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Wei Wuxian stares at Lan Wangji’s outstretched hand, rather suspecting he’s caught up in some kind of vivid hallucination.
The crowd at the Asian Cup International Ballroom Dancing Championship is awaiting a demonstration from special guests Lan Wangji and Luo Qingyang, the winners of the most recent international competition in the U.K. Yet Lan Wangji’s partner is nowhere to be found, and the man himself is standing in front of Wei Wuxian.
In true Lan Wangji fashion, he hasn’t even said anything since striding off the dancefloor and into the crowd; he just continues to hold out a hand and keep his gaze fixed stubbornly on Wei Wuxian’s face.
Wei Wuxian’s lips curl up. He lifts his hand slowly, deliberately teasing, and places it in Lan Wangji’s.
Then he lets Lan Wangji lead him to the dancefloor.
Their first dance is the standard waltz.
When they started training together about a year ago, they began with the waltz then too. Lan Wangji had described it as a dance of “elegant courtship,” which at the time Wei Wuxian found very funny. Now he thinks of it as foreshadowing.
“Is this your way of trying to court me?” he’d asked, laughing.
A tiny crease appeared in Lan Wangji’s perfectly rigid face. “I’m teaching you.”
Indeed, that was the agreement. An agreement that Wei Wuxian has complained about many times over the last year to anyone who will listen—including Lan Wangji himself.
Wei Wuxian had been perfectly content as the longstanding national champion for Latin dance. He and his partner, Wen Qing, had always competed solely in the five dances in the Latin dance category—the cha-cha-cha, samba, rumba, paso doble, and jive—and they’d always excelled. Wei Wuxian never had any interest in the stuffy formality of the standard ballroom dances, but Latin dance encapsulates everything he loves about dancing. It’s playful, energetic, flirtatious, passionate—all things that Lan Wangji is not.
Well, Lan Wangji was not those things, at least, back when he asked Wei Wuxian to train for 10Dance with him.
Lan Wangji is a master of standard ballroom dancing, having perfected the waltz, tango, slow foxtrot, quick step, and Viennese waltz with his partner, Luo Qingyang. Yet they’d always come second at the world championships, year after year. Though his dancing was technically flawless, there was always something missing from his performance. Wei Wuxian used to get irrationally frustrated watching him compete, because how could someone so talented be so lifeless?
The international 10Dance competition requires each pair of contestants to compete in all five standard ballroom dances and all five Latin dances, and Wei Wuxian had thought that Lan Wangji was absolutely out of his mind for wanting to do it. Even putting aside the absurdity of Lan Wangji managing to do any type of Latin dance, 10Dance consists of four rounds, which means each dancer has to dance a total of forty times in one competition.
Why would Wei Wuxian willingly put himself through such a grueling test of both body and mind for no reason?
He’d had every intention of declining Lan Wangji’s offer, of course.
And yet . . .
Somehow that’s not exactly what happened.
“He pursued me relentlessly. How could I say no?” Wei Wuxian had said on one of the many occasions when he complained to Wen Qing about this whole situation. “‘Wei Ying, come to 10Dance with me.’ ‘Wei Ying, you’re a way cooler and better dancer than me so I need your valuable expertise.’ ‘Wei Ying, come to 10Dance.’ ‘Wei Ying, please, I need you.’”
On every such occasion, Wen Qing had been unfairly skeptical. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Well, memory is a very complex thing.”
“As I recall, he asked you once and you folded immediately.”
Honestly, what are dance partners even for if they’re not going to provide unconditional support?
Wei Wuxian did not want to compete at 10Dance, but his curiosity was stoked, so he had no choice but to drag himself to that first day of training in Lan Wangji and Luo Qingyang’s practice studio, prepared to be psychologically tortured by boring ballroom dances.
That’s also not exactly what happened.
Their second dance is the tango.
It’s a little sexier and a little more exciting than the waltz, but Lan Wangji used to look slightly pained each time they practiced it—or any of the standard ballroom dances, actually.
Lan Wangji had not been used to letting someone else lead. He made that very clear. Wei Wuxian grumbled quite frequently to Wen Qing about what a control freak he was, and whenever she showed him no sympathy, which was every time, he called his sister instead.
Lan Wangji was so stiff when Wei Wuxian tried to lead him that the whole thing was almost unbearably awkward at first. He’d felt like Lan Wangji was looking down on him by not trusting him to lead, and Lan Wangji’s loaded silences did nothing to dissuade him of this notion.
In hindsight, Wei Wuxian understands that he was a teeny bit arrogant back then. Leading the standard dances wasn’t as easy as he’d thought, and they fit together far better now with Lan Wangji leading them.
Once he’d realized that he didn’t mind following Lan Wangji’s lead—he liked it, even—he’d known he was in trouble.
Their third dance is the slow foxtrot.
It’s perhaps the most challenging of the standard dances, but Lan Wangji makes it look and feel effortless. His control over his body is astounding to Wei Wuxian; every movement is meticulous, but they all come together in a smooth glide.
Wei Wuxian is willing to admit that he may be biased now, but even back when he found Lan Wangji vexing he still thought this man was the most graceful person he’d ever seen.
He also thought Lan Wangji was a joyless, passionless, wordless statue that somehow got brought to life by someone accidentally spilling a magic potion on it, but that turned out to be false, probably.
Even though they’d never competed against each other because they performed in different categories, Wei Wuxian had found it difficult to tear his eyes away any time he happened to catch Lan Wangji dancing from afar. (Or, if you were to believe Wen Qing’s uncharitable accounts, he’d watched with an unblinking stare every time he deliberately went to see Lan Wangji dance.)
Lan Wangji’s approach to ballroom dancing was fascinating. Wei Wuxian had always thought of dance as a means of expression, an outlet, an art form that rewarded creativity and energy.
Lan Wangji treated it as none of those things. He danced to attain perfection, and anything less than first place was an embarrassing failure. His relentless determination and rigidity were at odds with everything Wei Wuxian knew and felt about dancing, and they’ve spent the last year struggling to reconcile these differences.
“Do you ever just dance to enjoy it?” he’d asked Lan Wangji a while ago.
“I enjoy succeeding,” Lan Wangji replied.
“But do you enjoy dancing just for the sake of dancing?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let’s start simpler. Is there anything you enjoy?”
Lan Wangji continued to look blank. “I enjoy training with you.”
Wei Wuxian was so speechless he actually didn’t know how to respond, so he just laughed.
From then on, Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to see Lan Wangji’s facade crack. Surely there was something below the surface that could surprise him, and he wanted to find out what it was.
Their fourth dance is the quickstep.
It’s fast and light and surprisingly fun for a standard ballroom dance. Wei Wuxian had tried to express this to Lan Wangji once, but they ran into a language barrier, in the sense that Lan Wangji had never before encountered the word “fun” and didn’t know what it meant.
Wei Wuxian would be astonished to see a tiny smile tugging at Lan Wangji’s lips right now if he hadn’t already been inoculated to the sight. Admittedly, it took quite a while for Wei Wuxian to earn a smile from Lan Wangji, but he was also pretty proud of how easily he could get Lan Wangji to frown.
Once he’d realized how to press all of Lan Wangji’s buttons, he just hadn’t been able to help himself. He respected Lan Wangji as a dancer and genuinely wanted to learn from him, but he also really, really wanted to piss him off, whether by stepping on his feet or teasing him until his ears turned red.
“Are you doing that on purpose?” Lan Wangji had asked through gritted teeth when Wei Wuxian messed up his footwork yet again during their very first quickstep together.
“Doing what?” Wei Wuxian asked, blinking his eyes innocently.
“You’re a better dancer than this.”
“I’m flattered, Lan Zhan, but I’m afraid your fancy standard dances are just too complicated for little old me! I’m trying my very, very hardest.”
Lan Wangji glared at him, refusing to put his hand back in Wei Wuxian’s to begin the dance again. “You’re not.”
Wei Wuxian grabbed his hand anyway. “Are you accusing me of lying, Lan Zhan? Now my feelings are hurt. How will you take responsibility?”
Both then and now, nothing is more delightful than the sight of Lan Wangji struggling to maintain a neutral expression.
Their fifth dance is the cha-cha-cha.
As they transition from standard dances into the Latin styles for this demonstration, Lan Wangji starts to follow Wei Wuxian’s lead.
Lan Wangji never thought he could enjoy doing so, but Wei Wuxian has surprised him in more ways than he could possibly quantify.
When he’d made his 10Dance training proposal to Wei Wuxian, he’d been obsessed with the idea of proving himself to the world. He was always a runner-up, never a world champion, and that made him a failure. Time and time again, he’d heard that he could never reach the pinnacle of success because his performances were devoid of passion—that he should just gracefully exit the competition field now before his career became an eyesore.
Lan Wangji did not know how to give up. He wouldn’t.
And he happened to know a dancer who always seemed to be overflowing with the very passion that Lan Wangji was lacking. The first time he ever saw Wei Wuxian perform, he finally understood how dance could inspire an audience and truly tell a story. He’d been quietly fixated on this Latin dance champion ever since.
Wei Wuxian is chaotic and confusing and at times incredibly challenging to deal with. At first it seemed like he could never take anything seriously. But when he moved his body, it looked as natural as breathing. Lan Wangji had been certain that if Wei Wuxian aimed higher than the national championship, he could soar. He’d never understood why Wei Wuxian was content to be a big fish in a small pond—but he’d also never understood dancing the way Wei Wuxian did.
He didn’t think Wei Wuxian would agree to train with him, and after their first practice together he wasn’t sure if he would survive any more of them. Ghosting his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s arms to correct his form was one thing; being subjected to Wei Wuxian’s teaching methods was another thing entirely.
There are some moments he can’t think about now—or ever—for the sake of his sanity and composure. For example, Wei Wuxian demonstrating how to move his hips. Wei Wuxian taking off his shirt to more clearly demonstrate how to move his hips. Wei Wuxian instructing Lan Wangji to put his hands on Wei Wuxian’s hips to feel the movement. All of these moments and more tested Lan Wangji’s self-control to a degree he hadn’t even realized was possible.
“If the waltz is an elegant courtship,” Wei Wuxian had whispered in Lan Wangji’s ear that first day, “then Latin dance is raw eroticism. Can you handle it?”
Back then, Lan Wangji really didn’t know how to answer that, but as he dances the cha-cha-cha with Wei Wuxian now, he’s certain the answer is yes.
Their sixth dance is the samba.
The samba may be the most difficult Latin dance, but Lan Wangji was not as bemused by its rhythm as by Wei Wuxian’s insistence that he should be having fun while doing it.
Dancing has always been Lan Wangji’s entire life, but he can’t remember a single time before Wei Wuxian that he experienced anything so simple as fun while dancing. He was taught to treat ballroom dancing with the utmost solemnity and respect, to uphold his integrity as a competitor and honor his partner’s hard work—none of which seemed to particularly interest Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian dances because it brings him joy. Lan Wangji had only begun to understand that when Wei Wuxian brought him to a nightclub after practice and encouraged him to loosen up.
“Smile!” Wei Wuxian had said, grabbing both his hands and tugging him onto the dancefloor. “Just smile a little for me, won’t you? It’s good for you, Lan Zhan, even if you have to fake it.”
As his lips slowly lifted in a smile, Lan Wangji was surprised to find that he didn’t need to fake it at all.
Their seventh dance is the rumba.
It’s the dance of love, and learning it was nothing short of excruciating.
When they started practicing it, Lan Wangji’s mind had been ringing with the words of his most respected mentor: “Dance is neither about technique nor stamina. Love is what makes it whole, but I don’t feel love in the way you dance.”
He couldn’t understand what she meant, nor could he forget it.
Dancing the rumba with Wei Wuxian now, after the year they’ve spent becoming intimately familiar with each other, Lan Wangji’s heart feels like it’s on fire.
Their eighth dance is the paso doble.
Such a bold and passionate dance did not come easily to Lan Wangji, whose expertise has long been confined to restraint, poise, and precision. He’d never thought he could do such a theatrical dance in front of an audience without making a fool of himself, but Wei Wuxian’s confidence buoys him.
It may not be as technically perfect as he’d like, but it’s hard to care about technique when Wei Wuxian is looking at him like that, his face flushed with exertion and his grin wide. Lan Wangji wants their audience for this demonstration to admire just how talented Wei Wuxian is, but he also wishes more than anything that they were alone right now.
He has spent his entire life keeping his emotions carefully suppressed, to the point where he used to be completely unable to just let go and feel.
“Latin dance is about making your body your instrument,” Wei Wuxian had told him once. “You need to feel the music, and let your body express it. That’s how you convey emotions, storytelling, passion through your dance.”
Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to say. Wei Wuxian just smiled and suddenly covered Lan Wangji’s eyes with his hands.
“Just listen to the music. Think about what you feel.”
Truthfully, Lan Wangji wasn’t able to think about anything at all except Wei Wuxian’s warm hands touching him, but he couldn’t say that. “Mn.”
All he managed to focus on during that exercise was willing his heartbeat to slow and his mind to clear of impure thoughts. But when he opened his eyes to look at Wei Wuxian, he did feel a little different as they resumed the dance.
“See, that’s better,” Wei Wuxian says. “You just need to focus on the emotional experience of the dance and the music. Even if you hit every move perfectly, it won’t mean anything to the audience unless you manage to make them feel what you feel. You need to tell them a story.”
Every story Lan Wangji wants to tell now is about Wei Wuxian.
Their ninth dance is the jive.
To Lan Wangji, the jive represents everything that makes Wei Wuxian a force of nature. He’s difficult to keep up with, lively and vibrant and energetic—exhausting in the best way, the way only something truly worth the effort can be.
One year ago, Lan Wangji never thought they could fit together so seamlessly. When they dance now, it’s as though they’ve become a single soul inhabiting two bodies.
Lan Wangji had never dared to hope that he would find someone who could not only understand him but help him understand himself too. Before, he didn’t allow himself to hold frivolous desires beyond a drive to win, but now he knows that winning won’t mean anything to him if he doesn’t have Wei Wuxian in his life to celebrate his success with him.
As long as Lan Wangji can clasp Wei Wuxian’s hands in his anytime he wants, he’ll be happy for the rest of his life.
The first time Lan Wangji watched Wei Wuxian dance, he saw a way forward. The first time they danced together, he knew he’d never be able to let go.
Now, as they perform together for the first time, Lan Wangji knows he doesn’t have to.
Their final dance of the demonstration is the Viennese waltz.
They’re no longer the only couple on the dancefloor for this one; other dancers are whirling around them, but Wei Wuxian scarcely notices them. He doesn’t have to, anyway, since Lan Wangji is leading again. He’d ceded control to Wei Wuxian during the Latin dances, but for this final standard ballroom dance Wei Wuxian is happy to follow him wherever he goes.
It’s just as well that they’re amid a sea of other pairs—including Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang, who as always look thrilled to be dancing together—since Wei Wuxian wants to do something very unprofessional.
The Viennese waltz was apparently considered quite scandalous when it first became popular. It requires a closer hold than the standard waltz and was criticized for encouraging sinful behavior.
Given his intimate embrace with Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian can absolutely understand why.
“Lan Zhan.”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji looks at him expectantly as they pause in the middle of the dancefloor. It’s just a demonstration, anyway, so it’s not like they’re being scored.
“All these waltzes we’ve done . . . wouldn’t you say we’ve courted long enough?”
Wei Wuxian laughs a little breathlessly as he watches Lan Wangji’s expression shift. “Mn.”
“So if I wanted to do something a little scandalous right now, would you—?”
He can’t even get the full question out before Lan Wangji grips his chin and presses their lips together in a fierce kiss. Wei Wuxian almost laughs again at Lan Wangji’s clear abandonment of all self-restraint, but he can’t bear to do anything except kiss him back.
Wei Wuxian has wanted to do this since the very first time he entered that practice studio. He wants to continue kissing Lan Wangji until he can see what such a reserved man looks like when he comes unraveled—but that will have to wait until they’re alone.
“See you at 10Dance?” Wei Wuxian whispers when they finally break apart.
Lan Wangji gives him a tiny, petulant frown. “Too far.”
“See you every day until 10Dance, then also at 10Dance?” Wei Wuxian suggests, grinning.
“Mn.”
Lan Wangji looks so serious about it that Wei Wuxian can’t help but press another quick kiss to his lips. They’re probably drawing a fair amount of stares, and Wen Qing is probably laughing at them for their indiscretion, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t care about anything at all except the man he loves.
Love is a dance, and they’re finally in harmony.