Archive of Our Own

Wei Ying used to dread his birthdays. Growing up, the Jiangs always celebrated it, but it was invariably a tense, forced affair. Forced happiness, forced gifts, forced smiles - and a high expectation of gratitude that Wei Ying never seemed able to meet no matter how hard he tried. Even though he and Jiang Cheng usually shared a celebration, somehow it always ended in one disaster or another.

These days are different. Better. Wei Ying has learned to like his birthday. It took years of therapy and his wonderful fiancé and a wildly different family dynamic to make that happen, but he has learned. He looks forward to seeing all of his loved ones, looks forward to the thoughtful gifts, looks forward to the brightness of a day shared.

Waking up to Lan Zhan definitely helps.

“Wei Ying… Wei Ying.” Soft lips press a kiss to his temple, his eyelids, his nose, the corner of his drooling mouth. “Good morning.”

“Hmmmm….” Wei Ying stretches his legs out until they tremble, toes pointed and calves bunched tight as they go, then goes limp. “Morning, baby.” He cracks an eyelid, hazy half-memories and liquid feeling stirring him halfway to consciousness. “Did you give me a blowjob earlier?”

“Mn. About two hours ago, before my run. Thank you for remembering.” The gentle amusement in Lan Zhan’s tone is a true delight. “Happy birthday.”

“Don’t kiss me, my mouth is gross.”

“Too bad.”

Lan Zhan kisses him, deep and gentle, not a care in the world for morning breath. Lan Zhan’s mouth tastes lightly of the fancy, prescription-strength fluoride toothpaste that he makes special trips to their dentist to buy for them, meaning he brushed his teeth somewhere between the blowjob and now. Going for a run with dick breath is probably some kind of social faux pas. 

“I have breakfast for you, if you are ready.”

“Hmmmmm. Kiss me again, and I’ll be ready.”

Lan Zhan does, carrying a tray over from the top of the dresser. Wei Ying beams, giddy as he accepts a bowl of chicken congee with a gorgeous fried egg on top, drizzled with a healthy serving of chili crisp and a scattering of scallions. On the side, there’s pickled carrots and radish, blanched bok choy, stir-fried mushrooms, and youtiao. And his meds, in their pill strip. 

“Baby, this looks amazing! Thank you so much!” Wei Ying tips out his pills: Vyvanse, mood stabilizer, anti-psychotic, vitamins B and D, and the multivitamin. Brains are so fun. He takes everything but the Vyvanse. He doesn’t need that one today.

Some days, it still feels strange to feel good.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan kisses the top of his head again. He brings over his own tray, which is mostly the same, but with an extra egg instead of chicken.

Lan Zhan settles back against the headboard beside him, reaching for the large thermos of tea on his nightstand. When he opens it, the delicious aroma of Wei Ying’s favorite lapsang souchong tea winds through the air. Smokey, piney, and powerful, the strong tea has always been his first choice for a black tea. Lan Zhan passes some over. From the look and smell, Wei Ying can tell he added soy milk and honey, his favorite way to drink it.

Wei Ying finishes eating well before Lan Zhan, as he always does. He has a tendency to wolf down his food, and it’s a habit he’s proved unable to break no matter how hard he tries. Lan Zhan is a very regulated person, so he eats slowly and methodically. While he finishes up, Wei Ying tips his head onto his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his sandalwood hair oil while he sips the dregs of his tea.

These are his absolute favorite mornings: slow, gentle, soft around the edges. Quiet, to him, used to mean hell was coming, the shouting was starting, he was going to do something wrong no matter what he did. Here, in his home with Lan Zhan, quiet is contentment. It’s peace. It comes to Lan Zhan as naturally as breathing, and if he is doing well, he doesn’t have a whole lot to say most of the time. What he does have to say, he condenses and distills down to only a few words, or even a single look.

Or, on his birthday, a letter. The Letter. Wei Ying’s Letter.

Said letter, sitting at the top of his breakfast tray, is made from thick, high-quality paper, in an envelope sealed with azure blue wax. The wax bears Lan Zhan's custom stamp - an orchid flower. The contents of the letter, written in Lan Zhan's exquisite Mandarin calligraphy, is both a work of art and the heart. Lan Zhan never had much passion for drawing or other visual arts, but when it comes to writing, he's like some immortal Shen of the written language.

With Lan Zhan still working his way through his breakfast, Wei Ying pops the wax seal and starts to read.

Wei Ying,

Today is the 31st of October. It is Sauin, Halloween, but much more besides. It is also our 9th anniversary, and it is your birthday. As has been my tradition since I wrote you a confession on a sheet of loose leaf paper in the dark of a shared dormitory room, I once again put my best pen to my best paper, and scratch out in ink what I have not the ability to speak into air.

I have, in some ways, always been a late bloomer. In your company this past year, I have grown so much, in new directions, in reflection of your exquisite, wandering spirit. You inspire me to be curious, to look under rocks just to see what is there, to watch the skies for the chance of bats as the gloaming deepens, to look for rain pouring down on our house as we drive over a sunny overpass, and a million other small wonders to fill every day. 

In your presence, I fulfill dream after dream. The secret wishes I held close to my heart and never expected to share or seek to plant have borne the sweetest fruit. Rue and Sage are, to me, more than pets, more than family. They are the promise we made to one another in the quiet of our souls: to always seek the happiness we deserve, to never settle for only what we need. You offered me a surprise, one I accepted with apprehension and excitement, as is my way. But Wei Ying, I hope you always know: the biggest surprise in my life is you.

It has always been you. It will only ever be you.

This year, on Lunar New Year, you agreed to marry me, and in doing so, the chambers of my heart, which once echoed with no sound but my own lonely breathing, burst again into bright song. When we lay together that night, pressed heartbeat to heartbeat, one pulse shared between two bodies, all I could feel was a luminescent joy at my own good fortune to have found you not once, but twice, and every day after.

In your company, life is a string of mala beads, each polished stone a memory that slides into place one after the other.

There was a night some months ago. A coworker had warned me, in the well-meaning way of the older generations, that our marriage would become boring, that you would become complacent, and we might remain comfortable, but grow indifferent to one another's presence over time. In spite of myself, old hurts returned, and for some meager hours, I doubted my ability to keep your attention. Being with you is like capturing the wind, after all - a potent, impossible task. How fortunate I am, then, that my love is an artist, one who captures the wind in paint, in silk thread, in music, in his own laugh. Sitting with you that night, cuddled together on the kitchen floor, I rediscovered that I have no need to capture the wind. I can follow you wherever you go, a one-winged pine seed, full of potential, borne aloft by your every breath.

This summer, you brought me outside to watch the fireflies. I never would have thought to do so on my own. Sitting on the grass by the pond, listening to the choir of the night, we were a pair of shadows surrounded by the firing synapses of a world we can barely know, and I could only marvel at the wilderness of you. I told you once, some years ago, that as a child I fancied myself a changeling, waiting to be brought home to the Fae, to discover the place I belonged. In that moment, I knew that sensation. Faerie is not a place, it is a feeling, and I felt it then, when our fingers found each other in the dark, and the electrons that make us matter resonated with a song so sweet Heaven wept upon hearing it.

Last week, I awoke, and the air was heavy with the scent of storms. I am always slow to stir on stormy days, as you have long known. You brought me tea and toast and cracked the bathroom window. We lay in bed till mid-morning, listening to the rain, enveloped in warmth, until the humidity sank into our hair and sheets. I felt such a profound sense of peace, to be with you, our hands clasped, our breaths shared. To be known is an ordeal, but it is also a metamorphosis. You have transformed me so many times, and in those few hours, I became a creature that is real, for to be known and loved so completely by another is to exist outside of oneself. 

I exist, in part, because I am yours.

Lately, I have been meditating on our shared future, of other heart-chambers that I wish to open, dreams I have long denied sunlight, fruit I wish to bear only in your beloved company. There is music and dance in the concert between us, an effervescent festival that never ends. Autumn will soon come to a close, and with it, the golden abundance of the harvest. Yet I am forever your persimmon, bletting in the endless sun of your warm and beating heart. I will be sweet and crimson on your tongue after all else has faded to the greys of winter.

Happy Sauin,

Happy Anniversary,

Happy Birthday,

My sweet, beloved Wei Ying.

Eternally,

Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying sniffles, wiping the tears off his cheeks. His Lan Zhan is so good. He’s good to him, he’s good to others, he’s just good. Like the way moonlight and ginseng tea are good: because they exist, and he knows they exist. He reads the letter a second time, the diamonds in his engagement ring glittering in the early morning light.

He often wears his ring on a short gold chain around his neck since his work regularly involves heavy and often dangerous use of his hands, but when he’s home and at rest, he loves to wear it on his hand. Wei Ying always figured they’d get married when they started having kids, a precaution in case something terrible should happen to one of them more than anything else. He’d assumed it would be a quick and easy legal thing, filing paperwork at the clerk’s office or whatever. Lan Zhan’s insistence on an engagement and a wedding and a venue with a tea ceremony and three bows and the whole nine yards plus room for seam allowance surprised him.

Wei Ying would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. He’d always wished for a big wedding one day, but hadn’t figured Lan Zhan would want one. Lan Zhan says Jiang Cheng once threatened to kill him if he didn’t give Wei Ying a wedding, and as much as Wei Ying wanted to kick his brother’s ass for it, he mostly feels very loved by them both.

When he's done eating, Lan Zhan methodically stacks their bowls and plates onto Wei Ying’s tray, stacks Wei Ying’s tray on top of his tray, and carries the whole set back downstairs. Wei Ying hums, settling back against the pillows, rubbing his full tummy. Lan Zhan returns again, sitting next to him on the bed, bottoms of his feet together, heels close to his groin, legs folded wide. 

Lan Zhan isn't as flexible as Wei Ying, but his hips are nearly as open.

“I have another gift for you.” He shifts in his seat. “It is… an offer. We don't have to proceed at the proposed time. I just. Want you to know. I don't want to wait anymore.”

Wei Ying blinks at his fiancé. “I'll be honest with you, baby, I'm not sure what you mean. But whatever it is, you don't have to be nervous about it. We'll work it out.”

“Mn…” Lan Zhan pulls a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his harem pants and passes it over. His hands don't tremble, but it takes a gentle tug to get his fingers to let go of the paper. Not resistant. Just tense.

Wei Ying cocks his head. This is copy paper, not stationary. 20 pound, office-grade, no letterhead. He unfolds the paper, scanning the information. It's a print out of an email. An appointment confirmation.

“Dr. Reddy? She's your gynecologist, right?”

“Mn.”

“You… okay?” Wei Ying returns his gaze where it belongs, on his fiancé. “I'm sorry, sweetheart. I still don't understand.”

“It is an appointment. To remove my IUD.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops. His heart catches in his throat.

“I can cancel. We can wait.” Lan Zhan's hands curl into the hem of his t-shirt. “I recognize that we are having a wedding in a year, and now is not the ideal time for this. But I want children. I am ready. We have waited years, and worked so hard. We deserve this, if we are both ready.”

Wei Ying gapes, stunned. From Lan Zhan, that's practically an Elizabethan monologue, which is different from a soliloquy, but he doesn't quite remember exactly how.

“Yeah,” he croaks, around more fucking tears, printed email crinkling in his hand. “We-”

They’ve been so good. Done all the right things. Worked their friggin’ butts off. It’s still not perfect. They racked up tons of loan debt during college and fell on brutally hard times just as they were starting out. They pushed back their plans by ten years, aiming to try for kids at thirty-five instead of twenty-five as they originally hoped. Which would mean higher risk of complications and probably just one or two kids, instead of three or four like they’d once dreamed of. One for each hand, they’d said once, before their most difficult years.

But Wei Ying’s patents came through. They’re sitting on a pile of money neither of them ever planned or hoped for, and Lan Zhan is querying for a children’s fantasy series. They and Jiang Cheng regularly collaborate, and they always turn a bit more profit when that happens.  They’re going to be fine. More than fine, even. Fine enough that if he could, Wei Ying would go back in time and hold his twenty-year-old self and tell him everything will be okay.

“Wei Ying?”

Ah, hell. He got lost in his own head again. Damn you, ADHD.

(He actually loves his ADHD, most of the time. Just not when he’s spacing out while his spouse is sitting in front of him, extremely vulnerable and anxious for his response.)

“Come here,” Wei Ying chokes, pulling Lan Zhan to him and holding him tight. 

Lan Zhan obediently scrunches down into his lap. Lan Zhan is a beast, and even though he’s only like an inch taller than Wei Ying, he’s broader and more stout, too. Extremely good for cuddling. Wei Ying coaxes Lan Zhan to rest his head on his shoulder, stroking his pretty hair. 

“I don’t care if it’s not the ‘ideal time’ or whatever crap. You can be pregnant for the wedding. We can postpone the wedding. We can move the wedding up. We can elope on Monday.” Wei Ying settles his cheek against the top of Lan Zhan’s head. “You really want a baby, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn. Please?”

“Oh, baby. You don’t have to say please.” Lan Zhan trembles in his arms, and Wei Ying squeezes him tighter. “Yes, Gege. Yes, we’ll get started.” Lan Zhan is still shaking, so Wei Ying starts rocking lightly, picking up the rhythm Lan Zhan himself uses most often. “We’ve been so good. So patient. We’re so ready, baby. I know we are.”

“Mn.”

A baby. They’re going to start trying for a baby. Finally. Everyone else already has at least one little spawn running around. Sure, Yue showed up first and by accident, but still! It’s finally going to be their turn. Their spawn is going to be the cutest of them all!

Lan Zhan settles, leaning into Wei Ying with a contented sigh.

“Wow, look at all this. My letter. An amazing breakfast. And my man, my Lan Zhan, telling me he wants something.” Wei Ying runs his hand over Lan Zhan's soft, ink-black hair again. “Best birthday ever, Gege. Thank you.”

“Birthday party later.”

“Yeah, but I just have to show up for that.” Wei Ying settles deeper into the bed so they can cuddle more comfortably. “I had the cleaners come yesterday, and told Yanli and Zixuan I wanted princess treatment. She just said for us to have clothes on by 3.”

“Mn.” 

Wei Ying smiles as Lan Zhan lays his cheek on his chest. He plays with his love's hair, runs a hand over his back, and Lan Zhan tucks his hands under the small of his back, enjoying the press of Wei Ying's weight against his palms. 

Lan Zhan loves soft touches, but he needs pressure. Craves it. Actively seeks it. Lying on Wei Ying’s chest with his hands tucked under Wei Ying’s body is one of his favorite cuddle positions, especially if a weighted blanket joins the party. So, Wei Ying reaches over and tugs the weighted blanket over them, running his hands over his spouse until the blanket lets his body settle.

Okay maybe Lan Zhan isn't the only pressure-seeker in the house. They'd both fit right in as little gay bugs curled up together under a mouldering log. Except little gay bugs don't get to make little gay bug babies together, because trans bugs don't exist, because, as far as he knows, bugs aren't burdened by the social construct of gender. Unless Lan Zhan would still be a bug with egg-laying parts and wow his thoughts have definitely derailed.

Lan Zhan huffs against his neck.

“Was I talking or could you just tell I was having a weird moment?”

“You were talking.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying chuckles. “Whoops. Sorry.”

“I would be delighted to have little gay bug babies with you.”

“Oh my gods, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying giggles, blushing. “You have to ignore me when I say weird shit!”

“Though I personally feel like the cobblestones by the pond would be a better place to raise our children. The soil there is more suitable for pupation.”

“Lan Zha-a-an!” Wei Ying laughs, grin stretching until it might as well be touching his ears. “Although the pond is closer to the raised beds, so it actually would be better… oh but I would want our little bug babies to grow up in the wild, Lan Zhan! What if they never know the crisp taste of fresh leaf mulch?! What kind of parents would we be?!”

“You put leaf litter in the raised beds. They'll be fine.”

“Pfft, we're ridiculous.” They are, and Wei Ying loves it. He sighs, happy and content. 

It's a given that by the end of the night tonight, Lan Zhan will turn into a pumpkin, which is their fun way of saying his social battery will be completely drained, his energy will be extinguished, and he will be nonverbal. He'll need caring for, for at least tonight and tomorrow. That doesn't mean he won't enjoy the night. He will. Lan Zhan loves getting together with all of their friends, and he definitely loves grazing on treats and street food all evening. But just because he enjoys parties doesn't mean it won't take so much out of him.

And Wei Ying loves taking care of Pumpkin Lan Zhan. Pumpkin Lan Zhan is so soft and sweet and cuddly. Unlike Pumpkin Wei Ying, who is a mess and honestly a nightmare. Pumpkin Wei Ying is wired and cranky and wants to eat an entire cheesecake, drink a whole bottle of wine, and host a rave in the backyard. Lan Zhan usually plates up a somewhat normal amount of whatever food he wants, denies him mind-altering substances, bullies him into a very hot shower, fucks him into the mattress, and lets him sleep until he wakes up naturally. It’s even worse when he’s manic or having a mixed episode, but he’s mostly got that under control these days.

But yeah, Lan Zhan definitely pulled the short straw when it comes to Pumpkin Tending.

“We should probably get up, huh?”

“We do not have to. It is your day.”

“Hm.” Wei Ying kisses Lan Zhan’s adorable nose, grinning when his husband offers him a slow, cat-like blink in return. “How do you feel about a walk tomorrow? I want to walk through the leaves and hold your hand.”

“Mn. That would be good.”

“Don’t let me forget, okay?”

“Mn.”

Eventually, Wei Ying pushes up onto his elbows, and Lan Zhan sits up. He’s so perfect like this, all honey eyes, soft hair, and happy almost-smile. He’s smiling in the same way a cat curled up in a patch of sun is smiling - not really, but Wei Ying knows it’s there.

When they reach the living room, Rue and Sage are running around like hooligans, chasing each other on and off the sofa, binkying and making a general ruckus. Sage takes a leap from the couch to the polished, live edge coffee table, slides down its length, and lands already sprinting off into the kitchen. Rue bounds over to run over Lan Zhan’s socked feet and paw at Wei Ying’s leg.

“Good morning, my baby!” he coos. He picks her up, holding her against his chest, her little head resting on his shoulder while he pets her back, much like how he might carry a human baby. And will. Soon, hopefully. Wei Ying has no idea why Rue likes to be carried like this - Sage definitely does not enjoy being picked up at all - but he’s not about to deny her the attention she craves. 

Lan Zhan, who always knows what he should be doing, knows how to maximize his time, settles into a corner of the couch with his personal copy of Among the Burning Flowers and his notebook. He’s already read the book once, but he won’t add a close read to his blog unless he’s read the book at least twice. His close reading posts are always detailed and extensive, and judging by the numerous post-its and page markers sticking out of the book, this one will be exceptionally so.

Wei Ying, not nearly so adept at managing that weird liminal space before an Activity, wanders the living room for a little bit until Rue wiggles to be set down. She hops her way over to the couch, and wedges herself between Lan Zhan’s legs and the back of the couch. That’s prime real estate for both bunnies. They’ll often form a little cuddle pile or wedge themselves along his side.

But mooning over his spouse and their fur babies who love him really isn’t going to help pass all the time between now and the party. He needs something else to do. Maybe they shouldn’t have come downstairs after all…

“Wei Ying.”

“Hm?” Wei Ying blinks, pulling his attention to the person in front of him.

“You do not have to be productive. You can just be.”

“... Yeah. Yeah. I can just - Um.” There’s too much to do, which means he’s kind of stuck on the choice and doing nothing in the meantime.

“Play one of your video games. It will help you settle.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s a good idea. You’re so smart, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying sits on the floor, leaning against the couch, and turns the TV on and powers up their Steam Deck, which spends about 99% of its life in its docking station, and tries to get his brain lost in Spirit of the North for the umpteenth time. He knows where all the dead priests are and how to get past every obstacle by now, but there’s something very soothing about playing the same game over and over again, knowing exactly how it goes. His gaze keeps going back to Lan Zhan, who studiously reads and annotates his book, pausing regularly to pet the rabbits. 

When he finally does get into it, it’s time for lunch. Lan Zhan gently sets a bowl of vegetable soup and a plate of crusty bread on the coffee table in front of him.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn. Are you all right?” Lan Zhan sits at the coffee table across from him.

“Yeah, just a little off kilter. I’ll be better later.”

“Mn.” Which means I feel the same. Which he is. Lan Zhan is just better at working through it because his brain isn’t a bag of hamsters.

Lan Zhan gets up again, and Wei Ying tucks in, only glancing up when his beloved husband sets a mug of hot water in front of him. His soup has tiny, marble-sized meatballs in it. The crusty bread is warm and the aroma of olive oil reaches his nose every time he tears the fluffy interior. Lan Zhan is so good to him. He’s been informed by his apprentices that he’s ‘down bad’ or whatever, but how could he not be? He has a beautiful man who wants to marry him and have his babies and makes tiny meatballs for his soup even though he’s vegetarian. He’s down bad and proud, dammit!!

Said beautiful man who et cetera et cetera blinks at him.

“Hm? Nothing, baby. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

Lan Zhan huffs, blinking those warm, light eyes like a happy cat. 

“Yeah…” Wei Ying props his chin on the heel of his hand. “So lucky.”

“Get your elbow off the table.”

Wei Ying laughs, removes his elbow from the table, and drags a fluffy piece of bread through the last bit of soup stuck to his bowl, savoring the final tastes of tomato, basil, oregano, mirepoix, and love. 

“Hey,” he stage-whispers, helping Lan Zhan carry the dishes into the kitchen. “We should go upstairs and get ready.”

“It will not take us three hours to get ready.”

“Oh, I can make it take three hours,” Wei Ying promises, dropping a kiss to that special spot behind Lan Zhan’s ear. “Come on, Lan Zhan,” he mumbles, brushing his lips over Lan Zhan’s earlobe. “It’s my birthday. Don’t I get a present?”

“... Mn.”

Which is how Wei Ying finds himself on his knees in their bathroom upstairs, one of Lan Zhan’s legs hooked over his shoulder, and then on a clean towel on the bathroom floor, Lan Zhan in his lap.

“You know what this is, don’t you?” Wei Ying whispers.

“Mn?” Lan Zhan’s breath is hot where it ghosts across his cheek.

“Practice.” 

Lan Zhan’s blunt fingernails scrape down his back, teeth digging just hard enough into the crest of his shoulder, and it’s a very good birthday indeed.

Eventually, they manage to not only get in the shower, but actually use it for shower purposes. They diffuse their hair. They switch out their jewelry. They put on some makeup. Wei Ying brushes gold glitter through his hair and over his skin. Lan Zhan picks Wei Ying up by the waist and sits him on the counter, cradles his chin as he applies first dark brown kohl and then bright gold liquid liner to his eyes. 

“Do I look good?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying smiles, hands resting on his spouse’s broad shoulders. Lan Zhan looks back at him, his face so serious, his eyes so soft. Wei Ying brushes his thumbs over Lan Zhan’s cheekbones, fingernails scritching at the thick hair at the nape of neck. 

“I love you so much, Baby.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m so happy to keep building our family with you,” Wei Ying whispers, tipping their foreheads together. “I just - I never expected to have all of this. Ever. I’m so grateful.”

“Mn.” 

Lan Zhan’s hands rest softly on his hips. Wei Ying settles one hand into the curve of Lan Zhan’s waist. Lan Zhan isn’t exactly the biggest fan of his waist-to-hip ratio, but Wei Ying’s hand fits so nicely there, and that is Good. He breathes in, drawing the moment out like a guqin string plucked and left to vibrate into silence. 

Ultimately, Lan Zhan is the one who breaks the moment, lips pressing against Wei Ying’s forehead as he steps back, reaching for a folded pair of black leggings and a black, long-sleeved shirt. Wei Ying sighs, still smiling as he pads out in his boxers to track down his costume. A yellow shirt and shoes, teal pants, and a leather belt. Stella is a bit darker than he is, though he’s fairly brown himself, but the colors still work well on him, and the huge floppy star hat is very fun. Lan Zhan’s Gris dress is a simple design, soft silky blacks and greys between layers of starched linen to give it volume.

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan turns, pulling his hair over one shoulder, exposing the open back of the dress. With nimble fingers, Wei Ying buttons the back of the dress, starting at the bottom and working his way up. He gazes at the expanse of Lan Zhan’s back, brushing his fingertip lightly over a mole that he once accidentally caught his fingernail on, and kisses the sweet blemish in apology - an odd but apparently unbreakable habit of his. Fortunately for him, Lan Zhan has a thing for weirdo gremlin creatures who occasionally do woodwork on the living room rug.

“Does it fit alright?” He tugs lightly at the collar. The dress is very loose-fitting, as is accurate, but the collar is cut a bit differently than Lan Zhan usually wears, a bateau just barely low enough to show off his collarbones. “I can try to adjust it if you want.”

“Mn-nm. It is comfortable.”

Wei Ying traces over the subtle constellation embroidery embroidered in oil-slick black thread on the black fabric of the dress. It matches the yellow and teal embroidery on his own clothes. Jiang Cheng really went all out with the costumes. It’s only fair Wei Ying went all out with the embroidery. They’re a family of artists. It’s only right that they work with each other.

Eventually, Lan Zhan tugs him downstairs. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli have let themselves in. There are, frankly, probably too many copies of their key wandering around on keychains, but it’s far too late to take them back. Jiang Cheng got a key, and immediately a chorus of ‘Why don’t I get one’s began chasing them around. 

Wei Ying wants to put in a passcode lock, but he’d be the one to forget the number.

“Jiejie!”

“Hi, A-Ying.” Yanli squeezes him tight, kissing his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh, so you are here, then,” Jiang Cheng quips. “We were gonna look for you, but…”

“Jiang Cheng, we do have hobbies. Jobs. Lives.” Though depending on how long his brother has been here, it might actually have been a wise choice.

“Whatever.” And he turns around to steal some of Lan Zhan’s coconut water out of the fridge.

“Bofu!” A small, purple blur streaks toward him, impacting with a vice of a hug around his middle.

“Hi, princess!” Wei Ying squeezes his niece tight, kissing the top of her head the way he’s done since she was a newborn.

“Happy birthday! I didn’t bring you anything.” Jiang Yue grins up at him, digging her pointy chin - inherited from Jiang Cheng for specifically this - into his belly button. 

“You brought your sweet self, which is exactly what I wanted!” 

“A-Xuan is on his way. He took A-Ling home for a nap. I brought food.”

They’ve gotten into the habit of eating early on Halloween. Wei Ying wants time with his family and loved ones, and the growing number of kids old enough for trick or treating, but young enough to have an early bedtime means that adult dinner times are just not really that convenient. Instead, they shoo Rue and Sage back into the solarium, eat dinner as a family, put the leaves in the dining table, push all the furniture against the wall, lay out food and snacks, and let friends and neighbors visit as they please.

Tonight is only a little different. It’s still them, the Nies, Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and Lan Huan, but this year, instead of Lan Qiren, Wen Qing and Lan Huan brought Wen Yuan, their nephew and ward, their new baby, Lan Jingyi. Lan Qiren is living with them temporarily, helping take care of their new baby, and currently resting so he can stay up with Jingyi tonight. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are going to get lunch with him later in the week.

“He’s cranky,” Wen Qing mutters, rubbing the four-month-old’s back. “He had some vaccines today.”

“That’s okay. We don’t mind.” Wei Ying waves a hand. “We’re happy you two could come.”

“Mn.” 

Lan Zhan is eyeing their baby nephew with longing, because he’s the Baby Whisperer, but also the Baby Whispered. Proof being that when Jin Zixuan finally arrives, Jin Ling squirts past him in his tiny Steve costume (Blue’s Clues, not Minecraft) and immediately latches himself to Lan Zhan’s leg, thumb in his mouth, pillow lines still on his face. Lan Zhan picks him up, rubbing his back, and Jin Ling drops his head onto his shoulder without a word, rubbing Lan Zhan’s earlobe.

“Hey. Happy birthday.” Jin Zixuan pulls him into an awkward hug, which Wei Ying returns without the awkwardness, because he is way cooler than his polyester polo shirt-wearing brother-in-law.

The weird part about being an Adultier Adult, in Wei Ying’s opinion, is how different his priorities are. He doesn’t drink energy drinks or alcohol. He doesn’t do weed. He takes prescription medications. He has HYSs for himself and Lan Zhan, and also all their niblings. He took money out of their savings to plan their ‘en-gay-ged-cation’. He plans their meals every weekend before he goes grocery shopping. And instead of the annual Lan-Wei Halloween Party, his favorite part of his birthday is eating braised pork belly bao (tofu for Lan Zhan) and stir-fried yardlong beans and slurping up longevity noodles with his family.

They drink tea and sweet lassi and pass Jingyi around while Wen Qing and Lan Huan eat. Wen Ning tells them all about the new available cats at his cat cafe. Jin Zixuan spills the latest family drama with the air of a man who is both absolutely fucking over it but also endlessly diverted. Jiang Yanli talks about her newest project, a collaboration with a group of smaller-time influencers to make a recipe book of cheap, disability-friendly recipes. Jiang Cheng brags about his Septimus Heap costume, and Yue’s Marcia Overstrand costume (Yue is the boss, always) and generally about how well his tailoring business is doing. Nie Huaisang talks about his latest jewelry project. Nie Mingjue shows them pictures of his very late newborn alpaca. Lan Zhan gets Jingyi in his arms at last, and the fussy baby settles almost immediately, and everyone laughs about it.

And Wei Ying… He can’t quite process the fact that these nights are only going to get bigger. They’re only going to get better. Yanli and Zixuan plan on having more kids. He and Lan Zhan want ‘one for each hand’. They’ve all found their paths in life. They’re all going places. They’re all doing well. It feels like a thousand years ago, but also just yesterday, Wei Ying had no family, no future, and no hope for anything better. That time in his life was mercifully short, even if years of hardship followed and hurts still rest on his heart like bruises, but ever since, sometimes, he can’t help but look around at them all and wonder at how they managed to pull through.

So, he basks in it. He basks in Yue and Yuan and Ling hounding their favorite adults to take them trick-or-treating. He basks in Zixuan kissing Yanli’s cheek before standing up to clear the table for her. He basks in Lan Huan and Wen Qing, exhausted but still here, obviously holding hands under the table. He basks in Wen Ning, finally feeling well after years of medical tests and trials and treatments. He basks in Nie Mingjue being much more settled and calm and Nie Huaisang feeling free to be his creative, flaky, spooky-smart self. He especially basks in his incredibly beautiful husband, holding a very cute baby against his broad chest, looking completely at peace and satisfied with his position.

As a group, they clean up from dinner, lay out snacks and drinks on the table and bar, push all the furniture up against the walls and string up the ubiquitous orange and purple lights. Lan Zhan sets a goth playlist on the TV that probably has a little too much London After Midnight on it. 

“Are you going to go outside and play?” Lan Zhan touches his back, just fingertip pressure. 

“Yes! What about you, Baby? Do you want to come out and play with us?”

“Mn.”

Their front yard has also been altered, mainly in that their car has been pulled into the garage for the night (normally Wei Ying’s work stuff is in the way) and a bunch of games for the neighborhood kids have been set up. Sack races, toy fishing, corn hole, giant connect four, sidewalk chalk, a bubble machine, plastic horseshoes, giant jenga, ring toss, hula hoops, jump ropes, and other toys are scattered throughout the yard.

The block party is in full swing. The street has been blocked off with caution tape and orange traffic cones that definitely have the Acme name on them, and definitely were ‘borrowed’ from someone’s job for the event. Music pounds through someone’s gigantic speakers, stuck in the back of their F-250 and parked in the middle of their little street. The family on the corner has brought up their kalua pig. Another family is doing kebab. There are hot dogs and hamburgers and grilled chicken, of course. 

Alexis across the street has brought out her professional face paints, and there are bunches of kids running around with glitter on their cheeks and glow sticks around their wrists, ankles, necks, and even heads.

The autumn air is crisp, the leaves crunchy underfoot, and three neighbors set up a maze in their combined front yards. Even the most jaded neighborhood teenagers are getting into it, painting miniature pumpkins, adding their handprints to the sidewalk in chalk paste, and trick-or-treating in or out of costume. Yue and A-Yuan dart past, Jin Zixuan strolling behind them with a bao (stuffed not with pork, but with chocolate hazelnut spread pilfered from their pantry). Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are ‘going for a walk’, but Nie Huaisang already has his lighter out. The block over is known for front lawn bonfires - the sort of milk crate, Natty Lite, and Mary Jane situation. That’s also where people can go to get more food.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. We picked a really good place to settle down,” Wei Ying sighs, waving to Kyle as he passes out beers, vodka seltzers, sodas, and bottled water from coolers in the back of his pickup. Mila, Kyle’s wife, is using her skills as a goth bartender to supply mixed drinks to the neighborhood. Wei Ying needs some of her virgin candy apple punch with the black glitter. He looks forward to it every year.

Lan Zhan retrieves a candy wrapper off the ground and shoves it in his pocket, and Wei Ying texts Wen Ning to see about bringing some trash cans out into the street before his wonderful husband starts running around after trash all night. He probably will anyway, but at least Wei Ying can say he tried.

They stroll the neighborhood together. Wei Ying eats his annual hot dog and shares some homemade rice krispy treats and his green apple punch with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is very secretive about his sweet tooth, but even he can’t resist heading over to the next block for Persian baklava and fresh apple fritters while Wei Ying snags some cheese and squash pupusas. Have they already had dinner? Yes. But what about second dinner? 

Second dinner is all around them. They pass Jiang Cheng, a little high, and Nie Huaisang, who is more than a little high. Reggie and Meghan have set up their projector, and a handful of neighbors have brought their camp chairs, paint buckets, and even an Ikea couch out to watch.

“Yeah…” Wei Ying sighs. He catches Lan Zhan’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “This is just - It’s so perfect.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan unlaces their hands, winding his arm around Wei Ying’s waist instead.

“Do you think it’ll be like this forever?” Wei Ying whispers, watching Yue and Yuan trot around, little Jin Ling in the middle, holding their hands in his. Zixuan is doing his best to get a photo that isn’t blurry.

“No. I think it will get better.” 

They’ve wandered back to their house, watching young children compete in sack races on their lawn, trampling the clover, violets, buttercups, oat and buffalo grasses, and creeping thyme, releasing an herbaceous, green, slightly citrus aroma into the air. The ground covers Wei Ying had seeded their dead lawn with this spring are doing quite well, all considered, and he’s glad he’d left open space. He’d planned to clear it all out to put beds in, but Lan Zhan had encouraged him to stay his hand and trowel for a year or two.

“You were right about the lawn. I’m glad we kept it.”

“Mn.”

“I want our kids to play and run around out here.”

“They will.”

Wei Ying turns in, wrapping his arms loosely around Lan Zhan’s waist, resting his cheek on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m feeling a little off. Just… a lot of big feelings. And some melancholy.”

“Mn.”

Talking about family gets Wei Ying in the gut sometimes. What he wants to give, he was denied to have over and over and over practically his whole childhood, and sometimes that aching loss creeps up when he’s feeling especially well-loved by his family. Lan Zhan gets it. He was there for the worst days.

“We have a gift for you. A big one. Will it be too much?”

“Maybe. Can we do it anyway?”

“Of course.” Lan Zhan holds him close, swaying slightly among the oranges and purples of the decorative lights, flickers of bonfires and jack-o'-lanterns mixing with fog machines.

Too much is just enough, sometimes. And sometimes, it’s never enough. Sometimes, Wei Ying wants the gutpunch. He wants the sting, the ache, the burn, the throb. He wants the cut and the salt and the lemon juice. He wants the cat scratch and the fever. He wants to rub the sweat and grime into his eyes.

Not even really in a self-destructive way (usually, these days) but more like he just craves the vast, overwhelming reach that feelings can bring him. Lan Zhan feels so much he could burst, much of the time. Wei Ying craves that, wants to experience that, but has to key himself up for it. It used to be a problem.

“I will recall the others. We will finish early tonight.”

“We don’t have to.”

“It is… more. This year. You are overwhelmed. I am overstimulated.” Lan Zhan kisses his temple. “It’s time to finish, baobei.”

“Yeah.” Wei Ying’s voice wobbles a bit, eyes going misty. “Yeah, okay.”

They don’t recall everybody. Lan Huan and Wen Qing have made an Irish Exit with Jingyi, as they had previously warned they would do. Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue wave goodbye as they walk down the block to where they parked, Huaisang weaving a bit and blowing kisses at them, Mingjue frowning and shaking his head at his hedonistic younger brother. 

Jiang Cheng sneaks up from behind them, smelling slightly of weed but still very much lucid. Jin Zixuan has the kids, all three of which are now dishevelled, bright-cheeked, and doubtless full of candy. 

“You’re all brushing your teeth twice tonight, you hear?” Jiang Cheng grumbles as Yue sidles up to him.

The kids all mumble tired assent.

“Are we gonna give Bofu his present now?” Yue asks, clinging to her father’s hand. She cracks a wide yawn. Oh, good. The kids are tired. They probably won’t notice the relatively early night, then.

“Yes. Then we’re all going home for shower and bed time.”

Inside the house, their own food offerings have all been devoured, and Yanli is finishing tidying up. It’ll need a proper clean, but that can wait. Jiang Cheng said he’d come by and take care of it all.

“Come on,” Jiang Cheng says, tugging on Wei Ying’s loose sleeve. Yanli sets her cleaning rag down. “Upstairs.”

Wei Ying, increasingly bewildered, follows his spouse, siblings, and niblings upstairs. This unused room, one of three, is the only one currently empty. The other two are currently in use for storing all of the craft and camping supplies Wei Ying hasn’t yet transferred to the very nice shelving he installed in the garage and refurbished shed six months ago. He kind of forgot. Oops.

But hey, they didn’t need these rooms at the time, and won’t for a while longer.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan catches his elbow outside the room. “This is a gift from all of us.”

“What is it?” Wei Ying can’t hide his slight trepidation. He wasn’t really expecting anything that might involve more than a little box or a gift bag, if that.

“Coming through!” Jiang Cheng huffs, carrying some kind of duffel bag. “For the record, I had to spend 30 minutes convincing the employees that we wouldn’t be back with a return on Monday.”

“What… is it?” Wei Ying squirms. He’s not exactly great with material gifts, and the bigger, the worse. 

“Come in and see!” Jiang Cheng yells. “We’ve brought you a new financial burden.”

Wei Ying tentatively steps into the room. It sounds quite hollow in here, since the floors are wood and everything is bare, so Lan Zhan remains in the doorway. Jin Zixuan is doing something in the corner, Yanli is rummaging through an enormous box, and Jiang Cheng is fumbling with the weird, moving duffel bag.

“Jiang Cheng, what is that?” Wei Ying asks. 

“My attempt to win the noisy toy competition. I like my odds.”

Wei Ying leans over the top of the duffel, and four luminous eyes peer at him from the dark.

“Mrrp?” the duffel asks, blinking at him.

“Oh.”

Which is absolutely the appropriate response, because Wei Ying was not expecting a live birthday present now or ever. Well, technically Yue, whose birthday is November 10th, but she doesn’t really count because she was Jiang Cheng’s live birthday present.

One of the cats pops their head out, soft-looking, glossy black fur. They’re about half-grown, still kittens. This one has green eyes, the other orange.

“So, they’re a bonded pair. Not related, but they were found together. Both boys.” Jiang Cheng scoots back to give him more room. “The shelter named them Lucky and Clover, which sucks, so you better name them something even more stupid but iconic.”

Wei Ying reaches in, pulling out the green-eyed cat, since he seemed ready to go. The cat dangles in his hands, blinking at him. 

“Hi,” he breathes. “You’re very cooperative. How long will that last?”

The cat lets out a long, wheedling meow, sniffing his nose. Wei Ying laughs, a breathy, wondrous sort of sound he always forgets he can make.

“I think I’ll call you Cosmic Creepers. How’s that? And your brother can be Thackery Binx.”

Jiang Cheng makes a noise of disgust, but doesn’t say anything. Wei Ying ignores him, setting Cosmic Creepers in his lap. The cat stares around the empty room with his little body hunched close, and lets out another plaintive, displeased meow. Wei Ying rubs his ears, a little stunned. He searches for his husband.

“Lan Zhan, you planned this?”

“Mn.” He shifts, a slight nervous tick. “You mentioned that you wished for cats. I had no objection, if they were rescues.”

“And you’re a goth at heart,” Jiang Cheng teases, reaching over to flick him in the side of the head. “So we stalked the county shelter for black cats.”

Thackery Binx pokes his head out of the carrier, looking around at the chaos. Yanli and Jin Zixuan have set up a small cat tower and litter box in one corner. Yue jingles a little ball to make it light up. Wei Ying… is still processing, holding Cosmic Creepers close, fingers woven through his soft, black fur, still transitioning from kitten fuzz to the sleek black coat of an adult cat. Something in his chest aches. Love used to be such a fraught experience for him, and now he’s surrounded by his closest family who gave him something alive just because he wanted it. 

Lan Zhan kneels on the floor next to him, a gossamer spirit in silk and sparkle, and Wei Ying leans into him wordlessly. Cosmic Creepers wriggles out of his arms to hide in the carrier again, and Wei Ying lets him go, snuggling into his husband’s arms. Husband, because who gives a shit about ceremony and paperwork when time is the warp and love is the wheft between them. 

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, forehead pressed to the underside of Lan Zhan’s jaw. They’re probably getting glitter all over each other, but he doesn’t really give a shit about that either.

Jiang Cheng squeezes his shoulder. Yanli kisses the top of his head. Yue, Yuan, and Ling pile on him in that sweet, haphazard way kids have. Zixuan stands there awkwardly, which is his love language.

I think it will get better, Lan Zhan said only a little while ago. 

As Wei Ying tears himself away from his new friends and says goodbye to his family, as he scrubs campfire smell off his skin and Lan Zhan’s skin, as they drag their exhausted brains through the minimum of their evening routines, as they cuddle up in bed together in the warmth of their shared love…

I think it will get better.

Every time Wei Ying thinks life can’t get any better, it does.