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Staring in horror at the crime scene of not-quite-right red clothing scattered across his bedroom floor, Wei Ying finds himself a fraction of a second away from a genuine breakdown.
He’s not freaking out. He isn’t. It is, however, possible that he’s not not freaking out, which… is not exactly ideal, either.
A panicky scramble for his phone shows that time is running out far too swiftly for his liking. Eleven fifty. Ten to twelve. In less than ten minutes is Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan!—due to show up at his door, respectful and time-abiding and pristinely gorgeous. He will be inevitably calm and composed and prepared for what is turning out to be the most frantic morning of Wei Ying’s life. He’ll arrive the precise second all clocks this side of China strike twelve, as nothing about Lan Zhan is unsure or late—never ever.
Unlike Wei Ying, the certified mess and ADHD A-Lister. Unlike Wei Ying, who is running late.
Fuck.
Wei Ying is used to running late. It’s not because of lack of trying, or lack of caring, but it happens. Things happen. And yeah, he’s gotten used to his mind feeling like twenty squeaking mice stacked in a trench coat doing a very bad job at looking put together, but some days are more stressful than others. Like today. Which, frankly, is a more-than-usual terrible, since he might flee the country if this afternoon doesn’t go as planned—and he doesn’t expect perfect, because, well, he’s Wei Ying, but it needs to go damn well as near to his perfect as fathomably, astronomically possible.
There’s no schedule for getting caught up in his brain. His skin is tacky-damp with perspiration from rushing to wrestle on his jeans, but he pays little mind to it as he strips off his hoodie, head getting caught and dry cotton filling his open mouth before he manages to toss it aside. After all, there is no time to waste. No time to get sucked into his rising nerves, or the slight edge of something sharp that tells him he’s going to fuck this up.
Because he won’t. And it will go well. His perpetual brain goblins of self-doubt can go screw themselves. They do not get to mess this up, thank you!
Wei Ying has a date with Lan Zhan, today. A date!
Just the passing thought of it has his chest racing with excited anticipation. His smile stupid. He, Wei Ying, has a date with Lan Zhan—his impossibly kind and impossibly handsome, best-friend-of-many-years Lan Zhan. His crush of just-as-many years Lan Zhan. And that’s not even all: Lan Zhan was the one to ask him out too, so clearly he must like Wei Ying, too!
Take that, brain goblins of self-doubt!
One sock on and hopping about, he’s drawn back to The Moment briefly; to Lan Zhan’s face. He does a rather impressive aerodynamic dive into his favourite jumper, and finds himself having to shake off the ridiculous smile splitting open his face. He can’t, and admittedly doesn’t really want to, help but lean into the clear memory of Lan Zhan asking him out; how he stopped Wei Ying in his tracks after a friendly movie night at Nie Huaisang’s apartment, that perfect jaw of his tight with nerve and his unfaltering golden eyes as intense as they were honest. The memory of how he clenched his fists by his sides, back straighter than usual despite the blanket of anxious energy around him; then stepped in and took the chance.
Wei Ying was taken aback for many reasons, and not a single one of them negative.
Flummoxed, wondering if he heard right—stunned by disbelief, rising hope that coalesced slowly into acceptance. Then joy, and a whole lot of it, as Lan Zhan patiently awaited his response.
Always so brave, his Lan Zhan. He could hardly restrain himself from climbing all over his stiff limbs and showing his ecstatic delight in ways rather unfit for the public eye, tucked aside in Nie Huaisang’s hallway as they were. Alas, he did not—as much as he wanted to, as much as he severely craved to, he behaved.
If he’d managed to keep his wanting hands to himself for so long already, had already successfully hidden his heart and tucked it beneath his sleeve for years, then he knew he could wait a few days longer. Still, Wei Ying had to do something—after all, being Wei Ying is a non-negotiable; he was pretty sure by then that Lan Zhan knew what kind of highly organised chaos he was getting himself into, has for years, but, still. He definitely felt some extra kind of way when he flung himself tightly into Lan Zhan’s arms like a bowling ball skidding down an alley, and was even more so filled with feeling when Lan Zhan held him close and safe without a second’s hesitation.
The way Lan Zhan softened even further should’ve be outright illegal in how dangerous it was—cardiologically. Nurse, please! And Wei Ying was forced to swallow down a small noise as he moved in; closer and closer, the inches between them washed away with a delicate cloud of intimacy. Unable to think beyond please, to breathe, his chin was gently cupped in one of Lan Zhan’s large, calloused hands—and then lightly dry lips were deliberately pressed to his temple in a tentative kiss.
It was warm and lingering, open yet chaste against the span of Wei Ying’s skin.
A kiss. Lan Zhan kissed him.
Wei Ying did not just react—he melted. He was goop on the floor. A puddle of an ex-man, now mush.
Too soon it was over, and his head was left all airy, unequivocally remade. He unwillingly watched as Lan Zhan stepped back with the tiniest, most beautiful smile curving at his mouth—his mouth, which had been on Wei Ying’s skin. His limbs felt—light. Distant. With heavy reluctance in his gaze, leaving an appropriate amount of feet between them, Lan Zhan murmured that he would text to arrange a time and place. His ears were crimson points beyond his hairline—betraying his outward calmness. Flustered, happy, because he liked Wei Ying enough to want to go on a date with him—
He liked Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan looked so sweet and fond, pleased, that Wei Ying’s delayed okay was a croak more than anything else, his head spinning too fast for coherence. Goop-man.
That was it. After that, they went their separate ways, as two people who live in independent bodies must. Or perhaps more accurately, Lan Zhan did so whilst Wei Ying stood stock-still in place for a solid infinity before his hot-flooded system finished rebooting. Ten, twenty, fifty percent…
Only once the tall, familiar line of Lan Zhan’s body was completely out of view could he drag his eyes away and think once more. And oh, did he think about it—extensively.
Hah. Well. That was—huh.
Expressionlessly touching his fingers to his temple, he looked down, blinked slowly, before moving once more. A few hours on, a helpless blooming smile made its way onto his face when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket from the safety of his flat, still plodding about just as overall floaty.
Of course, he knew who it was. Who else could it have been?
From: lan er gege <3
Would a picnic at Gusu Arboretum on Saturday to be amenable for you? I can pick you up at 12?
Formal, ever-so serious. A fond smile made its way onto his face as he rushed to reply, cheeks aching from his smile, fingers moving hurriedly across the touchpad. He tapped the send button with a bit more force than necessary, but, hey—can you truly blame him?
Loading… Received. His heart fluttered.
To: lan er gege <3
!!! yup, i think that sounds perfect, lan zhan<333
Then, because he couldn’t not:
sooo i’ll see u saturday? try not to miss me too much until then, yeah?~~;)
He hit send before he could stop himself; he’s always been shameless, so it’s not like he’s going to stop now. It was a bold proclamation, though; possibly too much, too hasty. And yet, entirely unfazed by his ridiculousness—
It will be difficult, Lan Zhan had replied, only a short moments later, but I will try, Wei Ying ❤️
Wei Ying chewed on his lip in what could only be sheer, unadulterated delight as his face flushed bright red. A heart! An emoji! From Lan Zhan! He didn’t even know he knew who to do that! Such deviation from his chronically old man texting habits!
Was he trying to kill Wei Ying?
Wei Ying is bent over and trying to catch his breath when the knock on his door comes. Despite anticipating it for over an hour now, anxious and excited all the same, he still nearly startles out of his own skin.
There’s no need to check the time; it’ll inevitably be precise to the hour, knowing Lan Zhan’s commitment to timely arrival. He almost falls over his own feet when grabbing his phone but catches himself from faceplanting into carpet at the last second, loudly cursing beneath his breath. An unruly strand of hair swings from his ponytail and sticks into his lip balm as he flings the door open aggressively, heart swelling in his throat. It slams brutally against the doorstopper behind his back, embarrassingly eager in the echo of the near empty hall.
There, he thinks proudly, he did it. On time! He can’t remember the last occasion where that actually happened, but he’s hardly about to complain. Especially when it means he gets to see—to see—
Oh.
Oh. That’s… that’s…
Wei Ying’s cheerful greeting grinds to a halt in his throat when he sees Lan Zhan, goes to say hi, and his gaze trails down a tiny bit further. Alarms ring in his head; knocked out, stunned pink pigs fly circles around his brain and take all his remaining grace with him.
Not that he had much to begin with.
A noise leaves him. High and humiliating; wrecked to the next universe and back, at what he sees. And Lan Zhan, still calm and composed by his door, watches the scene unfold with docile curiously.
“Wei Ying?” he questions, moving away slightly from the door as he does. Wei Ying flinches. Gawps. He tries to clear his throat, and prays. To god, to the universe; to anyone.
This is fine. Everything’s fine. Outwardly, he sucks in a deep breath and averts his eyes away from the… the…
Yeah—from the.
“Helgbgng,” he says with the epitome of eloquence. Lan Zhan’s brow twitches with… concern? Confusion, probably? Judgement? Ah, well, probably not judgement, he’s too good for that, but—but—
“Is something the matter?”
It’s impossible to look away from then when they’re right there. He simply isn’t strong enough.
“Arms,” Wei Ying blurts.
Lan Zhan blinks. Clearly is thinking. “… Arms?”
Wei Ying nods so hard his neck twinges. “Arms,” he rationally emphasises; one hand jabbing out and pointing at the offending forearms with a kind of accusatory delight. Offensive, alright; outrageous, and outright sinful. Is this a full on attack? It might be—it must be. Lan Zhan came over with the full intent of driving him insane; not even a sliver of Victorian ankle, coy and teasing, could come close to being so shameless!
What kind of seduction attempt is this?!
Not that he’s complaining, but—
He’s almost impressed by the explicit deviousness. And by Lan Zhan’s poker face, looking completely uncomprehending as Wei Ying stares, almost drooling at the sight. The liminal expanse of a barren hallway doesn’t deserve such a treat, he thinks; nothing does.
It looks like Lan Zhan begins to get it know. Maybe Wei Ying’s avid gesticulating actually kind of helped. Awesome. Good work, arm-controlling trenchcoat mice.
“My… arms?” Lan Zhan parses out slowly. Wei Ying nods vigorously.
“Exactly!” he replies. Well, squeaks, more like—cool. That’s so cool. “Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan. Since when did you have all of—-“ he waves a hand around sharply, flustered and likely dying. Damn it; he never even got to write a will. “—that?!”
Something dawns in Lan Zhan’s eyes, understanding, and his ears flush a very delightful shade of pink.
His mouth twitches.
“Are you asking since when have I had arms?”
“No! Wait, yes! No—” No? Was he? The answer was between him and god, now. Who even knows. Not him! “Who said arms? Not me. I said, uh—” rather obviously trying to bide himself time, he scurries fully out to lock his door behind him, desperately scouring his brain for an excuse. “I’m calm! Wait, no. I mean… car?”
Lan Zhan definitely sounds amused now.
“Car?”
“Yeah, car!” he lies cheerily, grabbing Lan Zhan by the wrist and beginning to march them both down the corridor. “Yours! Which you drive! Let’s go to it? Is it parked outside? Do I have everything I need? Do we?”
“Wei Ying—”
“Should I bring an umbrella? Wait, no, I don’t own one—but will be need one? Should I buy one quickly? Like sure, the weather report says it’s going to be clear and sunny, but what if, Lan Zhan? What if—”
A large hand catches him by the small of his back and spins him around, stopping him in his tracks with a small, ah?
“Wei Ying.”
Wide eyed, Wei Ying’s head snaps up like a rubber band, his voice cracking on a, “Here!”
He feels his heart pounding relentlessly; stampeding gremlins running amok. But Lan Zhan is only looking down at him gently, his grip firm but careful. Patient.
“Breathe.”
Wei Ying blinks stupidly.
Then, reminded of what should be a very subconscious bodily action, he sucks in a lungful of air. Oxygen rushes to his head at once, nourishing and steady; slowly, he begins to relax. Breath by breath, until he feels almost normal again.
Lan Zhan is watchful, eyes assessing. He hasn’t let Wei Ying go; doesn’t seem exactly eager to. “Good?”
And, perhaps somewhat surprisingly, Wei Ying finds that he actually is. His face beams genuinely now.
Meeting Lan Zhan’s gaze with a grin, he tells hin, “All good. Let’s go.”
The drive goes well. Not that Wei Ying was expecting otherwise, with Lan Zhan being a very careful and proficient driver, but you never know. With his genuinely cursed luck, who would be surprised if an asteroid hurtled down and directly crushed the car whilst they were in it? What if a swarm of genetically modified locusts escaped some secret government facility and obscured the windscreen with their huge wings, driving them right off a ravine to their early deaths?
Look, as unlikely as if is, you never truly know. Thankfully, they arrive in two whole pieces; Lan Zhan’s car also in one nice piece as they pull in, which probably equally pleases him and Lan Zhan both. Wei Ying will never not tease him over naming his car Bichen.
Well, he’ll never stop teasing him in general, but especially over that.
Chatting along the way wasn’t any different to usual. Wei Ying was glad for it; he wasn’t aware of how nervous he was until he sat down in Lan Zhan’s pristine seats, sweaty hands hidden in the long sleeves of his jumper. Surprisingly, the half hour of normalcy has actually done the world of good for his overactive brain.
He’s all excited anticipation now rather than a billion anxious atoms, which feels nice.
Lan Zhan’s bare forearm braces back behind Wei Ying headrest as he prepares to park, wheels then car body sliding into place in a sexy and at ease parallel parking manoeuvre that almost has Wei Ying’s toes curling.
It feels illegal to witness. Feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to see such a… wow… thing for free. His brain goblins are no longer goblins; it’s possible they’ve been replaced in their workplace by some kind of lust demon.
Or… maybe that’s just who Wei Ying is and he never knew until now? But that’s some food for thought, saved aside for when he’s home alone later. And all the lights are off. And he’s in bed. And he’s stripped of all clothes; his shirt in his hands and still smelling of Lan Zhan’s woodsy cologne, lingering with the faint manly musk of his sweat—
Cheeks aflame, Wei Ying turns away and clears his throat with a not-so subtle cough.
Hah.
For better or worse, Lan Zhan pulls his arm away once safely parked, using those clearly very capable fingers to remove the key from the ignition. Only then does Wei Ying notice the very familiar keyring hanging from it; a small white ceramic bunny figure, cutely swinging with its soft pink nose. The first gift he gave to Lan Zhan all those years ago when he was still trying to worm his way into earning his friendship, a token of carefree affection.
When Wei Ying sees it, his face lights into a bright smile, all thirst vanquished momentarily. “Lan Zhan?! You really kept it?”
Lan Zhan seems perplexed and almost offended by his surprise. He slips the key into his pocket, turning to face Wei Ying fully. “Of course,” he says, like that much should be obvious. “It was from Wei Ying.”
Unavoidably, Wei Ying’s smile softens into something tender. “You… You’re too good, er-gege. The best. It was just a tiny something. I wouldn’t have been offended it you got rid of it, you know.”
Lan Zhan stares blankly. His hand tightens on his keys, lips parting as he fixes Wei Ying with a weird look.
“I would not.”
Wei Ying smiles a bit awkwardly now. His brow pinches. “Well, yeah, because you’re the best,” he empathises, slowly. “But—"
“Wrong.”
Wei Ying stills.
His head slowly turns around, owlish and narrow eyed to lock in on Lan Zhan’s slight frown. It makes him pout. How dare he be so handsome whilst Wei Ying is trying to be mad at him for slandering himself?
A coil of irritation tenses in his belly, near on the level of outrage. “Excuse me?”
One handedly slipping his wallet and keys (rather protectively, mind you) into his front pocket, Lan Zhan replies sternly, “Wei Ying is the best.”
Wei Ying possibly squeaks, prior rage brushed aside. Oh. Right, well. Right. Okay! That’s—
Lan Zhan thinks he’s good? The best, even? It’s wrong, obviously, as that would be him, but the sentiment hits him deep. Rearing back to meet Lan Zhan’s steady amber gaze, he tries not to look too pathetic over that. Still, he can’t hide how his eyes stay round and seeking, the walls of his throat tightening by the second.
“Lan Zhan,” he demands. “Take that back.”
Lan Zhan blinks serenely. “No.”
Aghast, Wei Ying stares back harder. “You better take that back, Lan Zhan,” he says croakily, “or I’ll, hah, I’ll… I swear I’ll—“
He goes quiet. Apparently he won’t do that, whatever such threat was to be, as suddenly there are lips pressing on his own, blissfully shutting him up and stealing away his flimsy excuse of breath. His eyelashes flutter shut. Only a second or so passes before they withdraw, leaving cold and slight damp in their absence, but it’s enough to render him gobsmacked and dizzy, blinking stupidly up at Lan Zhan’s face.
Going by the smug cynicism he’s now positively radiating, it seems that Wei Ying’s reaction greatly amuses him. Wei Ying is shaking slightly when he clutches at the hand still cradling his jaw with huge, accusatory eyes. Flabbergasted; stunned.
Secretly, and despite his theatrical shock, Wei Ying isn’t even mad about his first kiss being stolen in such a proprietary way. He’s only petulant that it happened to be so—so chaste. Is that all he gets? After all these years of wanting, and this week’s torturous, dragging days of waiting…
Is that it?
Sitting pleasantly beside Wei Ying and eyeing him flounder, Lan Zhan dares to question, “What will you do?”
His eyes are dark, and a shiver of something deeper radiates down Wei Ying’s spine. Wei Ying feels his neck heat up, the hairs on his arms standing straight.
He takes a moment to reboot. Then, lips parting, he blurts, “You kissed me.”
With only his blown eyes betraying his fake calm, Lan Zhan blinks innocently.
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying accuses—squeaks, like a mouse. A very flushed, thrilled one. His belly is warm. Tingly. “You kissed me.”
Unwavering in his smile, Lan Zhan indulges him with his soft, “Wei Ying.” Then, with an edge of smugness, “I kissed you.”
It’s absurd. Wei Ying suddenly wants to laugh. This is—ridiculous, he thinks, a soft pit of delight forming in his chest. This is fun. He didn’t know it would be so fun; his cheeks are burning and his heart is racing, lips tingling lightly still. It feels so nonsensical. He is bubbling.
“Lan Zhan.”
Mouth round and eyes shining-amber, Lan Zhan doesn’t bother to hide his satisfaction. “Mn. Is something the matter?”
Wei Ying snorts. “You—!”
This time, his laughter bubbles free. He gives up on holding it in.
He is also thoroughly over the short distance that feels cavernous and loitering between them. Wei Ying finds himself darting forward again with a small disgruntled noise; entirely uncaring of how shameless he must look, wanting to be close. A short and uneven intake of breath leaves Lan Zhan’s mouth as he meets skin, the hand on Wei Ying’s jaw tightening, burning hotter and edging on proprietary as he quickly kisses back—firmer than before, the mint-tea tang of his breath slick against the parting of Wei Ying’s lips. Bliss. Their mouths slow after a little while, becoming unrushed languid skin-on-skin, before they simply breathe together for a moment—held together by a palm on Wei Ying’s neck, fingers around Lan Zhan’s shirt. They withdraw after a bit. It’s inevitable, sadly.
One final kiss. Lan Zhan’s typically steady inhales catch as he gently pulls back, huffing quietly beneath his breath when Wei Ying grumbles; fond despite the exasperation, tender despite Wei Ying’s… well, his everything. His hand slips from Wei Ying’s jaw with reluctance, settling down on his lap. His fingers curl up tightly.
He's breathing harder now, earlobes pink. Satisfyingly affected.
Feeling much more on-kilter now he got his own back, Wei Ying pokes him in the arm teasingly as he sprawls back into his seat. Lan Zhan silently tracks the movement with near-intimidating interest before going back to his face.
Wei Ying’s heart races.
It doesn’t settle even as Lan Zhan breaks off to check his watch, so very prim and proper. Then, he adjusts—moving about as if preparing to open his door, to actually start their date; the date in which Wei Ying has somehow forgotten about.
Woops—his bad, maybe. Probably.
“Lan Zhan is so cruel,” he greatly laments, pouting childishly as Lan Zhan reaches for his door, “that he refuses to even kiss his Wei Ying for more than a few measly seconds. Oh, the torture. Oh, the unfairness.”
When Lan Zhan jolts infinitesimally in surprise, in slight genuine horror, it’s rather satisfying to witness. Vindicating, perhaps, after being denied so plainly. His eyes are wider than usual as they snap upwards.
“Wei Ying—”
Wondering just how far he would be allowed to press, Wei Ying thinks on his toes. Darts in. Stokes the flame.
“Hm, but maybe—if I talk badly about myself, will you kiss me again?” he can’t help but try and provoke it, half desperate and half teasing, even as Lan Zhan’s eyes flash with something darker. His throat bobs sharply, the rounded bump of his Adam’s apple capturing Wei Ying’s gaze as he shifts away, clutching at his door. One large hand, prone atop the door handle, spasms. Wei Ying smiles. “Would you kiss me, er-gege?”
Lan Zhan’s voice is tight when he murmurs. “I would rather you didn’t.”
Unfortunately for him, Wei Ying is again half across the dashboard by now and unthinking of anything else; eagerly chasing the chance of another touch. Huge eyed, “I want you to kiss me, though. Ah—Lan Zhan, will you not—”
A palm on his chest prevents him from pouncing. Lan Zhan, somehow, seems more surprised by the barrier than he is, even though he put it there. Wei Ying frowns, more genuinely confused now, and Lan Zhan frantically averts his eyes to the side.
“Later,” it comes strained. He quickly clears his throat. “If you still wish to.”
Wait—
Handled gently back into his seat, Wei Ying blinks up at him.
What?
Half amusing, half unsettling—the latter instinct growing by the second. Something weird wriggles in Wei Ying’s lungs; claws with growing urgency at his ribs, nerve wracking and oddly dubious. He doesn’t doubt Lan Zhan. He doesn’t. And yet—
“Of course, I will,” he bursts without thinking, lip anxiously catching between his teeth. “I just—will you?”
It comes out more tilted, vulnerable, than intended. How embarrassing—how pathetic. Noticing, as he always does, Lan Zhan’s gaze widens as he turns to face Wei Ying once more, searching. Quickly taking a hold of one retracting hand and squeezing gently, ignoring the tremble, he rubs a thumb atop Wei Ying’s knuckles; smoothing out the slightly-dry skin there. His hands are strong and fine-muscled, enveloping Wei Ying’s own with ease. Bigger around Wei Ying’s own.
“Lan Zhan,” croaks Wei Ying.
But the stubborn man only stares absolutely into Wei Ying’s skittish eyes. “There is not a single moment—“ and those fingers looping around his palm tighten further, reassuring and firm: “in which I find myself not wanting to kiss you.”
Wei Ying feels staggered. Blown overboard, sea-swept far inland. ”Oh.”
“I will want to. We will. But first,” then Lan Zhan’s attention flickers to the backseat, a reminder of the forgotten blanket and picnic basket. His free hand is clenched into a hard fist—a stark tell—but the determination in his eyes shows his honesty more than anything. He means this. “I wish to do this right for you.”
It’s a lot to take in. A lot. So much.
“With you, anything would be right.” Wei Ying finds himself laughing breathlessly with glee, unable to hold it in. “Lan Zhan, how on earth could it not be?”
It’s not at all a lie; he can’t even begin to imagine an existence where an otherwise could ring true. Not when it comes to Lan Zhan. But even as his jaw relaxes and a happy pink floods the distracting lobes of his ears, clearly pleased, he refuses to relent.
“It is important,” despite the strained pinch to his chin, Lan Zhan’s mind appears to be set. Steel solid. “It is what you deserve.”
Mouth bone dry, Wei Ying struggles to speak. Words strangle.
“I—”
Only for all his refuting thoughts and complaints to be scattered aside when Lan Zhan sits up straighter. How he manages to appear beseeching despite the steadiness in his voice, Wei Ying will never know. He just is.
And his usually calm gaze runs fierce.
“Please,” Lan Zhan murmurs, conscious eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s own. Genuine in his affection—clear on how he wants to do this. Something in Wei Ying catches; holds. “Wei Ying, let me do this for you.”
And in the end, when faced with such earnestness, what could Wei Ying do but dazedly agree?
They go on that picnic after all.
Once extracted from the car and on their feet, Lan Zhan refuses to allow Wei Ying to carry a single thing despite his very vocal complaining. With a few lumbering bags hanging from one of his arms and across his back, saddled up like a stubborn travelling mule, he shoots Wei Ying the most pleading yet prissy side-eye until he has no choice but to relent. It’s both a bit embarrassing yet sweet, and Wei Ying finds his pout dropping when he gives in; noting the irrefutably pleased expression softening his face. Like he’s happy to be allowed this; pleased to show his care, practical and efficient, how he knows best.
After seeing that look, Wei Ying was utterly helpless. He really couldn’t deny Lan Zhan anything that made him so happy. If it satisfies him to carry all the stuff he brought along, then who’s Wei Ying to tell him no? Exactly.
It’s only a short walk to their initial destination, Lan Zhan explains; reassures, really, like he’s deeply worried that the tiny distance would be unacceptable. Wei Ying doesn’t tell him what he thinks of that; how he wouldn’t care if it was a field down or the next province over, agonisingly far, as long as Lan Zhan’s warm eyes could stay on him.
Wei Ying doesn’t tell him that, no—but a part of him wants to. Yet, his anxiety lingers still, shaky and nervous, warning him that he can’t be too much.
Instead, he tells Lan Zhan that of course, it’s fine. Hopes that the depth in his words reaches him regardless.
Walking side by side and guiding the way, Lan Zhan patiently leads them both to picnic spot he has in mind. Slowly but surely, almost as if planned, Wei Ying’s nerves ebb away. Gently replaced by a sense of wonder at the emerging surroundings, he grows delighted instead. Softly green and brown, the woodland is quiet yet alive as they brush through. Wei Ying’s focus is inevitably stolen by crawling fern fronds and vibrant clumped mosses; caught on long-legged insects skittering around the bases of gnarly, textured tree trunks.
Despite how his own gaze wanders about, Lan Zhan’s stays glued to Wei Ying. Looking so terribly fond, and so very attentive, that it has his belly fluttering.
“Oh! Do you see that pink flower, er-gege? Where I’m pointing… to the side of that maple over there—no no no, almost, but not quite. Above it, where the vine—honeysuckle?—is hanging down. Do you see it?”
Lan Zhan peers over thoughtfully. “Do you mean the tree with the peeling bark?”
Hmm… Does he? Wei Ying chews his lip as he squints.
“No, I don’t think…” his voice trails off, unsure, before it enthusiastically hits him. “Wait, wait—yes! Yeah, the ones on the weird tree! I didn’t realise they’re growing off of it! Do you know what they are, Lan Zhan? Do you?”
Pulled in closer by gentle hands as he rambles, Wei Ying watches with bright, round eyes as Lan Zhan plucks a loose leaf from his messy ponytail. The corners of his mouth curling when Wei Ying subconsciously chases the touch, his hand dropping back to his side.
Lan Zhan hums, low and steady. “Paperback maple.”
Oh? “Paperback maple?” Excitedly turning back for another glance, Wei Ying tries to commit the knowledge to his memory. “Ah—how fascinating! I don’t think I’ve seen it before? Though, that would explain why its bark is so funky; obviously peeling and all that. And its leaves are clearly maple, now that you mention it. Wow! Lan Zhan is so, so smart—"
Such profusive praise earns him some very red earlobes.
Bouncing lightly on his feet as they go on, Wei Ying continues to ramble about random plants until he has to pause briefly to catch his breath. Once ready, he finds himself sidling up close to where Lan Zhan waits patiently; looking at his map to check direction. His furrowed look of concentration is so cute that Wei Ying suddenly could cry; he wants to touch, to hold, to crawl inside his warmth. He wants to hold.
It’s because of his longing that, when caught up, Wei Ying grabs Lan Zhan’s hand without thinking. Lan Zhan’s golden eyes widen and lock in place. He freezes, looking through a certain point on the paper, but Wei Ying doesn’t let go. He waits, breath held and hopeful.
It’s not a test, but something else.
And when Lan Zhan grips his hand back tighter—awed, like this is what he’s been waiting for himself—everything has never been more right.
After a while of slow wandering under Lan Zhan’s gentle direction, they end up by a secluded clearing. When they come to a gradual stop after a little while, Wei Ying instinctually knows that this is where they will be. Like it’s something they’ve been doing for years, Lan Zhan casually presses a featherlight kiss to his wrist before releasing Wei Ying’s hand. It sends tingles all the way up his arm, sparking brightly before settling inside his chest. He wonders if he’ll ever stop smiling.
His eyes are wide as he looks about.
“Here? Lan Zhan,” he breathes. “Is it here?”
Lan Zhan hums his affirmation gently.
“Mn.”
It’s here. Flat and spacious yet private, their date spot lives nestled amongst native wildflowers and is set aside a shallow pond blanketed with soft blue-green Chinese marshflower. Carefree blackbirds sing in the low trees, trilling around and above, whilst vibrant blue-throated bee-eaters dart overhead to distant banks, their short staccato calls interspersed by bright liquid song. Above it all, the air is clear and fresh, easily seeping into his lungs, allowing his breaths to come easy. Watchful and sure, Lan Zhan allows him to absorb it all patiently, not interrupting as he goes to unpack the things he brought.
Sunshine pools by his feet when Wei Ying plops down and slowly stretches his legs out. As he tilts his chin back to peer upwards into the tree canopy, noting the split rays of sun cascading through, his eyes close briefly. Warm, quiet, peaceful.
Perfect. Here, as he should’ve known it’d be, is perfect.
That blossom of warmth, his adoration for the steadfast man before him, grows larger and larger by the second. Only Lan Zhan would know exactly where the best spot is; only he would know just what Wei Ying needs to quieten his raucous mind.
With little grace, he flops to his side and watches with keen interest as Lan Zhan begins to set up. Naturally, nothing dares to misbehave with him—or more accurately, perhaps, everything wishes to please him. It makes sense that the fabric simply flaps once in the light breeze before settling to the grass in one smooth, fluid motion.
Not a single corner stubbornly turned up, no errant creases in its wake.
Wei Ying curiously runs his fingers along the edge, feeling the stitches and slightly rough texture of the fabric. He stays peacefully watching as Lan Zhan then opens up the woven basket carefully, revealing an amass of half-hidden dishes cocooned within heat packs to stay warm. A gentle small curves unbidden at his face.
Sure enough, when dish after dish comes out in solid glass and plastic containers, seemingly never ending, it’s hardly an exaggeration to say that Wei Ying genuinely can’t believe his eyes. Containers of rich sticky glazed beef, tempting stir fried fresh greens and egg drop soup are all sat side-by-side, complimented by the delicious aroma of chilli and spice. Soft plain boiled rice is paired with a small pot of chilli flakes to the side. A neat assortment of sticky dates, red bean paste buns and egg tarts lay already perfectly aligned on a segmented wooden platter. He stares, and stares, stares.
It's numbingly mouthwatering, a feast for all senses. Wei Ying has to give himself a moment to take it all in and truly see it. To take in what Lan Zhan has done for them, for him, more than anything.
“Er-gege,” he says with unbridled awe. His heart, fit to burst, rabbits in his chest. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he breathes. “Just how much food did you bring?”
As he reaches into the basket once more, extracting a few bottles of water and plastic cups, Lan Zhan answers with a simple, “Enough. Wei Ying should eat well.”
It’s said not as a rebuttal, but a gentle fact.
Wei Ying doesn’t quite know how to respond to the inherent belief there. Like the food, as well as the sheer care and consideration that Lan Zhan has obviously taken in preparing for this, just for their date—it’s a lot.
Not too much, though. Never that. Lan Zhan himself could never be too much; not when Wei Ying wants every single crumb of him, and would hate more than anything to make him feel that he has to hold back. If there’s anything he wants to give Lan Zhan most, it’s that: the space to be relaxed and whole, without the weight of anxiety.
“Er-gege wants to feed his Wei Ying, does he?” he can’t help but tease, only to be struck dumb by the fondness on Lan Zhan’s face as he turns to see him fully.
Such deep warmth there, impossibly settled, steals his breath away in a pinch.
“Ahah,” he laughs, high and flustered. His cheeks feel smouldering, lava trickling down his neck in red rivulets. He can’t handle—that. Whatever it is. “You can’t just—just—look at me like… you know.”
Lan Zhan, who has been observing him from the side with knowing eyes, stills. “Like what?”
Wei Ying’s mouth feels wet, throat helpless. In his flustered daze, Lan Zhan has slowly closed the distance without him realising; one of his large hands rests beside Wei Ying’s own on the blanket—not encroaching, not obtrusive, but with his palm facing up in a gentle offer. One slight adjustment, and they would be touching; Wei Ying’s knuckles against the lived, musician-rough heat of Lan Zhan’s palm.
It feels almost too good to be true—life has never been so kind to Wei Ying before. He doesn’t know how to accept a touch without expecting its eventual teeth.
With some effort, he pulls his attention back to Lan Zhan, daring to meet his questioning gaze despite the sticky lump in his throat. It clogs. Hopeful, yet retreating, all at once.
“Like… like I’m something—precious…” as the various emotions on Wei Ying’s red face begin to spiral, Lan Zhan’s mouth does something both sour and sweet, edging on upset. Wei Ying continues without thinking, hoping to brush that look aside. “Ah, er-gege, I know that’s stupid, but—ah, don’t listen to me, okay? I don’t know what I’m saying—”
Lan Zhan’s voice is unbending in its softness as he cuts Wei Ying off. “You are.”
A dismissive wave is all Wei Ying manages.
“You don’t have to, er-gege, I know you kind of disliked, hated, me at first—”
“You are precious to me.”
Wei Ying is lost for speech, left blinking dumbly instead. Fixated on the severity in Lan Zhan’s tone as his fingers coil tighter around Wei Ying’s, body-warm. Safe. Likely recognising this, Lan Zhan takes his silence as a cue to continue.
“I never hated you. I was frustrated, yes—often, loudly.” Something guilty flashes through his eyes, reminiscent as he slips to the past. A disapproving furrow weaves its way between his eyebrows. “But only at myself. For that, I was wrong. You need to know that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“You are precious. Bright and kind and forgiving. Also, undeniably, shameless. But you are yourself, and that only makes you all the more beautiful. Devastatingly so, sometimes. And I struggled.” Between them, a breeze-bound butterfly drifts by; a flash of paper-thin crimson beauty, yet Wei Ying pays it no mind—he would be unable to even if he tried. Entirely caught in Lan Zhan’s orbit, spinning and spinning, spinning.
Lan Zhan swallows then, glancing down at their entwined fingers with a hint of rising anxiety. “I apologise. I don’t want to scare you away, but… I cannot date you under false pretences. That would be disingenuous.” A tender brush of his thumbpad caresses the flesh of Wei Ying’s wrist; thrumming quickly in response. “Not when you mean so much.”
Wei Ying hears himself gasp. “Lan Zhan," he says; torn between wanting to jump the ridiculous love of his life’s bones stat, or cursing him out for being so silly. “Lan Zhan, ah, listen for a moment—"
He does not listen. Of course he doesn’t, the stubborn man.
“That is all,” declares Lan Zhan abruptly. His eyes avert. “We should continue.”
Wei Ying goes to splutter as then, like the very moment had never happened, as if he hadn’t altered the emotional gradient of Wei Ying’s world within a few simple sentences, Lan Zhan gently releases him—
And turns back to the food with a calm finality. Suspiciously calm. “You should eat before it goes cold. Would you like the beef first, or—”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.
Wei Ying ensures that.
Abruptly throwing himself at Lan Zhan’s too-still form like an oncoming train and successfully bodily knocking him to the lush grass with a small battle-cry, Wei Ying artlessly decides that he’d rather eat the ridiculous words from his mouth instead.
A staggered gut-punch of breath leaves Lan Zhan’s lips as Wei Ying lands heavily on his chest, knocking all air out from within his lungs; strong arms rise quickly to hold him steady even as eyes go wide, catching him with delightful ease. Wei Ying wastes no time in winding himself around Lan Zhan like a strip of human Velcro, sticky and unyielding and stern.
He takes Lan Zhan’s chin between his fingers and regards him furiously.
Lan Zhan’s lips part in shock. “Wei Ying—what—”
“How—how dare you!” As he doubles down, Wei Ying’s mouth moves without the permission of his brain; instinct is all that matters. He huffs at the resounding silence, pressing down until he’s covering Lan Zhan like a floppy blanket, tilting his fallen chin up so he has no choice but to meet Wei Ying’s indignation.
“Lan Zhan, don’t you ever speak badly about yourself again. And that’s a warning, mister! A threat!”
With an impressively vacant glaze befitting a dead fish, Lan Zhan is statue-still as Wei Ying pokes him in the chest. His mouth still hasn’t quite closed. It rather distractingly draws Wei Ying’s attention away from his passionate rant and to the damp pink of his lips; tempting, but not the point he’s trying to make.
It’s a very attractive mouth, though. And not a new revelation. Everything about Lan Zhan is attractive; from the angled slope of his shoulders down to the taper of his wrists. His now-red tinted earlobes, leading eagerly to the twitching of his neck muscles when he gulps.
The faint scatter of freckles across his cheekbones that mould to where the sun sets its light; his big hands, capable and strong, that hold Wei Ying’s waist so tightly—not hiding that he wants him this close, befuddled and lax against the warmth of his skin.
Beautiful, his Lan Zhan is. He really is so…
Coughing sharply, Wei Ying shakes his head; tries to direct his thoughts back to where they should be. What was the point he was going to make, again?
Ah—yes!
“I did not… mean to?”
Lan Zhan looks shy of all things. It’s amusing how flummoxed he is. Cute, with his elegant mouth pinched. Very decently reprimanded despite his obvious confusion for why, and Wei Ying wants to eat him up.
Perching himself more upright, he releases a sigh; then carefully guides Lan Zhan to a sit.
“And yet you did, er-gege—which I do not like, okay! I do not like it at all! Alas, to make up for this psychological torment, I’m going to need you to listen very closely to what I’m about to say.” Body rod-stiff, Lan Zhan hangs onto every single word he utters with an inhuman, unparalleled focus: a childlike eagerness to please and learn. Wei Ying bites back a smile. “Are we clear?”
Immediately, Lan Zhan nods. “Mn.”
“Good boy,” Wei Ying murmurs fondly, and settles back on his haunches; not missing the way Lan Zhan wets his lips subconsciously as he does, nor the avid reddening of his ears. He slides back until his knees bracket Lan Zhan’s own, but he’s no longer aggressively invading his lap. There, some space. Much easier to think. Mostly. “Now, tell me why I should be scared of you.”
He expects the way Lan Zhan jolts, surprised, and grabs his hand reassuringly. Squeezes tightly. “Ah ah—come on, er-gege. It’s just me—just us. Nothing to be scared of, yeah?”
Lan Zhan’s face does something weird. “I’m not scared of you.”
Evasive, but not a lie. Wei Ying is already aware of that. He never assumed otherwise, after all. “What’s the issue, then?” he pokes. “I’m probably a bit kind of crazy about you myself, Lan Zhan, so forgive me for struggling to see how you wanting me would be a bad thing.”
Sure enough, that does the trick. Lan Zhan quickly straightens, his lowered eyes shooting up; locking with Wei Ying’s gentle gaze and searching for something he seemingly wishes to find there. Both anxious and hopeful, delving.
“—Wei Ying?” and yeah, that’s hope, alright. Mixed with awe and something else, his tone has Wei Ying melting again; wholly goopified. “You are—?”
He huffs a slightly shy laugh, head tilting. “Crazy about you?” he assumes, and finishes for Lan Zhan. “Undeniably and terribly so, in fact. And it’s not a recent thing, er-gege. Not new at all. Have you ever seen me want anybody else’s attention like I do yours? Chase and annoy them, just to get them to look my way? Exactly. You broke me, Lan Zhan. I like you so, so much. It’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
His breath stutters. Has Lan Zhan always looked at him with eyes like that? How did he not notice until now? ”I may be all over the place sometimes, sweetheart, but I’m sure about this,” he adds, quieter now, soft like the whispering breeze around them. It holds them. “I’m sure about you.”
It feels good to admit. It feels right, somehow; laying his hand of cards out flat and letting the world witness it play.
He watches as Lan Zhan reaches out and takes his hand. Lan Zhan stares intently at their intertwined fingers for a long moment, as if considering; Wei Ying doesn’t know what about, but waits for his confession to process. It’s new. It might need time.
When he raises his chin with fresh eyes, Lan Zhan is smiling.
Not huge, not obvious, but there. No longer a hint in his eyes, but curled up along his mouth.
He smiles.
“Come here.”
A tender call, and Wei Ying flings himself forward without thinking in answer, knowing he won’t fall. Lan Zhan immediately wraps him up safely within his arms and pulls him in close. With a soft sigh, he indulgently tilts his neck when Wei Ying mumbles a muffled question, wiggling his face against the crook of it. Bringing a gentle hand up to encourage him to burrow in, their legs shift about until they lay tangled together and inseparable.
In the shimmering dew of that meadow, Wei Ying sucks in a deep breath of Lan Zhan’s woodsy scent. He is both holding and held, loving and possibly even loved, and everything is good.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says quietly, a bit wondrous. Wei Ying listens closely, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m crazy about you too.”
Everything is perfect.
Leaves whistle and birds warble; a plethora of noise continues on around them without worry. Lan Zhan is warm and soft, the lines of him strong in their gentleness, and Wei Ying doesn’t ever want to let go. He worms closer with a whine, everything fading to safe quiet; replaced by the slightly quick thump thump thump of Lan Zhan’s heartbeat. He never wants to let go.
Eventually, he has to. Is made to, really. Wei Ying’s stomach rumbles, an obvious distraction in the lull, and he feels how Lan Zhan goes still. He’s more than happy to ignore his hunger in favour of Lan Zhan cuddles, but rather quickly finds out that the other man wouldn’t quite agree. His lips graze Wei Ying’s forehead with finality, pressing into the downy edge of his hairline, before he’s carefully moving them apart with strong hands. Settling Wei Ying down beside him, he gets to work.
Wei Ying goes reluctantly and without much protest. Still, he can’t resist the childish urge to pout about it a bit as he watches him gather a plate and some cutlery. Lan Zhan’s gaze turns thoughtful. His hands stutter.
Then, he seems to make his mind up about something.
Wei Ying blinks expectantly as he comes back, eyes softening. Lan Zhan sits down before him and he instinctively winds a hand behind his shoulder; catching and holding on tight.
It feels fragile. He doesn’t dare to talk loudly. “Lan Zhan?”
“Beautiful,” Lan Zhan murmurs softly, the pad of his thumb tracing the edge of Wei Ying’s cheek with care; gentle reverence. “Gorgeous.”
It’s not what Wei Ying expected—at all—and he reacts without thinking.
Lan Zhan doesn’t even flinch as he throws himself to the ground with a flustered cry, almost like he expected the dramaticism. Wei Ying’s face is round and bright as a cherry, and he tries to cover it with his shooing hands.
A high-pitched, “Lan Zhaaaan!” leaves his lips, even as he begins to smile helplessly into the blanket. It’s very soft.
He hears Lan Zhan huff beneath his breath, a fond sound, before moving back over to the food. Where he held Wei Ying’s face in his palms feels tingly and vibrant.
Rustling fabric, adjustment, then something is stroking his back soothingly. Lan Zhan’s voice sounds, amused. “Wei Ying.”
With his lips smushed into fabric, Wei Ying shakes his head righteously. Unfair! Remorseless! Jail for Lan Zhan; jail for one thousand years!
“A-Ying.”
A lance of impossible love strikes Wei Ying dead in the heart at the name. Still, he refuses to give in.
“No!” he sniffs loudly, turning his face away into the ground. A hand caresses his ear patiently; fingers gentle as they move to his exposed nape. Wei Ying shivers. “Absolutely not. In fact, I’m not looking at you anymore, Lan Zhan. Never again. Your Wei Ying face privileges have been revoked, forever!”
“Forever?”
Definitely not now leaning into Lan Zhan’s hand like a grumpy kitten, Wei Ying huffs with steadfast conviction: “Yup. Forever!”
Okay, it’s not quite forever in the end, but it’s… close enough.
After all, literally anyone would break under such pressure (cough, Lan Zhan’s head pets, cough). You can hardly blame him for giving in; it was a very underhanded method of warfare. And Wei Ying maybe didn’t stand a chance when faced with delicious food and the promise of more cuddles. Just maybe.
After they finally finish eating, hunger-abated bellies full and containers messy with carmine trickles of chilli oil, it’s time to clean up and make their way back to the car. It doesn’t take anywhere near as long as the initial walk had and the sky is still full of light as Wei Ying watches Lan Zhan dump all their stuff in the trunk; making even such a thing like opening a car door look graceful and poised.
It’s obvious that they’re not done for the day when Lan Zhan makes sure to slip his wallet into his pocket before gently closing the trunk. Wei Ying taps his fingers against his thigh as he waits a step behind, smiling happily when Lan Zhan resumes his place by his side.
Standing next to each other like this makes the height difference between them, only a few inches, feel even the more pronounced. Wei Ying has to tilt his head up to see Lan Zhan face on. It makes him feel small; not in a bad way, or even good.
It just feels right to be here. He feels settled, like this is his natural place to be. An acknowledgement of who he is, and who he doesn’t have to pretend to be.
Shoulders brushing lightly, Lan Zhan onehandedly locks the car with a click of his keys before sliding Wei Ying’s hand between his once more. Wei Ying allows himself to accept whatever surprise Lan Zhan has in store without a hint of worry or gremlin-esque thought in his head. It’s kind of weird to be so sure of something; to know he’s indisputably safe, somewhere, anywhere. But he’s finding he doesn’t mind it, really.
He maybe doesn’t mind it at all.
Wei Ying’s first surprise activity of the day is a tropical butterfly house.
Sunlight lovingly cradles and catches the curves of Lan Zhan’s face when they walk in through the plastic drapes. Wei Ying has been to places like this before a lot; once for A-Ling’s birthday and mostly at different zoos with Wen Ning, but the humidity still manages to surprise him for a moment. It’s thick and tickles the back of his throat damply until he adjusts; which is quick, so used to Yunmeng’s blisteringly wet-hot summers as he is.
Or, as he was. But he doesn’t want to go there, right now. He’d rather not.
Part of him is surprised by Lan Zhan’s willingness to bring him here. After all, he’s never been very good with heat; Wei Ying is very aware of how quickly it drains him after many summer’s spent together. And whilst it’s cute how he inevitably ends up looking like a sweaty, miserable kitten, Wei Ying doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable—ever. So he makes a mental note to keep an eye on Lan Zhan when they’re inside. Nothing wrong with a little excuse if he needs to get them out of there.
One butterfly suddenly lands on the tip of Wei Ying’s nose, its pale blue fanning wings grazing the curves of his cheeks when they flutter to a stop.
Startled still, his eyes go cross-eyed as he tries to focus on the movement. He doesn’t dare to make a sound or move, fearing to disturb it. When he slides his eyes over to excitedly whisper-call for Lan Zhan, he finds him already watching with impossible affection.
That look, and those fond eyes, are far too adoring for Wei Ying to handle. A bead of sweat sits above his brow in the heat, and damp is dotted around his upper lip. But nothing could distract from the way he’s looking at Wei Ying; like he’s all he could ever see.
Lan Zhan is so beautiful. So, so beautiful.
Wei Ying’s heart fumbles in his chest as a surprised puff of breath leave his lips, but that’s apparently enough indignity for his new tiny friend.
It flaps once with its paper-wings and is then gone, just like that. A smear of colour floating above a nectar feeder, bypassing a carefully netted cocoon. Free. A wondrous laughs leaves Wei Ying as he watches the butterfly go find a steadier ground. He’s not sure he’s ever been so happy before; the whole of his heart wrapped in a cloud of joy, so light he could almost float. All because of Lan Zhan.
Because of Lan Zhan, perfect Lan Zhan. His Lan Zhan.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!” he calls out with an ear-splitting grin, whipping around breathlessly. “Did you see that?”
Lan Zhan is still watching him. It’s possible he never looked away.
“Wei Ying,” his smile is back. “I did.”
It takes everything in Wei Ying not to tackle him to the ground, hidden behind a cluster of large glossy leaves, and kiss him beyond stupid.
It becomes clear that Lan Zhan is beginning to struggle after that, so Wei Ying subtly guides them out under the pretence of wanting some fresh air. Something in Lan Zhan’s face says that he knows exactly what Wei Ying was doing, and why, but he doesn’t protest. As soon as they’re outside in the fresh air, Lan Zhan procures a couple water bottles from the middle of nowhere and passes one over. They sit down at a nearby bench to drink; Wei Ying downs half of his in the time Lan Zhan has cracked his own seal open, and laughs at the little look Lan Zhan gives him. And it’s then, quietly watching Lan Zhan sip, his throat bobbing lightly, that the distant sadness begins to seep in. It’s almost over.
And Wei Ying doesn’t want this day to end. Perhaps ever.
But that sadness is quickly washed away when Lan Zhan elegantly finishes his bottle and sits up somehow straighter to face him, hands linked once more. Because it turns out that the butterfly house isn’t it, after all. It turns out that there’s even more.
And Lan Zhan’s next and final surprise, to his immeasurable delight, is a petting zoo.
Wei Ying can’t shut up as they walk over. Thankfully, Lan Zhan seems happy to let him yap; he’s not sure he could be quiet even if he tried.
“Lan Zhan, I didn’t know this is something you would be into,” he hums thoughtfully. For a moment, he skips and jumps ahead before turning around to face him. A large smiles splits his face in two simply from the sight of him there; the reality of his presence. “I thought you didn’t like zoos much?” a pause. “Ethically, I mean?”
Like all things Lan Zhan ever says, he sees him considering his words carefully.
“Zoos as an institution are not inherently unethical,” he explains distinctly, words precise and clearly well perused on. Wei Ying listens with interest, walking backwards now and keeping his eyes locked in. “I believe it largely depends on the individual; some are far more welfare-focused than even the big animal sanctuaries. In contrast to what a lot of people believe, the existence of zoos is beneficial.”
A donkey greets them at one of the first pens, its side-eye something genuinely impressive in the tranquillity of the yard. A small, lightly faded sign on the fence indicates name and age: Little Apple, a twenty-five year old jenny. Rescued from an equine facility that unexpectedly shut down, living out the rest of her life here.
“Equus asinus,” Wei Ying reads aloud, most definitely not putting emphasis on the hindmost part of her species name.
Lan Zhan blinks at him knowing, amused eyes, and he grins cheekily back.
The donkey, Little Apple, is both opinionated and loud as donkeys tend to be. Naturally sensing the gremlin in him, she goes to bite at Wei Ying when he inches forward to scratch her neck, making him pause; frowning. His disappointment only petulantly grows as, meanly rejected and abused, he’s then forced to watch her steal Lan Zhan’s attention from him with suddenly sweet, innocent eyes.
Her donkey face turns all cute despite trying to rip off Wei Ying’s fingers only seconds prior; a master schemer at play.
“Ah, er-gege…” mutters Wei Ying, refusing to look away from the evidently dangerous beast for even a fractional moment. Lan Zhan, calmly scratching behind her ears with his very nice fingers, turns to look at him; peering curiously. “Uhm, this one has evil energy, actually? Maybe we should move on. To the other animals. Right now?”
As if sensing his irrational jealousy and delighting in proving him wrong, Little Apple then becomes even gentler. Her big ears lay flat back when Wei Ying dares to open his mouth, and she stomps her hoof in warning.
Whenever Lan Zhan goes to step away, she brays—loudly, repeatedly, until he pets her some more.
“She is sweet,” Lan Zhan murmurs quietly. “A good girl, aren’t you?”
Wei Ying is sick and vibrating with indignation.
It’s ridiculous how petty he feels, but he can’t bring himself to care. On one particularly harsh equid look, his mouth subconsciously closes with a dull thunk. No way, he thinks, staring as Lan Zhan talks to the deviant with utter softness. No way. Silenced by a donkey, of all things—on his date. A donkey!
Lan Zhan should be talking to him like that! Not that evil, wretched creature!
“Lan Zhan,” he grumbles weakly.
A bit guilty eyed and seemingly helpless (but clearly a sucker for manipulation), Lan Zhan gives her a bit more fuss. He strokes down her (probably soft, but Wei Ying wouldn’t know) muzzle as he feeds her a generous handful of pony nuts from a nearby tub.
Then, eventually, he takes a step back. Glances to Wei Ying, somewhat seeking.
As soon as he moves, to the very millisecond, Wei Ying is grabbing him by the arm and quickly leading them on; feeling rather victorious when Lan Zhan goes without issue, letting Wei Ying wind around his steady side to his heart’s content. The donkey calls after them, clearly heartbroken, but he pays it no mind.
He will not be beaten by a damn donkey. Not today, thank you!
A small field of rabbits they stumble upon next; they, too, seem to love Lan Zhan. Drawn in simply by the peace of his presence, no bribery of leafy greens is needed as they line up at the fence side, peering brightly through metal fencing.
Wei Ying notices Lan Zhan staring at them intently, mouth awe-slack.
Unlike Little Apple’s cheater ways, something about Lan Zhan’s tender longing for them has Wei Ying’s heart swelling with determination. His mind is made. Immediately linking Lan Zhan’s pinky finger with his own, he takes executive decision and carefully leads them both into the pen with pleading eyes, navigating around inquisitive balls of fluff before encouraging Lan Zhan onto a dry patch of grass.
Once he’s down and settled, lips parted in surprise, Wei Ying plonks himself there too, curling happily into the cradle of Lan Zhan’s chest and tucking his knees to his chest.
Both of them watch quietly as the rabbits make their approach; twitching pink-noses curiously nuzzling at Lan Zhan’s feet, one nibbling at the hem of his coat. Wei Ying doesn’t even care that they remain avoidant of him. Beneath his ear, he hears Lan Zhan’s pulse pick up the moment the first bun takes a leap and clambers atop his thighs; feels how his breath hitches infinitesimally when they push into the palm of his still hand, seeking attention.
Cute. God, Lan Zhan is so, so cute. Wei Ying presses a lingering kiss to Lan Zhan’s incredibly still shoulder before turning to hide against his throat, letting his smile press into soft skin. Like that, they stay for a while; the clean breeze cool and fresh around them as they sit alone in the quiet corner of a sunny garden.
Nestled safe, and happy, within each other’s presence. And covered in a mountain of bunnies.
When they go to leave the rabbits almost an hour later, the small pinch of disappointment around Lan Zhan’s mouth has Wei Ying giving in. Crowding flush into his space and tenderly brushing his mouth against his chin, he meaningfully whispers, “You’ll bring me back here soon, won’t you er-gege? We’ll come see the bunnies again?”
In response, Lan Zhan holds him tighter. His eyes shimmer with a thousand tiny stars when he appears to understand what Wei Ying is getting at; we’ll come back, so don’t be sad, okay? It’s okay. Please don’t be sad, er-gege?
A pause. Then, tucking back Wei Ying’s hair with gentle fingers, he nods gratefully. Wei Ying beams.
It’s past four in the afternoon by the time they move on, no longer with a specific direction in mind but rather simply enjoying the brightness of life around them before they have to head home.
Surrounded by the dimming lick of light, the heavy shadows of trees and various flora, Wei Ying continues rattling off random fact after fact, his mouth a never ending torrent of excited commentary at their surroundings. Lan Zhan listens with a peaceful expression the entire time, his fingers intwined within Wei Ying’s own when not preoccupied with uncapping a water bottle, or unbolting a stiff gate. Not once does he seem bothered by his excitability.
He’s also incredibly careful with Wei Ying. Gently guiding him away from uneven bumps and protruding branches, one hand flat on his hip to prevent him from tripping off the slippery pebbled edges of the path.
Wei Ying’s face aches from all his smiling. His brain gremlins have been thoroughly beaten away, and all he feels is a sense of contentment.
He doesn’t want this to end.
But he knows with sureness that their date has finally arrived at its conclusion when Lan Zhan looks at the sky, noting the thick amass of grey cloud forming; then glances down at his watch.
His lips pinch. Wei Ying wants to kiss them.
He squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand tightly instead, then suggests, “Hmm. Is it time to head back, er-gege?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes are a bit forlorn when he nods; Wei Ying’s heart twinges with fondness and understanding—oh, how he gets it. He truly does. So, he sidles closer with a hum, pressing their arms flush and warm together in hope of soothing, before turning them both to lead the way.
It’s quieter walking back. Contemplative, really, without the chorus of birdsong and dashes of plant colour to distract them. But it’s not uncomfortable; it just is. It’s ever strange how Wei Ying would go honestly crazy in any other silence, but with Lan Zhan’s it feels fundamentally different. He doesn’t have to be a filler at all times. He doesn’t have to fear what comes after the quiet breaks; a dropped glass doesn’t shatter, nobody screams. A dinner table isn’t a cold warzone. His sister’s marriage isn’t broken.
Dusk is blanketing heavily by the time they reach the car. Wei Ying isn’t surprised when Lan Zhan steps ahead to open his door for him this time, but he still laughs softly when he catches the richly satisfied glow the other man maintains about him.
He slides onto the soft leather, muscles melting in relief. When he looks up, Lan Zhan hasn’t moved yet. His eyes are watchful; honey in the low light.
Not really thinking much of it, Wei Ying jokes, “Are you also going to buckle my seatbelt for me too?” but the sharp stare he gets hit with, bold and daring, tells him the terrible answer to that: He would. An embarrassed blush dusts Wei Ying’s cheeks when he realizes his mistake, and he hastily tugs the belt over him before Lan Zhan can get his own ridiculous way. Absolutely not.
Silly, foolish man, who he loves so much.
“I wasn’t being serious,” he declares weakly. Lan Zhan blinks like he’s internally laughing, and Wei Ying’s flummoxed face is not thick enough for this.
It’s not fair. Since when was Lan Zhan so—so smooth? He closes Wei Ying’s door gently before getting into the driver’s side; face innocent and radiating the utmost calm. Even as Wei Ying still can’t stop his cheeks from blushing cherry-red like… a wooed maiden, or something. The lack of remorse is astounding.
He repeats, unable to meet Lan Zhan’s observation and his voice thick like syrup, “I was kidding, you know.”
“Mn.”
“Lan Zhan.”
Huddled intimately under the bright interior lighting, Lan Zhan looks like he has a golden halo around his head. A façade of innocence, clearly. “I never said otherwise.”
Wei Ying is only slightly appeased. He leans back into his seat with a huff; side-eye lethal. There’s a boldness rearing up and he can’t deny it.
“Well—good. Because I refuse to date men with any evil in their heart. And it would be an awful shame to find out you were one of them, er-gege. Especially because I like you so much.”
A test. Possibly a challenge, a desire to see how they play. The day is over; the light is dim. But he wants to see how this ends.
It doesn’t take long. Only a second; a fraction of a breath. Lan Zhan wets his lips; a flick of tongue. Predatory.
“What do you think?”
“I think that Lan Zhan is the best, and yet…” Wei Ying trails off, eyes round; shining.
Lan Zhan’s gaze is scalding when he tilts his chin up, daring him to act. A flicker of longing spears through Wei Ying; the car becomes smaller, smaller, proximity dwindling until the world is nothing more than the two of them. He sighs and reaches out, curiously tracing a nail down Lan Zhan’s tense forearm; stroking the thrum of his pulse, teasing it beneath the softness of his fingertips. It races impossibly fast; growing quicker, hotter, just like the darkness in Lan Zhan’s pupils seems to. Elegant-like wonder shifting to something else.
It spurs Wei Ying treacherously onwards.
“Tell me, Lan Zhan? Would you be good to me?” he whispers, leaning in as if share a secret. Frozen in place, Lan Zhan exhales unsteadily when he grazes his knee. Taps. “Would you be a good boyfriend for your Wei Ying?”
A rush of heat has him losing breath when Lan Zhan finally—finally—grabs him.
There’s no warning at all before he’s winding his fingers around Wei Ying’s travelling wrist; eyes flashing and holding him in place. He asks, quiet but heated, “Wei Ying wants a good boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
A thrilled laugh escapes Wei Ying when Lan Zhan snaps; mentally, but then quite literally shoving the buckle of his seatbelt free. He scrambles up excitedly and shivers in delight when his waist is captured within a desperate grip; one hand cupping his head to protect against the roof, the other tugging him across to straddle Lan Zhan’s broad lap. Their chests collide. Stagger.
Wei Ying sits there with fire in his veins, one hand threaded at the base of Lan Zhan’s skull. Lan Zhan is looking at him like he’s edible. A rapid rising urgency as he searches for confirmation. He’s so cute; his eyes fathomless black and hair mussed by Wei Ying’s hand. Both stunned rabbit and hunting fox in a wild chase.
“Wei Ying—"
“Ah, er-gege. My Lan Zhan. You know, I never thought I’d put out on a first date, but…” he nips at his jaw with the blunt edges of his teeth, feeling Lan Zhan shake.
“But?”
Wei Ying smiles mischievously. His hand goes lower, lower—
“Want to find out?”