half.

“Are you sure you don’t want me as your partner? I’m great at math! And you obviously need me to satisfy you… I mean your grades! Wow, you had dirty thoughts, didn’t you?”

That time, Lan Zhan had stood so abruptly his chair toppled over, and Wei Ying had laughed until he choked.

Now, there’s an ocean between them on this bed. The silence is thick enough to carve.

"You used to cross all my boundaries," Lan Zhan continues, watching the way Wei Ying’s gaze darts to the window, the door, anywhere but him. "Now there's this... wall."

The unspoken question hangs like a blade: Was it me? Did I ruin this?

Wei Ying goes still. The glow of his phone screen dies in his limp hands, plunging them deeper into the dark.

"You hated it," he finally says, so quiet Lan Zhan barely catches it.

"What?"

"You ran away because I came on too strong."

The accusation hangs between them like a bubble ready to burst. Wei Ying flinches, and Lan Zhan watches in horror as his sharp words cut deeper than intended.

"It’s not true!" The defense bursts from him too fast. 

"Lan Zhan, you left," Wei Ying's voice cracks, losing the playful lilt that he has maintained since the moment he entered this house. “For a damn year!”

Lan Zhan's hand darts out to grasp Wei Ying's wrist. "It wasn't because of you!"

"Don't lie to me!" Wei Ying wrenches free, fists clenching so tight his knuckles bleach white in the dim light. "The day you came to Huaisang's apartment, I literally tumbled into your arms in nothing but a robe!"

Lan Zhan's throat tightens.

The truth crouches on his tongue. The true reason he fled last year.

He’d tried to bury that memory.

His brother had suggested the move to Nie Huaisang’s apartment, and he’d gone, only to find Wei Ying fresh from the shower, drowning in Nie Mingjue’s old robe, the collar gaping to reveal damp skin, a nipple peeking out. Wei Ying had slipped, sprawling straight into his arms…

and Lan Zhan, reflexes honed by years of discipline, had caught him…

and hardened instantly at the press of Wei Ying’s wet, half-naked body against his.

He’d fled before Wei Ying could even find his footing.

The memory burned: Wei Ying’s bare chest flush against him, the damp heat of his shower-warmed skin seeping through the thin robe. Lan Zhan had regretted his action. 

Many scenarios filled his head of what he should have done. Perhaps he should have stayed and pretended nothing happen. Maybe an apology and confessing would have been better. Would it disgust Wei Ying to know that he was gay? It wouldn’t. But he would definitely keep his distance if he found out about Lan Zhan’s feelings for him. He was confused and the easier route was to run away.

By dawn, he’d accepted the overseas music program.

"You didn’t even say goodbye." Wei Ying’s whisper is raw.

Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch against his knees. "T-that program… had been planned for a while." 

A technicality. The offer had sat untouched in his inbox for weeks. Until what happened that day sent him spiraling into cowardice.

Wei Ying barks a laugh, bloody and sarcastic. "Isn’t lying prohibited for the Lans?" 

The silence stretches thin enough to hear Wei Ying's shaky inhale.

"If you were going," Wei Ying counters, voice rising, "you wouldn’t have been looking to move to Huaisang’s apartment!"

Lan Zhan’s composure fractures. "You misunderstood…"

"Did I?" Wei Ying’s eyes glint sharply. The hurt there is a physical blow.

Regret floods Lan Zhan’s throat, choking him.

"Then why didn’t you text? Why didn’t you call?" Wei Ying asks, voice accusing yet baring vulnerability.

Lan Zhan bows his head. "I was afraid you wouldn’t reply." 

The admission startles Wei Ying. "Why wouldn’t I?"

Because I thought you were disappointed in me after you found my impure intentions towards you.

But Wei Ying’s trembling hands tell another story; one where he believed himself the transgressor. 

In Wei Ying’s eyes, it was him who was unworthy of Lan Zhan.

Because he broke Lan Zhan’s last tolerance.

Fuck! How had they gotten this so wrong ?

Wei Ying waits for an explanation but Lan Zhan's throat locks around the words that he can’t say out loud.

Again, Wei Ying misreads his silence. "It's okay," he says, that bright, broken smile reappearing.

"Not everyone takes my flirting as innocent banter. I learned that the hard way."

A breath.

"At the cost of losing my best friend."

Best friend.

The term sits like a stone in Lan Zhan’s chest. 

"Though I'd never be this bold with anyone else."

The indication is clear: Only with you. 

Can he really hope?

"I've reformed!" Wei Ying declares with false cheer, spreading his arms. "Ask anyone."

Reformed.

Is this better? This quieter, more cautious Wei Ying who keeps his laughter bottled? This polished-down, careful creature?

No.

The denial tastes like blood on his tongue. Lan Zhan doesn't want reformation. He wants Wei Ying's teasing fingers in his hair, his breath hot against Lan Zhan's neck as he whispers “How could you be mean to me, Lan Zhaaaannnn!”  

"Don’t reform," Lan Zhan wishes quietly.

Wei Ying blinks. "You don't believe me, do you? I haven't flirted with Su She, Wen Chao, or Jin Zixun! I don't even know why they're fighting over me!"

"You stopped flirting." Lan Zhan hesitatingly states. "That makes you seem... unattainable. Decent. Challenging."

"Oh?" Wei Ying's laugh is filled with lead. "Now I am boyfriend material?"

"You were... too free before."

"You mean easy." Wei Ying's smile turns razor-sharp.

"I'm still easy!" Wei Ying flings his arms wide, performance art in motion. "Free cheek kisses for anyone who opens their shirt for me!"

"Don't." The word cracks like thunder.

"What?"

"Don't give them kisses." Lan Zhan's fingers dig into his palms.

Wei Ying stares, then barks a laugh. "Ah, Lan Zhan, ever the righteous! Here to lecture me on propriety again?"

"Not propriety."

"Then what?" Wei Ying leans in, close enough that Lan Zhan could count each sunlit eyelash. His smirk wavers at the edges. "You want all my kisses?"

A beat too late, Wei Ying recoils, hands flying up. "I take it back! That wasn’t… I didn’t mean to fl…"

"Yes."

Silence.

Wei Ying’s lips part. "What?"

Lan Zhan meets his gaze, unwavering. 

“I want all your kisses.”

The confession breath caught him off guard. His silver eyes widened, the pink flush spreading from his cheeks down his throat. 

Will he finally believe me?

Lan Zhan’s chest aches with the hope—that they might reclaim what those ten months stole, that Wei Ying might stop folding his laughter into smaller shapes.

But when Wei Ying finally speaks, his voice sharply cuts him. "Don't you dare mess with me, Lan Zhan! You wanted me to learn my lesson, I already did. It's just harder not to flirt with you than anyone else. You don't have to make me taste my own poison—"

Lan Zhan kisses him.

It’s hardly a kiss; just a clumsy press of lips, too fast, too thoughtless. He might have even missed Wei Ying’s mouth entirely, hitting the corner where that infuriatingly cute mole sits instead.

When he leans back, the two pairs of eyes meet in shock. 

The world stops.

For three endless minutes, they both stand frozen. The act was so outrageous that their brains short circuit.

The silence is too deafening. The only sound is his quickening heartbeat.

He forgets how to breathe.

"That was my first kiss!" Wei Ying finally reels back, hand flying to his mouth like he's been scalded. His thumb swipes roughly across the spot Lan Zhan's lips touched.

Did he just erase the kiss? 

Wait.

First kiss?

"Didn't you kiss Wen Ning?" The question escapes before he can stop it.

"No!" Wei Ying's ears flush crimson. "I promised him I would, but I haven't. Not even on the ch…" He cuts himself off, horrified by his own admission.

He is Wei Ying’s first kiss.

A wave of satisfaction blooms inside him.

Lan Zhan isn’t sorry. He doesn’t regret it. If he hadn’t taken the chance to steal Wei Ying’s first kiss, it would have gone to one of those hot men in his charity calendar. He couldn’t allow that.

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan's voice is too urgent. “Do you really mind that I took your first kiss?” He asks, though his tone makes it clear: no apology will follow. Not for this. This is not a mistake.

Wei Ying squirms, the hem of his sweater twisting around his fingers. "It's not that I mind, it's just... I was saving it…"

Lan Zhan's entire body goes still. "For whom?"

“ You don’t need to know, Lan Zhan. ” Wei Ying evades, silver eyes go to inspect his hand, the one that just wiped away Lan Zhan’s kiss, like it's committed some unspeakable betrayal.

Oh.

Oh.

"Wei Ying." Lan Zhan brings himself closer, his finger tucks a naughty strand behind Wei Ying’s ear. He wishes to gain Wei Ying’s sincerity through this gentle gesture. “Why didn’t you text? Why didn’t you call?” 

The same questions Wei Ying hurled at him earlier now hang between them, because he knows the weight of them, the fear behind them.

Wei Ying's breath hitches, hesitating, fingers twisting the hem of his sweater. For one excruciating moment, Lan Zhan thinks he'll hide again. 

"I was afraid..." A shaky breath. "That you'd finally realized you were better off without me."

The more quietly, "... that you didn't want me anymore."

The confession lands like a lightning strike, crushing down all their misread signals. 

Lan Zhan thinks wildly, his brain twitches stupidly— idiot, idiot, idiot —because how could Wei Ying ever think…

Idiots! He corrects himself. Both of us.

Slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, Lan Zhan reaches out. Wei Ying’s hands freeze mid-push, realizing Lan Zhan isn’t restraining him but sheltering him. Lan Zhan feels the exact moment Wei Ying stops bracing for rejection. His fingers brush Wei Ying's wrist first, tracing the thundering pulse there. Then, when Wei Ying doesn't flee, he gathers him in, tucking that familiar head beneath his chin. Wei Ying's breath hitches wetly against his collarbone.

"Who did you save your first kiss for?" he murmurs into his mass of black hair.

The man in his arms laughs, bright and nervous. “My best friend, obviously. Handsome, tall, stoic, tragically bad at taking hints…" Wei Ying freezes, as if remembering his self-imposed rules.

He really needs to forgo his useless reformation when it comes to flirting with him.

"An oblivious best friend," Lan Zhan corrects, heart swells. 

His palm slides up to cradle the back of Wei Ying's neck, thumb brushing the delicate hairs there. "Who has always wanted you. Even when he didn't know how to say it."

Wei Ying goes very still. Then, muffled against Lan Zhan's shoulder: "Always?"

"Mn." 

He feels the exact moment Wei Ying unravels: the shuddering inhale, the fists clutching his shirt like lifelines.

“Well, he’s a bit slow,” Wei Ying says, tone fakely aggrieved.

His voice drops to a whisper, lips grazing the shell of Wei Ying's ear. "Will you let him claim the rest of your kisses?"

"Shut up." Wei Ying shoves him but his palms linger on Lan Zhan's chest. 

Not pushing. 

Claiming.

Lan Zhan leans back just enough to meet his eyes. Slides a hand up to cradle his jaw. Gives him three heartbeats before he kisses him again.

Their second kiss is clumsy. Wei Ying laughing through tears, Lan Zhan's hands trembling where they frame his face. Perfect. Finally.

"Is that request going to be one of the three favors I owe you for posing as Mr. January?" Wei Ying's voice is honey-sweet, eyes glittering with mischief, thumb brushes over Lan Zhan’s wet lips.

“I…” 

"There's only one right answer, Lan Zhan." Wei Ying threatens, his fist tightens on his shirt, though the way his lips quiver betrays him. That silver gaze holds something fragile and bright: hope, yes, but also the unmistakable glint of love.

He's waiting for a love confession.

He knows what Wei Ying wants to hear. But three words aren't enough, not when he wants to carve them into the sky, not when he needs every hungry eye that's ever followed Wei Ying to witness this.

So instead, he offers two truths:

"I left because I thought you felt my boner when I hugged you a year ago."

The admission hangs between them, raw and ridiculous. Wei Ying's eyes widen.

Then, he whispers in Wei Ying’s ear, more intimately, hot breath grazing his skin:

"I composed a love song for you.”

Wei Ying's whole body shudders, his eyes slowly shut. 

It takes some time before he composes himself. "Okay," he breathes, his eyelashes flutter as his silver eyes show themselves, misty and gentle, his smile breathtaking and heartstopping. "apparently there's more than one right answer."

Lan Zhan moves closer. "Then... are you willing to…"

"Let's clean your bathroom!" Wei Ying chirps, abruptly dragging Lan Zhan toward the edge of the bed. But his fingers linger at Lan Zhan's wrist, thumb tracing slow circles over his pulse point.

"Now?"

"Now."

Wei Ying leans in, close enough that Lan Zhan feels the warmth of his breath. "Unless you'd rather sleep..." A pause. A challenge. "But you did promise to help me."

Lan Zhan's jaw clenches. "Mn."

Wei Ying grins, stepping back slowly, letting his sweater ride up just enough to reveal a teasing sliver of skin. "Good. I'll need strong hands to scrub the tiles."

Any pretense of reformation forgotten. Excellent.

"Stay tonight." Lan Zhan's voice drops as he seals the demand with a kiss that leaves them both lightheaded. He only pulls away when Wei Ying sags against him, breathless and pliant, his exhale a warm shudder against Lan Zhan's throat.

Wei Ying's eyelashes flutter dramatically. "Lan Zhaaan," he whines, slumping forward until his forehead bumps his broad shoulder. "You've turned me into a helpless creature! Look at me weak, boneless, breathless. How will I get home like this? You'll have to carry me." 

Lan Zhan's eyebrow arches. Helpless? Weak? This is the third degree martial artist who once kicked a drunkard through a café window.

"You will sleep in my bed," Lan Zhan corrects, sliding a possessive hand up Wei Ying's spine. "No returning to your... harem of little gays." His thumb digs lightly into the dip of Wei Ying's waist.

Wei Ying's laughter sparkles. "I do love a man with power," he murmurs. His grin turns wicked as he tugs his shirt up, revealing a glimpse of skin. He slowly traces Lan Zhan's defined muscles with featherlight fingers. "But however will this poor, defenseless soul  endure your ruthless care?" He melts against him with a dramatic sigh.

Then, he adds slyly: "But your intel's outdated. Xuanyu sleeps on the couch, and Xue Yang's been adopted by my uncles. The garage apartment is his."

Later, Lan Zhan will thank Nie Huaisang for the strategic misinformation.

"My brother told me not to take advantage of you," Lan Zhan mutters. "Said I should sleep in the guest room with Uncle’s ancient scrolls."

"Isn't the aircon broken?"

"Mn."

"FYI," Wei Ying sing-songs, "it was working perfectly yesterday. I bet Huan-ge removed the batteries."

It was, indeed, a shameless setup.

"You mean..."

"Your brother," Wei Ying confirms, grinning. "probably rooting for you to confess tonight so you don't have to suffer in that sauna of a…"

Lan Zhan interrupts: "I care more about where you want your boyfriend to sleep."

Wei Ying's entire face lights up.

"It's my day off tomorrow," he says casually. "Wen Qing said I shouldn't come to the café… something about avoiding stupid men." A tug. A seductive whisper. "So... we can kiss as long as you want."

"Kissing only?" he asks, deadpan.

Wei Ying gasps, scandalized. "Wow, Lan Zhan! Shameless!” But he must see the flicker of diminishing enthusiasm in his eyes, because he amends: “Fine. You can use your tongue.”

Then, just as Lan Zhan leans in, Wei Ying jerks back.

“Wait! Before we do all that…” He pushes Lan Zhan’s chest. “… we need to clean your bathroom!”

Lan Zhan sighs, utterly infatuated. “Giving me requirements already? Then I’ll give you one in return. Show me Mr. October.”

Wei Ying smiles and presses his body against Lan Zhan’s, length for length, whispering hotly into his ear: ”I’ll give you something better. I owe you. Three favors, remember?” 

He pauses and Lan Zhan subconsciously holds his breath.

"... and one of them is definitely going to be a private viewing of…”

He hooks a finger in Lan Zhan’s collar and caresses his Adam’s apple.

“...Mr. October in the flesh, posing for Mr. January . ”

He rolls his hips, letting Lan Zhan feel the hard line of his arousal against him. 

“...in an impossibly tight bodycon: black leather. Shiny.”

Sliding his free hand under Lan Zhan’s shirt, Wei Ying drags his nails lightly down his back. 

“ ...wearing a mask, too. A cat mask.” 

He nips at Lan Zhan’s earlobe, purring. 

“ Miawww~ ”

A breathy laugh. 

“...and a long tail. Long enough to tie my wrists.”

Then he grinds down deliberately, delighting in the way Lan Zhan’s body responds beneath him. 

“...doing extreme flexible yoga poses.”

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan’s voice is a warning, low and dangerous.

Now he understands what Wei Ying meant about innocent flirting. Because this teasing, this heat, this calculated provocation. This is what happens when Wei Ying actually tries to flirt.

”Let’s clean the bathroom!” Lan Zhan growls, gripping his waist like a man clinging to his last shred of control, dragging him to his room,

where the AC works.

Wei Ying's laughter bounces all the way to the bedroom.

The bathroom tiles won't be the only thing getting scrubbed ‘clean’ tonight.