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It starts with a delivery.
Specifically, Lan Zhan sees a pharmacy bag for Wei Ying waiting outside his apartment door while he’s on his way to the museum in the morning.
The bag is still there when he returns in the evening, which is unusual.
By his own words, Lan Zhan’s neighbor is a squirrel always chasing the dopamine rush of a new parcel, even if it’s just a replacement stopper for the bathtub.
Lan Zhan frowns at the logo on the brown, paper bag, shifting his cloth grocery bags to one arm as he pulls out his keys.
As soon as his perishables are stowed in the fridge and freezer, he leans against the countertop and texts Wei Ying.
A’Yuan had a cold this past week, and he knows Wei Ying has been busy dealing with a feverish young child, but still, a pharmacy bag seems like something the parent of a sick child would need imminently.
When no reply is forthcoming, Lan Zhan feels worry begin to simmer on the back burner of his mind.
He channels this unrest into cooking, as usual. Lan Zhan prepares a pot of tofu and scallion soup, something light enough for a sick child to ingest and something he can easily add chili oil to in order to please Wei Ying’s insatiable spice tolerance.
It’s been almost two hours by the time he’s got the pot and ladle in hand, marching up to Wei Ying’s door. The package is finally gone, hopefully safely indoors with Wei Ying. Lan Zhan has a mask on just in case A’Yuan’s still infectious and clingy.
There’s still been no reply to his earlier texts, and his worry has sharpened into a slight agitation, the retrieved delivery notwithstanding.
He rings the doorbell with his elbow and waits, not fidgeting since it’s a habit that was never allowed as a child. Still, he feels keenly awkward, standing there in the hallway where he first met Wei Ying six months ago over an escaped cat and toddler.
“Coming!” he hears Wei Ying call, weak and muffled.
The door opens, and Wei Ying blinks at him, pale and sweaty. “Lan Zhan?” He sounds weak and ill, and he likely is.
“I brought soup,” Lan Zhan says, completely without greeting.
Suibian tries to dart out between their feet, but Lan Zhan traps her gently between his calves, feeling even more ridiculous, like he’s wearing his whole heart on the plain, blue apron he never took off.
Wei Ying coughs into his shoulder and leans more heavily against the door to slowly make his way into a crouch to grab Suibian, who has started purring riotously. “Thanks. For the soup,” he pauses to take a rasping breath, “and for catching the cat. She’s been very bored today.”
Lan Zhan cannot pretend he hasn’t imagined Wei Ying between his legs with a raspy voice, but feverish and trying to scoop up an uncooperative tortoiseshell cat is not quite the picture. He shakes away the thought.
“May I come in?”
“Uh… yes. But do note that I haven’t cleaned since before A’Yuan got sick, other than emergency dishes.” He steps back into the hallway and coughs again, sounding like he might lose a lung.
When the fit ends, Wei Ying sighs, leaning against the side of a magnet-and photo-laden fridge. “The joys of having a small child in daycare. All the germs, all the time.”
Lan Zhan hums in sympathy as he sets the pot on the stove and adjusts it to a simmer to keep the broth warm. “I used to catch colds every change in season from the school tour groups.”
Wei Ying nods in understanding as Lan Zhan bustles around the kitchen—it’s hardly his first time taking over the least-used room of Wei Ying’s apartment. “Interacting with 25 to 50 kids at a time will do that to you.”
“Indeed.” He locates one adult and one child-sized bowl that are in the cupboards. “Where is A’Yuan?”
“Asleep. He’s just about back to normal other than a lingering cough, but he’s exhausted.” Wei Ying presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, something Lan Zhan knows him to do when fighting back tears. “He slept badly, like, really, really poorly all week with the fever and the sinus pressure.”
Lan Zhan makes a soft noise. “And thus you also slept poorly.”
“More like, not at all,” Wei Ying says, wheezing again.
“Have you eaten?” he remembers to ask before the ladle hits broth.
“Uh, no…not since breakfast. Your soup smells so good, Gege. At least, I think it does,” Wei Ying adds with a sniffle. He shuffles over to the small table crammed between the kitchen and the living/toy room.
Lan Zhan gives him a sympathetic look. He sets down A’Yuan’s bowl and instead fills the larger soup bowl with a generous portion for Wei Ying. He then takes the chili oil from the countertop and adds a few splashes. “Please,” he says, setting the bowl down and pushing a spoon into Wei Ying’s hands, “eat.”
Wei Ying obliges, moaning happily as the broth goes down his throat. “Wow. This is incredible, Lan Zhan. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Trial and error,” Lan Zhan says, watching with a hearth of contentedness simmering in his heart like the soup on the stove. As Wei Ying continues to eat, Lan Zhan searches the cabinets for the ginger tea he spotted on a previous visit.
When that is steeping, he sits at the table with Wei Ying, happy just to share space and time with this man, even if he is sorry about Wei Ying’s clear exhaustion and discomfort.
“Baba,” a small voice whines.
Wei Ying perks up at once as A’Yuan emerges from the short hallway. “Hey, baobao, how are you feeling?”
“Hungry,” he grumbles, and then he spots Lan Zhan and blinks. “Zhan-Gege, did you bring food? I’m hungry.”
Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan stifles an amused huff.
“Hello, A’Yuan. I did bring food, yes. Would you like some soup?”
He clambers onto Wei Ying’s lap and looks at the reddened broth. “Spicy?”
Lan Zhan stands and spoons a small amount of soup into A’Yuan’s bowl to show him the golden broth. “Baba’s soup is spicy, but yours does not have to be.”
A’Yuan sniffs the soup into Lan Zhan’s hands and then holds his own hands out. “I want it.”
“Ahem,” Wei Ying prompts.
“Please, Zhan-Gege!”
“Very well. Can you sit in your big boy seat?”
“Mn.” A’Yuan slides out of his father’s lap and climbs into his booster seat at the table. Lan Zhan gives him the bowl, a spoon, and a napkin. He then digs in the fridge and places a juice box next to the meal.
“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his eyes soft in the dim light of the kitchen. Lan Zhan should really just change the two bulbs that are out himself, at this point. Their apartment management company is terrible at little maintenance things like this.
“No need for thanks,” he replies, reaching down to pet Suibian.
After the meal, he sets about cleaning the kitchen and sorting the waste and recycling.
When Wei Ying returns from getting A’Yuan ready for bed, all the dishes have been washed, dried, and put away. There are three bags of recycling ready to go downstairs, and there is a pot of congee simmering for the morning.
“Are you some kind of magician?” Wei Ying asked, mystified and grinning. “I was gone like half an hour.”
Lan Zhan feels his ears heat. “It was nothing.”
Wei Ying scoffs. “This is definitely not nothing. You’re like a knight in shining armor.”
“Does that make you my damsel in distress?” Lan Zhan asks, surprised when the words leave his lips.
Wei Ying cackles and then coughs until he wheezes while Lan Zhan looks on in mild horror.
“I suppose so!” he finally rasps. He looks up at Lan Zhan then, and there’s something warm in his eyes, but more a heat than a softness. Lan Zhan swallows hard. “So, Gege, what else can you do for this poor damsel?” There’s a teasing lilt to Wei Ying’s voice, and Lan Zhan knows it well, even with the rasp of sickness.
His fingers curl around the edge of the counter, and he has to physically restrain himself. “That depends on what you would like me to do,” he replies, looking Wei Ying up and down like a meal to be devoured.
Wei Ying shivers under his gaze. “I would say you should wine and dine me first, but I think we’re past that.”
Lan Zhan reaches out slowly with one hand, and Wei Ying comes closer, leaning in so his cheek rests on Lan Zhan’s palm. “I would be happy to do so anyways. I am always happy to spend time with you, Wei Ying. You, and A’Yuan,” he adds, because he knows how much the boy means to Wei Ying—and how much he means to Lan Zhan, too.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, I like you so much,” Wei Ying whispers into the pocket of space between them.
Lan Zhan lowers his mask for a second, just long enough to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. “I care for you so deeply, Wei Ying.” He tucks a greasy strand of Wei Ying’s hair behind one ear. “When you are feeling better, I’ll take you on a date.”
“Such a gentleman,” Wei Ying says, his eyes closed, but his mouth stretched into a happy smile. “Is that all you’ll do with me?”
“That depends on whether or not A’Yuan is home when we return,” Lan Zhan says into Wei Ying’s ear.
When he steps back, Wei Ying’s entire face is covered in a fetching blush, making him look feverish. “Er-Gege,” he shriek-whispers, burying his face in his hands. “How can you say such things with a straight face? I almost had a heart attack.”
Lan Zhan’s lips twitch, he knows Wei Ying can see his amusement even behind his mask.
It is then that Suibian meows loudly, startling them apart.
“Oh, whoops. I forgot to give her dinner,” Wei Ying says, crouching to rub Suibian’s head as she butts against his knees and chirps.
“I’ll get it.”
“You don’t have to—“ Wei Ying says, but Lan Zhan is already moving.
“It is fine. I meant to ask if she had been fed.” Lan Zhan quickly scoops some kibble from the food bin and places it in Suibian’s bowl. He gives her some fresh water, too, for good measure.
Wei Ying watches him work as he sips the end of his ginger tea.
“What is it?” Lan Zhan asks, wiping down the counter.
“I’m just wondering how I got so lucky to meet you.”
“I consider myself the lucky one,” Lan Zhan confesses.
Wei Ying groans. “I want to kiss you so bad. I can’t wait until this cold is gone.”
Lan Zhan feels the heat return to his ears. “I look forward to it.”
Wei Ying opens his mouth, but whatever he meant to say is swallowed by a jaw-cracking yawn.
“You should rest,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying pouts and then sighs. “You’re probably right.”
Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hands in his own. “Good night, Wei Ying. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Wei Ying looks up at him, sleepy and smiley. “Good night, Gege. See you then. Ah, but first—“ He reluctantly lets go of one of Lan Zhan’s hands to rummage through the paperwork bin on the edge of the counter. “Here!”
Wei Ying places something in Lan Zhan’s hand, and he looks down to find a key.
“This is—?”
“A key for the apartment,” Wei Ying agrees, a little sheepishly. “I was planning to give it to you anyways, but it makes even more sense now.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, so overwhelmed by affection that it almost drowns his words.
“Stop by anytime, Lan Zhan. You’ll always be welcome here.”
He embraces Wei Ying and feels solid arms wrap around him in return.
Parting is nearly impossible, but it is only for the night.
He knows now, for certain, that he’ll see Wei Ying again tomorrow. And the day after that, and the next.
“Sweet dreams,” he says before he closes the door. He has the recycling and trash in one hand. He’ll bring it downstairs to get it out of Wei Ying and A’Yuan’s way.
“They’ll all be of you,” Wei Ying replies. The seductive tone is slightly undercut by another cough, but it seems impossible for Lan Zhan to love him any more than he already does.
The door clicks shut softly, and Lan Zhan places a hand over his heart as it rabbits against his palm through the apron. He’s not sure if he’ll sleep at all, but he is hardly complaining.