crossed the world with these empty hands

2025

Wei Ying wasn’t generally given to secrecy these days. It just wasn’t something Lan Zhan had to worry about and he wasn’t now, not really, even as he watched Wei Ying startling frantically from where he was hunched over the table in the middle of his studio, spinning suspiciously when Lan Zhan—very politely, he thought—knocked on the inside of the door that he’d opened quite conspicuously several moments ago, certain that Wei Ying would notice.

He had not.

“Lan Zhan!” he said, voice pitched higher than its usual register. “When did you get here?”

The question, as Lan Zhan understood it, was really: how long have you been standing there or, perhaps, just what is it you saw?

“Just now,” he said, curious beyond measure. Though Wei Ying was sometimes reluctant to share his emotions, he never hesitated to share his work, even though most of the time, those ended up being the same thing. “What are you doing?”

Though Wei Ying made an effort, he couldn’t hide the chaos that spilled itself across the surface of the table. Curls of wire spread like kudzu across it, some pieces long enough to reach the floor, and the smell of varnish and epoxy, sharp and unpleasant, scented the air. Though the room was well ventilated, Lan Zhan still walked through, careful to avoid looking too closely at what Wei Ying was trying to hide out of respect for Wei Ying’s dubious efforts, and made sure one of the windows set high in the wall was unlatched and pushed open.

As though to preserve his latest project’s modesty, Wei Ying crept around the table to always keep only himself fully in view. “Aiya, can’t a man get some warning before his boyfriend tromps all over his space to cruelly interrupt genius in action while—”

“It’s four,” Lan Zhan answered, bland, before Wei Ying could get too much further in his explanation. “You told me to pick you up at four.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s almost as though you wanted me to know what you’re hiding.”

“Ugh, Lan Zhan,” he bemoaned. “Lan Zhan, I got distracted. Aren’t you supposed to know when I’m going to be a flake? Now er-gege is going to ruin the surprise. He’s too unfeeling.”

It wasn’t that Lan Zhan was worried in the slightest that Wei Ying was acting slippery, but he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt at the thought that Wei Ying was so childishly blocking his work because it was a surprise and not because he just didn’t want Lan Zhan to see it. “I’m a brute,” Lan Zhan agreed, stepping forward. Despite his protests, Wei Ying didn’t stop him from doing so. “It’s a wonder you put up with me at all when I’m so cold to you.”

Sighing, dramatically pitiful about it, Wei Ying cupped his hands to his chest. “I really am a patient, wonderful, understanding, charming, lovely—oof, Lan Zhan, you’re so rough—perfect, nngh—” It was always a little heady to interrupt Wei Ying’s ability to speak, even though all it took was a carefully applied bite to the underside of Wei Ying’s jaw, maybe a trip across the beautiful expanse of his throat to nip at an earlobe. “—perfect, hah, partner.” He kissed lines down Wei Ying’s neck until his skin was red, blooming a little purple where Lan Zhan might have sucked a little hard.

Oops.

“If you would really prefer that I go,” Lan Zhan said, nuzzling at Wei Ying’s cheek, glorying in the fact that he could do so at all even now, “just give me a time when I should come back and I’ll do so.”

Wei Ying kicked at Lan Zhan’s foot, hooked his calf around the back of Lan Zhan’s to pull him closer. “And let you leave me in such a state as this? That’s just irresponsible. Finish what you started, Lan Zhan.”

What he’d started, just as he might have hoped, involved Wei Ying’s jeans tenting obviously and provocatively against Lan Zhan’s thigh. He knew exactly what to do with that, knew exactly what he wanted to do, and exactly how he wanted to do it, lowering himself to his knees while he unbuttoned Wei Ying’s fly.

“Oh, shit,” Wei Ying said, scrambling to grab for the table. “I wasn’t—Lan Zhan! I was joking!”

“You shouldn’t joke then.”

He took Wei Ying in his mouth and, before either of them could lose too much of their faculties to this, he reached for Wei Ying’s hand, tangling their fingers together. He liked it when Wei Ying touched him somewhere while he did this, whether it was simply holding hands or something else entirely, but Wei Ying hissed and mumbled an, “Okay, okay, okay,” and did Lan Zhan one better: after shaking Lan Zhan’s hold, he skimmed his hand over Lan Zhan’s hair, fingers slipping between the strands, finally fisting in them as he pushed himself into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Fuck.”

Lan Zhan’s own arousal pulsed inside of him, threatening to punch right out of him the way it always wanted to, the way it still sometimes did even though he’d learned how to control himself a little better when it came. He’d arrived prepared, emotionally speaking, because he already knew the score, hoping for just this sort of opportunity, though Wei Ying managed to throw a wrench into that plan, too.

He really did want to know what Wei Ying was doing with all that wire.

When Wei Ying finished, spilling onto Lan Zhan’s tongue with another curse, he reached for Lan Zhan, barely stopping long enough to tuck himself away.

“Later,” Lan Zhan said, grabbing the hand that was already reaching for his trousers and pulling it to his mouth instead so he could press a kiss to his palm.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Later,” Lan Zhan said. He wanted to take his time and the chances that Wei Ying had eaten anything since this morning were slim. “Let’s eat first.” Then his eyes drifted back to the table, still mostly hidden behind Wei Ying’s back.

“Oh, I wasn’t enough of a meal for you, huh?” Wei Ying asked, droll. With a long-suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes, he stepped aside. “Ta-da!”

The thing he’d been hiding was a small block of wood into which he was inlaying silver wire. Several actually, in varying stages of completion. One, a small square about the size of a coaster, was completely done save for the fact the varnish wasn’t completely dry, gleaming wetly under the light. Depicted on it was a rabbit, elegantly wrought if Lan Zhan was being honest, in a field dotted with blades of silvery grass. There was even a rounded, almost full, moon made of mother-of-pearl. It looked a little bit rough, a little unpolished, wire not quite fitting perfectly no matter how much he’d tried to sand it down, but given that Lan Zhan knew Wei Ying had never in his life inlaid wood before, it was an accomplished early effort.

“What is this?” Lan Zhan asked, wishing he could brush his thumb over the surface to feel how smooth it was. The others had different designs, more geometric, one of which was rather intricate, perhaps to stretch the learning he was doing.

“Just… I don’t know, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. “I felt like doing it. I wasn’t getting anywhere on…” He waved his hand back at an easel that was rather sadly abandoned in the corner. The last time he saw it, it had been in exactly the same state, barely blocked out, as yet not recognizably anything. Wei Ying had said he’d gotten the urge to work in oils again, an impulse he hadn’t experienced in quite some time, and he was still getting used to it.

Eventually the urge would fade and he’d once again return to his medium-thickened acrylics or the gouaches he loved or even the inks he’s truly begun to incorporate into his work. Lan Zhan sometimes wanted to ask him why he flitted from style to style, approach to approach, technique to technique, but he suspected the answer would never be a satisfying one, at least not any answer that Wei Ying could give verbally.

He suspected, or hoped maybe, that one day all of this work would synthesize into something grander than any one of them, something that others would never be able to question, but that day was not yet arrived and Wei Ying didn’t see the need to rush it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all.

But Lan Zhan cared; he wanted Wei Ying to gain the wider respect he deserved in the community. Here, he stifled himself, but he never seemed to feel it.

As an art dealer, Lan Zhan didn’t mind where he’d ended up. He himself had been here since university and his brother was the same. His life was here, but he’d always believed Wei Ying was destined for bigger things than a condo on the outskirts of the city—not even in the arts district proper—with a lover—definitely not a boring one like Lan Zhan anyway—and a rabbit. Admittedly, Turpentine was perfect. Even Wei Ying couldn’t argue that there was a better companion out there than her. But. Where did rabbits fit with such vivacious minds? Where did boring lovers? Borderline suburban condominium complexes?

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying smiled softly and patted Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing bad.”

It wasn’t worry that troubled Lan Zhan, if troubled was even the right word for it. He didn’t see anything to fear here. There was a nebulous unsettled quality to the way Wei Ying had hedged, but Lan Zhan wasn’t fearful. It was very rare that he shouldn’t be able to immediately guess, that was all. Discomfited, that was the word. “You would tell me if there was something wrong?”

Wei Ying’s entire bearing warmed, putting Lan Zhan at ease with a single smile. “I would. I promise I’ll show you more eventually. Just allow this old man to have his whims, would you? This is just a silly little bit of practice for right now.”

Lan Zhan snorted rather indelicately. Old. They were in their mid-thirties, not decrepit, and each day Lan Zhan spent with Wei Ying made him feel even more youthful than before, like between the two of them, anything could happen. He reached for Wei Ying, abandoned thoughts of following up on these wire-inlaid pieces of wood. The answer would reach him eventually. “Come, then. Even you have to take a break sometime.”

“Who would have guessed the most diligent student I’ve ever known would eventually become so stern and demanding about breaks? I think he’s a troublemaker. Maybe he just wants to stop me from working so I’ll never end up busting out of here and he’ll have me to himself always.”

Stilling, Lan Zhan just looked at him, the easiness between them lost. Was that what Wei Ying thought? That Lan Zhan was holding him back?

But then he cackled and threw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms, stooping a bit to wrap them around Lan Zhan’s waist as he hugged himself close to Lan Zhan’s side. “Ah, or maybe you’re just going soft in your dotage, letting me be lazy like this.”

“We’re not old,” Lan Zhan said, slipping his arm around Wei Ying’s neck to settle against his shoulder.

“Ah,” Wei Ying said, troubling him anew for entirely different reasons as he rubbed his cheek against Lan Zhan’s chest, “but some of us feel it, huh?”

Not particularly, Lan Zhan thought, wondering why it was that Wei Ying felt differently.

They were in the middle of dinner when Wei Ying’s phone rang, a rare enough event that it startled both of them, the ring loudly cutting through the quiet of their meal. The only sounds until this point had been the clacking of ceramic spoons against bowls, the tap of chopsticks as they plucked vegetables and meat from plates scattered between them. It was, admittedly, a little less boisterous than usual, but when Lan Zhan looked across the table at Wei Ying, he could see the bloom of purpled skin beneath his eyes.

He was just tired. It happened.

Wei Ying flipped his phone over and glanced at the caller ID, frowning at the number before declining the call and flipping the phone again.

“Who was it?” Lan Zhan asked. Even after years and years of sharing a table with Wei Ying, learning how to unbend from the rules of his childhood, it still felt a little odd to speak in the middle of a meal, like uncle would pop his head up and scold him at any moment.

“I don’t know. I’ll worry about it if they leave a voicemail.”

“Shouldn’t you—”

The phone began ringing again. Wei Ying sighed in frustration and grabbed the phone. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I’ll be right back.” Pushing himself up, he wandered toward the balcony door and tugged it open as he said hello, a little more annoyed than he usually allowed himself to be. Turpentine, who’d been rooting around in her hutch, shot out and followed Wei Ying. From here, Lan Zhan could see that Wei Ying was sitting on the edge of Turpentine’s patch of grass, carefully brushing his palm back and forth over the soft, fragrant blades. She hopped up the little incline and made for the flowers before darting back to Wei Ying’s side, a bud and a few leaves between her teeth.

Whomever he was speaking with was doing most of the talking, because Wei Ying only listened silently except to ask a few pointed questions. Who are you or where are you from again or ha, and why would I want to do that exactly?

The conversation went on for a little longer, Wei Ying nodding along with his cheek mashed into his fist, bored. His gaze caught Lan Zhan’s once and he rolled his eyes and made a flapping gesture with his hand before mouthing, “Sorry, they won’t shut up.” More of his attention was on Turpentine as she played than he seemed to show for the person who called. By the time he was done, offering an insincere thank you before hanging up, Lan Zhan still had no idea what he’d even been called about.

Scooping Turpentine up and holding her securely, he brought her back inside before returning to the table.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, sorry,” he said, far more earnestly. Shoving rice into his mouth, he chewed serenely before poking at his phone to turn it off entirely.

Once Wei Ying swallowed, Lan Zhan asked, “Who was it?”

“Some arts journalist out of Beijing who’s apparently covering the ‘undervalued artistic centers in China,’” he replied, breezy, unconcerned, while Lan Zhan scoured the list of names in his mind of who it could have been. “She asked me about whether I’d be accepting a place in Yicheng Art Colony’s annual festival. Apparently someone bandied my name around as a judge? They want to do an exhibit, too.” He shoved more rice into his mouth, chewed it viciously this time. “First I’m hearing about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” Wei Ying said, unimpressed perhaps. “I didn’t realize anyone in Beijing gave a shit about what little ol’ me was doing out here. Let along Yicheng. What a jumped up art colony that place is.” He stabbed at the drumstick in his bowl and frowned. “And I don’t give a shit about whatever weird hype they’re trying to build by getting me involved. That’s not me either.”

“Hype?” The thought of Yicheng needing hype from Wei Ying was, frankly, laughable. They got enough of it on their own just by being notoriously difficult and weird. They wanted Wei Ying because he was Wei Ying.

Wei Ying offered him a wry smile. “Did you know that the arts community in Beijing is apparently so flabbergasted by the thought of someone not wanting to be there that I’ve somehow developed a reputation among them as some kind of recluse-savant? When I told her I wasn’t interested in Yicheng, I thought she was going to flip her shit. Yicheng is, like, top-tier cool out on the coast apparently.”

Lan Zhan was very aware of this fact. Yicheng was home to one of the most interesting art programs in recent memory and just about everyone who cared about it couldn’t get invited to join. It drove the artistic intelligentsia to distraction that Xiao Xingchen and the others who headed it up just didn’t give a damn about them.

And they wanted Wei Ying. Of course they did. If anyone was a perfect fit for their ethos, it was him.

“I guess they’re trying to drag me there and keep me for a while, some kind of artist-in-residence program with one of their galleries? I don’t even know how this lady found out because I sure haven’t heard from anybody at Yicheng about their art festival and I sure as hell don’t intend to go rough it in the middle of a creepy abandoned town with a couple of hundred other artists. I should make a post telling everyone to buzz off if this is suddenly gonna start happening. How’d she even get my number anyway?”

“Have people reached out to you before?” And I didn’t know?

“Uh… a few? Not, like, seriously or anything. Usually it’s a half-assed Weibo comment? I don’t know. Don’t pay it any mind, Lan Zhan. I don’t.”

Lan Zhan blinked, trying to digest the amount of information Wei Ying was throwing at him. It didn’t seem real except for how it did. It had always felt like only a matter of time before Wei Ying got discovered outside of the bubble they’d both grown so used to. Lan Zhan used to try encouraging him, but he was so set in his ways. Once he’d found a comfortable spot for himself, he stayed there, and no amount of prying would get him out of it. As long as he could take care of Burial Mounds, it didn’t matter how much attention he garnered.

He’d always thought Wei Ying would one day have to make a choice like this regardless of what Lan Zhan did or didn’t do, so he let it slide even when he maybe should have worked harder, been more aggressive in getting Wei Ying’s name out there. Back in those days, he’d believed that decision would come a lot sooner than it did. Now that it was finally here, long overdue, something uncomfortable squirmed in Lan Zhan’s gut.

He blamed himself in a way. If not for his relationship with Lan Zhan, Wei Ying might have taken the chances that any other artist would have killed for. But for whatever reason, Wei Ying had always been content here with him and Lan Zhan had selfishly clung to that this whole time.

“That’s quite an honor,” Lan Zhan said. “Congratulations.”

Wei Ying made a disbelieving sound as he pushed his bowl away, the ceramic clicking lightly against one of the plates in the center of the table. “It’s an honor I’m going to refuse if and when my admirer gets up the balls to try calling me.”

“Wei Ying.”

“And is it just me or is that kind of offensive? Oh, this isn’t Beijing or Shanghai or Suzhou or even Qingdao, sure, but we’re not a bunch of country bumpkins either. If given the opportunity, most people would admire and make art, even if it’s only for themselves. They’re not special out there. She made it sound like I should be grateful for the opportunity and for her attention. Sure, it’s nice to have some recognition, I guess, but good god.”

“Wei Ying.”

“They can just—”

“Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened innocently. “What?”

Lan Zhan looked down at the table, at the half-eaten detritus of his meal. “You should consider it.”

Wei Ying’s expression, still somewhat disgruntled, shuttered and Lan Zhan hated that he’d forced Wei Ying to put that guard into place with his words. It wasn’t his intention to do so, but Wei Ying could be reactionary the way Lan Zhan could be the opposite. They were a matched set in this respect. Wei Ying acted too rashly. Lan Zhan didn’t act at all. Except sometimes, Lan Zhan did act and Wei Ying got defensive instead. “Lan Zhan?”

“It’s a big opportunity. You should at least give it its due consideration. The number of doors which could be opened to you…” Lan Zhan shook his head. “It’s not something to reject lightly.”

Wei Ying’s jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek jumping as he searched Lan Zhan’s face. He was not angry. It wasn’t anger in Wei Ying’s eyes, but it could morph at any moment into it if Lan Zhan didn’t take care. With his underbelly so exposed, vulnerable, Wei Ying might tip into anger over anything Lan Zhan said and then he’d shut down fully, smile that disgusting, fake smile of his that he usually saved for the people he didn’t like and walk away. Wei Ying walking away, even for a moment, would be a moment too long. “What further opportunities do you think I need?”

“That isn’t for me to decide for you,” Lan Zhan settled on. “I’m merely suggesting you think about it further.”

“This is for you to decide,” Wei Ying replied, cool, “with me. I’d be gone for months at the very least, doing the exact same shit I can do here except without you and at someone else’s behest. Even if I wanted to go—which I don’t—it’s not like you could uproot your life to come with me. No, I don’t care if I should be honored or if anyone else would drop everything for the opportunity. It’s not for me. Fuck them. I’ll say that if and when this person tries to get a hold of me.”

Though Lan Zhan knew in his heart he should have argued further in favor of it, he was also deeply moved by Wei Ying’s vehement desire to remain just where he was, so brutally insistent that he didn’t need anything else but what he shared with Lan Zhan now.

Wei Ying was wrong though. Lan Zhan could uproot everything to go with him. If he said that he wanted to do it, Lan Zhan would drop everything and go. Uncle would likely be furious and his brother would be left in a bind with Hanshi, but Lan Zhan could say yes easily.

For Wei Ying, he was willing to do anything.

He would have said as much, except Wei Ying was staring so intently at his bowl and said, too quiet, “I don’t want this, Lan Zhan. I like what we have.”

At the end of the day, it was Wei Ying’s decision. If he wished to decline it, Lan Zhan would just appreciate the lengths to which Wei Ying went to remain with Lan Zhan and do his best to earn such loyalty. Supporting Wei Ying would always be easy.

So he kept his silence as Wei Ying continued to pick at his meal and did not allow himself to feel the mingled pride and selfish guilt that welled inside of him.

2020

Lan Zhan didn’t believe in things like psychic abilities or premonitions, but as soon as he unlocked his door, even before he did so, he knew what he’d find. It was a sixth sense he’d developed over the years, an energy that filled the air of his condo, around his condo. Wei Ying was here. With the weather the way it was today, he’d likely be out on the balcony. Turpentine would be somewhere nearby. They’d be entirely comfortable in one another’s presence and Lan Zhan would want the chance to look his fill, to squirrel away this moment the way he squirreled away every moment that Wei Ying spent in his home, acting as though it was his own.

It could be, if Wei Ying wanted it to be. In all the ways that mattered, it was already.

So many moments already stacked themselves in his memory. By rights, it should be true.

“Lan Zhan, your favorite artist is out here!” Wei Ying called, spotting him as soon as he closed the door behind him, like he, too, had some kind of special awareness of Lan Zhan’s proximity.

“Is this the part where I tell you you’re my only artist?” Lan Zhan crouched before Turpentine’s hutch, surprised that she was still there. He ran one knuckle softly down the space between her ears, gentle. “So lazy,” he said, fond, quiet, as Wei Ying squawked dramatically, chattering away about who even knew what and ending with, “—somehow that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me!”

He stilled, lips pulling slightly as he decided what to do. If he kept his focus on Turpentine, maybe Wei Ying wouldn’t notice he was scrambling for a response that wasn’t just, I can do you one better.

Wei Ying liked to flirt. That was a central pillar of his personality. Lan Zhan enjoyed it, but he knew what it was and he accepted it in that spirit. It could not be more than this; Wei Ying already gave as much of himself to Lan Zhan as was available, shared more of himself with Lan Zhan than he shared with anyone. Wanting anything else from Wei Ying was pure greed.

Nudging Turpentine, he climbed to his feet and grabbed for the baby gate Wei Ying had thoughtfully put up so he could work without worrying about her. As he approached, he saw what Wei Ying was doing. Heart thumping hard at seeing his own mouth, his eyes, the barest sketch of his own face, he couldn’t allow it. “You’re wasting your time.”

Again, Wei Ying cried and went through his usual ritualized gnashing of teeth, the metaphorical rending of clothes whenever Lan Zhan ruined his fun. Lan Zhan remained strong. This, too, was common, known, could be battled. “Lan Zhan, be reasonable. Lan Zhan, you’re too pretty. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” so many excuses and reasons at his disposal.

He would never be ready to see the results, so none of those wheedling excuses would do Wei Ying any good. Wei Ying rarely did portraiture these days, though he was known to be exceptionally good at it. He saw into the heart of people and pulled out what he wanted to reflect back and somehow, somehow he always managed to convey a degree of his own emotions, though others didn’t always see that. Lan Zhan, though, Lan Zhan could see it all.

He did not want to know what Wei Ying thought of him deep inside where he didn’t speak of it.

“Lan Zhan, imagine it: your face under my brush? Who could do it justice? Ah, it would be a divine chance.”

It would be hell on Earth, Lan Zhan was fairly certain. “Foolish,” Lan Zhan settled on, knowing Wei Ying would read nothing into such a response.

He took a liberty by grabbing Wei Ying’s sketchbook from his hand as they stood next to one another against the railing. This sort of advantage, he wouldn’t have taken it with anyone else, but since this was Wei Ying, he felt entitled to do so, welcome. For whatever reason, Wei Ying liked it that they were close enough to do this, would lean in close and tease, watchful, eager for Lan Zhan’s thoughts. Someone else might have thought it meant something other than what it did, but after so many years of acquaintance, Lan Zhan knew the score. The intimacy they shared was platonic. And though there was something in Lan Zhan which clambered for more, no, not more, something different, something physical and primal and utterly beyond his ability to fully control, he would not push for it. Not when what they had already was so good.

As he flipped through the pages, he stopped for a moment on some figure studies, the nudity a sudden shock. Wei Ying didn’t often paint figures either and used to scorn those classes when he had to take them. Though they were beautifully sketched—everything Wei Ying did carried beauty within it—the only thing Lan Zhan felt was a desire to be the one whom Wei Ying drew in this manner.

He quickly, a little viciously, turned the page to what appeared to be studies for his upcoming showing. This was far more in line with what Lan Zhan expected to see, moving, emotive abstracts. “What don’t you like?” he asked, because he knew Wei Ying and knew what he was like when he didn’t like his work. When Wei Ying hedged, unable to give a concrete answer, Lan Zhan wasn’t surprised. Eventually he would find his way again; he always did.

Tea didn’t solve every ill, but it might soothe this one a bit and the suggestion that followed: “Why don’t you paint Turpentine instead?”

If that meant Wei Ying would also be distracted from further thoughts of painting or drawing Lan Zhan, he’d accept it gladly. If the end result was a sweet little doodle of his rabbit, there were worse outcomes. Returning with tea and offering a chair, they sat companionably for a time until Wei Ying handed over his work and Lan Zhan opened his big mouth. “You didn’t sign it.”

Stupid. Why should Wei Ying sign a doodle?

But then Wei Ying, still content from sitting near him on the ground, stretched halfway across his body to reach the sketch, pressed his forearms firmly across Lan Zhan’s thighs, and scribbled not just his name, but even more, and Lan Zhan felt every touch as a jolt. A baby deer couldn’t have frozen as solidly as he did. If Wei Ying’s elbow twitched even a few centimeters from its current position, Lan Zhan would have a lot to explain and no words with which to explain himself.

When he was done, he retreated, leaving Lan Zhan to read, To Lan Zhan, with love. Wei Ying. 20/08/18 in his haphazard scrawl. Lan Zhan was still reeling from the unexpected contact to truly parse Wei Ying’s written words. With love. It didn’t mean anything.

“Now I look like a raging egomaniac,” Wei Ying said, mournful.

He couldn’t manage Wei Ying’s feelings and his own, so though he carefully held onto the sketch, he said nothing and simply sipped his tea, watched Turpentine, hoping he would one day be able to be around Wei Ying without it becoming some sort of ordeal. It’d been so long already that he was pretty sure he was an entirely lost cause, but it was good to remain optimistic.

When Wei Ying drained his cup and stood, he used Lan Zhan’s shoulder as leverage and, in his current state, Lan Zhan had to bite back a gasp to keep from making any incongruous noises. He said something to Lan Zhan, but his mind was too preoccupied to realize he was trying to say goodbye until it was too late. “You don’t have to go.”

But apparently he did, because he was gone almost immediately, too quickly for Lan Zhan’s taste and somehow not quickly enough either for his current state. As soon as the front door shut, Lan Zhan released a shuddering breath, gathered the tea cups and shooed Turpentine back inside.

Foolish. He’d been foolish again.

He was always foolish with Wei Ying and yet he would always come back, the same way Wei Ying did. That was who they were.

It was what he could have. He needed, somehow, to learn how to accept that very real fact for what it was.

2010

The first time Lan Zhan spoke to Wei Ying was also the last time he ever expected to talk to him, but if that thought didn’t set the tenor for their relationship going forward, then nothing else could, because Lan Zhan was often, once their odd friendship was firmly established, left wondering exactly what it was Wei Ying got from their interactions. In the grand scheme of things, Lan Zhan wasn’t anything special and, in fact, could be kind of an asshole. It wouldn’t have been wrong for Wei Ying to entirely write him off and avoid him forever except for how he wound up doing the opposite.

That was, and would remain for a very long time, a question for the future.

Right now, approximately 11:45AM on a random Tuesday, Lan Zhan wasn’t thinking at all of anything except for how annoying Wei Ying was.

“Your work is sloppy,” Lan Zhan said at that fateful, fatal moment, unable to stop himself as he crossed paths with Wei Ying in the hallway outside of class. It was halfway through the semester by that time and Lan Zhan had long noticed him because he invited notice, courted it, welcomed it with open arms. In that way, he wasn’t so different from other artists Lan Zhan knew. It was just that he could be so much more than them and that was what grated so badly. That and that alone was why Lan Zhan sometimes studied him from the other side of the room of the class they shared as he barely paid attention to lecture, more intent to sketch nonsense than listen, never pushing himself.

It showed in his work. Every time Lan Zhan saw one of his pieces in the student studios and galleries, he witnessed that laziness. It was infuriating, galling. There was so much potential there and Wei Ying was content to float through class instead of pushing himself.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened as Lan Zhan’s words registered, but his mouth broke into a violent grin of delight once they penetrated. The cluster of people around him choked out awkward chuckles. Lan Zhan only recognized Nie Huaisang, who narrowed his eyes for a moment before glancing knowingly at Wei Ying. “Why don’t we head out,” he said to the others, waving them away with his closed fan. “Ancestral Tombs tonight anyone?”

Wei Ying nodded and said, distracted, “I’ll message you.” And then, his attention returned to Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan didn’t know what to do with it because for all that his eyes gleamed in eager delight, light and precious, it was intense, too, Wei Ying’s scrutiny. Lan Zhan felt seen, but not in a good way necessarily. “Please tell me more about how sloppy I am, gege.”

Lan Zhan didn’t grind his teeth together; he was too good for that, but the impulse was there. “I didn’t say you were sloppy.”

Carrying most of his weight on one foot, hip cocked, Wei Ying crossed his arms. “No, just my work. Which is, you know, me.”

In truth, Lan Zhan hadn’t thought this far ahead—hadn’t really thought at all—and didn’t have any further remarks lined up. Even with all the studying he’d done in his life, all he could think about right now was the piercing gray of Wei Ying’s eyes, the expectant lilt in his tone. Lan Zhan only ever spoke in measured words, careful and considered. Now that he’d blurted his assessment out, he didn’t have anything to back it up and, worse, couldn’t explain himself further. It was just a feeling he got that Wei Ying could do more and somehow, this one time, that translated to poorly-thought action.

He hadn’t prepared.

He felt like a fool and certainly must have looked like one to Wei Ying.

Except…

“Tell you what,” Wei Ying said, clapping his hand over Lan Zhan’s bicep and squeezing lightly. “I’m free right now. If you are, too, why don’t we get tea and you can excoriate me to your heart’s content.”

“What?”

“I’m planning my end of semester project now,” Wei Ying replied, “and you’re the first person who’s ever called me on my shit so succinctly. I’d like to hear more.”

As a rule, people did not look at Lan Zhan the way Wei Ying looked at him now, challenging and determined. Almost everyone else avoided his gaze or refused to engage with him beyond what was expected of them. Lan Zhan did not know how to change that perception of himself and, to be honest, he didn’t wish to. He preferred to be left alone, do his work and keep his head down, his path unencumbered.

Telling someone they were sloppy—no, that their work was sloppy, be exacting—invited none of those things.

Eventually, he would have to unbend some. Networking was important in his field and the individuals who graduated with him would one day be his peers outside of this institution, too.

Perhaps he could start here. With Wei Ying. Who saw past Lan Zhan’s awkward statement and chose to take it as an opportunity instead. Lan Zhan did start this.

And despite the coarseness of his language, he’d handled Lan Zhan deftly. It was commendable.

Not what Lan Zhan had expected.

Instinct and ingrained habit told him to decline the invitation. It was only Wei Ying that stopped him, managed to get him to nod in agreement, curious to see what would happen. They stopped briefly at the commissary for the promised tea and then crossed campus to reach the studios.

It was a warmer day than Lan Zhan had anticipated, so he was a little overdressed for it, his shirt clinging a bit to his spine beneath his jacket. By the time they reached the art building, he was relieved by the cool, crisp, recycled air inside.

Lan Zhan had been here on multiple occasions, even taken a class or two in the building, but he still felt weirdly as though he didn’t belong, like everyone knew he wasn’t one of them. If Wei Ying noticed the awkward atmosphere, the other students looking their way, askance and dubious, he didn’t show it.

Of course, Wei Ying’s area was all the way in the back, forcing Lan Zhan past a gauntlet of people who didn’t want him looking at their work, turning their bodies to shield their easels as though Lan Zhan was interested in critiquing them on his own time. He only did so when his classes required it of him. There was better art out there to analyze when he felt a desire to do so.

It felt inevitable, once they reached Wei Ying’s corner that it should be his. Lan Zhan didn’t know how he knew it even before they reached it, but he did. Blue masking tape marked the ground, demarcating an area designated as his in a way that none of the other areas were.

Wei Ying saw him looking at the tape and laughed. “I sprawl otherwise.” He gestured to indicate the wall, where multiple paintings leaned, some three or four canvases deep. “The other students were getting mad.” He leaned close and cupped his hand around one side of his mouth, whispering, “I think they’re jealous.”

The productivity was remarkable if nothing else, but the fact that he was also better than everyone else here might have had something to do with it, too. But though he was the one who said it, when Lan Zhan looked at him, he caught a hint of something in his gaze, something sharp on which someone could cut themselves.

Whatever it was, Lan Zhan wasn’t qualified to categorize or name it and even if he was, he didn’t actually know Wei Ying; it wasn’t his place to make assumptions about Wei Ying’s thoughts and feelings even if those thoughts and feelings made Lan Zhan think, unbidden, unprepared: lonely, he’s lonely, this hurts him.

I know what that’s like.

The fact that he felt a little bit like he did know Wei Ying’s thoughts and feelings, as though all those months of seeing his work and watching him in class made him an expert, was disconcerting.

Instead, he approached the wall of canvases and the easel which was covered by a sheet, held away from the canvas itself by a pair of rods screwed into the easel on either side. “May I?”

“It’s what you’re here for,” Wei Ying said.

Lan Zhan took careful hold of the soft fabric and pulled it up and over the back of the easel. Beneath was a half-finished painting of a young woman cooking. It looked like it was being done in oils, but carried a lot of the smooth, flowing quality of ink somehow. Wei Ying clearly went through a lot of trouble to convey that ease and motion. Lan Zhan just wasn’t certain why he didn’t use that medium instead, why he muddled the message in this way.

Still, it was incredibly good. Lan Zhan couldn’t accuse Wei Ying of being sloppy here.

He asked the question anyway and for a long while Wei Ying said nothing. “If I said I don’t like ink, would you believe me?”

A lot of people didn’t like a lot of mediums. “I would if that was the reason.”

Wei Ying grimaced and cut a glance sidelong at Lan Zhan. “Okay, so, this has been a bitch to paint.” He patted the top of the canvas affectionately, careful to avoid the surface. “Sorry, jiejie.”

This only raised more questions in Lan Zhan’s mind, but he didn’t give voice to them.

“Have you ever felt like…” He pursed his lips in a frown that Lan Zhan refused to acknowledge was cute. “This is going to sound like tedious, self-indulgent bullshit, but you brought this on yourself.”

“I did.” And he was very interested in the answer, too, though he saw no reason to tell Wei Ying as much.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the ink, just trying to go with the flow, and it’s the rest of the world that wants me to be oil. The things that should be easy aren’t and the things that are easy, you wonder why everyone else has such a hard time with it, but you’re not allowed to just do it. It should be simple, except you have to be this instead of that. But sometimes you can try to marry the two and the tension becomes beauty instead even if it’s not quite right. That’s what I feel like when I paint sometimes. Nobody can stop me from being ink while I do it.” He coughed into his fist. “I still haven’t quite worked my feelings out obviously. I wanted to… deal with that somehow.”

Oh. “That’s your sister?”

“Mmhmm. She’s the rock in my life. I needed that anchor when I worked on this.”

“Is this for your project?”

“No. Just me. Well. I’ll submit it for a grade obviously, but—this one was for me.”

This time, it was Lan Zhan who didn’t speak for a long time. Looking at the piece now, even in its unfinished state, he wasn’t sure he could see any flaws in it. Knowing what Wei Ying meant for it, he could see the intent and the effect was mostly there.

But it was still missing something. Lan Zhan just didn’t know what, unusual for him. He could usually tell at a glance what was incorrect or ineffective in a piece of art. Whether the artist agreed was another thing, but he tended to know the ways in which a piece could be improved just by looking at it.

He had no idea how to do so with this one.

Maybe he didn’t have to know, though Wei Ying looked at him as though waiting for an answer.

There were, Lan Zhan felt, always improvements to be made. And yet…

“Lan Zhan?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Ooooh,” Wei Ying replied, teasing, his mouth forming a perfect, exaggerated moue. “Did I blow the great critic of our time’s mind with my work? I’m humbled.”

“Is the thought so impossible?” Lan Zhan asked to buy time.

Stretching, Wei Ying settled his hands behind his head and rocked up onto his toes a few times. “A few minutes ago you said I was sloppy, so…”

“I said your work was sloppy. Apparently so is your understanding of language.” At least he didn’t call Lan Zhan gege again.

At this, though, Wei Ying laughed in delight. “All right, all right. So what’s sloppy about this one?”

It didn’t feel quite right to say that nothing was wrong, because, unless obscurity of meaning was the point, Lan Zhan didn’t make the connection until after Wei Ying had told him. “It’s not sloppy,” he settled on, “but I’m not seeing your full vision here either, that story you told me.” He offered the frankest expression he could give. “I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer.”

It felt like a failure to have criticized Wei Ying and then been especially unable to follow it up with any useful suggestions, but Wei Ying didn’t seem to mind, only nodded, chewing his lower lip. “That’s good to know,” he murmured. “Anyway, why don’t you take a look at the rest?”

Lan Zhan nodded, relieved that he hadn’t somehow screwed up with Wei Ying already, eager to jump in.

These ones were easier in a lot of ways and Lan Zhan wasn’t sure if it was because the other piece was so personal comparatively or simply because they were further along, seemingly completed. In any case, as he crouched before them, waiting for Wei Ying to pull one after the other free and place them side by side, scoffing a little as he set one out directly over the tape line.

“These are for your project?” Lan Zhan asked, sensing a unity in the sweeps of his brush across each panel, though there was little in the way of harmony in the colors he’d chosen. Still, they did manage to convey some measure of singular purpose.

Here, the tension Wei Ying played with was obvious, if not pleasing to the eye. It was a little difficult for him to release the urge to tell him to make them more visually appealing. That was the easiest complaint a person could give, but it wasn’t a helpful one in all cases. Art wasn’t just about what was pretty and easy. It was important to see into what it was meant to be and bring that out. These wanted to be challenging and, it seemed, also wanted to be fun and energetic.

Lan Zhan looked Wei Ying’s way, surreptitious, glad that Wei Ying’s attention was on the paintings rather than his reaction to the paintings. They weren’t so very unlike Wei Ying, who also seemed like he wanted to be fun and challenging.

“What’s the theme?” Lan Zhan asked.

Wei Ying looked at him, turning the full weight of his regard Lan Zhan’s way. It was heady to have his attention again like this. The way his eyes glinted… if Lan Zhan were more artistically inclined himself, he might have had something to say about it. “Fuck you.”

Lan Zhan blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“The theme,” Wei Ying said. “It’s ‘fuck you.’”

“I see,” Lan Zhan replied, not allowing himself to be astonished by this development. At least it was honest?

Before Lan Zhan could think of anything else to say, Wei Ying burst into laughter. “Oh, Lan Zhan. You have the best face.” But even though Wei Ying was laughing, Lan Zhan didn’t feel stupid or embarrassed. Wei Ying’s delight was because of Lan Zhan, but not at his expense. “Really, someone should paint you.”

That wasn’t happening any time soon. It wasn’t the first time the suggestion was floated, often an opening gambit in a longer, more tedious conversation, but it was the first time that it didn’t feel as though the person suggesting it was looking for something different out of it, whether it was his interest or assistance or just because they wanted to fuck.

Lan Zhan didn’t have time for it, not the people looking to flatter him or gain clout, perhaps believing that getting in his good graces would get them somewhere further down the line.

The only thing that would get them anywhere with Lan Zhan was if they had skill and a work ethic and passion for their chosen field. Trying to smoothly tell him they thought he was beautiful wasn’t a smart method.

But somehow, Wei Ying saying it made something twist him up inside. He didn’t say Lan Zhan was beautiful and he didn’t look like he was angling for anything either. It was simply a statement of fact as far as he was concerned.

“I would say,” Lan Zhan said, turning his attention back to the painting, “you should find a unifying detail to pull each piece together.” He paused, considering. “Maybe something that would be irritating to the person or institution you’re wishing to curse?”

Maybe it wasn’t the best advice for a school project, telling Wei Ying to snub his nose at whomever annoyed him, but it was good practice to be bold in the real world and Wei Ying struck him as the sort to be bold under every circumstance, even ones where he risked a bad grade.

What were grades to great artists? Nothing.

Wei Ying cut a sly, charming look his way. “Lan Zhan, are you secretly a troublemaker under that smooth exterior of yours?”

“I am not.”

“I think you are,” Wei Ying said, “but I’ll let you believe otherwise about yourself if you’d like.”

Lan Zhan’s usual impulse was not to argue, to let others believe what they wanted regardless of what Lan Zhan thought, staying out of the way because it was simpler and had nothing to do with him, not really. Though he still felt that way now—let Wei Ying believe what he wanted, especially when Wei Ying looked at him with such delight—he also wanted to argue just to see what Wei Ying would do, if he’d play along and tease more.

It was nonsense, of course. Why should Lan Zhan chase after that from a man he hardly knew? He’d never in his life wanted any such thing before.

He supposed this was something he would have to consider carefully, the reason why Wei Ying intrigued, why Lan Zhan wanted to give chase. He already wasn’t used to people surprising him and Wei Ying had done so multiple times. He had the skills and, if the number of canvases here were any indication, he had the work ethic. There was a frisson of excitement that climbed his spine as he considered Wei Ying, both as a man and an artist, and he had no idea what to do with them or where they would go.

Uncertainty was not a friend to him in this life.

He needed a bit of space from the circumstances he’d created here.

He glanced at his watch, hating himself for using it as a crutch to get out of this conversation and surprising himself, too, because they’d been together so long already. He had his own work to finish, critical analyses for class and a phone call with his brother to discuss work. Somehow, it felt like it was still 11:45. Needing to go wasn’t an excuse any longer. Huh.

“Places to be?” Wei Ying asked.

“Mn,” he said. Unfortunately, he thought, unbidden.

“Perhaps I might pick your brain again sometime?”

Anytime. “If you wish to.”

Wei Ying offered him a brilliant grin. Perhaps he was the one who ought to be commemorated in a painting. It was a lovely smile. “Luckily, I know where to find you. I’ll see you later, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying began cleaning up the canvases, scooting them back into his space, far too confining for him by Lan Zhan’s reckoning. Though he didn’t seem to mind it now, it sat ill with Lan Zhan, though he couldn’t say why. It was fair that he should have the same space as everyone else, but…

Lan Zhan shook his head and murmured a farewell. Wei Ying saw him off with a casual wave.

Lan Zhan lingered for a moment longer, watching Wei Ying work, and wondered what it would be like to forgo his obligations and remain to help.

Like he thought: utter and complete nonsense. Forgo his obligations? In what universe could he do precisely what he wanted, whenever he wanted? That hadn’t been a possibility since he was a child. With a sigh, he managed finally to turn away, force the rest of the afternoon into a hapless facsimile of his usual routine. It was not, he found, how he wanted to spend it any longer despite never having complaints about it before.

2025

Lan Zhan was an expert at slipping between guests at a cramped gallery showing and put that skill to good use tonight, content to lose Wei Ying in the crush of people who wanted his attention, knowing he’d find his way back eventually. In the mean time, Lan Zhan found a spot in the back once he’d gone through and looked at each piece, mentally noting what he liked or disliked about each painting, guessing how other people would feel, imagining what Wei Ying would tell him when they were heading home, Wei Ying’s voice intimate as Lan Zhan drove, his words softened and blanketed by the dark night sky, expression hidden behind the glare of the headlights on the road.

He remained, perhaps purposefully, always within Lan Zhan’s line of sight.

Because this was not technically one of Hanshi’s showings, Lan Zhan didn’t feel the need to behave as though he was at work, helping visitors and answering questions and acting as an advocate for the artist, Mo Xuanyu in this case, though he could have done so easily. He wasn’t one of Lan Zhan’s, but he knew so much about his work through Wei Ying that he could have pushed a sale or two if he so desired.

Other dealers might even have enjoyed trying to snipe Mo Xuanyu for themselves, but Lan Zhan didn’t play that way. He could approach Lan Zhan if he wished it or he could continue as he had been; either way, he knew where to find Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying continued to move amongst the paintings and people, working his way slowly toward Lan Zhan’s side of the room.

It was always interesting to watch Wei Ying’s reaction, even if he was only getting half of it in profile. He frowned now at one of them, fingers making minute gestures at his side, visible only when other guests moved out of the way, as though he was mentally attempting to recreate Mo Xuanyu’s effects to better understand it.

“They’re interesting, no?” Lan Huan said, approaching with a pair of champagne flutes. He held one out to Lan Zhan, who gestured him off without much thought. One glass wouldn’t hurt irrevocably, not this early in the evening and not when he’d eaten only a little while ago, but better to be safe than sorry. Lan Huan took this in stride, even though he looked strange holding two glasses. Meng Yao or Nie Huaisang would be along soon enough probably; one of them could liberate it from him. “Mo Xuanyu’s paintings?”

“They usually are,” Lan Zhan agreed. Unfortunately, many people did not, but Lan Zhan had always rather respected that Mo Xuanyu never compromised himself in any way, not even when it might get him what he wanted.

“What’s even more interesting,” Lan Huan continued, “is the reception Glacial Memories has gotten. I’m not sure if Wei Ying’s mentioned it.”

Lan Zhan’s attention sharpened as he turned to look at Lan Huan fully. It’d been years since Lan Zhan had personally handled the sale of any of Wei Ying’s works. In fact, they’d both agreed that they wanted to remove that particular constraint from their relationship when Wei Ying rather eloquently stated, about two months after they started dating for real, Lan Zhan, I don’t want to have to worry about behaving professionally in front of you, which Lan Zhan agreed with. The less distance they had to force between them, the better. Besides, Lan Zhan didn’t really know how to be professional with Wei Ying any longer either and he didn’t want to waste time trying.

So, as recompense for all those times Lan Zhan had had to run interference between Lan Huan and Nie Huaisang, Lan Huan took over the role that had been Lan Zhan’s for about half of their acquaintance.

Which meant that Lan Zhan didn’t always know the ins and outs of the sale of Wei Ying’s various pieces, including Glacial Memories. Not beyond what he knew of the piece itself, of course, which he’d seen from thumbnail to final composition and every step in between. It was one that Lan Zhan knew would play well with Wei Ying’s audience, but apparently he hadn’t known quite how well. Such was the way of things.

“Wei Ying didn’t mention it,” Lan Zhan said. In fact, they very rarely discussed the financial portion of Wei Ying’s work now that Lan Zhan was on the outside of it. Wei Ying paid half of the bills without complaint, bought what he wanted to when he wanted to, dumped money periodically into a bank account in Lan Zhan’s name that they shared, and then… Lan Zhan didn’t really know. Presumably he paid rent on his studio. He couldn’t imagine what else there might be.

“It was getting so many offers when it was being shown in Beijing that we decided to put it up for auction,” Lan Huan said, managing to retain such a careful neutrality that Lan Zhan only knew there was worry underneath it because they were brothers. “Rather, I encouraged him to allow it to be put up for auction. I know for a fact he didn’t care one way or the other except that he wanted Hanshi to get a fairer cut.”

Lan Zhan couldn’t hide whatever gave his concern away—probably his gaze, it always did—quickly enough because suddenly Lan Huan’s head was tilting slightly as he scrutinized Lan Zhan to death. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” Lan Zhan said agreeably and it was. Wei Ying’s business decisions were his own to make.

“Are you certain?”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth, closed it, considered his words carefully. “I take no issue with Wei Ying deciding not to say anything.” In fact, the odds were just as good that it never entered his thoughts at all. It wasn’t a slight or deception, at least not deliberately so. “He…” Retreating into stiff solemnity, he pulled Lan Huan toward the opposite corner along the same wall, keenly aware that Wei Ying would soon reach them. “A journalist in Beijing reached out to him about Yicheng. He’s been out of sorts ever since.”

“Yicheng?”

“There’s an artist-in-residence program or something they’re hoping to bring him in for. He is… against it.”

“Why?”

Truly, Lan Zhan wasn’t entirely sure himself. “He would prefer not to go because I could not go with him.”

Lan Huan’s features softened. “He is very loyal.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed and he was gratified by the display. That didn’t mean he didn’t have concerns he didn’t feel qualified to share with Wei Ying. “I don’t want him to come to resent it if he realizes he’s wasting opportunities in growing his career.”

“You mean you don’t want him to resent you, right?” Lan Huan prodded, not unkindly.

“Yes,” he replied, throat suddenly dry. “Thank you for leaving me without even that much opportunity to deny it.”

Lan Huan’s gaze held so much affection that Lan Zhan couldn’t keep looking at him. If he did, a hole might need to be opened in the floor to swallow him up. “And you’re worried about telling him because you think he might start worrying about your worries and it’ll become a whole thing?”

“Brother!”

“I’m just trying to figure out my baselines here.”

“He’s too selfless,” Lan Zhan said. “He’ll wheedle and whine about the most asinine things. ‘My feet hurt, Lan Zhan. Why don’t you carry me around instead?’ ‘Lan Zhan, this party is boring. Tell everyone you’re tired and want to go home.’ ‘I know you don’t like the lychee milk tea, but next time, you should buy it anyway so I can steal it from you, Lan Zhan.’ But when it’s something important he refuses to put anyone else out even the slightest bit.”

“A-Zhan, do you not think you’re doing the same right now?”

Lan Zhan leveled a glare at Lan Huan in response to that. What Lan Zhan was doing or not wasn’t in question. If Lan Zhan felt hurt enough, he was perfectly capable of striking back; this, he was resolved, would not come to that, but that didn’t make Lan Huan’s question a valid one. “We both know what I’m capable of.”

Though Lan Huan did not concede this verbally, he waved the argument aside with a flick of his wrist. “Perhaps you should take Wei Ying at his word. He would know better than anyone what he wants to do and how he wants to develop his career.”

“It’s not that I don’t take him at his word,” Lan Zhan said, “but his word now will impact his life forever. It’s not today that concerns me. It’s five years from now when Wei Ying’s thinking back and wondering how different things might be for him if he’d taken this chance. Maybe he’ll ask himself why I didn’t encourage him more or maybe he’ll decide his fears weren’t worth the stagnation that may follow.”

“Do you really think Wei Ying will think of it that way?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan admitted and that, he knew, was the problem.

“Because neither you nor he have any way of knowing. Why worry in that case?”

And how could they ever know until they reached that nebulous future? Yes, yes, he was aware. If the Lan Zhan of five years ago had been asked whether it was possible Wei Ying would love him today, he’d have laughed and said it was impossible. Was it therefore so impossible that he should face another reversal of fortune? In another five years, might it not be possible for Wei Ying’s affections to sour?

“For what it’s worth to you, I think you should tell him. Even if he worries about worrying you, it would be better than keeping your concerns from him,” Lan Huan said, so reasonable that it was painful to listen to. How simple he made it sound. “I’m not sure how well that would go over. If I’ve learned nothing else from A-Yao and A-Sang, it’s that getting the argument over with is better than letting it grow into a drag-out over one’s personality defects instead.”

That sounded exhausting and Lan Zhan wanted no part of it. “We don’t argue.” His frown deepened. “I don’t think we’ve ever argued since just before we got together.” Of course, that was brutal all on its own, the way they got together. It more than made up the balance of any one-hundred fights they might have had in its stead. And that hadn’t even been an argument, what they’d done, just metaphorically shoving one another away as far as they could go. “Are you three all right?”

“Of course we are.” Lan Huan’s eyebrow arched. “It’s not a bad thing to argue from time to time. As I’ve learned very, very well. They no longer snipe at one another about opera in my vicinity if nothing else thanks to one of those arguments. It’s a worthwhile skill to learn. It’s one of the few things Uncle didn’t instill in us.”

“I suppose…” He still didn’t like the thought of it, of raising his voice, of telling Wei Ying things he didn’t want to hear, of hurting him with words. He felt as though they’d experienced more than their fair share of hurts due to one another. He would rather be considerate instead.

“You’re used to telling him the truth about his art and that has to be one of the hardest things to put up with as an artist. Treat this with the same care and I think you’ll be fine.”

A palm snaked across his lower back before he could respond.

“Lan Zhan is fine.” Wei Ying flashed a bright smile their way and plucked the single, still full glass of champagne from Lan Huan’s hand, marking a definitive end to the conversation. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, swallowing half of it in one go. He asked only afterward, “This was for Lan Zhan, right?”

A smile twitched at the corner of Lan Huan’s mouth. “Originally, yes.”

“Good.” Then he held it out for Lan Zhan. “Do you want even just a little? It’s not bad.”

Half a glass of champagne wouldn’t destroy him, but he still shook his head. “You drink it.”

“So,” Wei Ying said, looking from Lan Zhan’s face to Lan Huan’s and back. “What’s got the pair of you looking so much more stoic than usual? Has Lan Zhan been telling you about my recent travails in oil painting?”

“Heartbreaking,” Lan Huan said, not bothering to hide his amusement, gracefully taking the out presented to them. Presumably on Lan Zhan’s behalf. “What made you go back?”

“The whim struck me.” Wei Ying shrugged. “I thought maybe I could make it as a real serious artiste and then I remembered I hate oils. Tragic. But I’m trying to stick it out for one whole painting.”

“I’m willing to bet you’ve got an audience for it regardless,” Lan Huan said, pointed in the gentlest way possible. From Wei Ying’s reaction, an exaggerated eye roll, it seemed like a long-standing conversation.

Then, as though thinking of something, Wei Ying’s features shuttered and he screwed up his mouth and nose. “God,” he said, disgusted. “What have you heard? Lan Zhan, did you tell him?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

He swore and shook his head. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Mo Xuanyu if it gets out. Lan Huan, tell Lan Zhan it’s stupid and the only people who care about Yicheng are people I don’t care to be associated with.”

“I’m not getting in the middle of that,” Lan Huan said, gently barbed in a way only Lan Zhan would recognize, “but you could take some pity on me. Half of my day is spent fielding calls from people asking when they’ll be able to buy a piece. The rest is spent fielding tearful supporters who are sad you don’t work on commission anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Wei Ying replied, face turning a riotous red color, “but I appreciate the hustle. Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang really have rubbed off on you. You have my respect. Can’t you, I don’t know, sell these people on some of my contemporaries at least?” He waved his hand back at the wall of paintings behind them. “Like right over there? I know he’s not one of ours, but…”

“I can,” Lan Huan said agreeably, “and I will, but that won’t fully solve the problem.”

“Which is?”

“You are, I’m afraid to say, popular.”

Groaning, Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over his face. “You could have brought me another drink if you’re going to attack me like this. What exactly do you want me to do? I’m not willing to just churn out shit because I’m the flavor of the month. You know the next time I turn around, they’re going to think I’m garbage again.”

“That’s not true,” Lan Zhan said, because it wasn’t. Wei Ying had never seen himself clearly. He feigned arrogance when he felt none. He knew his work was good and he’d struggled for years to keep Burial Mounds going. Now that he didn’t have to do that, he was hounded with wider popularity than he knew what to do with. Of course he would twist it around. “You’ll retain wider exposure than before regardless unless you dial it back significantly. You’re not a flavor.”

“Why don’t I dial it back then? Deliberately anyway since we’ve already established I’m getting nowhere currently,” Wei Ying asked, curious, challenging.

Lan Huan murmured something about seeing Meng Yao in the crowd and made a quick exit.

Lan Zhan wanted to call out to his brother, thinking it a little unfair that he could extricate himself from the situation while Lan Zhan had to remain. Wei Ying was still looking at him, expectant, waiting for an answer that likely wouldn’t come because Lan Zhan had no good answer. Swallowing dryly, Lan Zhan gathered his thoughts. It would not, he told himself, be the end of the world if he gave them to him. Wei Ying would not shun him. They might argue. Perhaps they would fight. But he wouldn’t leave and Lan Zhan’s worries would be addressed and—

“Let’s discuss this later,” he said, not a little desperate to get out of this here where anyone might see them.

“I think I’d rather discuss it now.”

There was nothing in the world Lan Zhan wasn’t willing to do for Wei Ying, even this apparently. Nodding, knowing all the while that this was going to end badly somehow, Lan Zhan took gentle hold of Wei Ying’s elbow and pulled him toward the most abandoned area of the gallery that he could find, a hallway in the back that was just shy of out of bounds.

“Wei Ying, I…” It was so hard to find the right words. They skittered just out of reach, taunting him. If he could only present to Wei Ying the correct combination, perhaps Wei Ying wouldn’t be hurt by them. Lan Zhan’s words… he knew the effect they could have and needed to be careful. Every moment he wasted swelled with expectation. And Wei Ying was still looking at him, tensed, but not particularly concerned, like he trusted Lan Zhan to protect him. Lan Zhan had to earn that trust now. “I just want you to be happy.”

Though Wei Ying’s shoulders lost their tight hunch, he let out a disappointed breath. “Lan Zhan, we talked about this. I’m happy. How could I be anything else when you’re with me?” He reached out and took hold of Lan Zhan’s wrist, squeezing his fingers around it in an affectionate band. “Nothing else matters to me except that.”

How could that be enough?

“Lan Zhan, listen to me,” Wei Ying continued. “None of this matters, not really. The entire world could suddenly love me and it wouldn’t matter. It could scorn me and it wouldn’t matter.”

Big words. Such big words. “I…”

Wei Ying’s hold on Lan Zhan’s hand tightened. His voice was a little shaky when he spoke, his eyes, wide. “You believe me, right?”

How could he let Wei Ying think any differently? “I believe you.” Belief wasn’t the problem. Lan Zhan has believed a lot of things in his life that have been wrong.

He was going to explain further, but Wei Ying’s expression brightened so much that the words couldn’t find their way out of his mouth no matter how much he tried to force them. Perhaps his brother was right. He should trust Wei Ying, especially when Wei Ying told him in no uncertain terms that he was happy.

Lan Zhan would just have to take it a day at a time, safeguarding Wei Ying’s happiness; it was the greatest joy in his life that he got to do so at all. If he remained vigilant, then it shouldn’t be a problem. Yicheng wouldn’t be Wei Ying’s only chance. If Lan Zhan had to ensure it himself, then so be it.

If he wanted more, Lan Zhan would do everything in his power to make it happen. If he wound up having regrets, Lan Zhan would do his best to assuage them. In the meantime, he’d do his best to release himself from this fear. Wei Ying deserved that much from him.

It might do him little good in the end, but at least he will have tried.

2020

Lan Zhan was just finishing with cleaning Turpentine’s hutch, adding more hay to the feeder and replacing the straw bedding as Turpentine nosed at his leg, impatient, when his phone rang. It was the ringtone he used for his brother, so he didn’t feel the need to hurry with what he was doing. Lan Huan would leave a message or he would call back if it was truly urgent.

“There,” he said, patting her lightly between the ears as he shifted so she could hop around the hutch to investigate. “Does it meet your approval?”

Her nose twitched again a few times as she dug around. Pushing himself to his feet, he took up his phone from where it was sitting on the arm of the couch. Listening to the message, he couldn’t help but smile a little and texted back to say he’d be at Hanshi as soon as he could get there.

A quick shower, a drive to Hanshi, and a ride to Burial Mounds later, they were standing in front of Wei Ying’s work, a triptych because Wei Ying was nothing if not wholly ambitious. It was, Lan Zhan conceded, one of Wei Ying’s best except for how it was all so terribly wrong. And Lan Zhan was sure that Wei Ying knew it, too, because he was too busy babbling about stale tea and coffee to talk about the work.

Wei Ying was never nervous about his work, which made this an outlier, which intrigued Lan Zhan rather more than was appropriate. He would have to be forgiven when he’d never seen Wei Ying pull a punch with his art before. It invited all sorts of questions that Lan Zhan wasn’t sure how to ask. After a moment’s perusal, however, he recognized what the piece was supposed to be instead, the knowledge clicking into place with perfect clarity and knew exactly where to start.

Lan Huan noticed it, too. Of course he did. He could often see to the truth of things even more quickly than Lan Zhan did, an artifact of his experience and his unclouded judgment. “Why did you place this one in the middle?” he asked, pointing at the most chaotic of the three, a maelstrom amidst two calmer endpoints.

“It needed balance,” Wei Ying insisted weakly.

“Did they?” Lan Zhan asked, a little sharper than he might have been otherwise, but Wei Ying had never been terribly interested in balance when there was a story to be told. He knew the value of balance, of harmony, and sometimes he tossed those values aside for the sake of the emotion, the experience. This work’s story was hamstrung.

Wei Ying fidgeted at the question, unable to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. Why? The pieces were strong individually, beautiful, and they could easily be made better. Wei Ying had no reason to be nervous.

As he approached, he came very near to brushing Wei Ying’s arm and noticed that he flinched very slightly, cringing away just a bit. Though Lan Zhan wanted to touch him—knew he should not have wanted it at all, but couldn’t ever stop himself from wishing to take these small liberties—he did not.

What was going on with him? That was a question he could not ask.

“May my brother and I switch the second and third panels?”

He knew he sounded stern, abrupt, but he wanted to shake a response from Wei Ying and didn’t know how else to do it. At the very least, it did its job. Wei Ying finally looked at him, though the look was… tempestuous. He said, sarcastic, “Don’t mind the artist’s vision.”

Lan Zhan’s brow climbed his forehead. This was Wei Ying’s vision? No, it certainly wasn’t. But he was more patient than Wei Ying. He would wait for permission to return it to its intended state. Actual permission.

“Ugh, fine. I trust you.”

There, Lan Zhan thought, proprietary. That was better. After that, he and Lan Huan got to actual work. Once it was correctly placed, it looked right, beautiful, harsh and unflinching and true. It spoke to turmoil—Wei Ying’s turmoil—and Lan Zhan had a whole new slew of questions that had nothing to do with the paintings themselves.

He kept them to himself.

He mentally ran through the list of clients most likely to appreciate a work such as this, cycling through each name until he hit on the ones who’d want to see this most of all. Though his focus was on this, he couldn’t help but notice Wei Ying pacing nearby. One portion of his attention was always attenuated to Wei Ying. A small smile twitched on Lan Zhan’s face, one that was immediately caught by Lan Huan even before he could consider smothering it. “Madam Lin,” he murmured. The last time they spoke, she asked him to find her something that wasn’t so refined and smooth. It’s all so boring, she’d insisted, sniffing. Even Beijing is boring. Shanghai. Everyone is so boring, like the world should revolve around catering to her interests.

But she paid. That was the important thing.

“Wang Le, too,” Lan Zhan murmured, simply because Wang Le loved Wei Ying’s work almost as much as Lan Zhan did.

Lan Huan and Wei Ying very courteously did not argue about Wei Ying’s rates and then, almost as soon as they’d arrived, it was time to leave. Lan Zhan did not want to go.

There was only one car.

No matter. He’d find his own way back if Lan Huan didn’t decide to stubbornly wait for him. The time alone with Wei Ying, even if it was only a few minutes, was worth it. “You haven’t been by to see Turpentine,” he said, which was absolutely not what he was trying to say, not at all. That was… not what he was concerned about. Except the words were already out of his mouth; somewhere in the back of his mind, this must have been his concern.

He gave the paintings another glance, thought about all the turmoil he saw there. Were the two things connected?

Before he could consider this possibility too deeply, Wei Ying was stammering through an explanation that did nothing to assuage Lan Zhan’s fears. Wei Ying was busy, he said. He’d be by again soon with the pineapple he always brought. Lan Zhan already knew he was busy and knew that he’d bring them. What he didn’t know was why not now and why the rigmarole with the paintings. And then Wei Ying was saying, “Was that all or…?”

Or could Lan Zhan very politely leave. Of course he could. He didn’t want to be here if it caused Wei Ying discomfort. If Wei Ying wanted him to go, he was willing to do so. Still, he couldn’t let one thing slide without comment. “The work is excellent, Wei Ying.”

It seemed important to say, even though Wei Ying only laughed awkwardly, obviously wanting Lan Zhan to leave, everything in his bearing telling Lan Zhan that he was not wanted here at this moment.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything—if I’ve done something wrong, please tell me—and thought better of it.

Once outside, he found himself grateful to see that Lan Huan was still there, sitting placidly in the driver’s seat as he fiddled with his phone. His smile, when he looked up, was wide until he saw Lan Zhan’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asked as Lan Zhan slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Let’s get back to Hanshi.”

Though it was clear Lan Huan wanted to argue further, he refrained, and merely turned on the radio before pulling out onto the road. If the rest of the day was a wash, Lan Zhan’s mind chewing through the morning’s events like a persistent dog with a stubborn bone, that was his business alone. It didn’t reflect in his work.

2010

Though Lan Zhan’s usual habit was to call his brother after finishing classes, he decided he’d rather see him this time, stowing his phone after allowing his thumb to hover over the call button for far too long. Lan Huan’s advice was usually very good and Lan Zhan was still a little wrong-footed even after he’d completed his assignments and eaten dinner by himself at home, Lan Huan not yet home.

Hanshi was quiet when he arrived, though by no means deserted. There were a few people milling around, taking in the carefully curated works that the space was known for.

He found his brother speaking with one of the guests viewing the works and waited patiently for the conclusion of their conversation. When it was done, Lan Huan directed her to their cousin, Lan Qingxi, who helped sometimes simply because she wanted to get out of the house and loved art, but had a child to take care of and couldn’t devote herself fully to the scene like she used to.

It was a good balance and gave Lan Huan an extra set of hands when Lan Zhan couldn’t.

“Didi, I wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Lan Huan said, as gentle and pleased as he always was. “How shall we mark the occasion? I have some bai mudan that will go to waste if you don’t help me drink it.”

“That sounds fine,” he agreed, following Lan Huan back to his office and sitting as he filled his electric kettle with water from the cooler in the corner.

“So,” Lan Huan said after a few moments. He sat and threaded his fingers together and braced them under his chin, leaning forward curiously. “What’s going on?”

“Have you…” He didn’t often have difficulty speaking, thoughts and words fully formed before he said them, but he tripped a bit over this question, even knowing what he wanted to ask. “Have you heard of an artist by the name of Wei Ying?”

Lan Huan’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, thoughtful. “The name is a little familiar. He goes to school with you, does he not? Didn’t one of the campus papers review one of his projects recently?”

Lan Huan, despite having graduated several years ago, still kept up with the student publications. Lan Zhan wasn’t entirely sure why. Half of the reason he was looking forward to graduating was so he could forego the need to keep up with their asinine views. In truth, he usually skipped them; Lan Huan brought anything useful or valuable to his attention on the rare occasion there was something useful or valuable to be found. “You would know better than me.”

Lan Huan’s mouth twitched. “It wasn’t a very kind review if I’m remembering correctly.” No doubt he was, but now Lan Zhan was curious as to which pieces they might have been referring. Lan Zhan had seen them all. Having his own thoughts on the matter, he suspected their opinions would not align. “They took issue with the glitter.”

Ah. Yes. That one had been a little… irreverent. Interesting though, even if only for its sheer obnoxiousness.

“Why are you bringing up Wei Ying now?”

“I got to see the pieces he intends to show for his end of semester show,” Lan Zhan answered, while Lan Huan was busy pouring tea into delicate cups for them both. Removing the mesh strainer from the clay teapot he’d purchased specifically for white teas, he set it aside on a cloth. It was easier to speak with Lan Huan’s back turned. He hoped Lan Huan took his time.

He did not.

“Oh?”

“They’re very good.”

“That’s wonderful,” Lan Huan said, handing one of the cups to Lan Zhan. “I must admit I’m a little more curious about how you ended up spending time with Wei Ying at all. I thought you scared all the art students already.”

“I might have told him his work was sloppy.”

It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s intention to startle Lan Huan and so he felt a little guilty at the way he choked on a sip of tea. After coughing delicately, he said, “I see you’ve learned how to make friends.”

Lan Zhan didn’t scowl. They both knew Lan Zhan’s opinion on making friends and how he didn’t attend school to do it. It might be different if he had to network, but he was lucky in that regard. Lan Huan and the work he already did gave him a built-in network.

Laughing lightly, Lan Huan set his mug on his desk. “So his work is good. I don’t see the problem, beyond perhaps him being displeased to be called sloppy.”

“He wasn’t,” Lan Zhan answered.

“Wasn’t what?”

“Displeased.”

“Then… did you perhaps actually make a friend?” Lan Huan’s eyes gleamed with delight now and Lan Zhan was beginning to regret coming here. At the time, he’d needed to work it out with someone else and the only person he cared to know was his brother. Now it didn’t seem so important to untangle his feelings. Except…

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lan Zhan answered.

“How far would you go?”

“I’d like to help him.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt the staggering arrogance of them. Who was he to swoop in and try to help when Wei Ying hadn’t asked? Or, well. He’d asked for a critique, but Lan Zhan found himself wanting to offer more. He wanted to ensure Wei Ying got the security he deserved, the studio space he needed, the life that a lot of artists fought their entire careers to earn.

Perhaps Lan Huan saw the danger, too, because his smile dampened, pulling down slightly at the corners. “Help him how? Didi, you don’t know him. Does he even need it or want it?”

“You’re right, of course,” Lan Zhan replied, staring into his cup, shamed. And this was why he’d come after all. To be talked back into the real world, where people didn’t just arbitrarily make decisions about another person’s career.

Lan Huan sighed and shook his head slightly. “You aren’t the first person who’s been swept up in another artist’s skills.” Lan Huan smiled in self-deprecation. “You wouldn’t even be the first in this family.”

In fact, both Lan Huan and his father had had their own run-ins, but this felt different.

Perhaps that was just his arrogance speaking again. He was, of course, not the only person in the world to experience emotion or internal conflict.

“It doesn’t always go badly,” Lan Huan offered, a kindness, and true enough. Though his mother and father’s marriage wasn’t always a happy one, Lan Huan’s relationship with Meng Yao seemed to fulfill Lan Huan for all that he didn’t really understand it. “I would just be cautious if I were you.”

I’m always cautious, Lan Zhan thought.

And Lan Huan must have sensed it because he added, “Sometimes you are too cautious.”

He supposed he could deny it. No harm had come to him as a result of his caution over the years. He’s earned good grades and the respect of others and didn’t rock any boats. If he never experienced some of the things his classmates did, dramas and romances, that suited him fine. He did not play fast and loose with rules or order, friendship or love. He was content.

That was not wrong.

But his brother was looking at him, only a hint of trouble hiding behind his placid gaze to belie its softness, and he was left wondering if perhaps it was wrong. Just a little bit. Or, if not wrong, then just the least bit pathetic. Should he not experience all of what life offered? Was this not, in some small way, such an attempt?

“Will you be seeing him again?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan answered. They did share a class together after all.

Lan Huan rolled his eyes fondly. “Will you be meeting him casually again?”

With Lan Huan’s gentle warning in mind, tangling with thoughts of his mother, he was not certain how to proceed with regard to his own feelings. They threatened to overwhelm him. Surely someone who did not shelter themselves as thoroughly as Lan Zhan wouldn’t struggle with this. One meeting in the halls after class? It meant little. Wei Ying likely would not struggle one way or the other as a result of Lan Zhan’s impulses; if he had no qualms about spending time with Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan would trust that until he knew himself well enough through this lens to know one way or another whether caution was required. “That is his decision.”

Lan Huan’s fingers curled around his mug again, thoughtfully tracing wispy lines back and forth over the white ceramic surface. “If you’re still interested by the end of semester show, let me know? I’d like to attend and see the fuss myself.”

This wasn’t what Lan Zhan expected to hear and his pulse fluttered in response, nerves sparking inside of him at the thought of—it felt like exposing himself to share Wei Ying with Lan Huan in this way, which was ridiculous. Lan Huan might just as easily have attended on his own. He sometimes did if he gleaned there was anything of interest to be found there. His favorite thing to do, after all, was highlight local artists in Hanshi and his favorite source was the university. In fact, it was entirely likely Lan Huan would have heard about Wei Ying on his own and gone anyway.

Lan Zhan still felt foolish, like he was overreacting—he was, his inner voice reminded him, being entirely insensible—but he could do nothing to assuage the childish jealousy that spiked his heart.

He smothered it down as best he could. “Of course.”

Most nights, Lan Zhan felt better after talking things over with his brother, but tonight, after having returned home to his too-large, too-empty condominium, clean and quiet and far from the bustle of life on campus and in the arts district where he spent the vast majority of his time, he thought perhaps that he felt worse.

As he tried and failed to fall asleep later, staring first at the smooth, white expanse of his ceiling, then at the smooth, white expanse of his walls, then, finally, out toward the tangle of trees and night sky out his windows, that it would be better to keep his distance.

He would stay away, he decided. It was for the best.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, plopping into the seat next to his and leaning close, elbow perched on the long table that ran nearly the full length of the room, angled only at the ends to center the space on the podium in the center of the floor a few rows down.

Lan Zhan did not cringe away from the sudden closeness, though his instincts told him to do just that. It would have been rude and Lan Zhan had already been rude enough yesterday.

Grinning, Wei Ying pulled free his hair from its ponytail, shook the strands and began to gather them back up. Without wishing it, he caught the sharp, aggressively astringent scent of pine. “You’ve been working with oils today.”

“Oh, god,” Wei Ying replied, grabbing hold of his hair and pulling slightly to tighten the band. “There was a bit of a mishap in the studio when someone who one-hundred percent wasn’t me was thinning some paint. Sorry. I didn’t have time to clean up very well. I can make myself someone else’s problem if you’d prefer.”

Now that Lan Zhan looked closely, knowing full well that he shouldn’t be, he could see a streak of green paint on Wei Ying’s earlobe and a tint of the same color on Wei Ying’s cheek where he hadn’t quite been able to scrub it all away. Even looking at that faded mark now, Lan Zhan could imagine Wei Ying hurriedly rubbing his skin with a rag doused in mineral oil, cursing as he tried to get rid of it before finally saying fuck it and dashing off.

It wasn’t a charming image in the slightest.

Wei Ying was still looking at him when he realized that he was expecting an answer out of Lan Zhan.

“No, it’s fine.”

Wei Ying huffed in amusement and slumped back. The plastic chair creaked in protest, but he only put more of his weight on it as he stretched his legs out beneath the table. “Good, because I’m tired. These poor legs of mine can only take so much.”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Wei Ying meant. He searched Wei Ying’s face again, noticing finally the slight sheen of his skin around his hairline, the flush of his cheeks, his chest rising and falling a little more quickly than the situation warranted. The studios were on the other side of campus and class was starting in two minutes. He must have raced here.

His eyes gleamed under the scrutiny Lan Zhan offered him and it was only once Lan Zhan noticed what he’d done that Wei Ying called him on it. “Yeah, yeah. Not all of us can be you. I bet you run every morning as soon as the sun comes up. Or maybe you swim? With shoulders like yours?”

Now it was Lan Zhan’s turn to flush. Luckily, his skin never showed it. That didn’t stop him from feeling warmth crawl up his neck. “I run.” He looked away. “Sometimes I swim.”

“Obnoxious,” Wei Ying said, but there was fond pleasure in his voice at having his suspicion confirmed and Lan Zhan couldn’t feel the least bit insulted by it. “Making it to class on-time is the only exercise I get these days.”

Lan Zhan’s thoughts utterly gave up on his mission to stay away. You could come with me. At least he didn’t make this offer out loud. Sometimes he was too cautious, his brother had said, but he didn’t feel cautious right now, no. Instead, he felt very much like he was on the cusp of doing something dangerous. Why though? Why for Wei Ying did he want to be dangerous? If anyone here was obnoxious, it was Wei Ying, who centered an entire project around spiting somebody in his life and ran late to class and took the seat next to Lan Zhan without so much as a by your leave.

“Did I miss a spot?” Wei Ying asked suddenly, gesturing at his own face. “I feel like I’m being judged here.” He laughed lightly, but Lan Zhan felt there was more beneath it than a surprisingly gentle reminder that Lan Zhan might have been staring again. “Lan Zhan, tell me if I look stupid.”

“You don’t look stupid,” he answered as their instructor took the podium. He’d never in his life spoken out of turn when one of his professors was preparing to begin lecture, but he broke that streak now, touching his own ear lobe: “You did miss a spot though.”

The grin Wei Ying treated him to was undeserved and threatened to leave Lan Zhan breathless, too.

When Wei Ying whispered his thanks in return, Lan Zhan didn’t think to tell him it was time to be quiet even though the instructor threw an odd glance Lan Zhan’s way, perhaps surprised to see any sort of disruption from his corner of the room.

Though Wei Ying wasn’t an ideal seatmate—he fidgeted and spent more time doodling than taking notes and managed to be distracting even though he wasn’t actively trying to bother Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan still regretted it when class ended and Wei Ying gathered his things quickly, waving farewell to Lan Zhan before grabbing hold of Nie Huaisang on the way out. “See you soon, Lan Zhan,” he called over his shoulder, and though it was nice of him to include Lan Zhan in that way, he still felt a gnawing emptiness in his stomach at having not had a chance to say the same in return before Wei Ying was off.

The resolve of last night crumbled to dust in his hands. So much, he thought, for keeping his distance.

2025

Even now, Wei Ying visited Burial Mounds frequently, sometimes to work with the artists just coming in and sometimes simply to see old friends and introduce himself to new ones, and a lot of the time, Lan Zhan went with him, but until today, it had been quite a while since he’d done so.

It still looked exactly the same, romantically chaotic from Lan Zhan’s perspective, exactly what one might have expected from an artistic community, teeming with exciting life and creativity. Of course, years of familiarity with the realities of such a venture disabused him of such a fanciful notion, especially when Wei Ying used to complain about the mundanities of orchestrating bill payment between fifteen to twenty people or making sure various supplies never ran out, but it was nice to indulge in the fancy a bit, and good to see that some things remained continuous even without Wei Ying there to support it full time.

In some small ways, Lan Zhan felt responsible for this place, too.

“Thanks for coming with me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, like he wasn’t perfectly welcome to take for granted that Lan Zhan would.

“Wei Ying, of course,” he answered as Wei Ying gestured him through the front door. Music was being played somewhere upstairs, loud enough to be heard all the way down here, but not so loud that it could be heard from the outside, a careful balance that had no doubt resulted from a lot of yelling between multiple parties to keep it down, but not too far down to be enjoyable to whomever liked to play music so loudly.

Wei Ying rolled his eyes affectionately at the noise, though were he still here he’d probably have insisted on an investment in a pair of headphones for the offender.

“Come on,” Wei Ying said, “this shouldn’t take long. I already told Wen Qing we’d be stopping by.”

“Where is she?”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Over at Jiang Cheng’s by now probably. I don’t know.”

“And why are we here?”

“I was thinking about what your brother said,” Wei Ying admitted as they worked their way through a section of Burial Mounds that Lan Zhan had never gone before, not in many years, not since before walls had been constructed which turned it from the open warehouse floor it used to be into private living spaces. He did, however, remember in very great detail just how difficult it had been to accomplish, how much work Wei Ying had had to put in with contractors and vendors to make it happen. “I’m not going to churn out garbage, but…”

“But?” Lan Zhan prompted when Wei Ying didn’t answer for a long time.

“But I have been taking up some valuable storage space here.” He stopped in front of a door that didn’t really look all that different from the other doors. Anything could have been behind it. “Maybe…”

He swung it open. It creaked on its hinges, loud and scraping. As Lan Zhan stepped inside, he realized now what Wei Ying meant by storage space.

There was a lot of stuff here, split between the shelves that dominated the middle of the room and the walls which surrounded it. Boxes upon boxes of all shapes and sizes and makes, some simple cardboard, some the obvious wood of packed paintings, some pristine and new, some damaged and dusty. They were surprisingly organized for all of that, each and every one marked with names and color-coded. For all of its surface-level chaos, Burial Mounds truly did function well and professionally.

It shouldn’t have surprised him at this late date and yet, he was a little surprised.

Wei Ying muttered to himself as he wandered the shelves, numerous in the overlarge space. He supposed that was a testament to this place and the people here. They all worked so hard constantly. As Lan Zhan trailed after him, he wondered at the works that were here. “Are these all finished?”

“No,” Wei Ying said. “Mostly we just shove things here that we weren’t sure what to do with. Sometimes they’re done, things that nobody was interested in buying, and sometimes it’s stuff we want to finish one day or revisit or—ah ha.”

When Lan Zhan turned the corner on the set of shelves, he saw Wei Ying crouched before a big stack of boxed canvases, an array of thinner folios, sketchbooks—a lot of sketchbooks—and—

A few plastic-covered sheets sat on top, holding a few scraps of paper. When Lan Zhan reached to pick one of them up, Wei Ying’s hand shot out to slap it away.

Lan Zhan wasn’t even sure what they were. Sketches of some sort, but he hadn’t had a chance to tell exactly what. Wei Ying seemed to know, stopping long enough to look at them in confirmation before slipping them between one of the thin crates. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. It’s a secret. I didn’t even know I still had those.”

“You’re keeping a lot of secrets lately,” Lan Zhan answered, churlish.

Sighing, fond, and looking up at Lan Zhan from his crouched position. With equal, painful fondness, he said, “This is actually the same secret, so I’m still only at one.”

It was childish to be annoyed that Wei Ying was keeping any secrets at all, especially when he knew Wei Ying well enough to know it was a harmless secret, nothing like the secrets they used to keep from one another. Wei Ying couldn’t keep from him anything that was truly important.

It was just that he normally didn’t keep anything else from him either and when he racked his brain for an answer, he couldn’t come up with a reason why he might want to preserve a surprise either. The only truly important occasion which might necessitate a surprise was months away yet.

“Is it for our anniversary?” he blurted. It sounded so arrogant to say it out loud, so silly. And whether it was or wasn’t, it put Wei Ying in an awkward position. “I mean—”

Wei Ying’s head whipped around and he eyed Lan Zhan closely, disrupting him. “Lan Zhan is going on a fishing expedition? Will wonders never cease?”

Lan Zhan’s heart squeezed at the thought that it might be possible. He never thought himself the sort who would be touched by such a thing, but the idea that Wei Ying was already thinking about it… it was nice. Too nice. Like they were conspiring together for one another, because, if he was being honest, he was already thinking about it, too.

“I didn’t know Lan Zhan was so impatient. Is nothing sacred anymore?” Wei Ying asked, a smile twitching in his cheek, not quite ready to bloom across his mouth. “Will Lan Zhan behave himself if I tease him with an answer?”

Behave. Lan Zhan shifted slightly as he considered the phrasing, intrigued. He nodded anyway, feigned indifference to Wei Ying’s tone.

“Let’s just say having a deadline is motivating and leave it at that,” Wei Ying offered. Then, slapping at Lan Zhan’s shin, he added, “Aiya, now you’re going to try to outdo me or something. It’ll be some big competition and you’ll win because you always do.” He sniffed and braced his wrist against his forehead as he threw his head back. “Lan Zhan is truly the most romantic. This one can’t compare.”

Lan Zhan crouched down behind Wei Ying, crossing his arms over the back of Wei Ying’s shoulders, pressing a kiss against his temple. The truth of the matter was that he did have something planned, something he’d been planning for quite some time, but had never had the courage to pursue before. That didn’t make whatever Wei Ying was doing any less wonderful. “That’s not true,” he said, quiet. “And it’s not a competition.”

Wei Ying relaxed back against him, turning his head to brush an answering kiss against his lips. “Okay, Lan Zhan. It’s not a competition.” His smile was very sweet. “Will you let me be secretive now that you know?”

“Mn, I suppose I can allow it.”

“You’re truly the most indulgent,” Wei Ying replied, dry. His attention, though, was already returning to the works set before him. Though Lan Zhan didn’t like it, wanted to spend more time in the moment prior, he supposed he would have to accept it.

“Can I help?” Maybe if they got this done quickly, they could return home and he could make good on the warmth he was feeling.

“I just need to get all of this stuff moved to the studio so I can sort it and see if there’s anything I can salvage for your brother’s slavering hoards,” Wei Ying said. “I think this is everything, so…”

He pulled open one of the crates’ lids and laughed lightly as he pushed aside the protective wrap just enough to see which painting it was. When Lan Zhan looked over his shoulder, he recognized what he was seeing. It, surprisingly enough, didn’t hurt to see this again. One of the paintings Wei Ying had been working on back… back before they understood one another, the crane on the silk panel. It felt like another lifetime entirely, but he still remembered how busy Wei Ying’s space had seemed back then, so many paintings in various states of completion. This was the one—it was the one Lan Zhan had expected would be his once.

“It’s still beautiful,” Lan Zhan said, squeezing Wei Ying’s arm, but Wei Ying wasn’t really paying attention.

“Mo Xuanyu really did keep them,” Wei Ying muttered. It was only because they were so close to one another that Lan Zhan could hear him at all.

“What?”

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, laughing as he replaced the lid, latching it into place. “I, uh… I might have been a little dramatic after…” He twirled his hand through the air. “You know.” He made another sweeping gesture, miming throwing something. His elbow gently caught against Lan Zhan’s chest and Lan Zhan took the chance to squeeze it, too. “Mo Xuanyu stopped me from having an impromptu bonfire with, uh, these.”

Oh. “Wei Ying.”

“I was stupid and heartbroken,” Wei Ying replied, defensive, beautiful, only making Lan Zhan feel more deeply for him. There was no end to those depths. If Lan Zhan ever felt like he’d dug deeply enough to reach the bottom, he’d somehow discover yet another unplumbed cave system’s worth somewhere further down. “We’ve settled this, remember?”

“I know. We both were.”

“Hanguang-jun could never be stupid.”

Lan Zhan rolled his eyes and pulled himself up from the broad cavern that barely contained everything he felt for Wei Ying. “Hanguang-jun absolutely could be stupid.”

“I probably should have moved these ages ago,” Wei Ying went on, choosing to ignore Lan Zhan’s words rather than engage them any further. It was one of the only ways they had open to them to step away from a conversation they didn’t want to have, even an inconsequential one, but Lan Zhan didn’t want to disengage. It was too important sometimes.

It’s okay to push, he thought, just a little bit.

“Wei Ying.”

“They could use the space.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Do you really think…”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan took hold of Wei Ying’s face, turned it slightly. It was awkward to catch Wei Ying’s eye from this angle, but he managed it and best of all he was close enough to press a kiss to the corner of Wei Ying’s mouth. “You’re not alone in this. We were both… not always at our best.”

“Some of us were more not at our best than others, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying insisted and so Lan Zhan kissed away those words, too. If he wanted to be stubborn about this, he could be. Lan Zhan had been known to be stubborn, too. And if either of them were worse at it, it was definitely still Lan Zhan.

But he had to practice what he preached. If he believed Wei Ying was blameless, then he, too, had to proceed as though they’d made their mistakes and moved on.

“It’s different now.” He pulled away a little to search Wei Ying’s face for signs of misplaced guilt. He seemed less troubled now, a little more lighthearted, a smile tugging at his lips, almost too tantalizing to give up. He brushed his thumb over that smile anyway, pushing it a little higher until Wei Ying showed his teeth and his eyes crinkled.

“Okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying agreed sweetly.

He returned his attention to the ephemera of his past works, humming as he sorted through it, occasionally turning to Lan Zhan to ask for his opinion. As he worked, he grew more and more agitated. Annoyed, he scoffed on more than one occasion, treated his pieces indelicately while Lan Zhan sorted them for him so it would be quick and easy to haul them to the car.

Every so often, Lan Zhan snuck a peek, but couldn’t tell what was troubling him. If it was the works themselves, Lan Zhan couldn’t tell what in particular was setting him off. He’d never been precious about them, so it was curious that he should be so affected one way or the other. He almost asked, but decided getting this over with would probably be preferable. There would be time later if the answer didn’t present itself or his curiosity remained.

It was a nice enough way to spend the day, quiet while they moved and hauled things around. The physical exertion left Lan Zhan feeling pleasantly pliant, muscles warm, and the slight flush on Wei Ying’s face by the end of it was quite fetching, as was the way he let Lan Zhan brush the hair from his eyes.

“I suppose we should get these back to the studio so I can figure out what’s salvageable,” Wei Ying said.

It turned out that the answer was a lot. So much of it that even Lan Zhan was a little surprised. He’d always known Wei Ying was productive, hitting that weirdly perfect balance of dedicated and secure that only really made itself known in the artists who learned how to work because they had to, because they couldn’t rely on such flighty, flaky things as inspiration. The fact that he managed to make himself look entirely moved by his own emotional whims was a boon, especially now, when the world had almost completely forgotten that Wei Ying used to be commissionable, a commodity to be bought and not a cool and distant artist with complete and independent control over himself.

“What do you want to do with them?” Lan Zhan asked. A few were so close to done and taken care of so well that to Lan Zhan’s eyes, only a layer of varnish might be required to complete them. One or two even looked done, though any number of reasons might have stopped Wei Ying from reaching out to Lan Zhan with them.

“They’re not doing much good sitting in a room gathering dust, right? I figured Lan Huan could get rid of them for me and everyone will win.”

There was a note in Wei Ying’s tone that Lan Zhan didn’t like despite the fact that he wasn’t wrong. They weren’t doing any good locked away, at least. The rest didn’t necessarily follow unless Wei Ying wanted it that way. “They were doing no harm being stored. We have room to do so if you’d—”

“Nah, I want these out of here,” Wei Ying said, cutting him off. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Time for what?”

Wei Ying blinked, confused. “I… don’t really know? It sounded like the thing to say? It makes sense to get rid of them while people are interested, right?”

Yes, of course it did, but people had been interested in Wei Ying for years now. “That doesn’t mean you have to commit yourself right away. What if—” He thought about the silk panel painting and how Wei Ying might have destroyed it in a bonfire, how he’d locked it away for so long. “What if you regret letting them go?”

Wei Ying laughed. “Lan Zhan, I haven’t even thought of them in years. I’ll forget about them again as soon as they’re out of the studio. You know me. This is all just…”

Just what?

“It’s just the trappings,” Wei Ying finished. “It’s stuff that’s cluttering up space that might make other people happy until they get bored.”

“They won’t.”

Exasperated, Wei Ying walked over to him and pressed his hands to Lan Zhan’s cheeks, shaking Lan Zhan’s head back and forth a little bit. “Lan Zhan, what’s gotten in to you? People sell paintings they get tired of all the time. If they’re that important to you—”

They are.

“—then why don’t we keep them?”

Lan Zhan wanted to say yes, let’s keep them all, but even he knew how foolish that would sound. “Can we keep the silk panel?”

“Sure,” Wei Ying agreed, gentle. “You can have all the silk panels you want, but for right now, why don’t we go home, hmm?”

Though Lan Zhan wanted to push for more, make sense of what he was feeling and why visiting Burial Mounds had dragged it up, Wei Ying merely took his hand and dragged him out to the car. “I’d like to show my Lan er-gege how appreciative I am for his help today.”

Such a desire, it shouldn’t have been effective as it was, but Lan Zhan had long since gotten used to Wei Ying getting his way like this and could only allow himself to be led as Wei Ying wished.

You don’t have to thank me, he couldn’t say.

But he could show Wei Ying as he pressed him into their bed, held him down and thanked him in the best way he knew how.

2020

Lan Zhan wasn’t expecting to see Wei Ying, not really, not even though he’d all but begged Wei Ying to come back to the apartment by invoking Turpentine, a shameless gambit if ever there was one. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened to cause Wei Ying to behave so strangely and worried Wei Ying might never tell him, but it was enough to see Wei Ying pacing around outside, staring up at the sky as he failed to take advantage of the fact that he shared the same accesses to his condo that Lan Zhan did. Odd. Odd in the same way he behaved at Burial Mounds.

His hands were shoved so deeply into his jacket pockets that the indents of his knuckles could be seen through the fabric and when Lan Zhan was close enough, he could hear Wei Ying say, “You’re just…” to himself.

You’re just what, he thought.

“Wei Ying,” he said, shifting the bags of groceries in his arms. He could have taken the car, probably should have, but the walk was nice and the slight burn in his arms from carrying the bags was almost pleasant. The clothing he wore perhaps didn’t entirely agree with the heat, but that was his own fault.

Wei Ying startled at hearing his name and spun around, grabbing immediately for the groceries, too fast to argue with. “Let me take those.”

Perplexed, Lan Zhan just said, “Okay.”

Lan Zhan couldn’t have explained Wei Ying’s nervousness and so ignored it, inviting Wei Ying upstairs with him. In fact, he felt himself get infected with some of it, too. Despite his joy at seeing Wei Ying, he was left a little wary by the energy Wei Ying exuded, jittery even by his standards.

As they approached the building and bank of elevators, Lan Zhan tried to take the bags back. It was only right; they were his after all.

“No,” Wei Ying said, turning aside. “They’re mine.”

“There’d be more chili oil if they were yours,” Lan Zhan pointed out.

But Wei Ying was smart, quick to catch on. “More? As in you bought some?”

Shit. Well, he’d made the admission, might as well follow it through to the end. Wei Ying wouldn’t figure it out anyway. “The old jar was expiring.” It went so rarely used. Sometimes… sometimes he had men over who liked it, but that wasn’t really why he bought it. He’d only ever cooked for Wei Ying once and he’d known at the time how little Wei Ying had enjoyed it. Should he have another occasion, he would do better. These days, his pantry was stocked with items that suited Wei Ying’s tastes.

“You keep chili oil now?” Wei Ying asked, gently curious.

“I do.”

Wei Ying hopped a little and bounced on the balls of his feet, rustling the bags. Almost as though the universe was looking out for Lan Zhan, Wei Ying said, “Guess I’ll have to invite myself over to eat then!” His eyes widened as he said this and then he stared at the ground instead, which wasn’t quite so fortuitous, but Wei Ying never offered openings quite this good.

Lan Zhan’s heart stammered in his chest and his palms began sweating. Without drawing attention to himself, he wiped his hands over the back of his thighs. “You’d be welcome any time. Tonight, even.” Oh, but he needed an excuse, didn’t he? It would seem strange for Lan Zhan to make such an offer for no reason, wouldn’t it? Wei Ying never stayed for dinner. He never asked. Lan Zhan never offered.

Wei Ying looked at him, lips slightly parted. Curiosity returned Wei Ying’s gaze to Lan Zhan’s face and he looked very much like he wanted to be convinced, though he would have no reason to want it given his prior experience.

Perhaps that was Lan Zhan’s vanity talking, but it was enough to push him past his resistance. “There was something I wished to speak with you about anyway.”

Wei Ying continued to look at him without speaking. His mouth remained appealingly open. Lan Zhan shifted slightly and looked away before he truly embarrassed himself. “Only if you’re free, of course. I don’t wish to impose.”

Instead of disappointing Lan Zhan the way he half expected, Wei Ying agreed readily enough.

If Lan Zhan expected Wei Ying’s visit to be anything like his usual visits, he was wrong. Every moment felt fraught, weighted, more important than the moment prior, like if Lan Zhan made the wrong move, Wei Ying would leave. He didn’t truly believe he could drive Wei Ying out so easily, but that didn’t stop Lan Zhan from feeling as though it was possible.

He watched Wei Ying closely as they elevator stopped, as they approached his condo, when they entered and Lan Zhan took the bags and declined Wei Ying’s offer to assist. Instead, he turned Wei Ying’s attention to Turpentine and felt so much affection for both of them when Wei Ying took to it with alacrity, showing playful gentleness and patience to Turpentine as Lan Zhan worked in the kitchen.

Wei Ying was staying for dinner. Lan Zhan could make him a meal he would like and he was allowed to watch Wei Ying as he crouched before Lan Zhan’s rabbit and cooed at her. Cajoling her out of her hutch, he petted her between the ears with a rapturously happy expression on his face. Whatever nerves he was experiencing, they seemed to melt as he held Turpentine to his chest, bringing their noses together as he teased her, careful never to go too far, always holding her so securely.

And then Turpentine sneezed right in his face and Lan Zhan was forced to choke back a laugh for fear of giving himself entirely away. The pepper in his hand absolutely deserved one-hundred percent of the attention he suddenly showed it as Wei Ying whipped his head up. Bland to cover for what he’d done, he asked, “What is it?”

Lan Zhan dared to look up just in time to see Wei Ying’s eyes narrow. “Nothing.”

Turning away to wash the vegetables, he overheard Wei Ying tell Turpentine that Lan Zhan was weird. Yes, he very probably was.

He was proud of the way he managed to finish the rest of their meal prep without embarrassing himself further, not even when he brought over slices of the pepper for Wei Ying and Turpentine to enjoy. It was all just… so nice. Lan Zhan didn’t ever want to give it up, this quiet, easy companionship that was easy even when it was a little strange and fragile and new. No matter how much his heart squeezed in his chest with fear, this would always be better than the alternative.

As they sat down to eat, it wouldn’t have been a stretch to say he was nervous for Wei Ying’s verdict. After that first time, when Lan Zhan hadn’t taken into consideration Wei Ying’s tastes nearly as much as he should have, he knew what he would do differently and hoped the result would be more palatable. After setting the table, grabbing Turpentine from the balcony, and washing his hands, he placed the chili oil on Wei Ying’s side and retrieved tea for them both before seating himself.

He opened the conversation by speaking about the triptych, how well it had gone over, how much it had sold for and who was interested in writing about it. Not so unusual. It should have put Wei Ying at ease, but he only seemed to… slump. Or fold in on himself, diminished. Usually he was at least pleased to hear that he’d parted rich people from their money, if only because it then went into the hands of the individuals he cared about.

Perhaps he should just get this over with. From Wei Ying’s perspective, it was probably a little odd that Lan Zhan should behave like this. Maybe he was as nervous as Lan Zhan was. “Wei Ying, I was hoping…”

Wei Ying’s head shot immediately up. “Yes?”

“Have you started any new projects yet?”

“No?” Wei Ying’s voice sounded uncertain to Lan Zhan, but perhaps he was only projecting.

For a moment, he considered staying quiet or making up another thing he might have hoped for instead. If he asked this, he wouldn’t be able to take it back. Wei Ying probably wouldn’t say no. He rarely said no. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a long-term imposition, however. Wei Ying worked quickly and diligently. He had to in order to ensure his people were taken care of. “Then I was hoping I might commission you for a few pieces whenever you felt ready to take on another project.”

Wei Ying fumbled his chopsticks and coughed, startling Lan Zhan with the sudden violence of the reaction. He reached across and poured tea even as Wei Ying waved him off and then he managed to choke out, “You want me to paint for you?”

“Yes?” That… shouldn’t have seemed so implausible, right? “Is that so very strange?”

“What—what’s the work?”

This was the tricky part and Lan Zhan wasn’t at all surprised when he caught backlash for it. Two paintings and a mural. The paintings, of course, would be nothing, but a mural was personal. A mural spoke to permanence, to a belief in something. That Lan Zhan wanted a mural said too much and even Wei Ying couldn’t be wholly oblivious.

“Where?” Wei Ying asked, because of course he had to ask.

There was only one place Lan Zhan truly wanted it and didn’t that say something a little fucked up about him after all? “The bedroom.” It got the best light in the house as far as Lan Zhan was concerned—and he could say that if asked, it wasn’t a lie—or because he spent the most time there. A safer, more understandable spot for it would have been the living room wall, of course. In truth, he wanted the bedroom to feel less empty. Just being there sometimes made something in Lan Zhan’s chest hollow out, like he was being ground up from the inside. It wasn’t fair to burden Wei Ying this way, but he wanted…

He wanted to be a little bit closer to Wei Ying in the one way that Wei Ying might agree to in the one place where Lan Zhan needed it.

They discussed it in further detail, back and forth as they stood in the room in question, like a game of tennis. Wei Ying tested him. Lan Zhan assured him in turn. Do you want this? Yes, I want this. May I take pictures? Yes, you may. What if I paint Turpentine? Then you paint Turpentine. These questions allowed him to put aside all thoughts of what he’d prefer to be doing here with Wei Ying instead.

By the time Wei Ying was satisfied, Lan Zhan was sure he’d turn around and take it back, but instead he smiled at Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan, in turn, could only smile a little bit right back. Happy, relieved, excited, fearful, hopeful. He felt it all.

A permanent piece of Wei Ying in his home? He could only imagine one thing in the world that might be better than that.

2010

It became a pattern, Wei Ying sitting next to Lan Zhan during class, and in a way it was a good thing, because it acclimated Lan Zhan to Wei Ying’s presence, inoculated him by small degrees. Though he didn’t make good on his promise to stay away, he didn’t feel the quite so urgent need to—to insinuate himself in Wei Ying’s life in return. It felt like one day it might be safer to reach out, not so overwhelming. Once he was ready to try again, he wouldn’t stifle Wei Ying with how interested he was.

He was curious about Wei Ying’s progress in his art, of course, but feared to ask and honestly didn’t have a lot of time to do so, since Wei Ying always showed up with barely a moment to spare, their conversations limited to three to five minute bursts before the start of class. It wasn’t enough for Lan Zhan, not by a long shot, but he didn’t know how to get any further, to progress their relationship beyond these scant moments in a normal manner. He didn’t know how to recreate that original experience, that bizarre icebreaker he’d used to get Wei Ying’s attention or the excitement and ease that resulted.

It was an odd feeling, wanting more of a person’s attention. Usually, he wished for less of it, wanted others to leave him alone, behaved more coolly to ensure it, earned scorn because of it because everyone wanted his assistance and name, but they didn’t want him. That was another thing: the attention he received, it always came with strings.

The one time Lan Zhan might have liked such an opening—if Wei Ying asked for help, then it would be no problem to put the best of his efforts into doing so—it never materialized. The fact that Lan Zhan had connections he’d happily exploit for Wei Ying didn’t ever seem to register with him.

As class finished up for yet another day—no different than every other day of class, there was no reason for Lan Zhan to change his behavior now—Lan Zhan grabbed hold of Wei Ying’s wrist before he could shoulder his bag and dart off. Wei Ying was half out of his seat already, but he sat back down when Lan Zhan made no move to stand himself and waved someone, probably Nie Huaisang, off. “Lan Zhan?”

“How is your project going?”

Wei Ying blinked and then, slowly, grinned. “It’s going well!” he said, as though he’d only waited for this opening to talk about it. “Your advice was excellent. Would you—do you want to see?”

Lan Zhan did his best not to nod too enthusiastically. He’d wanted to know for weeks now and all it had taken was him asking. “You normally leave with Nie Huaisang,” he said, realizing belatedly how selfish it was to try to change Wei Ying’s routine like this.

“Pfft. Nie Huaisang will survive. I’m the one who’s not going to survive through you asking me about my work. Lan Zhan, I was worried I’d come on too strong before.” He fidgeted with the strap of his bag. “Jiang Cheng said I can be arrogant and clingy and probably annoyed you. So I thought I’d try to limit myself a bit and only harass you before class. At least for a little while since it seemed like you didn’t mind too much. He’s not wrong generally speaking. I’ve pretty much alienated the other art majors and he called that happening right out of the gate.”

Rising to his feet, Lan Zhan put away his notebooks and pens, brow furrowing. Wei Ying had been none of these things and Lan Zhan resented anyone who thought to convince Wei Ying that was the case, especially someone he’d never met who didn’t know him. He tried to push that anger down and succeeded. Mostly. “Who’s Jiang Cheng?”

“My brother. Well. Sort of.” Wei Ying flapped his hand in the air. “It’s complicated. But basically my brother in all the ways that matter.”

Lan Zhan raised his eyes, made sure Wei Ying was looking at him before he responded. “Your brother is wrong in this case.”

Though Wei Ying opened his mouth to speak, no words came out, not at first. “Oh.”

“On all counts.” He’d found Wei Ying neither arrogant nor clingy, though he might have preferred it if he was more of the latter. But no. No, except for those handful of moments before class, he never sought Lan Zhan out. And though Wei Ying was more exuberant than Lan Zhan was used to and a little scattered, he wasn’t annoying either. “He cannot speak for me.”

“Okay.” Wei Ying hitched up his bag again and laughed awkwardly. “Thanks, Lan Zhan. That, uh, means a lot to me.”

It shouldn’t. In fact, he couldn’t imagine his own brother ever cutting him down in that way and hoped—despite suspecting otherwise—that this wasn’t a common occurrence in his family. And here, the first thing he’d ever said to Wei Ying was that his work was sloppy. He promised himself going forward that he would only ever offer useful critiques to Wei Ying, ones meant to build up rather than tear down, and only if that was what he wanted.

When they reached the student studios, it was a lot more hectic than before, which made sense. It was that much closer to the end of the semester than before. Only Wei Ying walked through the space with anything approaching ease. This time, Lan Zhan noted the handful of scathing looks that trailed along in his wake. Whenever Lan Zhan caught their eyes, however, they became very interested in the floor beneath their feet.

Though it was a rather ridiculous impulse, he shifted so that he was walking on the other side of Wei Ying, shielding him a little bit from their eyes. Nothing in his bearing changed, though he’d probably noticed them looking at him. He just turned his head and smiled in Lan Zhan’s direction.

When they reached his space this time, that first painting was still present on the easel, uncovered this time. Nearly a third of it had been redone in ink, stark and economically beautiful, from the right-hand corner working diagonally toward the lower right section. The lower left side was done in the oils as before and merged with the ink toward the middle. Only in the places where the two styles met did that tortured oil technique remain.

Now even if Wei Ying never explained the impetus for the piece, Lan Zhan felt anyone could gain a foothold in understanding it. And even if they did not, it was still so interesting to look at that it was worthwhile.

“See?” Wei Ying said, as though knowing what Lan Zhan was thinking. “I told you your thoughts were helpful to me. But, uh, that’s not what we’re here for.”

The same pieces from before were pulled out canvas by canvas. The same base colors were there, chaotic and jumbled, but now there were strokes of gold paint across them. At first, Lan Zhan wasn’t sure what he was looking at, but after a moment, Wei Ying rearranged them until a few were stacked on top of one another: the graceful outline of a flower became visible. “A peony?”

Chuckling, pleased with himself, Wei Ying said, “Yeah, maybe.”

There was a story here and one that Lan Zhan was perhaps interested in hearing.

In fact, that peony, though a little broken up, looked familiar to him; he’d seen it before. Perhaps the story was already perfectly clear. After all, it wasn’t just any peony. “Are you acquainted with Jin Zixuan?”

Wei Ying’s mouth twitched into a frown, such an unusual expression for him that Lan Zhan was surprised to see it. “I don’t like hearing that peacock’s name in your mouth, Lan Zhan. Your voice is too pretty for it.”

Heat crept up Lan Zhan’s neck as he delicately and discreetly cleared his throat. That answered that question, he supposed. Though he tried to come up with something to say in response, his mind blanked and he was left scouring his memory, searching for a reason why Wei Ying might want to feud with Jin Zixuan via his favorite motif. Though Lan Zhan supposed this salvo was too small to truly elevate it to a feud. Maybe Wei Ying just thought his work was bad. He wouldn’t be the only one or the first. In fact, he wouldn’t be either with Lan Zhan there. He’d long considered Jin Zixuan overrated, little more than a child prodigy who’d been elevated by his family’s money.

Then again, devoting a semester-length project that wouldn’t garner attention outside of the school seemed rather excessive for ‘overrated.’ It had to be something else.

His brother was Jiang Cheng. Jin Zixuan had a… tumultuous relationship with a woman whose last name was Jiang. Perhaps…

But the world wasn’t that small, was it?

Lan Zhan asked again. “Are you two acquainted?”

“Unfortunately,” Wei Ying agreed. He considered Lan Zhan closely, scrutinizing him. “I’m sure you are, too, now.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched of its own accord. Having left Suzhou, he saw the Jin family less often than before; it could be said that he was grateful. He tipped his head forward in agreement. “Unfortunately.”

That startled a laugh out of Wei Ying and his previous unhappiness seemed to dissipate like smoke caught in a brisk wind. It might as well have never existed in the first place. “Lan Zhan, you’re the best! So, what do you think?”

“It’s a little obvious,” Lan Zhan said, but he couldn’t fault it for its insouciance, charming despite itself. “Is this how you intend to show it?”

Wei Ying shook his head. “They’re going to be broken up. Just a nice secret message hidden in plain sight. Maybe someone years and years down the line will look back on my career and care to figure it out.” He scattered the canvases again. Without them configured the correct way, it would be difficult to piece them back together the right way. Like this, they looked like random streaks, pretty and superficially meaningless. Who would look further?

They did do the job Lan Zhan wanted of them though: there was now unity amidst the chaos.

“How do you feel about them?” Lan Zhan asked. He was already pleased that Wei Ying had taken his thoughts to heart this way. They didn’t know one another really and Wei Ying had no reason to trust him, but he’d believed in him enough to deface his own work—work that was perfectly acceptable for a student show—committing all of them in such a large way. All at Lan Zhan’s behest.

“I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” Wei Ying answered, rocking back on his heels. “You were right. They needed something else. Ten out of ten experience, then?” He flashed a thumbs up. “Would listen to Lan Zhan’s expert advice again.”

“I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” Lan Zhan said. His uncle was an expert. His brother was getting there. He, like most people here, was still learning and growing.

But Wei Ying just shook his head in denial. “You’ve got more expertise than me. Regardless, I’m happy. I hope…” Rubbing his hands together a little earnestly, he looked at Lan Zhan. “What do you think?”

“They’re good.”

Wei Ying all but plastered himself to Lan Zhan’s side, face centimeters from Lan Zhan’s, lips dangerously close to Lan Zhan’s neck. “Still think I’m sloppy?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze cut toward him. If he turned his head just a little bit, they’d be within kissing distance. Lan Zhan did not turn his head. “No,” he said, doing his damnedest not to swallow around the dryness in his throat. Wei Ying was too close. He’d see everything. “But you took it as a challenge, didn’t you?”

“Is that so wrong?”

“No. I just wonder what will happen if you’re not actively trying to spite my words.”

Wei Ying huffed and pulled back. Lan Zhan’s side was suddenly cold without Wei Ying pressed so close. “Who could ever want to spite your words when they are so good and useful? Lan Zhan, how very self-centered of you.”

From anyone else, those words might have been meant in condemnation, but the way Wei Ying said them, it felt like he enjoyed that fact.

He could say nothing. They were a little arrogant. And, if he was being honest, there was a headiness in the feeling that Wei Ying might have adjusted his own vision to suit Lan Zhan. That was—it was a dangerous feeling to have and wasn’t fair to Wei Ying in the slightest. Wei Ying was an artist; he could do as he wished.

“Perhaps I like it,” Wei Ying said, when it was clear Lan Zhan was done speaking, “the self-centeredness. It makes me feel competitive, true. I’ve spent this whole time thinking, ‘how can I impress Lan Zhan?’ It’s worked out well so far. Nobody here is worth my time except you. Why shouldn’t it be you who inspires me to be better?”

That wasn’t… well, Lan Zhan liked to believe he was humble, but Wei Ying’s words were… quite something.

And then Wei Ying dissolved into giggles, dousing Lan Zhan in the metaphorical equivalent of cold water. “Oh, Lan Zhan. Your face! I promise I won’t be a weirdo stalker.” He wiped fake tears from his eyes and breathed out. “Lan Zhan. I’m just giving you a hard time. I’m sorry.” He was still laughing, but it was clear he was trying to stay the worst of his laughter, features going stoic as best they could. “Don’t mind me. It’s just really easy to bother you.”

You’re not bothering me, Lan Zhan thought, which was nonsense: all he felt right now was bothered. And he wanted it that way was the thing. He wanted Wei Ying to tease and provoke him. He wanted Wei Ying to want his attention. In fact, he wanted to give Wei Ying all of his attention always even if Wei Ying never thought of him again.

“Oh, god,” Wei Ying was saying, a little on edge now. “I really did mess up. Okay, okay. Let me make it up to you, huh? How about I spring for dinner and drinks somewhere? It’ll be totally friendly and platonic and not at all weird like I’ve just made it. I’ll find different inspiration.” He nudged Lan Zhan with his elbow. “What do you say?”

To hell with friendly and platonic was what he didn’t say, the thought dredged up from the depths of who knew where because it was so unfamiliar to Lan Zhan to feel that way about anyone. And by unfamiliar, he meant nonexistent.

“My mouth kind of just goes its own way sometimes,” Wei Ying said, still trying to salvage a situation that was getting tanked because of Lan Zhan.

“Dinner would be good.” That wasn’t what he meant to say at all. “I don’t drink.” That was true, but he didn’t mean to say it either. He waited for Wei Ying to laugh at him—this time in genuine mockery—and only received a nod in response, genuine and earnest. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to! Call it networking if it will make you feel any better,” Wei Ying said, so quickly, his hands raised to ward off all denials. “Please. I promise I won’t shove my entire leg into my mouth.”

Networking. God. Lan Zhan’s mouth thinned in displeasure, though he hoped Wei Ying couldn’t see it. Every time he tried to school his features, he felt more awkward. Normal people flirted with other people and it was fine. Hell, even Lan Zhan knew how to handle it when he was flirted with.

Just. Not when it was Wei Ying apparently. “It’s really okay, Wei Ying. If you want to have dinner with me—” Entirely platonic, friendly, networking dinner. “—I would enjoy it.”

“Good! Cool! We can… well, I’m free after two every day. I mean, I should probably complete some of the massive stacks of work my instructors try to assign, but pfft. You only live once, right? So: any time after two.” He dusted his hands against his jeans. “Whenever you’re free, let me know?”

He was, like Wei Ying, technically free now, but he figured it wouldn’t be worthwhile to say as much when everything felt so charged right now. “How about Saturday night?” No, that was… most people had plans on Saturdays. They did less than friendly, not at all platonic things on Saturdays. Or they went to parties and things started out platonic and ended up something else. A pity dinner shouldn’t take place on a Saturday, but he couldn’t take it back because Wei Ying’s eyes were already lighting up.

“Great! Leave it up to me!” He punched Lan Zhan lightly in the shoulder. “I owe you for all the good advice anyway. Thanks for putting up with me!”

Lan Zhan gritted his teeth. He wasn’t putting up with anything he didn’t want to. He liked Wei Ying, liked the flirting, liked the way he took advantage of Lan Zhan’s space, getting past every defense Lan Zhan put up with an ease that should have been frightening but wasn’t. He liked Wei Ying’s enthusiasm and exuberance, so different from his own, and he liked that Wei Ying looked at him like he was simply a man who might have had decent opinions and not like he was the unapproachable scion of a family who might get them somewhere someday.

He simply liked Wei Ying.

And Wei Ying liked him. The way a friend would. Platonically. Not weird at all.

Well. Friendly and platonic and not weird. Lan Zhan supposed he could do that. He would have to, now that he’s agreed to it.

2025

Wei Ying liked to abandon his phone all over the house, forgetting its existence until and unless he needed it, which sometimes made for interesting experiences for Lan Zhan, who’d stopped caring about keeping track of it when he realized he had better things to do ninety-nine percent of the time than ensure Wei Ying was reachable. If it was truly important, then it could wait or the person on the other end had Lan Zhan’s number and could reach him on Wei Ying’s behalf.

This worked out fine, generally speaking. Today, Lan Zhan was walking through the door with a small bag carrying jianbing from the vendor who periodically set up shop a few streets over, a bit of luck on his part, as he’d only gone out for his usual run and decided on a whim to take a different route back. Wei Ying was still asleep despite Lan Zhan’s lateness and the condo was quiet. The only noise came from where Turpentine was rustling around in her hutch, still asleep, too, but no doubt soon to rise and cause trouble.

It was, in a word, relaxing and would be even better once Wei Ying woke up. In the meantime, he took the jianbing into the kitchen and set the electric kettle, before preparing to rouse Wei Ying.

It was relaxing until a sudden flurry of sharp, loud notifications rang out from the sideboard table by the door where, Lan Zhan could see as he turned, Wei Ying’s phone screen was lighting up. Startled, Lan Zhan was halfway to it when another flurry of notifications showed, followed by the phone actually ringing.

His thoughts ran the gamut from someone’s in trouble to someone is pissed and when he saw the caller ID, he revised it to someone was in trouble and someone was pissed.

He swallowed. He did not want the first thing Wei Ying woke up to to be this. He swallowed again.

For his own part, he did not want the first person he spoke to this morning to be Madam Yu either.

“Good morning,” he said, pushing his nervousness aside. It was only eight, a perfectly reasonable time for Wei Ying to still be asleep. It was too bad Madam Yu would likely not see it the same way. “This is Lan Zhan.”

“Put Wei Ying on the phone,” she answered in that clipped, unimpressed way of hers.

“He’s still asleep. Is it an emergency?”

“I need to speak with him,” she said, dismissive, “not you.”

There were not many people, even those older than him, in the world who would willingly choose to be so curt and abrupt with Lan Zhan, but she’d always been one of them and it always caught him off-guard. Even his uncle’s tone was usually less sharp unless Lan Zhan had done something that specifically annoyed him. He could pretend he was unfazed. This was not an emergency and he’d never liked the way she spoke to him anyway. “If it isn’t an emergency, I’ll happily have him call you back when he’s awake.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his uncle was reprimanding him for his impertinent rudeness, telling him that he had no right to be so obstinate to his elders. A part of Lan Zhan was appalled at himself, too, but ensuring Wei Ying’s morning wasn’t unduly disrupted was more important to him. No matter what Madam Yu called about, on those rare occasions when she did call, it never ended well. Perhaps it was cowardice that drove him, but he wanted to put it off if possible. She would push if it was truly necessary and he would capitulate; there was only so much he was willing to push.

Madam Yu snorted derisively. “Have you done anything happily in your life?”

Wei Ying, his mind supplied, waspish and petty, an answer he would never give aloud. The satisfaction, however, at no doubt rendering her speechless with such a response, would almost have been worth it and kept him from showing even more disrespect in his reply. “Is there any message I can pass along to him for you?”

“He’ll find out soon enough,” she said ominously. Before he could ask for clarification, the call ended. The screen filled again with the various messages from before the phone call. Lan Zhan’s curiosity almost got the better of him, but then his own phone rang and he almost sighed in relief. Seeing it was Nie Huaisang calling, he quickly swiped. Somehow he would know what was happening.

He put Wei Ying’s phone on silent and returned it, screen down, to the table, where it could bother no one.

“Lan Zhan,” Nie Huaisang said even before Lan Zhan could offer a greeting, “I take it Wei Ying’s still comfortably ensconced in a universe that hasn’t been upturned on him yet?”

Lan Zhan returned to the kitchen and put the phone on speaker. “He’s still in bed, yes.”

Nie Huaisang laughed lightly. “You rascal. Ah, to be so young and innocent still. It is a true blessing. If only your brother was so diligent about—”

Lan Zhan allowed his focus to turn to preparing tea. “Wei Ying is older than you as am I,” he replied, before Nie Huaisang could say anything else about Lan Huan’s diligence.

“By such a little amount, Lan Zhan! And anyway, youth and innocence are both states of mind. Sadly, mine has been stripped of me by cruel circumstances. You must protect Wei Ying from this tragic fate.”

Surely Madam Yu’s sudden phone call and Nie Huaisang’s were related; Lan Zhan just couldn’t connect the relevant dots. “Your point, Huaisang?”

“Jin Zixun is getting married,” he said. “And Jin Guangshan wants to rub it in all of our faces when he does.”

Lan Zhan’s stomach dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope! And even worse, he wants to trap us on a fucking island to do so. Do you understand just how awkward this is going to be? And we won’t even be able to leave unless we hire a charter plane to get out of there! Meng Yao’s one wrong word away from abandoning us for Antarctica, so of course I’ve had to keep my mouth shut this whole morning and it’s been awful. If anyone’s abandoning anybody for Antarctica, it’s going to be me.”

Antarctica was definitely an overreaction to this news, but one that Lan Zhan understood. “Maybe we could get a group rate,” he mused. Glancing at the clock over the stove, he sighed. Wei Ying would be awake soon. Eight-thirty was about his limit as far as sleeping in went and the scent of the jianbing was rather enticing, already filling the condo. “Thank you for alerting me. I’ll handle it. How’s my brother taking it?”

Nie Huaisang’s eye roll could almost be heard across a tinny phone call, it was that obvious. “He told me he was sure Pamalican is lovely in September—”

A bucket of icy fear dumped itself down the back of Lan Zhan’s neck.

“—and it’ll only be a week or so. Let me tell you, I’m not interested in going anywhere during the rainy season, but there we go. If I end up—”

Lan Zhan got it together enough to speak. “September?”

“Yes! It’s going to be rainy the whole entire time! I’m going to strangle that man myself!”

Wincing, Lan Zhan held onto the counter and gritted his teeth. “Which days?”

“If it’s rainy, who’s going to care?”

“I care,” he snapped. “Which days?”

“The second through the tenth.”

Lan Zhan slammed his palm against the counter, rattling the nearby canister of tea leaves.

“Lan Zhan?” Nie Huaisang asked, losing all of his earlier whininess. His voice carried so much concern. Lan Zhan couldn’t stand it; he would choke on it. Nie Huaisang shouldn’t get to hear Lan Zhan make such sounds.

“It’s nothing,” Lan Zhan replied. His voice sounded stretched, weak to the point of breaking. He was at least able to gather some of his dignity together when he tried again. “Thank you for telling me about this.”

His phone clattered to the counter as he all but threw it across the surface, barely waiting for Nie Huaisang to acknowledge him. Turning, he buried his face in his hands and sighed, eyes squeezed shut. It would be fine. He could work with this. There was still time to…

But all of his plans were suddenly out the window, swamped under by Jin Guangshan’s own overwrought decisions. How was he supposed to dig them out from beneath the weight of someone else’s marriage celebration? There’d be reservations to cancel, the cost of his own plane tickets to eat. He’d have to work up the nerve to ask Wei Ying before or—or after.

Waiting even as long as September was killing him already.

“Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying’s voice, low, spoken from across the room, followed immediately by his bare feet crossing the floor. He must’ve heard… The floor was cold.

“Wei Ying,” he answered, moments from telling Wei Ying to get his slippers before he realized it didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping the concern from Wei Ying’s eyes. “Wei Ying, it’s fine. I’m sorry if I startled you. I just—”

“Bad news?” Wei Ying asked, trying so very hard to keep his voice even. “Who were you speaking to?”

“Nie Huaisang.”

Wei Ying’s features paled and he took another aborted step forward, like he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d be welcome. Did Lan Zhan really look so out of sorts? “Is your brother okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s fine. Nobody’s hurt. I… I was just surprised is all,” Lan Zhan said. “Let me get you some tea and breakfast and I’ll tell you.”

“Just tell me now.”

Though he needed a moment to collect his thoughts, he couldn’t deny Wei Ying anything, not even this. “Jin Zixun is getting married in September. You’re expected to attend.”

Wei Ying sucked in a breath and swore in annoyance. “I’m not going without you. I can tell you that much for nothing. If they think—”

“I don’t believe that’s the problem,” Lan Zhan replied, but in truth, he didn’t actually know. He hadn’t imagined a scenario where they’d be parted, just desperately—at least, Lan Zhan felt desperate—inconvenienced. Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to think that was going to be the issue, at least as concerned his own relationship.

For a handful of seconds, Wei Ying was silent, thoughtful. Then, understanding seemed to dawn on his features. “During our anniversary, then?”

Lan Zhan nodded. That wasn’t everything, of course, and wouldn’t fully explain Lan Zhan’s outburst, but maybe he wouldn’t ask, maybe he didn’t even see the entirety of it. Maybe just this once Lan Zhan could get lucky.

“That fucking sucks,” Wei Ying said. “Do you… I could be the bad guy and invent a reason why we can’t attend? It wouldn’t even be hard. I sure as hell don’t want to see Jin Zixun if I can help it.”

Yes, he wanted that very much, but he couldn’t—he wouldn’t let one more wedge come between Wei Ying and his family. And if his uncle ever found out why such an embarrassing thing happened, it would be yet one more reason why Wei Ying wasn’t a suitable partner, never mind that he made Lan Zhan so happy that some days he didn’t know how to contain so much joy within himself. “No, it’s…”

“We can celebrate early,” Wei Ying said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Wei Ying,” he said, helpless. “It was just disappointing. I don’t want to sow discord between you and your family. I’m certain there will be upsides.”

Surely getting to spend time with Wei Ying in a romantic setting would make up for it somewhat, even if Wei Ying was expected to spend much of his time celebrating someone else’s nuptials instead. Lan Zhan was just being foolish and selfish besides. The one thing that could be said about Jin Guangshan was he gave so little thought to anyone else that there was no possible way this was done specifically to spite Wei Ying. It was just… bad timing.

Wei Ying frowned and peered closely at Lan Zhan’s face, searching it for signs that he wasn’t fine with this arrangement. The expression on his face, dubious and displeased, suggested to Lan Zhan, at the very least, that he was still perfectly happy to burn everything down for Lan Zhan’s benefit.

He instead wandered over to the sideboard table where his phone was, yawning into his elbow and scrubbing his hand through his hair.

“Why don’t we eat first?” Lan Zhan asked. “I got jianbing. It’ll get cold soon.” It was, Lan Zhan knew, a flimsy excuse, but he wanted to put off Wei Ying’s return call to Madam Yu as long as possible. He wanted as much of today to be enjoyable before the rest of the world ruined it, even if he only bought Wei Ying only minutes.

As he scrolled through his notifications, eyes widening as they probably continued to pile up, he looked up and nodded. “Good idea.” Then his gaze softened, “You went out and got jianbing for me?”

“I saw the vendor while I was out on my run,” he answered, “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Lan Zhan is so courteous and accommodating.”

After he finished the tea, he brought everything to the dining table, served Wei Ying as Wei Ying watched him with fond bemusement before sitting down and serving himself. “Lan Zhan, are you all right?”

“I…” He could lie and say he was. It felt selfish to complain when he knew Wei Ying would try to move heaven and earth for him if he felt it would help Lan Zhan in any way. “I’m more disappointed than I thought.”

Wei Ying smiled softly at him and grabbed hold of his hand as he reached for his chopsticks, squeezing lightly. “Me, too.”

“I know,” he agreed and though it helped, it wasn’t… He should just tell Wei Ying what he wanted, what his hopes were, why it was so disturbing to him that they were disrupted. There wasn’t anything stopping Lan Zhan from enacting his plan now, in fact, and Wei Ying probably wouldn’t be significantly less happy as a result than if he’d waited. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to ask the question, unprepared in every way.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to push this?” he asked. “Because I will.”

Lan Zhan shook his head. He’ll just have to make it work, adjust the arrangements he’d already made, make new ones to replace them if needed. It wouldn’t be a big deal if he didn’t let it be one. He’d never been good at improvising; that was all this was. “Madam Yu is expecting you to call her.”

“I might have guessed.”

Their meal was more subdued than normal and the alacrity with which Wei Ying usually ate jianbing was a little lower than normal, but they made it through okay. Wei Ying cleared the dishes after and urged Lan Zhan to relax with another cup of tea as he rinsed their bowls and utensils.

And then Wei Ying disappeared into the bedroom to call Madam Yu back. Though Wei Ying tried to keep it civil, Lan Zhan couldn’t help but wander over in case he was needed, overhearing more and more of the conversation as it dragged on, Wei Ying’s voice rising in complaint until he finally cracked, “Okay, okay, okay. You don’t have to worry about us. We’ll be there. I’ll behave myself.” Then there was nothing for a moment, no sound, no movement. Lan Zhan was not skulking outside the bathroom door in the hopes of—

“You spoke to Lan Zhan like this?” Wei Ying asked, voice on edge and that was Lan Zhan’s cue to step away, either to pretend to use the bathroom or return to the living room instead of listening at the slightly ajar door. “How could you—?” More silence, stony, brittle, threatening to bubble over into something Wei Ying wouldn’t regret, but probably should. “I know how little you think of me. I’ve made my peace with that, but if you ever—yeah, okay. I’m ungrateful. That’s me. If it’s a problem, you could always disown me entirely instead of trying to flaunt it around that there’s a successful artist almost in the family. Oh, you don’t want me to embarrass you, okay. Fine. See you in September.”

There was a strangled groan of frustration and then a muffled thump, perhaps Wei Ying’s phone being tossed at the bed. Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine speaking to his uncle the way Wei Ying spoke with Madam Yu, not even to defend Wei Ying, and it seemed to have had some effect on Wei Ying, too, because as he pulled the bedroom door open, catching Lan Zhan as he stood uselessly by the bathroom, he looked pale and a little shaky. Instead of berating Lan Zhan for snooping, he just pulled Lan Zhan into a hug, exhaling against his neck, breathing in again.

“Was she awful to you?” Wei Ying asked.

“It was fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Lan Zhan’s hand swept up and down Wei Ying’s spine, fingers catching in the light cotton of his shirt. “It was fine.”

Wei Ying said nothing for a short time, content to be held. “I guess we’re going,” he said finally, making it sound like some kind of nightmare instead.

In truth, it did rather feel like they were being constricted, bound up by the expectations of those around them. He’d thought they’d found a decent balance over the last five years. Rare visits during holidays passed pleasantly enough. Or, if not pleasant, than at least unremarkable. Suddenly, Lan Zhan was a child again living under his uncle’s roof. His guqin lessons were being cut short so he could study art history instead. He was keeping his mother’s brushes and inks hidden to avoid the appearance of sentimentality. His every attempt to grasp at happiness was thwarted by his uncle’s expectations for him.

Only Wei Ying’s hands on his back, the delicate flutter of Wei Ying’s eyelashes against his neck could remind him that he’d chosen a more fulfilling path for himself. It was not a perfect path, nor a smooth one, but it was theirs, lit with beauty and care and devotion. They’d earned it together and they were free to walk it and sometimes it clashed with the hopes of their guardians.

Perhaps now was not the time to disrupt their path yet again.

Until this wedding was through, the bad taste of it washed away by time and distance, Lan Zhan would hold tight to and protect that one question that was always meant for Wei Ying alone.

2020

One of the unintended side effects of asking Wei Ying to paint for him—and, admittedly, he probably should have thought it through—was the fact that Wei Ying would have to be in his condo more. A lot more. Potentially far more than Lan Zhan was entirely capable of dealing with. If he was just working, it might have been okay, but he was surprisingly intent on Lan Zhan, too, while he was here. Lan Zhan didn’t want to say that Wei Ying was self-centered or selfish, that wasn’t it at all, but a lot of the time, he did exist inside of a bubble of sorts. It was a comfortable bubble to be sure and Lan Zhan was pleased that Wei Ying felt he could relax enough around him to lower his guard in such a way, but it could also, when Lan Zhan was feeling especially sensitive, feel like his presence was superfluous while Wei Ying scribbled away or played with Turpentine or talked Lan Zhan’s ear off about nothing.

Tonight, Lan Zhan felt anything other than superfluous. In fact, with so much of Wei Ying’s attention darting his way, he was rather certain he was going to fall apart under the scrutiny, overwhelmed with every glance he threw. Wei Ying chewed his lower lip; he fidgeted. Worse, he’d chosen to sit on the ground, so every time Lan Zhan looked, he was also afforded the opportunity to imagine just what else Wei Ying could do from down there besides sit against the couch, cuddle Turpentine, the traitor, and doodle half-heartedly in his sketchbook.

Then Wei Ying started talking to him and it was all over, Lan Zhan was going to say something ridiculous or confess or—

Wei Ying’s question registered only belatedly. What sort of music do you like?

“Music?” he asked, feeling slow and very, very stupid because the image of Wei Ying between his knees dominated every neuron firing away in his brain.

After depositing Turpentine on the couch, Wei Ying twisted so he could rest his arm on it and pillow his head on his elbow. His gaze was keen and his focus was unwavering. “It can’t all be traditional guqin, can it?”

Lan Zhan swallowed thickly. It was not, but he didn’t understand why Wei Ying was asking about it now when he’d never shown an interest before. He also couldn’t deny Wei Ying and held out his hand, fighting the tremor that threatened to form. “Your phone, please?”

He couldn’t even remember now how he’d stumbled across this artist originally. It was back during school, he thought, that long ago. He’d liked at the time—and still liked—that he didn’t know anything about the artist. They didn’t even their face or give any biographical details in their bio online. He’d suspected for quite a while that they were local, but only had a few suspicions to back up the argument.

He could admire that kind of quiet desire to do what moved them without turning it into a greater production.

Palms sweating, he watched closely as Wei Ying listened to the track. He didn’t just listen either. As his eyes closed and his head swayed, he got deeply involved in the sound of it. It gave Lan Zhan the perfect chance to look at Wei Ying without fear that Wei Ying would look back. As it turned out, that freedom was a bad thing. He was lovely as always, conveyed a warmth and joy with his entire being that Lan Zhan lacked, as always.

Maybe if he just told Wei Ying how he felt, it would be okay. Wei Ying likely didn’t reciprocate—when Wei Ying hadn’t dated anyone in the ten years they’d known one another, it seemed clear Lan Zhan wouldn’t make any sort of special cut—but he’d be kind in his rejection. They’d be able to move past it and maybe Lan Zhan would be able to move on, too.

It was only when Wei Ying opened his eyes again and swiped his phone from Lan Zhan’s hands that Lan Zhan realized he was still holding on to it at all. Wei Ying studied the screen intently, like he was thinking something through very hard.

“Thank you for showing me, Lan Zhan,” he said.

Though Lan Zhan had told Wei Ying where he would be attending his uncle’s lecture today, it was still a surprise to see Wei Ying bound up to him in such a sneaky way, nearly pressing himself against Lan Zhan before whispering his name, intimate and mischievous.

He did not startle, at least not outwardly, except for a slight jump that he hoped Wei Ying didn’t notice, because of course it was Wei Ying, who else would want to approach him at all? “Wei Ying? What are you—”

But Wei Ying cut him off with a smile. “I’d never give up a chance to see one of Lan Qiren’s lectures, Lan Zhan! It’s such an excellent opportunity to learn.”

If Lan Zhan didn’t know Wei Ying better, he would have taken Wei Ying’s comment at face value. But they were both perfectly well aware of all the ways Wei Ying and Lan Qiren rubbed one another the wrong way. Nothing about their aesthetics or theoretical frameworks matched up. On the few occasions when they’d met and spoken with one another, it had gone… poorly.

Then Wei Ying thrust a mug into his hand. “For you.”

Though Lan Zhan knew exactly what it was and thought he could perhaps guess where it had come from, it was still odd to have it in his hands, to have been given it by Wei Ying, who was here when he had no reason and probably no desire to be.

“The tea you like,” he explained. “It was on the way.”

It really wasn’t, not quite in the way Wei Ying said it, not even from Burial Mounds. And Lan Zhan had no idea why he might have done this, but as he tightened his hold on the mug, he swallowed back something that felt like…

It felt like how he imagined dating Wei Ying would feel like, that easy potential to do right by one another in the smallest of ways. Though he might have preferred not to smile at the gesture—he was, perhaps, reading too much into it—he couldn’t stop himself from doing so anyway. “Thank you.”

Though Lan Zhan had intended to sit up front as he always did for his uncle’s lectures, he found himself insisting that he sit with Wei Ying, even if that meant staying in the back and enduring a private lecture afterward. No doubt his uncle would realize immediately what had happened, find him in the audience, and then berate him for not taking his work seriously enough, but it was worth it when Wei Ying softened and agreed, when he seemed almost overcome when Lan Zhan told him that his uncle’s issues were his own and as long as Wei Ying wasn’t purposefully being a bother, they would remain his own.

His uncle often demanded more of him than he wanted to give and he conceded most of it out of respect; this was one area in which he chose not to cede.

To be honest, even if Wei Ying did prove disruptive purposefully, Lan Zhan would probably defend him. He was often at his most vibrant, most interesting, most compelling when he was disrupting others.

The art world needed disruptors, otherwise they would all wind up like Lan Qiren, who was very knowledgeable, but very stuck in his ways. Sometimes, Lan Zhan worried that he was a lesser intellectual for his fear and unwillingness to engage. He had his reasons and so Lan Zhan didn’t push, but Lan Zhan wished he might see through his own biases to the world as it existed now and not the world as it was fifty years ago.

“You know he doesn’t like it when you hang around with me,” Wei Ying insisted.

“That is equally his problem,” Lan Zhan insisted, growing colder with each moment that Wei Ying felt like he was a burden on Lan Zhan’s life. His uncle did sometimes disapprove of Lan Zhan’s choices and it had never been the end of the world before. If somehow this was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then so be it. Lan Zhan was no longer an unpracticed teenager, nor was he the insecure young adult he once was. He was not afraid of his uncle any longer.

He didn’t want Wei Ying to be afraid of him either.

“Shall we?” Lan Zhan asked, gesturing Wei Ying toward their seats, demonstrating with actions how little he cared about being seen with Wei Ying like this.

It was only once they were seated that Lan Zhan realized the true scope of his mistake and how not a single piece of it had a thing to do with Lan Qiren.

The seats here were on the narrow side, squished close together so that Lan Zhan’s knees very nearly touched Wei Ying’s every time he shifted. It was stuffy, too, the air circulation poor and indifferent, as though nobody felt it was necessary to keep the fans running.

His and Wei Ying’s elbows, too, had little room to share and jostled on the arm rest until Lan Zhan finally gave up and held his arm close to his body, hand carefully pressed against the pad of paper he was meant to take notes on.

Instead, he very much wasn’t paying attention to what his uncle was saying. It was of course nothing he hadn’t heard before, but he considered it a sign of his regard to keep track anyway.

By the end of the lecture, his notes were sparse and he was uncomfortably hot under the collar. Most of his focus went, embarrassingly, to willing away the spike of arousal he felt at being so close to Wei Ying for so long in such an intimate setting. Who knew lectures could be so fraught?

Lan Zhan did now.

The conversation that followed mostly went over Lan Zhan’s head. Too much of his attention was spent ensuring he didn’t look like a fool. Luckily, Wei Ying was mostly asking him questions he could answer on autopilot. Softballs like, How was the lecture?

Informative.

Wei Ying’s laugh cut through Lan Zhan’s response. “Lan Zhan, were you even paying attention?”

There was, maybe, a note of flirtation in Wei Ying’s voice that Lan Zhan desperately wanted to curl up in.

He could not allow himself to do so, not even with how solicitous Wei Ying has been lately. Whatever had gotten into him, it couldn’t be what he hoped it was. “He will not have said anything I haven’t heard before.”

“What was so interesting instead?”

Fuck. Now that was a question Lan Zhan didn’t want to answer. Scanning the crowd, looking anywhere but at Wei Ying’s face, he spotted Nie Huaisang. He was as good an excuse as any. It wasn’t like he wasn’t concerned about the quagmire his brother had thrown him into there. He explained briefly about how Central Art Terminal wanted to borrow a lot of Nie Huaisang’s fans for an exhibit. It sounded so legitimate that even Lan Zhan was surprised.

He did not have to explain to Wei Ying why that was so troublesome. Nie Huaisang and CAT did not get along for reasons that were too pedantic and boring to go into. It was a long-standing feud that somehow involved Meng Yao’s tenure there as a curator, a stray cat—ha, fucking ha—and a broken jade paperweight. Lan Huan, a fan of CAT and too principled for everyone’s good, wouldn’t let Nie Huaisang be stubbornly pigheaded without a fight.

Too bad that meant Lan Zhan had to be his fighter by proxy. It was a tricky tightrope to walk, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before; by the end of it even Nie Huaisang was reluctantly glad to have agreed, if only because it garnered attention for him.

Central Art Terminal specifically though? Lan Huan was going to owe him big time.

It was gratifying when Wei Ying offered his sympathies regardless. Normally he didn’t have anyone to complain with, who would see his side of it. Lan Huan sympathized, of course, and wished he didn’t have to ask for Lan Zhan’s help, but at the end of the day, he just didn’t find it anywhere near as annoying to do this as Lan Zhan did.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” He seemed eager, bouncing on his toes.

There were a lot of reasons why Lan Zhan might not have bothered Wei Ying with this and most of them boiled down to it wasn’t Wei Ying’s problem to deal with, so why would he?

And then Wei Ying got to teasing him again. “You just don’t want me to get into trouble with Huaisang.”

That was absolutely not the reason why Lan Zhan didn’t involve him. Who Wei Ying got into trouble with was entirely his own business, particularly when so much of the time he was getting into trouble with Lan Zhan or working at Burial Mounds, getting into trouble with the people that were as close to him as family. Lan Zhan was not jealous and did not begrudge Wei Ying and yet, he opened his mouth anyway, managing to sound defensive despite the truthfulness of the statement. “What you do with Nie Huaisang is your business.”

It was only Lan Zhan’s good fortune that Wei Ying was so gracious about Lan Zhan’s worst traits. His inability to articulate in ways that didn’t default to disapproving would bite him in the ass one day, but today was not it. “You’re no fun,” was all Wei Ying offered, pouting.

No, he wasn’t. And he knew that, was keenly aware that he wasn’t fun in the slightest, but hearing Wei Ying say it? It hit at something in Lan Zhan, slipped under his armor and—

Wei Ying ought to spend time with people he thought was fun.

“I never claimed to be,” he said, sharp, too sharp, more sharp than Wei Ying deserved. His heart pounded hard against his chest. It was childish to be upset. Wei Ying didn’t mean what he was saying, not beyond giving him a hard time, the way he always did, the way Lan Zhan normally loved. “I have some work to complete this afternoon,” he said, stiff, willing himself to stop digging this hole and failing, “only some of which involves discussing terms with Nie Huaisang. I’ll see you another time?”

“Lan Z—”

“Right, good.” He turned to go, remembered belatedly the mug in his hands. The mug Wei Ying brought for him, that belonged to him. He thrust it into Wei Ying’s bemused hands. “I’m glad you came.”

That at least was a decent goodbye, but he still felt like such a fool as he slipped between the small groups of people who remained in order to make at least a little good on the agreement with his brother.

“Nie Huaisang,” he said, as cordial as he knew how to be, momentarily distracted as Wei Ying rushed toward the door.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Nie Huaisang replied, coy as always. “What can I do for you today?”

Lan Zhan wasn’t going to be annoyed. Nie Huaisang always was and always would be the kind of man who acted like he knew more than everyone else and didn’t mind when other people knew it. Sadly, he was also the sort of person who would stay tight-lipped until the end of time if he felt it was necessary just so he could make the other person ask first.

There was a reason he, too, was so curiously followed Wei Ying’s exit with his eyes and he’d never get an answer if he didn’t debase himself. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nie Huaisang replied, Cheshire cat smile firmly in place. “Not a single thing. Seriously, what can I do for you?”

Sighing, Lan Zhan gave it up. This was clearly one of those situations where Lan Zhan wouldn’t manage to pry anything from Nie Huaisang. In another circumstance, he might have approached Nie Huaisang with more finesse, but he was on edge now, ill at ease. “It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what you can do for my brother.”

That straightened Nie Huaisang’s spine at least and his smile grew a little softer and somehow more serious. “Oh?”

“Central Art Terminal wants your fans,” he said indelicately. “My brother thinks it would be a worthwhile exhibit to put together.”

Nie Huaisang heaved a huge sigh, shoulders rising and falling dramatically under the weight of it. “Lan Zhan, you really are too cruel.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed. “I can set up the meeting whenever you’re free.”

“I don’t want to talk to them,” he whined.

Lan Zhan merely waited. Nie Huaisang would decide to do it or he wouldn’t. They both knew that if he truly didn’t want to do it, there would be no hard feelings between anyone except Nie Huaisang and CAT. Lan Huan would accept it and Lan Zhan wouldn’t push any further. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang finally said. “I’ll talk to them. Just—I don’t know. Will you go, too?”

Lan Zhan’s face did that thing where it completely froze. It was his ‘I would rather walk on Lego’s’ face as Wei Ying called it, and Nie Huaisang knew him well enough to know what it meant and pouted. Now Nie Huaisang owed him, too, and he was going to make him pay now. “Fine.” Before Nie Huaisang could celebrate, he added, “If you tell me what that look was.”

“What look?”

“When Wei Ying was leaving.”

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang said agreeably. “That look.”

“Nie Huaisang.”

“Let’s just say,” Nie Huaisang offered, “I’m definitely looking forward to what the future holds for your dearest friend.”

That wasn’t an answer at all, but Lan Zhan could tell he wasn’t going to get a better one any time soon, not even if he withheld the help Nie Huaisang was asking for. Instead of arguing further, he put it aside. Nie Huaisang wasn’t going to give him a good answer anyway. It had been stupid to try to leverage this against him. Nie Huaisang relished wriggling out of favors he didn’t want to give.

Who had time to think about the future? As Lan Zhan began the process of arranging the meeting between CAT and Nie Huaisang, he wished he didn’t even have to think about the present.

2010

He found out exactly how platonic and not weird dinner was going to be within three minutes of their arrival because Wei Ying chose a restaurant where his friends were working, a large, bustling family-style restaurant, full of laughing, happy people. Not only did he know the waiter, who greeted him brightly and brought them right back to one of the few small tables in the place immediately, and only punched him once in the arm when Wei Ying said, “Bring the usual for me and don’t make Lan Zhan wait when we call, eh? He’s not an asshole and doesn’t deserve to be treated as such just because he’s here with me.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” the waiter said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” he said, scanning the room. “Mianmian’s here tonight.”

“Mianmian?”

He sat Lan Zhan down with a pat on his shoulder and said, without really answering, “I’ll be right back. I just wanna say hi. I promise I won’t bring back anything alcoholic for you,” before launching himself between four different tables around which at least ten people were seated.

His way of saying hi involved leaning across the bar, feet hooked in a stool as he stretched close. Lan Zhan couldn’t see his face from his angle thankfully, but Mianmian seemed happy enough to indulge his proximity to her and didn’t seem to mind when he pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug over the bar top. She swatted him in retaliation.

While Wei Ying spoke to her, the waiter returned with tea and a plate of pickled vegetables. “Ah, don’t mind him,” he said, warm, submerging Lan Zhan in a wave of embarrassment as he got caught staring at the back of Wei Ying’s head. “He’s like that.”

Lan Zhan blinked, picking up the menu from the table and flipping awkwardly through it, giving each picture more scrutiny than was its due. “That’s fine.”

“Are you on a date?”

Lan Zhan’s teeth ground together. This restaurant was close to campus and he was about their age; he looked like an art student, too. It was good odds that he and Wei Ying knew one another casually. It wasn’t especially weird that he might ask. Lan Zhan didn’t like it. “Is that your business?”

The waiter flushed slightly and ducked his head. “No. Of course not. He just doesn’t normally come with one person is all.” The waiter looked back, a little wistful. “He’s always alone or with a big group.”

That gave Lan Zhan pause, but not enough of one to stop himself from coolly saying, “It’s none of your business and what Wei Ying does is his.” As much as he might have wanted it to be a date and as much as he might have wanted Wei Ying to stretch himself across a table for Lan Zhan alone, that wasn’t what they were here for. Platonic. Not weird. Dinner. In that order.

By the time he was finished with Mianmian, turning around with two drinks in hand, the waiter was long gone from the table. That didn’t stop Wei Ying from platonically catching his eye from across the room and lifting one of the glasses in acknowledgment while he winked.

As Wei Ying finally arrived back at the table, he asked, twisting his hand slightly for Lan Zhan’s benefit, “Can you take the coasters for me?”

Between his fingers and one of the glasses were two square cardboard cutouts. Lan Zhan gingerly grabbed them, careful to keep from touching Wei Ying, and flipped them onto the table. They were colorful and looked hand-drawn. After Wei Ying placed his drink on one, he pulled it close and lifted the glass, looking down at his coaster.

“They tell people to draw on them,” Wei Ying said, reaching into his pocket for a handful of markers that poked out of his jeans. “Here, if you’d like. The other side is blank.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan replied, refusing the markers. “I just judge art.”

“Hmm,” Wei Ying replied, dubious, but he let it go for all of three seconds before he cracked. “Ah, come on, Lan Zhan, you’ve gotta have one artistic bone in your body. I can’t believe someone with your insight has nothing to say… figuratively speaking anyway.” He wiggled the markers around again.

Taking one, Lan Zhan sighed, injecting as much aggrieved displeasure into it as he could get away with without actually making it sound like he was mad. He hadn’t been lying about his capabilities, but he wouldn’t be his mother’s son if he hadn’t practiced calligraphy. Wishing he had a brush instead, he carefully drew a handful of characters, slow on purpose in order to make Wei Ying anticipate his forced contribution. It was easy to see that Wei Ying was eager for the result. It was even easier to tease him, adding a few little flourishes because the marker’s tip couldn’t do it for him. Too bad he didn’t carry brushes and ink with him.

Lan Zhan hoped he didn’t disappoint.

Perhaps it was a little dramatic as he lifted the square of cardboard, but Wei Ying was smiling anyway and Lan Zhan was pretty sure he’d do just about anything to be the source of it. Or at least he would want to do anything. When he flung it toward Wei Ying, it landed perfectly before him.

Wei Ying leaned forward, head bent over the table to read it.

“Don’t be boring?” Wei Ying asked, surprised, and then he laughed. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Your calligraphy is beautiful. I knew it! You’re too humble.”

Lan Zhan absolutely wasn’t going to be bowled over by a little bit of praise from Wei Ying. That didn’t stop his heart from fluttering at Wei Ying’s words and smile. His attention was addictive and Lan Zhan could see himself coming to depend upon it.

Though he knew better, he didn’t have the strength to stop himself from falling into that desire anyway.

As they ate, one thing did become clear rather quickly: Wei Ying was friendly. With everyone. And anyone. The waitstaff, other patrons, Lan Zhan. He’d make eyes at anyone who made eyes at him, sparkle and shine and show himself off for them. He flirted incessantly, flirted for the sake of it, flirted expecting nothing and never seeming to want anything in return.

Okay, so many things became clear rather quickly.

He saw, even if Wei Ying didn’t, the way other people’s gazes lingered long after Wei Ying’s attention drifted elsewhere. In fact, Wei Ying paid more attention to the food than he did to any of his many admirers, asking again and again if Lan Zhan had gotten enough of this, that, or the other. Did Lan Zhan need more rice? What about the shrimp? The pickled cabbage is really good, Lan Zhan, you should have some more.

The even stranger thing was how none of the others seemed all that put out by Wei Ying’s lack of attention. One sighed fondly and shook her head, turning back to the woman she was sitting with only to be punched lightly on the arm and teased. He caught a handful of words from her, “—he never notices—”

Lan Zhan wasn’t certain how to process any of this information he was gleaning. Wei Ying remained utterly oblivious to it, so he couldn’t ask his thoughts.

Well, he supposed he could, but he also didn’t want to draw Wei Ying’s attention to it either.

“Lan Zhan, you look like you’re thinking really hard about something.” He looked down at Lan Zhan’s bowl with concern. “The food’s okay, isn’t it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” He scrutinized Lan Zhan more closely. “Not a big talker during meals?”

He shook his head. That was true enough.

Wei Ying just smiled more prettily at him and Lan Zhan was certain he would perish on the spot. “Lan Zhan is very conscientious.”

Lan Zhan was nothing of the sort—he was simply as he was taught to be—but if Wei Ying wanted to believe it, he was more than welcome to.

The meal continued in companionable silence on Lan Zhan’s side. Wei Ying chattered away to fill the space between them while Lan Zhan fought the knee-jerk urge to tell him to be quiet. Wei Ying wasn’t being rude and, thankfully, wasn’t even being particularly disgusting about it, chewing and swallowing before he spoke, even when Lan Zhan could tell he was bursting to say something. It wasn’t ideal, but Lan Zhan was willing to put up with it anyway if only he would continue to talk about how much he saw on a recent visit to Wuhan.

By the time they were done, Lan Zhan managing only through luck to grab the bill before Wei Ying could, he was feeling… happier than he had in a long time.

That was to say, he was feeling happy. He generally didn’t feel any particular way at all, focused only on class and studying and maintaining what social connections were required to allow him to be a successful, productive member of his family.

All of that was fulfilling, but it didn’t require his happiness to accomplish it.

It was less of a shock than it maybe should have been, but he internalized the thought, turned it over in his mind, allowed it to be for the time being because what else could he do? Acknowledging this moment couldn’t make the past happier and it wasn’t ruining anything in the present.

It could, he decided, be what it was.

As they were leaving, Lan Zhan stopped Wei Ying with a hand on his forearm, halfway across the sidewalk and nearly to where Lan Zhan’s car was parked. “Wei Ying,” he said, knowing he sounded more serious than he ought to have sounded, but it was important to him, what he felt, what it meant to him. “Thank you for dinner.”

Wei Ying wrinkled his nose and scoffed. “I didn’t even pay, Lan Zhan. Why are you thanking me? Aren’t we friends?” Scuffing his shoes across the ground, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared down somewhere in the vicinity of Lan Zhan’s knees. “Did you have a good time?”

“I did.”

“Good.” Wei Ying spun around once and then stabbed Lan Zhan in the chest with his fingertip. “Maybe next time you’ll let me spring for it.”

Next time. Wei Ying wanted there to be a next time? Or maybe he was just making conversation. Either way, Lan Zhan nodded. This door would not be slammed in Wei Ying’s face. “Perhaps I will.”

“So I’ll see you in class?”

“Mn.”

“Cool.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder and smiled apologetically. “Mianmian mentioned there was a gallery showing over at, well—it’s all sort of hush hush and not exactly… sanctioned. Should be fun, but Lan Zhan is so good. I can’t imagine he’d want to go to such a thing?”

He didn’t, not particularly, but the thought of doing so with Wei Ying didn’t seem so bad. Still. He had to mark out limits somehow, lest he wrap himself up in Wei Ying’s life in ways that Wei Ying wouldn’t want. He might have joked about coming across like a weirdo stalker, but what if the same issue dogged Lan Zhan? He couldn’t risk it. Limits were good. “It’s getting late.”

“So it is,” Wei Ying agreed, voice a little distant. “See you on Monday, Lan Zhan.”

Before Lan Zhan could change his mind, Wei Ying was turning away, taking long, childlike strides down the sidewalk, slowing down to take a look through the windows at some of the gallery spaces along the way. Lan Zhan knew each of them intimately, could almost guess which current works housed inside were enough to turn Wei Ying’s head. They were, Lan Zhan felt, the same ones that struck something in Lan Zhan.

Or perhaps he was projecting, wanting the pair of them to be closer than they were.

Lan Zhan shook his head and drew in a breath and tore his gaze away from the back of Wei Ying’s head.

The right thing to do would have been to back away from this… thing, this—relationship, this whatever he was building with Wei Ying, that Wei Ying was allowing to be built. He was ill-equipped to navigate the murky edges of what he wanted and what was on offer and worried that one would destroy the other or hurt Wei Ying.

As he stood under the shower later, preparing for bed as he usually did, sluicing water from his hair with nothing better to do than turn his thoughts over and over and over again, he let an image pop into his head and didn’t immediately puncture it, turn away from it, or dash it against a rocks of his mind and leave it to rot. Tonight, he was not in the mood to do or think the right things.

The visceral, demanding need to pull Wei Ying’s hair free from its ubiquitous ponytail and use it to yank him into a kiss almost doubled him over while he finished washing up. The ache of it was so deep as to be nauseating. This desire was endless.

Reaching for the faucet, he switched it so only cold water beat down against his back. Twisting, he tilted his face into the spray, hoping it would drive the image from his mind.

It did not, but the painful numbness of his skin was enough of a distraction that he felt a little clearer headed as he stepped out of the stall and dried himself off. This thought, it wouldn’t lead anywhere good; he was sure of that much.

And even if it didn’t lead anywhere bad, it was still too soon to think about such things. He didn’t even know if Wei Ying liked men and there was an inkling in the back of his mind that perhaps Wei Ying didn’t like anyone, not in this way, which was fine. Just inconvenient for hopes Lan Zhan had no business developing anyway.

He’d gotten along fine for most of his life so far without experiencing anything approaching this for another specific person. He knew he appreciated the male form and on those occasions when he considered it, he knew what he wanted. He’d never imagined faces, though, or specific individuals, and he’d never—never felt like this.

Wei Ying, fortunately or unfortunately, would always be different in that respect.

2025

The resort was nice. Nice enough. Not wet as Nie Huaisang kept insisting it would be on the hour-long flight over, which Lan Zhan had been hoping for in the back of his mind. If he was forced to be honest, he might even admit it. It wasn’t his wedding that would be ruined by rain. At worst, Wei Ying would develop a bit of cabin fever from being stuck inside, but Lan Zhan was an expert by now at keeping Wei Ying occupied while indoors. It would be fine. Ideal even, because he realized, perhaps rather belatedly, that he really would rather have nothing to do with ninety-five percent of the people here.

As they stepped off of the tiny charter plane—a plane detailed in too much gold, which may or may not have been the reason why it was chartered in the first place—it was a pleasantly, surprisingly dry heat that greeted them. Pleasantly placid water spread endlessly behind them. Of course, pleasantly appointed villas dotted the sand ahead of them, too, and were no doubt tucked further into the wild tangle of trees further up the island’s slopes.

It was all so very pleasant, perfect for a wedding party, and Lan Zhan was looking forward to getting acquainted with their accommodations as quickly as possible. His other option was ruminating on how unfair it was that even the weather favored Jin Zixun over either himself or Wei Ying.

“Welcome, welcome,” the concierge said. His suit, pale linen, somehow managed to convey ease and formality at the same time. Unlike the rest of them, himself, Wei Ying, his brother, Nie Huaisang, and Meng Yao, he didn’t seem to be at risk of sweating through his clothing. Leading them toward the central structure, he quickly told them about the various amenities: gym, Olympic-sized training pool, restaurants and bars and personal chefs on-call, so many rooms that Lan Zhan just didn’t care about when they were on an almost pristinely jewel-like island with nature right outside and presumably private bedrooms to laze around in. Why would anyone want to watch a movie or, heavens forbid, train in an Olympic-sized swimming pool under the circumstances?

Lan Zhan would run on the beach and maybe hike through the tougher terrain and maybe Wei Ying would come with him, whining the whole time, and then they’d—

“Allow me to get you all checked in and provide the schedule of events.”

—apparently get to participate in ‘events.’ Great.

The concierge began handing around keys, actual keys, quaint to the point of painful at which point they all discovered a problem.

Lan Zhan and Lan Huan’s fobs matched, but Wei Ying’s was distinct from Lan Zhan’s and Lan Huan’s was distinct from both Nie Huaisang’s and Meng Yao’s.

Wei Ying’s eyebrow climbed his forehead and he exchanged an indecipherable look with Meng Yao, who stood at the far end of their little row. He scooped up Lan Zhan’s and scrutinized the delicately etched villa name on the fob.

“Excuse me,” Wei Ying said, dangling his fob. “I think there’s a mistake. This—” He grabbed a hold of Lan Zhan’s arm and pulled him close. “—is my plus one. Why is his key different?”

The concierge must have sensed some danger, because he hesitated in a calm, gentle way that suggested he realized he was on thin ice. “This is how Jin-xiansheng and his wife wished to arrange the accommodations. You’re to be quartered with the Jiang family in one of the three bedroom villas. The Lans are together. Meng-xiansheng is to be with the Jin family.”

“And what? I’ve lucked out and gotten a single?” Nie Huaisang said. Though his voice was cheerful enough, Lan Zhan could hear the steel in it. “Hooray.”

“Actually, your villa is situated with a few of the other… guests who don’t have, um, close personal ties with the Jin family.”

Wei Ying’s jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, it was actually Meng Yao who stepped forward. Lan Huan was quick and grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him back. “It’s okay, A-Yao. I’m sure the villas are perfectly suitable as they are.”

The concierge relaxed, but Wei Ying only tensed up further. His eyes flashed. “I don’t think it’s the accommodations Meng Yao is annoyed about, Huan-ge,” Wei Ying said, deceptively sweet. “Is Jin Guangshan around? I wouldn’t mind finding out exactly why he felt we needed to—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied. “Maybe your brother and you are too good to notice a passive-aggressive—”

“If you think I’m not perfectly aware of a passive-aggressive action when I see one…” In fact, Lan Zhan was beginning to revise his opinion of Jin Guangshan. Perhaps his memory was longer than Lan Zhan had thought when it came to the Jiang family and Wei Ying in particular.

Wei Ying closed his eyes, sighed, grabbed Lan Zhan’s arm and pulled him away from the check-in desk. “You do realize Madam Yu will be watching my every move in that villa, right? If we don’t get this sorted here and now…”

It would be eight days of not sharing a bed together and there’d be little to no chance during the day to spend alone with Wei Ying otherwise. He’d accepted this disruption to their lives on the belief that if nothing else, they’d have their evenings to themselves. Once it was dark and late even by Wei Ying’s standards, they’d be able to curl close and abandon all sense of propriety. They could be themselves. They would not have that during daylight hours, when they would be expected to celebrate other people’s happiness.

Though Lan Huan would not care one way or the other what they got up to, Madam Yu absolutely would. And though Lan Zhan would, in turn, not care in the slightest about what Lan Huan did with Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao, Meng Yao would absolutely be under the same scrutiny, perhaps even worse scrutiny, than Wei Ying.

It went beyond passive-aggressiveness and became an act of cruelty, deliberate maybe. His expectations were such that he believed Wei Ying to be below Jin Guangshan’s notice, but that might not actually be the case, and the relationship Meng Yao shared with the Jins was…

Fraught was the kindest word for it.

Perhaps he should have allowed Wei Ying to decline the invitation all those months ago. This didn’t feel worth it, not when Wei Ying was looking at him with something akin to panic in his eyes as Lan Zhan failed, moment by moment, to come up with a reasonable answer. It was subtle admittedly, even by Wei Ying’s usual standards of behavior, but Lan Zhan hadn’t known him this long to be entirely unable to read Wei Ying. He wasn’t just concerned, he was genuinely upset and he was trying to keep a hold on it.

And Lan Zhan did not like that at all, not when he already felt like he was giving up so many opportunities just by being here.

He almost opened his mouth to say that that was it, they were going home and the consequences could fall on him as the instigator. Madam Yu wasn’t so unfair in her treatment of Wei Ying that she’d blame him if Lan Zhan was the one making the spectacle. Rather, she would likely blame him, but she wouldn’t say anything to Wei Ying about it, which was the only thing that mattered.

Lan Zhan glanced back at the concierge, who was too busy nervously exchanging glances with the others to pay them much attention. Meng Yao still looked brittlely furious and Nie Huiasang, though appearing quietly placid and meek, was very likely also fuming.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, serious now. He wasn’t going to argue with Wei Ying. If the next words out of his mouth were fuck this place, so be it.

Wei Ying said nothing and kept saying nothing, until his shoulders slumped and he looked down at his feet. “It’s just eight days,” he offered finally. “It would be stupid to make a big deal out of it.”

“It wouldn’t,” Lan Zhan said, folding away his unhappiness. He took Wei Ying’s chin between his fingers and lifted his head. “Wei Ying, this is a slight against you. If you wish to say something, I will be right there with you.” Unless Wei Ying told him expressly not to, he might speak up anyway. The impulse was so rarely there, but for Wei Ying…

It was not fair. Someone should know. Lan Zhan could be the one to tell them.

Wei Ying shook his head, but allowed himself to lean into Lan Zhan’s touch. It was disappointing, but not all that surprising, when Wei Ying said, “No, I’ll make it up to you when we get back.”

You don’t have anything to make up for. “Wei Ying?”

“We’ll just have to find time to sneak around. It’ll be fun.” He punched Lan Zhan lightly in the shoulder and tried to smile. “Spice things up a little bit.”

Heart thrumming, Lan Zhan asked, “Did we need to?”

Wei Ying’s expression crumpled at whatever he saw on Lan Zhan’s face. “God, no. I didn’t mean… Lan Zhan. Never. No.”

If Wei Ying needed to pretend this was some kind of roleplay just to get through the indignity of this, that they were apparently reduced to illicit lovers sneaking around, then that was what they would do. Anything to get through it. He didn’t need Lan Zhan’s unfounded fears on top of that.

Wei Ying’s laugh, bitter and unhappy, cut through Lan Zhan’s thoughts. “You know, most people would enjoy a trip to paradise for the cost of a plane ticket. Look at us.”

Lan Zhan didn’t allow himself to grimace. Paradise had nothing to do with where they were staying and they both knew it. They could have accommodations in a flea trap of a room somewhere and been happier. As long as they were together, anything could be paradise. It was just that they could not be here together that was the problem.

He pulled Wei Ying into a hug and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Let’s keep running away on the table,” he said, forcing a teasing note into his tone. If he was entirely sincere, that was his business.

Wei Ying’s laugh was more genuine this time, if still false-noted. “Okay, Lan Zhan. We’ll run away. We could elo…nyway. Sounds like a plan. Run away. Good.” Very low: “Fuck.”

With Wei Ying pressed so closely to him, the sudden sharp throb of his heartbeat was no doubt far more obvious than it would have been otherwise. “Wei Ying?”

“Could you pretend you didn’t hear that maybe?”

Wei Ying was about to say they could elope. Somehow, Lan Zhan knew. And even if he was joking in this moment… the thought was too sweet even to bear contemplating, months of anxieties unraveling within his chest, easing for the first time in longer than he cared to think about. Even if it threw every one of his own plans out the window for how he wanted to do this with Wei Ying, he would have gladly done so, especially if that was what Wei Ying wanted. What mattered, as always, was being with Wei Ying, not the manner in which he was with Wei Ying.

“Would you want that?” Lan Zhan asked. Perhaps it had been silly to consider planning a large gesture and perhaps it was even sillier that he’d put it off for no better reason than sentimentality. If the manner didn’t matter, why should the time?

“What? To elope?” He stumbled again over the word, breathed it into Lan Zhan’s neck, gave careful life to it there between them. “The thought has crossed my mind a time or two.”

Lan Zhan pulled Wei Ying back, holding him at arm’s length, searching his gaze. “Seriously?”

Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over his shoulder and rolled his neck, perhaps in an attempt to look casual. Though he might have succeeded in that respect, there was nothing casual about the moment. “Yes?”

“Why didn’t you…?” But that was a question he could already answer based on his own reasoning. “You were waiting for the right time?”

“I guess? Sometimes I didn’t even think about it because we’re together and that’s what matters. And sometimes all I can think about is how nice it would be to call you my husband. It just—felt like it needed to be special. I guess in five years, there’s never been a moment that felt right. I suppose that should have told me—”

“Five years?”

Wei Ying tilted his head, curious. “I knew as soon as we were together that I wanted to be with you forever. I could just… never find the best way to say it. I don’t know how other people just go—” He flapped his hands. “—hey, let’s get married. Stupid, right?” His laugh then was awkward, reminding Lan Zhan that they were standing in a public lobby with multiple witnesses. “And then I open my big mouth anyway. Sorry. That… wasn’t romantic at all. I can do better. I was planning on it, but…”

But all of this happened.

Lan Zhan let out a sigh, aggrieved, and pressed his hand to his chest as though that might do anything to stop the frantic beating of his heart. “It doesn’t matter. Wei Ying, the answer was always yes.” Hell, Lan Zhan was half-ready to find someone to perform a ceremony right this instant for how much the details mattered now. They could do this the wrong way around for all that he cared. They wouldn’t even really be married until they get back home and register it with the Civil Affairs Bureau, but a ceremony, small, he wanted it. Right this second.

“We should wait until we get back,” Wei Ying said, a little melancholy, wincing. “I’m sorry I blurted it out like that, like it was a joke. It’s not. Truly.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Lan Zhan pulled him back in for a kiss. “I’m not.” The pressure he’d felt before, most of it, evaporated. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to enjoy it here knowing that Wei Ying was being treated this way, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the fact that his plans had all been ruined.

Wei Ying wanted to marry him. Anything else could be dealt with. Even pointed separations.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. You’re too sweet.” He looked down at the fob in his hand and, though he lost his smile, he seemed a little more at ease. “I guess we should get situated, huh?”

The villa, by all accounts, was lovely. If someone were to think specifically about what Lan Huan and Lan Zhan might like, this would be pretty close to ideal. Small, but comfortable and unpretentious, it overlooked the bright, pristine water of the Sulu Sea. Anyone would be excused for thinking it might be the only villa in the world. This conscientiousness stung. That Jin Guangshan could so easily occupy two mindsets in this way, it was unfathomable. How could he so cater to Lan Zhan and Lan Huan’s tastes when he would behave so poorly toward their loved ones?

Even as small as it was—two bedrooms on opposite sides of a lounge area and a kitchenette—there was no reason why Wei Ying couldn’t have stayed here, too. Even Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang might have comfortably come along, though that would have been the limit after which it would have become far too cramped for Lan Zhan’s comfort.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan was saying after they’d decided which room belonged to whom. “Are you all right? You seem a little on edge.”

I was just proposed to and Jin Guangshan acted like a complete dick to my fiancé. How am I supposed to feel? “I’m engaged,” he blurted. Those were not the words he meant to say. He ran hot and cold at the unexpected recitation of them. “I have a fiancé.”

Those weren’t the words he meant to say either.

“Congratulations,” Lan Huan said, hardly missing a beat. His smile was wide and Lan Zhan, despite how strange he felt, how distant, how wired and numb and overwhelmed, returned that smile.

He was going to get married to Wei Ying.

And then the smile fell.

Because he was going to get married to Wei Ying and instead of being with him—in bed or out to dinner or walking through the park back home—he was here in a beautiful villa overlooking pristine blue waters and Wei Ying was trapped in another villa entirely where, presumably, only Jiang Cheng would be a welcome presence to him. Maybe Jiang Yanli if she wasn’t ensconced in the villas set aside for the Jin family.

It turned out separation was not something he could deal with right now.

“I have to go.”

“Didi?”

They couldn’t sleep in the same bed and they wouldn’t have time after today to spend alone together and Lan Zhan was engaged. He couldn’t just leave Wei Ying over there.

“I’ll be gone for a while,” Lan Zhan said, meaningful. “The villa is yours.”

Unlike Lan Zhan, Lan Huan did occasionally blush visibly and he did so now. “Good to know. Didi, I’m so happy for you. And for Wei Ying. Will you tell him, please?”

He would.

The walk to Wei Ying’s villa was lovely, as expected, and surprisingly free of other guests who were all probably still getting their own things situated. That was just fine with Lan Zhan, who existed in that awkward space between strangers and acquaintances with most of the individuals who would be in attendance, the sort of people you felt obligated to greet, but never really wanted to see. They were generally in agreement, thank goodness, but they all still held to societal pressure to behave cordially, wasting one another’s time.

By the time he reached the larger villa set aside for the Jiangs, he was nervous all over again, nervous to see Wei Ying, his fiancé—he still couldn’t believe it—the man he was going to marry when he’d spent twice the length of their relationship so far believing they’d never have this with one another. Nervous when—

“At least he’s here with you,” Jiang Cheng was saying from somewhere around the side of the villa. He recognized the harsh whisper as his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s and hesitated before approaching. The ‘he’ in question was no doubt himself and logically the ‘you’ had to be Wei Ying, but he couldn’t tell quite yet whether they were arguing or not. Sometimes it was difficult to ascertain even now. “You didn’t have to sit down with your girlfriends and ask how they wanted to handle it since both of them couldn’t come and then endure endless questions about not even having a girlfriend yet when they both said they’d rather stay home. We can’t all be Lan Huan not giving a—”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying answered sharply. “It’s not my fault or Lan Huan’s fault you aren’t willing to tell your mother who you’re dating. It sucks that it’s like this, but apparently it is what it is. And I’ll thank you not to pull me aside to yell at me for something I didn’t do.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed, but he still hesitated. He hadn’t yet come around the side of the villa, though they’d now spoken enough that he could tell where they were.

He wanted to know what it was Jiang Cheng had decided Wei Ying needed to be yelled at for, but it wasn’t right to eavesdrop either, so—

“You’re moping,” Jiang Cheng said simply.

Lan Zhan stopped. If Jiang Cheng was noticing Wei Ying’s mood already…

He shouldn’t have let Wei Ying come back here alone at all.

This was… going to be harder than he thought.

“Yeah, because our brother-in-law’s father is a prick. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t need to be reminded you have it worse. You’re absolutely right. I have no reason to be upset. At least my f—boyfriend is here. Thanks, Jiang Cheng. I’ll be sure to smile a little more to make you feel better.” Normally, Wei Ying didn’t escalate arguments with Jiang Cheng, didn’t remain so bitter toward him even at his worst. That was the only reason Lan Zhan was so caught out by the sound of stomping feet. Before Lan Zhan could look a little bit less like he’d heard everything, Wei Ying rounded the villa and stormed up the porch. His gaze, guarded, threatened to crack as his face lifted and he saw Lan Zhan there. “Oh.”

Jiang Cheng came up behind him. “Wei Y—ah. Lan Zhan.” He at least had the good grace to look abashed at having been caught out this way. That didn’t stop him from glaring at Lan Zhan from over Wei Ying’s shoulder, but it might help him decide in the future to limit the amount of grief he gives to Wei Ying. He cleared his throat and looked down at his porch before slipping past them to enter the villa proper.

“Don’t mind him,” Wei Ying said first, because he always wanted to defend Jiang Cheng, especially when the one suffering his ill moods was Wei Ying himself. “He’s just… stressed out, too.” Wei Ying toed at and scraped the heel of his boot across the porch’s bleached blond wood in turn. “And jealous of Lan Huan, I think.”

“It’s not my brother I’m worried about,” Lan Zhan replied. What did Lan Zhan care about Jiang Cheng’s opinion of Lan Huan’s relationship with Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang? He’d concern himself if Jiang Cheng ever brought it up with Lan Huan, which he hadn’t so far. Stepping close, Lan Zhan brushed the back of his hand over Wei Ying’s cheek. “I am concerned that he’s giving you a hard time.”

Wei Ying ducked out from under Lan Zhan’s touch, but before Lan Zhan could complain, he breached the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s waist. “Ah, don’t worry so much. He’s always giving me trouble. It’ll pass. Ask Huan-ge about what it’s like to be an older brother. He’ll tell you.”

Lan Zhan pressed a kiss into the crown of Wei Ying’s head, accepted the affectionate teasing. “You didn’t tell him we’re…”

“I… didn’t want to rub it in or make a big deal out of it yet. It’s…”

The frustration Lan Zhan suddenly felt was uncharacteristic and quite probably unwarranted and he didn’t want to force it onto Wei Ying’s shoulders, too, but… he wanted Wei Ying to make a big deal out of it. He wanted Wei Ying to be so incandescently happy that he couldn’t help but share it with everyone. He didn’t want Wei Ying to be hampered in his happiness by all of this. Wei Ying’s potential for joy couldn’t take away from Jiang Cheng’s and shouldn’t be used as an excuse for Jiang Cheng’s lack.

If Wei Ying wanted to celebrate his own happiness, he should feel free to do so heedless of how it might play into another’s happiness. “I told my brother,” Lan Zhan said, not meaning to berate Wei Ying or shame him for having a brother of his own who shared such a fraught relationship with him. “He wished me only happiness. And you.” Even though he could not formalize his relationship with both Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang, he was still glad for Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, in turn, wanted that for Wei Ying.

It would, he knew, never be. It had taken him a long time to understand the relationship Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng shared and sometimes he still didn’t get it. Despite that, he accepted that they cared about one another and were, in some cases, to be envied. Where Lan Zhan and Lan Huan sometimes left one another to be cast adrift by their feelings, determined to preserve one another’s privacy and respect, Wei Ying’s and Jiang Cheng’s flared emotions settled issues much more quickly. The cold freezes that rarely, so rarely punctuated the relationship between himself and his brother never carried over to Wei Ying’s and Jiang Cheng’s. And where resentments for him could occasionally remain long past the date when they should have been swept aside, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng made up quickly and easily comparatively. Their affection for one another burned bright, too. There could be no loneliness between them. Lan Zhan and Lan Huan could both be so independent. It wasn’t always ideal despite them knowing how deeply they cared for one another.

“And he congratulated me immediately,” Lan Zhan added. He wanted Wei Ying to be congratulated as well. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“I should unpack,” Wei Ying insisted against Lan Zhan’s chest, like he’d ever been the sort of person who did that. When he and Lan Zhan went on vacations, he never did so, simply yanked clothing and toiletries at random and then whined when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

“Please,” Lan Zhan said, because he needed to be with Wei Ying now. “Or… I can help you unpack if you’d like.” He supposed it didn’t really matter what they did as long as it was together. It was just good odds that Wei Ying would enjoy a walk more than he’d enjoy unpacking.

Sighing, Wei Ying said, “Let’s unpack, then. If Madam Yu is going to berate me for anything while we’re here, I’m not going to let it be for something stupid.”

Lan Zhan closed his eyes and told himself that it wasn’t worth fighting about, that this was only eight days and they’d go back to their real life where they didn’t have to worry on a daily basis how Madam Yu would react to any of the things Wei Ying might have wanted to do. “Let’s go afterward then.”

Laughing, Wei Ying shoved lightly at Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re too good to me.”

“We should have been unpacking together anyway,” he said. “There’s nothing good about wanting to do so with you now that you’re halfway across the island from me.”

“Halfway?” Wei Ying laughed again. “Lan Zhan, you’re exaggerating.”

Perhaps he was, but it felt like it and he knew it was wrong that he should be forced to feel that way at this time. But their life together had been punctuated for many years by poor timing and bad luck. This wouldn’t break them even if it was uncomfortable.

Inside the villa, there was a lot of bustling activity, so different from the one set aside for Lan Zhan and Lan Huan. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan were here and Jin Ling, brooding, was sitting listlessly on a chair as he stared up at the ceiling. Jiang Cheng was prodding at him to get up and help his mother in the kitchen—a lot larger than the one in his—while Jiang Fengmian stared out of the sliding glass doors that led to the beach.

Madam Yu presided, wandering from corner to corner, fussing at everyone within reach while Wei Ying skirted toward the bedrooms.

“Wei Ying,” she snapped, not only gaining Wei Ying’s attention, but everyone else’s, too.

He plastered a grin on his mouth, steeling himself as he turned toward her. Lan Zhan twined their fingers together and squeezed his hand.

“Were you just intending to skulk back to your room with Lan Zhan or can we expect you to actually participate as a member of this family?”

Wei Ying’s momentary silence spoke multitudes. “I was just going to finish unpacking.”

She eyed them both suspiciously, making Wei Ying grit his teeth.

“I’ll leave the door open if that will assuage you further,” he added, snappish, his hand tight in Lan Zhan’s grasp. If he was trying to embarrass anyone in the villa, it didn’t work, except maybe on Jin Ling, who said, “Ugh, gross,” before fishing his phone from his pocket. He didn’t remember being quite that childish when he was in university, but he supposed it was a wonder that any child of Jin Zixuan’s wasn’t a complete disaster. Or, maybe not a wonder. Perhaps merely Jiang Yanli’s guidance. Or perhaps a little bit that, of all the Jins, Jin Zixuan had become the least objectionable.

There was a time when Lan Zhan might have been embarrassed by the implication, either Wei Ying’s or Madam Yu’s. So many years down the line, so many years with Wei Ying, so much time spent wasted before that, Lan Zhan just no longer cared. Madam Yu could believe what she wanted. He would begrudgingly respect her space and he would follow Wei Ying’s lead, but he wouldn’t be ashamed of his feelings for Wei Ying, not here, not ever. He would not be shamed for loving Wei Ying, not even when others made snide insinuations.

“Mother…” Jiang Yanli said.

“A-Li, this doesn’t concern you.”

She backed down, rolling her eyes slightly behind Madam Yu’s back, but the apologetic glance she gave to Wei Ying did little to salvage the situation.

In the back of his mind, he could almost hear his uncle telling him to smooth this over and behave respectfully toward Madam Yu, but no one in this room cared enough to stand explicitly with Wei Ying, not even Jiang Yanli. He could not blame them. From their perspective, this couldn’t be worth causing a ruckus about, not when most of them had to cohabitate. Maybe Lan Zhan should stand down, perhaps do his best to charm Madam Yu with flattering words or merely taking a seat out here while Wei Ying finished up. But Wei Ying wanted to unpack and Wei Ying wanted Lan Zhan to go with him. Even if it was disrespectful, he would not force Wei Ying to return to that room alone.

When nobody said anything further, he pulled Wei Ying in the direction he’d been taking Lan Zhan before Madam Yu had stopped them. He could only hope it was the correct direction, otherwise they’d have to deal with another embarrassing encounter, but as soon as they were out from under the scrutiny, Wei Ying relaxed a little and said, “Over here.” The door Wei Ying pushed open remained that way; he lowered his voice to compensate. “It’s not even been an hour and I’m already going insane. It’s like I’m fourteen years old again.” His gaze softened as he turned to look at Lan Zhan. “You really didn’t have to come over.”

“I did.” It might have been ridiculous to be so adamant about it, to feel like he couldn’t be parted from Wei Ying, but he couldn’t stand it. Instead of suggesting Wei Ying should come back with him, consequences and appearances be damned, he strode toward Wei Ying’s suitcase and began pulling his things from inside. Perhaps that would settle him.

Carefully, he unrolled the handful of garment bags containing his best suits while Wei Ying worked on the other suitcase. Peeling open the first bag, he inspected the fabric, pleased that the wrinkles weren’t too prominent in this suit. He took the steamer he’d also packed for Wei Ying and plugged it in in the bathroom, hanging the suit pieces on the shower curtain rod before repeating the process with the next suit and then the last one.

Meanwhile, Wei Ying unfurled the various pairs of slacks he’d bought that would likely disappear again into the back of their closet once they got home, a few shirts that would do the same, and finally reached the clothing that actually looked like it belonged to him, board shorts and bright tank tops that suited his frame.

In short order, everything was put away and Lan Zhan was feeling better about the whole thing—just a bit—particularly when Wei Ying grabbed hold of him and pulled him toward the back entry, bypassing the lounge area where everyone else was still navigating conversational minefields with one another. Breaking into a jog, he dragged Lan Zhan toward the winding dirt path ahead of them, blue water visible between the stand of trees that separated them from the sea ahead. This was what paradise should have been for them, not that tense villa they left behind.

“I thought you didn’t want Madam Yu to berate you for doing something stupid,” Lan Zhan said as they reached the beach proper and Wei Ying bent to roll up his pants.

“This,” Wei Ying said, kicking the sand as he prepared to run toward the water’s edge, “is not stupid at all. Besides, she thinks I don’t know how to unpack. We’ve got a little bit of time.” He grinned and wriggled his toes, digging them deep into the pale, soft-looking sand. “Come on, Lan Zhan, before I really can’t afford to be silly.”

Who was Lan Zhan to argue with that? He was right after all.

2020

Lan Zhan refused to concede that he was nervous. He’d thought tea would help steady him, but as he watched Wei Ying tack his mockups to the wall, he realized that, in this, he couldn’t be steadied.

It turned out that Wei Ying was every bit the professional Lan Zhan had always known and had chosen to treat Lan Zhan like any other client who might have commissioned him.

At this moment, it was only butcher paper filled with broad, colorful strokes, bold in some places and delicate in others, depicting a gentle mountain landscape. Wei Ying had imagined this place with such motion and spirit that Lan Zhan was moved. Anyone who appreciated art would be. They would sense the energy moving through it, even in this early stage, and be touched by its delicacy. It was classical and modern and beautiful.

But the spirit it evoked was not Wei Ying’s.

Wei Ying had somehow… he’d channeled Lan Zhan. This felt like something perfectly designed for his tastes. As one would expect from a commission.

In any other situation, that might have been a triumph, but for Lan Zhan, right now, for what he’d hoped to accomplish here…

He could already see himself in the plain white walls. It wasn’t himself he needed.

It was Wei Ying. Wei Ying’s spirit. His energy.

This… this had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have…

Wei Ying’s words flew over his head entirely. Something about wanting to go traditional, sharp and angular, soft colors. His fingernail snapped against the exquisitely rendered depiction of a crane; Lan Zhan flinched at the harsh sound of it.

Before Lan Zhan could react, Wei Ying ripped the first sheet away, tearing it at the corner, and Lan Zhan didn’t even really realize what he was doing until he was pinning it back into place with his palm. It was still Wei Ying’s work even if it wasn’t what he wanted.

It deserved reverence. Lan Zhan wanted it treated with care.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s gaze was shuttered and Lan Zhan hated that he’d somehow put that look on his face. “You said anything, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan struggled to find the words he needed in the quicksand traps of his mind. “I said to do what you wanted to do.”

“And this is what I wanted to do!” Wei Ying’s voice was sharp and desperate to Lan Zhan’s ears, words spoken too quickly, fearful. It shook something loose in Lan Zhan, an answering fear. Wei Ying babbled through a promise to try again if that was what Lan Zhan wanted, but he couldn’t guess what Lan Zhan wanted. He couldn’t guess and Lan Zhan had to tell him.

“I don’t want to see myself here,” was the only explanation he could give.

Wei Ying stared at him as though he’d grown a second head. Maybe that would have been less strange. “You don’t see me here?” With words, he fought for himself, told Lan Zhan things he didn’t need to be told, that if Lan Zhan wanted something impersonal—that wasn’t what he wanted at all—there were a thousand other artists he could go to. “We can call it a wash and—” And because Wei Ying was Wei Ying and never, ever gave up, he tried again. For Lan Zhan. Even though Lan Zhan was deficient in words, in actions, in explanations. “I’ll do something else for you.” His voice was still pitched a little bit high. Lan Zhan did that. “It wasn’t even that hard. These are just mockups. Don’t worry about it. I’ll—”

He couldn’t let Wei Ying feel like he’d done wrong here. Wei Ying had more than earned his trust over the years. This was a tantrum; that was all. Lan Zhan was being ungracious, ugly. “No.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re unhappy with them, I can’t…”

“They’re beautiful,” Lan Zhan said, because it was true and Wei Ying deserved to know it. “How did you feel when you did them?” Knowing what it meant might help him understand.

Wei Ying said nothing and nothing and nothing, filling the moment with his silence. Did he feel nothing? Was that why Lan Zhan couldn’t tell? That damning, unhappy silence dragged on.

“Go out with me,” he blurted.

Lan Zhan’s eyes snapped to Wei Ying’s face, watched him go pale and frozen as Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan couldn’t have heard the words he’d heard. Go out with me. Wei Ying couldn’t have said that. It was impossible. That was just what Lan Zhan wanted to hear. He’d misunderstood or—

Wei Ying remained there, didn’t take the words back, didn’t explain that he meant something else, merely shored himself up by the shoulders and looked at Lan Zhan as though waiting for an answer.

He expected Lan Zhan to answer. This wasn’t a joke or a misunderstanding. Wei Ying had—he’d asked Lan Zhan out. Ten years and… and in almost that whole time, those were the only words Lan Zhan had never hoped to hear. It threatened to overwhelm him, the realization. Wei Ying… Wei Ying must have liked him, right? To ask? To want to go out with him? Lan Zhan could finally express his feelings for Wei Ying in turn?

It was a chance anyway. One chance. An opportunity.

His face heated, a flush working its way down his neck as his heart threatened to burst inside of him, pushing blood through him so quickly he worried he’d go lightheaded. He could demonstrate his feelings for Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, I’m so so—”

Lan Zhan’s focus sharpened to a point. He wouldn’t give Wei Ying time to regret this. This chance would be grasped as tightly as it needed to be. “Yes,” he said, crisp, the word perfect and wonderful in his mouth. It was a wonder it made it past the lump of gratitude caught in his throat. “I’ll go out with you.”

He wouldn’t mess this opportunity up.

There was nothing in the world that Lan Zhan had done to deserve the powerful brightness of Wei Ying’s smile as he answered, the incandescent sparkle of his laugh, the exuberant way he asked if Lan Zhan was free on Wednesday, like he already had something in mind and wasn’t that something?

Lan Zhan could be free whenever Wei Ying wished him to be. Any time of Lan Zhan’s belonged to Wei Ying for as long as he wanted it. He hadn’t made plans for Wednesday yet, though he sometimes did. Often, he did. It was nothing to toss aside the vague shape of his usual Wednesday night, the way he sometimes found some out of town gallery opening or other, or hit up a club he’d come to like in another nearby city that played the sort of music he enjoyed, perhaps bring someone back for the night, a way to stave off his loneliness for a time, to release some of the pent-up energy inside of him, an itch that couldn’t be scratched in any other way than sharing sexual intimacy with another man.

All of that paled in comparison to the possibility of spending even a single night with Wei Ying. Whether it went anywhere else didn’t matter, since Wei Ying didn’t seem to have the same needs as Lan Zhan did.

By the time Wei Ying left—only after Lan Zhan reassured him that he didn’t want Lan Zhan to change a thing about his work, not with what it managed to spark—Lan Zhan wasn’t sure what to do with himself, how to be who he’d been for so long with the rubble of his understanding arrayed around him, shattered happily.

Wei Ying wanted to go out with him.

Wei Ying… liked him.

Sitting heavily on the end of his bed, he scrubbed his hand over his mouth, imagined what it might be like to taste Wei Ying on his lips.

Perhaps he’d have the chance to find out.

God, Wei Ying wanted to go out with him.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he was meant to survive such a realization or how he’d survive until Wednesday to find out more, but he supposed now that he’d have to.

Maybe everything he knew about Wei Ying was wrong. At least some of them already were.

And wouldn’t that be something, to find out there was yet more to discover about Wei Ying?

2011

The months grew hotter as the days lengthened and the end of the semester drew closer; he and Wei Ying settled into something so comfortable that he was lulled into the belief that his… feelings might have been merely an aberration, a stretch of the thing between them past the point at which it naturally existed. He learned that he could sit next to Wei Ying in class and feel nothing but the warm affection he came to associate with Wei Ying, gentle and calm. When he masturbated, it was only sometimes with Wei Ying in mind. When he daydreamed, he only occasionally thought about what it might be like to curl up against him while they slept. It was really not so much in the grand scheme of things.

He was given to understand others fantasized lazily about classmates, too, sometimes. This late in their acquaintance, more than a semester’s worth of time spent between them, the midpoint of fall semester until now, it was probably inconsiderate, but he was only human beneath the statue-like exterior he cultivated.

This warmth he felt was manageable and it was fine and they were good. Lan Zhan stopped by the student studios sometimes and Wei Ying dragged him away from studying to get food or sit around and talk about whatever struck Wei Ying’s fancy and it was nice. So nice. Normal. A friendship that didn’t need to be more than what it was.

The date of the student exhibition arrived and there wasn’t a single question in Lan Zhan’s mind that he would attend. Wei Ying didn’t even bother asking to confirm it; he just shoved a pair of tickets into Lan Zhan’s hand after class and said, “In case there’s anyone you’d like to bring.”

“Who?” Lan Zhan asked.

Wei Ying shrugged, casual, as he shouldered his bag. “A date? Your brother? I don’t know your whole life.”

He did was the thing. Wei Ying absolutely knew Lan Zhan’s whole life. That… was weird, right? It had to be weird, but it didn’t feel weird to Lan Zhan.

It felt right. It was what he wanted. It was nice.

“Do you want me to bring a date?”

Wei Ying tilted his head slightly, brow furrowed. “That’s up to you, Lan Zhan,” he said, voice oddly sharp. “I’d be interested to see who could catch Lan Zhan’s pretty eyes! They’d have to be something else.”

Lan Zhan blinked, mind utterly devoid of a rational, reasonable response. There was only one man who could hold Lan Zhan’s attention and he was standing right here. ‘Something else’ wasn’t quite the way Lan Zhan would describe him. Exquisite. Wonderful. Precious. Those words might come closer.

“Lan Zhan, don’t keep me in suspense,” Wei Ying said, cajoling. “What kind of person do you like?”

“You shouldn’t tease,” he said, equally sharp, except instead of odd, it just sounded curt. “I don’t like anyone.”

Wei Ying’s features twisted slightly before smoothing out into a smile. “It’s good to have standards,” he said agreeably. “If you want to find someone, you’ll surely find someone. And if you don’t, that’s okay, too.”

Lan Zhan had grown used to the strange twists and turns conversations with Wei Ying could take, but sometimes he was still left a little flabbergasted. “Thank you?”

Laughing now, Wei Ying squeezed Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow night for the show, Lan Zhan.”

As he gathered his things, he decided to let it go. What sort of person did he like? He liked Wei Ying. People didn’t come into it.

Now that Wei Ying had asked that question, all Lan Zhan could think about was how other people compared to Wei Ying. As he made his way to the library, he looked at the men who were also walking through campus. Some were attractive on a physical level, the proportions of their features pleasing or unexpected in an interesting, pretty way or they were objectively handsome. Their bodies might have been lithe and elegant or athletically honed and muscular. None of them stirred anything in Lan Zhan’s heart, though he felt a brief physical thrill for a few. It was like looking at a nice painting, enjoyable, but nothing more, forgettable from one moment to the next. Some had a shade of Wei Ying’s vivacity, but lacked his guileless charm.

There was no one person that Lan Zhan could see who met the criteria Lan Zhan now held inside of him.

Before Wei Ying, there wasn’t even a criteria to meet.

Oh.

All that care he’d taken to tell himself that warm affection was enough crumbled and he was reminded all over again of his desire to kiss Wei Ying, kiss him and do more to him, with him. Everything. Anything. He wanted it. Greed suffocated him as every man he passed couldn’t hold up under the comparison.

Though he drew in a breath of the muggy, stagnant air, it did nothing to calm his thoughts.

As he reached the steps leading to the library, he assured himself that since he’d put those feelings away once, he’d do it again.

As Lan Zhan entered the large exhibition space meant to house the work of a good twenty students of varying skill, talent, and vision, there was nothing special to draw the attention that he could see on a cursory skim. Wei Ying managed to outshine all of them even from afar, his portion of the room quite a bit more active than the rest on multiple levels.

Active was perhaps not the right word, but whereas everyone else used only the wall space, Wei Ying had built some kind of rotating cube on which the canvases that wouldn’t fit in his allotted space could hang. Unable to be viewed properly without forcing the viewer to awkwardly shuffle around with it—a couple of people were attempting to do so—they moved in slow, endless circles.

Wei Ying was nowhere that Lan Zhan could see and he wasn’t at all disappointed by that fact, not even when his brother looked at him knowingly, catching him in the middle of scanning the room.

“It appears Wei Ying is even more intriguing than I was led to expect,” Lan Huan said, all innocence as he correctly guessed with a single glance which works were his. “You’ve undersold him.”

“I thought you wished to discuss art with the graduating students.” It was the reason why he’d actually agreed to give Lan Huan the ticket. Why, he did not have to ask, are you trying to discuss Wei Ying with me?

“I did,” Lan Huan agreed, breezy, “but I can multitask.”

Multitask somewhere else, he was about to say when Wei Ying bounded up from behind, calling out Lan Zhan’s name before barreling into him, arm around Lan Zhan’s neck to pull him into an awkward side-hug.

“Lan Zhan, hi,” he said. To Lan Huan, he ducked his head in greeting. “And you must be Lan Huan. I can tell because you’re almost as handsome as Lan Zhan.”

Lan Huan’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Thank you so much, Wei Ying. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Sadly, I’m sure it’s all very true,” Wei Ying said, so friendly it ached. “I really am a scoundrel with zero redeeming qualities.” He elbowed Lan Zhan in the side. “Isn’t that right?”

Lan Zhan was still hung up on the fact that Wei Ying’s arm was draped around his neck; he was close enough to catch the scent of lotus in Wei Ying’s hair, lightly sweet and clean. Wei Ying wasn’t so short as to make it uncomfortable, the way they were standing, but it was a little awkward to tilt to the side this way. To be this close to Wei Ying was not quite torture, but it was close. “No,” Lan Zhan said, “that’s not right at all.”

Wei Ying laughed and finally let him go, but not before nudging him back upright. “Lan Zhan is my only fan. Don’t listen to him.”

“Do you hear that, didi?” Lan Huan said, taking Wei Ying’s side because of course he would. He liked to tease Lan Zhan, too. “Do you think our uncle will be very disappointed? He always did prefer your opinions to mine. If I no longer listen to you, what will he say?”

“He’ll say nothing,” Lan Zhan assured, because that wasn’t true either. Their uncle was fine with Lan Huan’s opinions; he just didn’t appreciate the company Lan Huan kept. Since Lan Zhan didn’t keep any company at all, there was no conflict between them.

Well, before now. He was fairly certain that their uncle wouldn’t approve of Wei Ying.

It was strange how little that mattered to him. He doubted it would be a problem anyway. Their uncle rarely came from Suzhou and when he did, he didn’t frequent the sort of places Wei Ying would go.

“I’m given to understand I have to do my part to pretend I care about the rest of these people, but I wanted to harass you first. Don’t leave before I find you again,” he said, jabbing Lan Zhan in the arm, “or find me when you’re ready to go. I don’t want to keep you, but I’d like to say goodbye. Good to meet you, Lan Huan! Sorry to run so quickly!”

Lan Huan nodded benevolently and though Lan Zhan wasn’t ready to let Wei Ying go, he nodded as well. And then Wei Ying was off, easy to track from the red hair tie he was using.

Not that Lan Zhan wouldn’t have known anyway. These days, he too easily recognized the way Wei Ying moved.

“He’s exuberant,” Lan Huan said, charmed.

“Were you expecting him to be otherwise?”

Lan Huan shook his head. “I don’t know what I was expecting. He seems very nice. Congratulations, A-Zhan.”

At that, Lan Zhan’s stomach twisted up, ears heating in reaction to Lan Huan’s words. “There’s nothing to congratulate.”

“Isn’t there?” He gestured toward Wei Ying’s paintings in concession. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Knowing what Lan Zhan knew about the thematic ties for the pieces, he couldn’t help feeling a tinge of amusement as they were forced to move with the paintings if they wanted to spend any time with them. Lan Zhan didn’t generally consider flipping off the audience to be a productive use of one’s time, but the humor in it was evident, the teasing disinterest in being anything other than difficult for the sheer joy of it.

And then the cube began rotating in the opposite direction and Lan Huan huffed at his side. “What are the odds he gets docked for this?”

Lan Zhan turned to look at the four that hung on the walls. They were the ones he’d considered the best. In a way, they seemed to snub their noses at the audience, too, as though saying that Wei Ying could have made it easier for them, but chose not to. They were polished, serious. Legitimate Art. “I’m not certain he would care.”

He hoped that Wei Ying wouldn’t. The university was generally forgiving of artistic individuality, but he could see Wei Ying having run-ins with the instructors anyway, especially if they felt like they were being mocked.

“There is something… fun about it,” Lan Huan said. “A little abrasive, too, but he’s young. Most of us were a little abrasive at that age. Except for you. You’ve always been placid.”

Lan Zhan did not pull a frown, knowing he was being teased again and not quite as certain he enjoyed it this time. “I don’t recall you being particularly abrasive.” In fact, he’d always put up with Lan Zhan wanting to hang around him, even when he was younger and recalcitrant and lonely, but unwilling to approach any of the youths his own age. Even when Lan Huan was Lan Zhan’s current age and Lan Zhan was only in his first year, Lan Huan was always patient and spent time with him.

In truth, Lan Zhan felt abrasive. He was considered standoffish by most people, cold and unfriendly. It was Lan Huan whom everyone believed to be the nice one.

Wei Ying deserved to spend time with people who were kind, who appreciated his work, who weren’t as difficult as Lan Zhan was. It wasn’t Lan Huan’s fault that he made Lan Zhan feel this way with only a few words, but it was what it was.

He put it out of his mind as best he could. There was nothing to be done with it. He couldn’t exactly change who he was, not even for Wei Ying.

He chose to say nothing else regarding Wei Ying to his brother; he already knew too much and that would likely only end up aggravating Lan Zhan in the end. “Let’s just enjoy the art.”

“As you say,” Lan Huan said agreeably, like he’d never experienced a day in his life where he didn’t want to be a good, shining individual who was always pleasant.

The rest of the pieces were largely forgettable. Lan Huan made note of one or two, but to Lan Zhan, there was only one artist here who had any true worth. In the future, perhaps the others would have something, but as of right now…

The other artists seemed to sense it, too, throwing looks at Wei Ying’s portion of the room that bordered on venomous. Though Lan Zhan tried not to take too much notice of Wei Ying, he couldn’t help but realize that Wei Ying gave those people a wide berth and only truly seemed to be connecting, as he flitted throughout the room, with a spare handful of them.

“Would you care for something to drink, didi?” Lan Huan asked suddenly.

Lan Zhan’s heart thumped in his chest. “What?”

“You’re staring pretty intently at the refreshment table,” he said, sounding utterly reasonable and conveying so much innocence to the world that he couldn’t not know what he was doing. “I was just wondering if you were thirsty.”

Wei Ying was at the refreshment table and he was standing with Nie Mingjue’s younger brother, chattering away happily about something or another. He laughed suddenly and the sound of it was loud enough to carry. How was Nie Huaisang lucky enough to have caused it? He wasn’t even funny.

“Ge,” Lan Zhan said, viciously sharp.

“What?”

No one would blame me, Lan Zhan thought with an uncharacteristic degree of waspishness, if I took the car and left you here. “I’m not.”

Lan Huan merely shrugged and returned to his perusal of the works on display while Lan Zhan was left to suffer with the sound of Wei Ying’s laughter, knowing he was not the source of it because he also wasn’t funny. “You could still go over if you wanted to,” Lan Huan offered, because he was sometimes just as chaotic a creature as Wei Ying, it was only that nobody would ever have believed it.

“I don’t.”

The rest of the night past in a similar manner, but Lan Huan seemed to enjoy himself, so that was something.

The only downside was the fact that, by the time Wei Ying returned, he was looking exhausted rather than exuberant, gaze as bruised as the slight discoloration under his eyes. He wasn’t anywhere near as happy as Lan Zhan would have wanted him to be, but he didn’t know how to make Wei Ying happier than he was.

This night should have been a triumph for him.

“Lan Zhan, you stayed,” Wei Ying did say, smiling slightly at him.

“You asked me to.”

That smile quirked a little higher up and his eyes crinkled in pleasure. “I did. Thank you. So what do you think?”

Lan Huan, who had been standing next to Lan Zhan, chose this moment to wander off. Lan Zhan wasn’t certain whether that was enough to take Lan Huan off this mental list he was just beginning to form, but he appreciated the space regardless.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in spiting your audience, too,” Lan Zhan said. It wasn’t a criticism, more just an observation, but Wei Ying looked at him slyly anyway.

“Ah, just poking a bit of fun,” Wei Ying said. “Trust me, I caught enough flak for it from the instructors and the other students, like they couldn’t have come up with some dumb gimmick on their own to maximize floor space and convey a message.” He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get the feeling there might be new guidelines next time though.”

“Guidelines can allow for unique interpretations and innovations,” Lan Zhan said.

“Are you advocating for me trying to skirt the rules, Lan Zhan? That doesn’t sound like the kind of thing your family would approve of.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze cut toward Lan Huan, who was now talking with Nie Huaisang and apparently doing a very good job of flustering him if the way he flicked his fan was any indication. He thought about Lan Huan and who he spent time with; he thought about his mother. He thought especially about her. She, who had been brilliant and vibrant and did whatever she wanted insofar as she could manage in his family. “I think you might be surprised.”

“I’m sure I would,” Wei Ying said, agreeable in a much different way than Lan Huan and yet somehow just as genuine. His eyes suggested a great deal, as though he wanted to be surprised.

But he wouldn’t be surprised by Lan Zhan. How could he, when Lan Zhan was simply as he was, nothing more and nothing less?

He already did not relish the day Wei Ying looked at him with disappointment in his eyes when he figured it out.

Today, at least, he didn’t have to confront that concern. For the rest of the evening, Wei Ying remained with him. This time, they walked the room together and, instead of Lan Huan’s thoughts, he was treated to Wei Ying’s. They were always exciting, interesting, wonderful to hear, even if and when Lan Zhan disagreed, which was often.

Wei Ying’s features gleamed now with joy. Perhaps getting to discuss art with someone who wasn’t jealous helped.

He found, much to his surprise, that he wasn’t ready to go when Lan Huan approached, finger tapping at this wristwatch.

Lan Zhan was not ready to go, but Wei Ying didn’t ask him to stay, though there’d been whispers of an afterparty, and Lan Zhan refused to invite himself along. Perhaps another time, but not tonight. Not now.

He didn’t think about how the end of the year was so close; there wouldn’t be many more opportunities before the summer break; there was no telling whether they’d have classes together again when the fall semester began. Lan Huan offered, once they were alone and on their way back to the car, a careful, “Huaisang mentioned there would be a gathering tonight.”

“Mn.”

“He invited us,” Lan Huan said with equal care, “if you’re interested in attending.”

“I am not,” Lan Zhan replied, cutting, wondering all the while why it was so easy for Lan Huan in comparison to him, why Nie Huaisang might have asked Lan Huan, while Wei Ying did not ask Lan Zhan. “You may go if you wish, of course. I can find my own way back.”

“No,” Lan Huan said, musing, a little longing, “no. I don’t think that would be fair.”

And that was that, Lan Zhan’s brush with the world outside his apartment, the university, and Hanshi ended in nothing. That was the usual course of things.

Once he settled in for bed, he dreamed of pinning Wei Ying to a wall, of biting his neck until he bled and cried, making him come with hand and mouth and cock. He woke up hard in the middle of the night, wanting and guilty and did not fall into rest again. When he closed his eyes, he saw only Wei Ying and he refused to touch himself to ease the ache of that image.

He felt no better in the light of day.

Eventually, this fact will not surprise him in the slightest.

2025

The first few days were manageable enough, an easing in process while various branches of the family, friends, and vendors flew in to make ready for the celebration proper, but by the time everything was prepared, Lan Zhan was left wondering why they’d had to come so early when Wei Ying wasn’t even considered close enough to be one of Jin Zixun’s groomsmen and the itinerary at this point mostly boiled down to drink and eat a lot while every Jin blowhard on the island speechified for a captive audience.

If Wei Ying really wanted to, he could eat and drink and speechify at home without the added pressure of spending every hour of the day with the Jiangs and the Jin family while Lan Zhan awkwardly tagged along.

Today, they were having lunch in yet another one of the resort’s restaurants, not even slightly different from the last three restaurants they’d eaten at over the last few days—how many indistinct restaurants did one resort need—before everyone went out on a group hike up to the spa that was situated at the highest point on this beautiful spit of land that didn’t deserve to host so many disappointing people.

It was fiendishly muggy out, of course, to the point where Lan Zhan’s hair was already drooping, coiffed bangs failing and falling into his eyes. Wei Ying, seated on the other side of the table and nearly at the opposite end, poked morosely at his meal, looking equally wilted, chin perched on his fist. His hair was in a hastily tied bun. Tendrils of hair curled around his temples; they would be baby fine and soft and Lan Zhan longed to smooth them back. His shirt’s collar was a little uneven and that, too, Lan Zhan wanted to adjust.

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, jostling him lightly with his elbow. “You’re staring.”

“What?”

“You’re staring,” Lan Huan said again, quiet. “Is everything all right?”

Lan Zhan gave a cursory glance to the rest of the assembled diners and decided it would be safe enough to talk. Nobody paid them the slightest bit of mind anyway. Most of them were too busy not being parted from their partners to need to pay any attention to him or his brother.

“Everything’s fine,” he answered by rote. Not that it wasn’t the truth. Everything was fine; Lan Zhan just hated it. “Does Wei Ying seem unwell to you?”

Lan Huan opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again, looking at that portion of the table. By now, Madam Yu was gesturing at his elbow and then his collar. Wei Ying didn’t lift his eyes from his plate, not even with both Lan Zhan and Lan Huan scrutinizing him and Madam Yu castigating him.

“You would know better than me,” Lan Huan said. “He looks unhappy if nothing else. Is there no way you can…?”

“I would,” he replied, “if Wei Ying wanted me to, but he said he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it and nothing he’s said or done since suggests he’s changed his mind.”

Lan Huan hummed and prodded at his own meal. “I didn’t realize he cared so much about what his family thinks.”

Lan Zhan was almost going to argue the point. Given how little contact he had with Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu and how rarely he bothered to bring them up, he thought it was unlikely to be the case. On those rare occasions when they went back to Wei Ying’s hometown for holidays, they never stayed in his family’s home even though Wei Ying suffered no end of grief for it. “He doesn’t,” he said finally. “Not usually.” Biting his lip, he tried to focus on the meal in front of him, dishes he didn’t recognize nor particularly care for. He’d been told they would be delicious, but he found them an unappetizing variety of bland. If Wei Ying were next to him, he might have said so, just to hear him laugh and tease: finally, a variety of bland Lan Zhan didn’t enjoy? Would wonders never cease? “I can’t imagine why he’d feel so differently now.”

“Can you not?” Lan Huan asked. The question was a little arch, but not to the point of obnoxiousness. Rather, his brother had clearly made some kind of connection and wanted Lan Zhan to figure it out, too. Lan Zhan wasn’t particularly fond of this technique, but it was one Lan Huan favored. Allowing others to come to their own conclusions was one of his specialties.

Usually, Lan Huan only had to use it on other people. Lan Zhan didn’t quite appreciate its utility when it was applied to him instead.

Lan Zhan, stabbing at a spear of asparagus before folding the slimy, limp thing in half and stabbing it again, wished a little bit that the floor would open up and put an end to his misery. Instead, he conceded his defeat, because otherwise he might have to suffer on this precipice forever. His brother always did have more patience than him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sighing, Lan Huan said, “You mentioned that he accidentally proposed to you?”

They’d talked about it several times since it happened. “You know I did.”

“Then… is it not possible that he’s behaving this way in the hopes of ensuring a good impression with his uncle and aunt for you? You can’t accidentally propose to someone without giving some thought to doing so, right? Maybe this wedding is meant to be an olive branch to them.”

In all of his imaginings, he’d never considered the possibility that Wei Ying would genuinely feel the need to gain his family’s approval. Logically, it made sense, but Wei Ying was so disinterested in them most of the time that he was still blindsided by the possibility. “You believe he’s doing this to himself for my sake?”

Lan Huan’s smile was indulgent and kind. “There’s very little Wei Ying wouldn’t do for you, I think. Ensuring their approval seems exactly like something he’d try.”

“But—”

“I imagine it must be difficult for Wei Ying. He has his own family to contend with,” Lan Huan continued, musing, “but he also has yours.”

“Uncle has nothing—” But then he stopped himself. Wei Ying had always been terribly concerned with Lan Zhan’s uncle, even though they so rarely visited him, too, that it hardly mattered. That was by Lan Zhan’s design. He could be as unhappy as he wanted when they didn’t visit often enough—though he was, thankfully, often so deeply preoccupied with his own work back in Suzhou that it never caused the same strife that infrequent visits to the Jiangs’ home did. As long as they didn’t spend enough time together to wind up in a fight, Lan Zhan considered it a good encounter. So far, awkward, brittle, short best described those visits. Acceptable, in other words.

It was sometimes easy to forget that others didn’t always see Wei Ying the way he saw Wei Ying. Even though he knew his uncle and Wei Ying didn’t get along, it still just… didn’t always register as a hindrance of any sort. If uncle didn’t like Wei Ying, so be it. If Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu didn’t like Lan Zhan, so be it. Lan Zhan did not need to be liked as long as they didn’t object to him.

Wei Ying fretted in the lead-up to their holiday visits, stressed himself to the point of packing and repacking their bags, second guessing everything from his underwear to the liquor they intended to bring, always the same regardless: a locally brewed spirit that Jiang Fengmian was especially fond of. It was even worse when they visited Lan Zhan’s uncle: Wei Ying grew quiet and small, leaving all the details and decisions to Lan Zhan. By the time they arrived, though, Wei Ying had usually raised his own good cheer again, blithely indifferent to the whole thing, if more polite than usual.

Foolish. He was generally more thoughtful than this.

He didn’t always understand what Wei Ying saw in him, but he embraced it wholeheartedly as the truest thing he’d ever had the honor to experience and he dishonored it by needing something so obvious pointed out to him. His only excuse, if an excuse could be made at all, was this trip had turned him upside down, too, cast him adrift from everything he knew.

“Oh.”

Lan Huan’s mouth twitched upward. “Oh, indeed.”

His chair scraped back as he moved to stand, drawing the attention of everyone around him, including Wei Ying, who startled at the sound and scrambled upright, brows furrowing as Lan Zhan rounded the length of the table. Madam Yu especially looked displeased, but Lan Zhan’s sudden motion distracted her from her grievances toward Wei Ying.

Wei Ying stared at him, head tilted, a question in his gaze as Lan Zhan approached. Most everyone directed their attention back to what they were doing now that the source of the disruption was identified.

What could he be doing? Nothing so much, in the grand scheme of things; he merely tipped Wei Ying’s chin up so he might press a kiss to Wei Ying’s mouth. The act earned a few chuckles and a bit of chatter from those closest to them, though luckily nobody at the handful of nearby tables seemed to care otherwise, and nobody in the bridal party itself paid them any mind. To Lan Zhan, it was only the becoming flush spreading across Wei Ying’s cheeks that mattered. “What was that for?” he whispered.

He wanted to say that he missed Wei Ying, too, and wanted to stake a claim where others could see it, wanted perhaps to make it so that Wei Ying wasn’t the only target in this, wanted to show others that Lan Zhan was just as much involved as Wei Ying. He saw how sad and lonely Wei Ying looked and wanted to do something about it. Those were the things he wanted to tell Wei Ying. He said instead, “I like you so much.”

Even the bridge of Wei Ying’s nose went a little pink.

“Lan Zhan, you’re ridiculous,” he answered, shy, ducking his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Zhan saw the disapproving look Madam Yu threw their way. Luckily, Wei Ying did not, too busy taking a sip of water to notice, demure suddenly. Lan Zhan had just enough time to offer a challenging look of his own. No matter how unhappy she might be with the arrangement, how little she cared for Wei Ying, she could not alter this fundamental fact. They were affianced.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment of her.

Lan Zhan returned to his seat and resumed his meal, but this time when he looked over at Wei Ying, Wei Ying more often than not was looking back at him and, unlike before, he smiled, animated.

That alone was worth the embarrassment of having made a scene, even as small a scene as it was, as little consequence as it had to the world at large.

There was one upside to this hike, which was Lan Zhan could reasonably be expected to spend time with Wei Ying during it, some of it managing to be somewhat private, too, because everyone participating went at their own pace. Some were sluggish, some quick. Most importantly, Madam Yu was distracted by the conversation she was having up ahead with Madam Jin, her son, and Jiang Yanli. Jiang Fengmian had begged off with a suspiciously well-timed headache and Jiang Cheng was stomping off alone after having darkly told Wei Ying that he owed him one.

You owe him what, he’d asked.

Oh nothing, Wei Ying had answered, blithe.

Though Wei Ying’s hair was now plastered to his skin from the humidity and Lan Zhan’s shirt was dangerously close to becoming one with his back, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Even Wei Ying, who normally would have complained about having to walk around in the heat like this, remained quiet, merely clinging to Lan Zhan’s side, Lan Zhan’s hand wrapped—too warm, not that Lan Zhan would stop him—between both of his.

It was rather peaceful, the hike. The only sounds were the quiet rustling of leaves in the scant breeze, the whispers of conversation which could be heard from up ahead of them, the occasional call of a bird. If he strained, he could even hear the clap of waves against the sand below the rise, seemingly everywhere all at once. And the scenery was beautiful, lush, so many shades of green that Lan Zhan might never be able to catalog them all, even if he wanted to. Perhaps Wei Ying could, with his artist’s touch.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, pulling Lan Zhan down so his lips were right against Lan Zhan’s ear. “How do you feel about getting blown against a tree?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan said, lying through his teeth, because it sounded incredible, but someone had to be the voice of reason since Wei Ying had, somewhere between lunch and now, reached his limit when Lan Zhan wasn’t looking. Thinking back about exactly why he probably was behaving himself… Lan Zhan didn’t want that sacrifice to be in vain. They shouldn’t. “How do you feel about Madam Yu asking you why your pants are dirty?”

“I’ll say I tripped on the way up. As long as you don’t try to be a gentleman about it, I’ll even be able to swallow the evidence. No one will know.”

Lan Zhan was very likely going to perish, which would give the game up handily. Wei Ying was speaking too analytically for it to be true dirty talk, but tell that to Lan Zhan’s traitorous dick. Evidence. Like his come belonged in a crime lab. That shouldn’t have been enough for Lan Zhan. Of course, it was. “You tripped?” he tried, bland, wondering how likely it would be that that explanation would fly.

“Mmhmm!” Wei Ying sounded so sincere and happy and proud of himself. Lan Zhan didn’t want to take it away from him. “Tripped and fell on your dick maybe.” The laugh that followed was almost literally music to Lan Zhan’s ears, which was how he knew he was maybe losing it, too, but sharing this with Wei Ying—he wanted it. Desperately. He wanted to be blown against a tree. Very, very much.

Anyone who knew him would be aghast. He should have been, too. He was not.

“What about you?”

Wei Ying blinked and furrowed his brow. “What about me?”

Though Lan Zhan gestured at Wei Ying, Wei Ying, unlike Lan Zhan, seemed to be walking normally. There also wasn’t any sort of telltale bulge, which couldn’t be said about Lan Zhan now. Anyone who looked would get an eyeful. Luckily, there was no one around to notice. “You. What about you?”

“Oh.” He laughed again, a little awkward. “I jerked off in the bathroom. Nobody would ever believe it if you tripped and fell.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, strangled, feeling hunted. Arousal gathered into a tight ball in his abdomen and thrummed through him, resonant. For one shining moment, he forgot that they were being forced to sneak around like delinquents and instead just decided of their own volition to be naughty in the woods. It felt that pure.

“Lan Zhan, please. I need to put my hands on you.” The desperation in Wei Ying’s plea brought him back to reality. The look in his eye was too wild, not a result of arousal, and his words didn’t speak to fun or mischief. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Lan Zhan’s shirt. His body held itself so tightly, Lan Zhan worried it might shatter. “I don’t need an orgasm. I just—”

He… he really believed Lan Zhan might tell him no, like he didn’t need Wei Ying as much as Wei Ying needed him, like this whole situation was leaving Wei Ying stranded while Lan Zhan could carry on, okay with it all.

“Let’s just go back,” Lan Zhan said. He didn’t only mean to the villa that should have been theirs.

“No! We should… Madam Yu will start asking questions. Please, I don’t mind. Just… let me? Here?”

How could he say no?

Wei Ying pulled him off the path before he could say anything else, marched them through the foliage. He took a bit of chalk, bright blue, from his pocket to mark a few tree trunks as they walked. A laugh caught itself in Lan Zhan’s throat, a little unhinged. “I didn’t know you packed chalks,” he said, finding the whole situation unbelievable. Wei Ying knew going in that he wanted to do this. He sat in that luncheon knowing this was what he wanted.

Lan Zhan’s hand, entirely of its own accord, skimmed over his fly.

“Artist,” Wei Ying sing-songed.

“You don’t like chalk.”

“Bored artist,” Wei Ying replied. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I have a few good sketches anyway. At least we won’t get lost, right?”

Of the two of them, Wei Ying was not the bigger planner, so the fact that Wei Ying had had enough foresight to think of this… it made something warm bloom within him, but it also made him feel exceedingly sad, too, for the both of them. A melancholia clung to the moment that wouldn’t disperse, no matter that Wei Ying, deciding he’d found the right spot, yanked on Lan Zhan’s arm and manhandled him around.

“Oh, no. Whatever will I do now that I’ve tripped and fallen. My beautiful boyf—iancé didn’t save me,” he said, teasing, perhaps trying to lighten the mood as he slid to his knees. The dirt squelched slightly, audible even to Lan Zhan, but Wei Ying didn’t seem to mind. His palms skimmed over Lan Zhan’s fly, pressed against the obvious tent of it as Lan Zhan tightened his hands into fists to keep from grabbing Wei Ying’s hair. “Oh. No. Look where I’ve ended up?”

Lan Zhan’s head thunked back against the tree trunk because looking would mean having to see Wei Ying and he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he did. Something stupid probably, like pull Wei Ying to his feet to press him into the tree and then wreck them both.

It was only Lan Zhan’s good luck that Wei Ying didn’t tease further, perhaps sensing the extent to which he could get away with such things. Quickly and cleanly, he pulled open Lan Zhan’s trousers, taking Lan Zhan in one smooth motion, hands tightening on Lan Zhan’s hips to keep him in place. He covered Wei Ying’s hands with his own, pressed them in more deeply, until pain shot up his sides and he was certain they would bruise.

Wei Ying worked him with every trick he’d perfected over their years together. His arousal coiled and coiled around his spine, strangled everything except the feel of Wei Ying’s mouth around him. Wei Ying’s head bobbed smoothly, teeth dragging lightly over his length. His hand wrapped around the base and squeezed. He tongued and teased the slit. The muscles in Lan Zhan’s thighs and abdomen tensed. If not for their joined hands holding him down, he might have fucked Wei Ying’s face instead, ended this quickly. Wei Ying didn’t want that apparently. Every time he brought Lan Zhan close, he pulled back, inhaled deeply, lightly stroked him, prolonging it.

The sweat rolling down his spine couldn’t be written off as the work of the humidity around them.

Lan Zhan’s teeth caught his lower lip, bit it until that pain served as a counterbalance to all the pleasure. It was a good thing he knew how to be quiet in bed, because Wei Ying was trying to murder him.

“I know. I know. Forgive me, Lan Zhan.” His breath ghosted over Lan Zhan’s dick, another tease. Lan Zhan bucked forward, keened low. His lip was sure to bruise, but he didn’t care.

“Wei Ying, if you don’t—I will…” Wei Ying’s intention to keep this clean might go awry and oh, wasn’t that an image, his come splattered across Wei Ying’s face. He’d have to lick it from his chin, his cheek, his neck. He’d carry the scent on his skin anyway. “Please.”

Wei Ying looked up at him through the fringe of his lashes. There was no coyness there, no teasing, only gratitude that Lan Zhan didn’t deserve. “Let me take care of this, er-gege.”

By the time he jerked forward, heedless of everything except Wei Ying around him, he couldn’t have stopped himself from spilling down Wei Ying’s throat even if he had wanted to be a gentleman about it.

Gasping, Lan Zhan stared down at Wei Ying as he remained in place, tucking Lan Zhan away, but otherwise pressing himself against Lan Zhan’s leg, his fly still open. “I miss you,” he spoke to the inside of Lan Zhan’s thigh. “That’s stupid, right? You’re right here. I can look at you from across a fucking table if I want to, but I miss… I miss this.”

Lan Zhan stroked his hand over Wei Ying’s temple, down his cheek, bent a little to urge Wei Ying upright so he could wrap his arms around Wei Ying’s waist, breathe him in. For him, generally speaking, sex was the most fulfilling thing they could do together on the long, long list of satisfying things they did, but right now, he was hungry, ravenous, for something else, too. Perhaps instead of taking the orgasm Wei Ying offered, he should have given this instead. All he wanted to do was keep a tight hold on Wei Ying. “It’s not stupid.”

“Thank you for that, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. “Thank you for letting me. I don’t know what I would have done if I couldn’t give that to you. And after you—after that kiss? Lan Zhan, you’re a villain.”

Before Lan Zhan could say anything else, tease or apologize, he felt the patter of rain through the canopy and then the sudden rush of a downpour they were mostly protected from. Wei Ying laughed bitterly at the development, tilting his head back as a few droplets splashed across his face. Over the crashing sound of rain and the rustling of leaves in the wind that kicked up, they could even hear the squeals of the other guests still on the path, shouting distantly in deprecation at the development.

Taking Lan Zhan’s hand, he said, “Happy anniversary, Lan Zhan.”

Oh. It was their anniversary, wasn’t it? Time here was meaningless to him. Every moment spent apart from Wei Ying was an hour, a year, a decade in his mind. The only calendar he consulted was that damned event schedule and it didn’t carry the date on it, just the day of the week.

He’d forgotten.

That was what this place did to him. This was what he’d done to himself.

He loathed everything about it.

2020

Lan Zhan wasn’t going to admit he was nervous, not as he stood in front of his closet trying to figure out what keep it casual, Lan Zhan meant, because at the end of the day what he wore probably didn’t matter that much. Jeans were a good start and he did have a handful of pairs, all dark washes, all suitable for most occasions even if it wasn’t his preferred style, which stopped him for a moment because it didn’t necessarily seem right to dress counter to his usual.

Or maybe he was overthinking it and he could simply pick something that looked nice. And casual. Wei Ying wouldn’t have specified that if there wasn’t a reason. It left him curious, intrigued. It wasn’t like he was trying to sell Wei Ying on a version of himself that didn’t exist if he did do his best to do as Wei Ying asked.

He just wasn’t used to being taken on dates. It was always the other way around. And usually the exact same sort of date.

He chose, lacking any better direction, the jeans he’d once been told accentuated his thighs. After so many years, the material was thin, but still almost pristine in color. The shirt was a little more difficult to decide on, but he finally gave in and grabbed the one decent t-shirt he owned that wasn’t meant to be slept in.

If worse came to worst and he’d made a bad choice, he could always change since Wei Ying was coming here to pick him up.

In—he checked his watch—another hour still.

And here he was: as ready as he’d ever be, stomach tight with that nervousness he wasn’t admitting to because this was…

He’d thought about this possibility for so many years and now it was actually happening through no action taken on his own part. This opportunity merely fell into his lap, undeserved, unearned. He didn’t really know what to do with himself as a result. He hadn’t done anything for it. When he allowed himself to consider this very scenario, it was never like this.

In truth, he’d never have expected such a thing was even possible. At best, he’d harbored thoughts of one day confessing and getting turned down, teasingly gentle in the way Wei Ying always was when he was trying to be nice, and then they’d go back to the way things were as best they could because Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine a life without Wei Ying in it even if it never went anywhere else.

An hour separated him from the most treasured experience of his life.

An hour was a very long time.

A walk, he decided, a walk would do him good. It wasn’t even terribly hot outside, so he wouldn’t do any harm to his appearance. Even his hair, which he barely styled in keeping with Wei Ying’s insistence that he be casual, probably wouldn’t face much harm.

For most of the time he spent meandering down nearby streets, it relaxed the worst of his nerves. And then he saw Wei Ying’s brother’s car sitting across from his condominium, sleek and neat. At first, he wasn’t sure it was Wei Ying, though the car had looked vaguely familiar, so he approached cautiously and only tapped on the window when he knew for certain that it was him.

He didn’t expect the way Wei Ying jumped in surprise or how white his knuckles were from his tight grip on the steering wheel. His laugh was thready when he invited Lan Zhan to sit in the car with him.

It was nice to know perhaps Wei Ying needed to settle his own nerves as well, that it mattered enough to him that he would get nervous at all. In light of that, he had a little easier time smothering his own. Wei Ying didn’t have anything to worry about from him; if he projected certainty in this date, perhaps that would set Wei Ying at ease: a worthwhile goal.

“If you’d like to continue your drive, you may,” he said after they’d talked for a few minutes and Wei Ying had let down the windows, allowing a pleasant breeze through. “Unless…”

Perhaps—and he should have thought of this—perhaps Wei Ying didn’t want him here yet. He hadn’t thought of that. He should let Wei Ying know that was okay, too. Other people would have found it weird to be so early for their date, right? “Unless you’d rather be alone.”

Wei Ying scoffed. “Of course not! There’s no one’s company I prefer to yours.”

He spoke so adamantly that Lan Zhan couldn’t help but be a little flattered by such a vehement admission.

No matter how many other men he spent time with, there was only ever a few who came anywhere close to Wei Ying in terms of providing companionship that Lan Zhan found appealing and even they could never break through Lan Zhan’s walls the way Wei Ying did, could never be more to Lan Zhan than a pleasant, lovely night. He cherished those bright spots, but this was so much beyond that. “It is likewise for me.”

A small smile crossed Wei Ying’s mouth as he ducked his head, shy for reasons that Lan Zhan couldn’t begin to understand. Wei Ying wasn’t a shy person; he had to know that Lan Zhan cared for him.

Lan Zhan would do his best to ensure he knew before the end of the night if nothing else. He wasn’t yet sure how he’d do so, but he would do his best to convey his meaning.

He was curious though about what Wei Ying had in mind. Though he was willing to be surprised if that was what Wei Ying wished, it would be nice to know. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”

Though Wei Ying couldn’t help but tease him a bit, he did explain that they were going to a restaurant near the old club Wei Ying used to go to. It wasn’t one of Lan Zhan’s favorite places, the club. In fact, he’d once had to get in the middle of a bar fight to keep Wei Ying from getting arrested, but he’d been to the restaurant before and it was lovely.

He’d always intended to go back, but never seemed to have the time.

“Thank you for thinking of it,” he said.

“Don’t thank me too soon,” Wei Ying warned, a little ominous. “We’re going to Ancestral Tomb afterward.”

That startled Lan Zhan slightly, but from the awkward way Wei Ying rubbed his hands down his thighs, he supposed Wei Ying already knew what Lan Zhan was thinking. He was, at the very least, thankful for the warning. He did wonder what exactly it was that Ancestral Tomb had that Wei Ying wanted to share with Lan Zhan, but he’d ruined enough of Wei Ying’s surprise already; he could let Wei Ying keep this one secret.

No wonder Wei Ying wanted him to dress casually.

What he still didn’t understand was why Wei Ying seemed so nervous. “Wei Ying. Will you look at me?”

He would have liked to offer Wei Ying comfort, let him know that though they were changing the complexion of their relationship by taking this step, it didn’t have to make Wei Ying so worried.

As long as Wei Ying wanted to spend time with him, he couldn’t mess this up.

Wei Ying’s laugh was a little edgy and his hands were still strangling the steering wheel. “Why don’t we go for that drive, huh?”

Though he probably shouldn’t have done it, he was beyond thinking of anything other than making Wei Ying feel better. After all, Wei Ying was the one who’d put himself on the line in this.

His heart thrilled as he wrapped his hand around Wei Ying’s as he tried to start the car. All he wanted to do was tell Wei Ying that it was fine; he’d enjoy whatever it was that Wei Ying had picked out for them to do. He didn’t care what it was as long as they did it together. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, really. You’re making too big a deal out of it.”

Oh.

Lan Zhan yanked his hand back as though scalded. Perhaps… perhaps he’d read Wei Ying wrong the whole time and his nerves were something else entirely. Maybe Wei Ying wanted something very casual and very, very different from Lan Zhan than what Lan Zhan wanted with him.

It wasn’t like Lan Zhan didn’t have plenty of experience with casual.

It just… kind of hurt to be on this side of it. If that was what this was.

He wondered now if that made him a hypocrite. It probably did, though he always, always ensured that everyone was on the same page, had gotten quite adept at being able to clock the people who were looking for one-night stands versus those who searched for the things that Lan Zhan couldn’t give to them.

Though he was always pretty quiet, he was even more so as Wei Ying drove, taking the long way through town on the winding, older roads that almost nobody who didn’t live in those areas used.

The car was utterly silent for long enough that they’d nearly reached the restaurant before that silence was broken.

“I’m… Lan Zhan, I’m sorry,” Wei Ying finally said, the last words anyone ever wanted to hear on a date, but words Lan Zhan specifically didn’t want from Wei Ying, not ever, not when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Lan Zhan just needed to recalibrate his expectations. That was all. Nothing he hadn’t done before.

“It’s nothing,” Lan Zhan answered, trying and failing to keep the shortness from his tone. With more effort, remembering that no matter what, he still cared for Wei Ying and Wei Ying cared, in his way, for Lan Zhan, he added, “I understand.”

The look of relief in Wei Ying’s gaze was worth it regardless.

It was easier once they reached the restaurant and could focus on the food. It was as delicious as Lan Zhan remembered and Wei Ying was exceedingly attentive, placing vegetables and tofu in his bowl almost as soon as he’d finished the last piece, and talking only between bites without expecting Lan Zhan to answer beyond his initial salvo which included questions about his day, about Turpentine, about his brother before he launched into his own thoughts.

To some, that might not have been ideal, but it made for the smoothest date night meal Lan Zhan had ever had. Though he’d taken many men out in his time, it’d never, in the end, been this easy. They always wanted conversation from Lan Zhan and were disappointed when he had so little to say that they might be interested in hearing. It was only once they were in bed together that their opinion of him improved.

Wei Ying, in contrast, was rarely disappointed by Lan Zhan’s words or lack thereof.

When they were done, Wei Ying disappeared to the bathroom and Lan Zhan disappeared to the front to pay.

“Oh, no,” the waitress said, smiling. “Your companion already took care of the check.”

Lan Zhan frowned at her for a moment. He always paid for his dates. It was disconcerting to think Wei Ying felt he needed to. There was little to be done about it now, he supposed, returning to their booth as he awaited Wei Ying’s return. He was ready for it and opened his mouth to argue, only getting an, “Ah, ah, Lan Zhan. My treat,” for his trouble.

And then Wei Ying dragged him outside, so close to holding Lan Zhan’s hand that his heart rate bounced beneath Wei Ying’s thumb.

Worse, he slid close, too, giving Lan Zhan everything he’d always known he wanted without ever seeming to realize it. This close, Lan Zhan could smell his cologne, pepper and clove and warm musk, a comfortingly pleasant scent with just a hint of edge to it.

“Would it be okay if…?” Wei Ying asked, tentative, cruelly so, like in this, he expected to be shot down. With Lan Zhan in his hands, he expected to be told no, like it was possible.

Lan Zhan would never tell him no. “Yes.”

“How can you just agree?”

“Wei Ying,” he said, frustrated, unhappy with himself, hoping he could make Wei Ying happy, hoping he could hide his frustration, hoping most of all that they could be happy together one day, “take what you want. It will be freely given.”

Finally, finally: he did. And it was every bit as incredible as Lan Zhan could have wanted.

He had to bite back a gasp when Wei Ying tucked himself against Lan Zhan’s side, a warm blaze of heat in the night, perfect just the way Lan Zhan always knew he’d be perfect.

“Lan Zhan is so bold,” Wei Ying teased. Finding himself amidst these sudden changes he was welcoming into their lives, Lan Zhan couldn’t fret anymore. If it never went beyond tonight, this thing between them, Lan Zhan would cherish it.

It was blissful, wonderful; Lan Zhan never wanted to let him go. “Ridiculous,” he said, but what he really meant was please hold onto me forever.

2011

Under normal circumstances, the end of classes would be a relief. Perhaps that was a strange thing to believe about someone like him, who took to classes like a duck to water, floating through the necessary work like it was nothing, like he enjoyed it. He didn’t, in truth, dislike it. Studying subjects he cared about was interesting, of course, and he relished the opportunity to do so, but he didn’t love it. This was all just a means to an end. One day, he would be doing the truly fulfilling work. Until then, he proved himself in the schoolwork he completed, honing his way of seeing things until he could offer something of value to the world.

Today, he was sitting next to Wei Ying for the last time for at least a month and that was if he was lucky. Otherwise, he might only see Wei Ying whenever time could be scraped together for them and that… he wasn’t so sure it would happen.

He didn’t want to see this friendship of theirs wither because it was inconvenient to maintain, but he didn’t know how to cultivate it either, didn’t know what he might do to ensure it would remain strong if they didn’t have a mandated reason to spend time together.

Surely it wasn’t this difficult for others.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying was saying, splayed half across the table, drawing shapes into it with his fingertip. He was well inside of Lan Zhan’s portion of it, but Lan Zhan didn’t tell him to move. Class wouldn’t be starting for another ten minutes or so anyway. If Wei Ying wanted to come early and take up his space, then Lan Zhan was happy to allow it. “What will you be doing during break?”

“Work with my brother at Hanshi,” he replied. It was what he always did between semesters, save holidays when he returned to Suzhou. He learned as much there as he did here. “You?”

Wei Ying’s smile was faint, fainter than Lan Zhan expected it to be. “I’ll be going home probably,” he answered. “We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Do you not want to go?”

“Oh, it’s not that,” Wei Ying said, droll. He looked up at Lan Zhan through lowered lashes and grinned, sharp-edged. “But I don’t have much of a choice in how it winds up from there.”

Lan Zhan frowned, uncertain of whether he should push for further information or let Wei Ying give him what he would. Neither option seemed like the correct one and Wei Ying wasn’t giving him any cues to suggest one over the other. He said it like it was a neutral thing or a joke. Would it be invasive to ask? Or insulting not to?

Before Lan Zhan could respond, Wei Ying clapped him on the shoulder. “Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t mind me. You’re not interested in Jiang family drama. It’ll be good. It’ll be nice to see my sister and brother.”

“I don’t mind,” Lan Zhan replied, because that at least felt right to say. It wasn’t imposing and conveyed that Lan Zhan was interested in what Wei Ying told him.

“That’s because you’re really sweet,” Wei Ying said, lofty and easy, like it was nothing for him to say such a thing, like it was true when no one else in the world would believe it. Nothing about him conveyed sweetness and he’d worked hard over the years to crystallize that image for others that he was what he appeared to be: a cool, distant presence, unperturbed by anything and imperturbable.

Though Lan Zhan supposed that was a compliment and he should be pleased, it somehow felt dismissive, too, of Lan Zhan’s feelings on the matter. It was not because he was sweet that he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind because anything Wei Ying chose to tell him was precious to him. It was an indication, even vague, that Wei Ying valued talking to him. Not many people did. There was… his brother essentially. Everyone else only spoke with him when they absolutely had to. If it was for class or because they needed something from him or because they thought it would gain them something.

Wei Ying talked to him just to talk, told him things because he wanted to. That meant something to Lan Zhan even if he didn’t know how to articulate it. I don’t mind was the best he could come up with on short notice.

It was probably the best that he could come up with even if he had more time.

“Do you know what classes you’re planning on taking when we come back?” Wei Ying asked, fingers turning figure-eights specifically now, endlessly.

He had a list of possibilities already drawn up. “It’s dependent on the schedule, but…. yes.”

“More art history classes?”

“Always.”

Wei Ying smiled wistfully. “I wish I hadn’t rushed through all my gen ed requirements to get to the ‘good stuff’ earlier. I could’ve had an excuse to keep taking classes with you maybe.”

Lan Zhan’s heart clenched. So that answered that, then.

“I’ll miss it,” he continued. “Do you think…?”

“We’ll find time to meet up,” Lan Zhan said, fierce suddenly, to defend this friendship Wei Ying had pulled him into that Lan Zhan would already have ruined with the appearance of indifference if not for Wei Ying. “Once we have our schedules.”

Wei Ying’s cheeks puffed into a perfect apple shape as he smiled, eyes shining with happiness. “You should be able to message me, then. What do you use? I have them all.”

“Uh.”

Instead of laughing at him, Wei Ying just got this soft look on his face. “I’m gonna download one for you. Quick, before the professor comes and ruins my chances to annoy you all summer.”

Lan Zhan did as asked of course. Within moments, his phone was returned to him with a new notification and after poking around far longer than anyone else would have, he was able to add Wei Ying as a contact on the application Wei Ying chose.

His phone lit up one more time with a string of heart emoji and a blob that looked like it might have been making a kissy face. Lan Zhan chose not to read anything into it and Wei Ying merely laughed lightly, pocketing his phone.

“Hey, why don’t you let me paint you after this?” Wei Ying asked, just as the professor stepped up to the lectern. “One last hurrah?”

Lan Zhan’s heart hammered in his chest. “No.” It was a knee jerk response, one he didn’t even think about before the word was out of his mouth. As soon as he said it, he wondered why he’d said it at all before realizing that he absolutely couldn’t stand the thought of letting Wei Ying paint him. His initial reaction was the correct one. There was—he couldn’t stand the thought of posing for Wei Ying, seeing himself as Wei Ying saw him. Though he tried to think of a way to soften the refusal, he couldn’t find one before the professor started talking.

Wei Ying didn’t seem unduly put out by Lan Zhan’s rudeness when Lan Zhan snuck looks his way.

He wished he could say yes, give to Wei Ying whatever it was that Wei Ying wanted from him, but he knew a bad idea when he saw one coming and he couldn’t help but think that it would lead down a slippery slope where neither one of them would end up happy with the result.

That was something Lan Zhan couldn’t abide. Having this was better than nothing; he didn’t need to push for more of something that Wei Ying didn’t seem to want from anyone.

Afterward, before Lan Zhan could leave, Wei Ying grabbed hold of his shoulder. “Lan Zhan, Mianmian is having a party after exams are done. Will you come with me?”

Wei Ying wanted him to come to a party? Where there would be other people who would be awkward around him? This time, though he resolved to say no, the word that fell out of his mouth was definitely not that, a punishment for his earlier restraint. “Sure.”

Blinking, mouth falling open, Wei Ying just stared and then he shook his head, muttered under his breath. “It’ll be low key, I promise. Mianmian knows cool people and doesn’t invite many of them. Her place isn’t very big anyway.” He scrubbed his hands on his jeans and bounced on the balls of his feet. “I’ve wanted to invite you, but everybody likes to go out and drink all the time instead. I think this one will be more your speed. If you want to go. You don’t have to.”

“I said I would.”

“I know, but…”

“But I’ll go.” He didn’t know Mianmian at all, only saw her on the handful of occasions Wei Ying had convinced him to go back to that restaurant. Wei Ying always draped himself over the bar to reach for her and she always smiled back at him and as much as he wanted to dislike her, he couldn’t, not when she exuded so much warmth and directed it Wei Ying’s way.

Wei Ying deserved that warmth. And since he always came back to Lan Zhan, he figured he didn’t need to allow the thin vines of jealousy that threatened to wrap themselves around him to grow larger.

Perhaps it would put him at ease to see them outside of that context.

Perhaps it would not.

But he’d already agreed to it and he wouldn’t take it back now.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan. I’ll message you the details!” Wei Ying replied. His smile was so bright that Lan Zhan’s breath caught. Before Lan Zhan could do something irreversible, like confess, Wei Ying punched Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “We can message one another now!”

“We can.” I like you so much.

Wei Ying’s smile softened and somehow that struck him even more, sent a throb of want through him. “Don’t be a stranger, Lan Zhan.”

I don’t want to be. “I won’t.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” That, he knew, was something he’d always agree to.

2025

Lan Zhan finished brushing his teeth and wiped the soapy droplets of water from the sink and counter from when he washed his face. It was early still by his own and Wei Ying’s standards these days, but with nothing better to do, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t go to bed. Except for the rain that continued to batter the roof, it was quiet, the lonely sort of quiet Lan Zhan had so far managed to stave off since arriving through sheer force of will. They—or rather Wei Ying—had decided it would be better to return to the Jiangs’ villa in case there was an issue, a power outage maybe. Lan Zhan didn’t know. Wei Ying’s concerns had been nebulously formed at best, but since he’d already behaved without much decorum, he hadn’t argued and used a similar excuse to return to his own instead of spending the evening with the Jiangs, too.

Lan Huan had disappeared some hours ago, telling Lan Zhan he probably wouldn’t be back before morning as he pulled his raincoat on.

He, Wei Ying, and the other guests had all done their duty to the itinerary that had been put together for them, hoping the rain would let up. It had for a little while, before starting back up again as everyone made the muddy trek back down.

Neither he nor Wei Ying had even partaken of the amenities available in the facility beyond Wei Ying lounging in one of the heated mineral baths while Lan Zhan sat beside him on the edge, playing idly with Wei Ying’s hair. Others had been far more excitable, booking time with aestheticians or massage therapists or whatever else it was that they were expected to do. It had been nice enough, he supposed, except for how tense and unhappy Wei Ying had been the whole time, brooding despite Lan Zhan’s ministrations; his small touches weren’t enough to break through his displeasure.

Wei Ying, for all of his faults, was not a brooder. He internalized to the point of emotional harm on occasion, but the only thing that reflected outward was an even sunnier disposition. It had—and still, even as he drew back the bedding now, unable to stop ruminating—disquieted Lan Zhan that he was that affected by this and Lan Zhan had no way of fixing it.

He was barely to the point of dozing, groggy and half-asleep, still pondering his inability to do right by Wei Ying, feeling guilty and ridiculous for his earlier petulance, when a loud thud issued from outside. At first, he thought it was the storm, that something had fallen outside, and so he didn’t get up, but then there was another and a third, several lighter knocks in quick succession to alert him that it wasn’t just a fallen branch.

He grappled for his phone, surprised to find it was past midnight, and then hurried out, yanking open the door to find—

“Wei Ying?”

He looked half-drowned, dripping in the entryway, rivulets of water tracing the planes of his face and soaking into the collar of a t-shirt that could no longer leave anything to the imagination. His pajama pants, too, revealed a great deal. Lan Zhan’s first impulse was to grab the coat that he’d left on the hook next to the door, but that wasn’t sensible. He wouldn’t be sending Wei Ying back out like this.

Instead, he pulled Wei Ying inside. Water squelched from the fabric of the shirt where Lan Zhan was pulling on it.

When Lan Zhan let go, Wei Ying looked at him like he hadn’t seen Lan Zhan in years instead of hours by the way he drank Lan Zhan in.

“Let me get a towel first,” he said, doing his damnedest to keep from looking pointedly at the floor and the plush carpet that Wei Ying was only a few steps from reaching. The last thing Wei Ying needed right now was Lan Zhan implying anything about his arrival, though Lan Zhan would prefer to avoid troubling the cleaning staff with an unnecessary mess if possible. But Wei Ying understood Lan Zhan’s hesitance and carefully removed his muddy shoes, placing them as far from the carpet as possible.

At least Wei Ying wasn’t shivering, the heat and humidity from the day still too great to lead to chills. By the time Lan Zhan returned with two big, fluffy towels and fresh pajamas slung over his shoulder, Wei Ying was looking rueful rather than hunted.

“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he said. “I woke you up.”

“No,” he said, only half a mistruth. “I’m glad you’re here. Did something happen?”

Wei Ying shook his head before allowing Lan Zhan to place one of the towels around his shoulders, squeezing gently at his hair until it no longer dripped, swiping it lightly over his face and shoulders. “No, I just… I know it’s not our anniversary anymore… not that it mattered really. It’s just one day, but…”

But it did matter. Before getting together with Wei Ying, Lan Zhan never would have imagined himself or Wei Ying as the sort who’d so sentimentally track time. Since then, he’s learned better: they’d taken their affection for one another too much for granted in the past. Now they did their best in every way to honor it, even if it included behaviors they might have once considered precious and unnecessary in others.

“I know,” Lan Zhan said around the swell of affection in his chest. He peeled the t-shirt from Wei Ying’s body and pressed the second towel to his chest, his abdomen, swiped it across his back from shoulder to waist. With one knuckle, he lifted Wei Ying’s chin and kissed him lightly, delicately.

“I was thinking about all the filthy things we could have been doing to one another if we were home,” Wei Ying admitted with a rough laugh.

Lan Zhan went still, keenly aware that Wei Ying was half-dressed and soaking wet before him. “Oh?”

“Yeah, like…” Wei Ying shrugged. “I don’t know, you tie me up and then don’t let me go for hours and hours while you do whatever you want with me. Maybe there’s a vibrator involved? Probably there should be. Or—or I could have painted every inch of you until you were begging me to fuck you. That was a nice one. I would have ridden you and—”

Lan Zhan’s throat went dry. Wei Ying’s cheeks went pink. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Wei Ying lowered his gaze first, fiddled with the hem of Lan Zhan’s shirt.

“I’m not trying to make this difficult on purpose,” Wei Ying said. “I just… it’s harder than I thought it would be.”

“I would like to have done those things with you,” Lan Zhan agreed, skimming his lips over Wei Ying’s temple, pulling the towel around his shoulders just a little bit tighter, bringing Wei Ying in close to him.

“Take me to bed now?” His tone was hopeful, need-filled, longing for something they couldn’t take from one another in this place. Though an answering need pulled at Lan Zhan, a desire to bruise and bite and hurt and love all at once, he himself felt too fragile for it; he couldn’t imagine Wei Ying was much better off. They could not have the things they wanted, but they could have something. Wei Ying having come here ensured that.

He quickly finished drying Wei Ying off, tugged the fresh shirt over his head and pulled his clinging, worn pajama pants free and replaced those, too, with his own, chafed his palms up and down Wei Ying’s arms simply because he could, before leading him back to the bedroom and over to the bed.

Wei Ying allowed it and only whined a little bit when Lan Zhan took his wet clothes to the hamper in the bathroom.

When he returned and slipped into bed next to Wei Ying, Wei Ying pulled him close, tangled their legs together. “I’ve been trying to stay on Madam Yu’s good side,” he said, breathing the words into Lan Zhan’s neck, confirming what Lan Zhan already knew. “I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

Lan Zhan said nothing. In his view, it definitely wasn’t worth it, but he didn’t want to discount that when he’d already done so once today. Even if no harm came of it, Madam Yu now no doubt thought Lan Zhan was as much of a brat as Wei Ying, easy to write off.

“I thought maybe if I behaved the way she would have wanted me to, then it might be easier later.”

Madam Yu had never been particularly pleasant to either of them, but beyond the normal degree of scolding she delivered—often split evenly between Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng—there was never much of an adverse effect. It was annoying, sure, but she didn’t outright sabotage Wei Ying either and so Lan Zhan didn’t expect she’d sabotage any plans they might develop to marry. There was no need to make it easy. Wei Ying was just good and wanted to be good.

She just—didn’t care enough one way or the other as long as he didn’t go out of his way to embarrass her. The fact that he’d earned a respectable reputation helped.

“I’m sorry,” he said, instead of what he wanted to say: she will never love you like you deserve. His hand skimmed down Wei Ying’s spine. “I’ve made it more difficult for you.”

Laughing bitterly, Wei Ying nuzzled at Lan Zhan’s throat, bit lightly at his throat, mumbled the truth into Lan Zhan’s skin. “Ha, not hardly. All the people Madam Yu cares about think you’re the greatest thing they’ve ever seen. Can’t believe a guy like me landed you. They think it was sweet that you dote so much. Maybe a little weird, but cute.”

“I was petty.”

The laugh was more earnest now at least and his hands wandered over Lan Zhan’s stomach, never quite settling. Lan Zhan liked it. “You know that. I know that. She knows that. Nobody else knows it. You’re a perfect man from a respectable family, a wonderful addition to hers. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Wei Ying, the lucky one here is—”

“I think I’m only annoying her more.”

Then forget about her, he thought, like it was so easy to do. Family was not an easy thing to put aside for most people. Even he would have trouble if his uncle stood between him and his happiness. He may already know what he would do, but it would be difficult. The cost would be high. It didn’t matter.

“Wei Ying, if you’re only doing this for my benefit…”

“I…” He drew in a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure why it feels like I have to. But if we’re going to get married, this shouldn’t be a struggle. It’s eight days and it’s not even like we’re apart. Hell, we’ve been apart and it wasn’t this bad. I don’t know why—”

Being apart was one thing. Being parted under the scrutiny of unhappy family while people you didn’t particularly like would be getting married while disrespecting your relationship was another thing entirely. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“I’m being a baby.”

Lan Zhan was not an expert at making others feel better and he’d needed less practice with Wei Ying than most. “You’re not.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re too nice.”

“I’m not.” He tightened his hold on Wei Ying, wishing that could convey the depth of his seriousness. This really was turning into the worst thing, spinning out of control for no good reason. The situation they were in shouldn’t have been so untenable, but that didn’t stop Lan Zhan from feeling as though he’d been perched on the precarious edge of a cliff. One wrong move and something would fall and hurt itself. “Is there anything I can do? I know I haven’t been…”

He’d not been at his best with regard to Madam Yu. If Wei Ying truly desired her approval, then Lan Zhan should respect it, abide by it, do his best to help, not get caught so far in his own mind that he loses focus again on what mattered most.

“If you want to be nicer, you’ll kiss me.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a mischievously twitching smile, better than nothing as he lifted his head. Not the answer he wanted, but this was Wei Ying’s way of tabling the conversation for now. He was trying. And it hurt that he felt he had to try, that he couldn’t just be mischievous if he wanted to be. Lan Zhan wouldn’t make it more difficult for him.

“I can do that,” Lan Zhan answered, turning them, pressing Wei Ying into the bed, bearing all of his weight down on Wei Ying’s body because he liked to pin Wei Ying to every available surface, but more than that, he knew Wei Ying liked to be pinned and he wanted to do something Wei Ying liked.

It might have been nicer with restraints; Wei Ying did look very beautiful and becoming and seemed maybe like it would have been good for him to have the option of what to do taken from his hands, one less thing he needed to worry about, even if worrying about it could be enjoyable in its own right. At the very least, he could hold Wei Ying down, pull Wei Ying’s hands above his head and wrap his fingers around his wrists, pin him that way as he positioned himself between Wei Ying’s legs, knees spreading thighs, fabric stretching taut across laps.

Wei Ying wound his legs around the back of Lan Zhan’s, pulling him closer, forcing himself up onto Lan Zhan’s crotch as he wriggled into place. “We could fuck,” he said, as though his arched posture didn’t make that entirely clear. “We—we should fuck.”

Lan Zhan bent forward and mouthed at Wei Ying’s neck, allowed his thumb to scrape at the delicate skin on the inside of Wei Ying’s wrist, pressing against the ligaments and tendons until Wei Ying relaxed.

“Lan Zhan, I need you in—”

“I know what you need,” he said, voice pitched low as nosed Wei Ying’s collar aside and bit down on his shoulder. “Let’s take a shower,” he said. Then… “A bath.”

Wei Ying moaned piteously, whining. “Why can’t you just fuck me?”

He could, of course, do that. His libido clamored for exactly that. But Wei Ying deserved more than his libido, more than the fuck he asked for.

“I will.” He kissed Wei Ying and then pulled him up and gathered him into his arms. Before Wei Ying could get his feet beneath him, Lan Zhan bent and hooked his arm under his knees and scooped him up. He enjoyed carrying Wei Ying around sometimes. Of the many, many things he’d done in his life, there was only one person he’d ever done this with. “Let me do this first.”

Wei Ying heaved a sigh as he wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. “If you insist.”

“Mn. I do.”

He only let go of Wei Ying once he could deposit him on the edge of the ridiculously large bath. It could have fit two people easily and three if you were really determined. There were jets in the wall that he was sure Wei Ying would have enjoyed. Instead, he ignored those settings, only letting it fill up with warm water that was to his liking. He reached for the sandalwood bubble bath he’d only picked up for this trip because Wei Ying said he liked Lan Zhan’s shower gel. He tipped more of it into the water than was truly necessary because he knew Wei Ying would enjoy it.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m going to smell like you,” Wei Ying said, soft, leaning heavily against Lan Zhan as he knelt and tested the water’s temperature again.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

“I should steal your soap.” His voice went a little dreamy. “Then I could pretend you’re with me even when you’re not. The resort’s is nice enough, but…”

“If you’d like to have it, it’s yours.” If Wei Ying found any comfort in it at all, then he’d gladly trade it away to him.

“Nah.” His lightly stubbed cheek rubbed against the point of Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Even through his t-shirt, it prickled delicately. “This is nice.”

“I agree. You may still have it.”

“You indulge me too much.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Lan Zhan said. He turned his head slightly to better look at Wei Ying. “You do the same.”

“Not like this.”

Lan Zhan thought about what Wei Ying was saying, what he was really saying and his heart broke a little bit to think Wei Ying might not realize just how much Wei Ying did for him. No, Wei Ying didn’t pamper Lan Zhan in a bath, but he encouraged Lan Zhan to take what he wanted, invited Lan Zhan into every space of his that Lan Zhan could hope to occupy. Frankly, he felt what Wei Ying gave to him was worth much more than what Lan Zhan offered in return. He would never say it, of course, knowing full well that Wei Ying would find it awkward at best. At worst, he would let it gnaw at him, grow self-conscious of it. If Lan Zhan knew Wei Ying—and he did, better than anyone—he would somehow turn it around and reach the conclusion that what he did wasn’t enough.

Lan Zhan didn’t want that.

“It’s the same in every way that matters to me,” he settled on, tone serious even beneath its warmth and softness. Sliding his fingers through Wei Ying’s damp, already drying hair, he tilted his head to better expose Wei Ying’s neck. As much as he wanted to mark Wei Ying, he thought better of it, kissing lightly at the flutter of his pulse. Wei Ying dragged him closer, making it even easier for Lan Zhan to grab the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, barely breaking the kiss to do so. Guiding Wei Ying to his feet, Lan Zhan swept his hands over Wei Ying’s hips and pushed the pajama pants down as well.

He gestured for Wei Ying to step into the bath while he gathered another one of the overlarge towels and a few small ones as well.

Sighing, Wei Ying leaned against the back of the bath’s gentle incline, water and bubbles lapping at his flanks and sides, fingers tracing absently up and down his abdomen as he closed his eyes. He was half-hard in that way he sometimes got, where it was clear he felt the stirrings of arousal, but it didn’t seem urgent to do anything about it, which was a wonder to Lan Zhan, who still, even after all this time, felt the first strains of passion and feared they would overwhelm him entirely.

He remembered his mother once told him that he felt so much and that it was good even though it hurt. He’d been crying about something—Lan Zhan didn’t recall now what it was, but he could keenly conjure the sharp experience of abject helplessness, the sense that the world truly would end—and she’d held him close as he’d screamed. As he grew up, his mother long unable to hold him, he’d learned to believe it only applied to his emotions and worked to the best of his ability to mitigate the worst of those.

He didn’t know until it was far too late that it applied to his physical reactions, too, and that they were acceptable as well, that he didn’t have to tuck them away, that wanting so much didn’t have to end the world. Wei Ying proved that to him every day.

Wei Ying, humming, slid down the bath to immerse himself fully before popping up again and opening his eyes, catching Lan Zhan in the act of watching him. Water dripped down his face and caught on his eyelashes. “Like what you see?” he teased, blinking the drops away. Lan Zhan wanted to lick them from his cheeks.

“Always.”

“Smooth talker.” Ducking his head, he scooped up some of the bubbles in his cupped palm and blew them in Lan Zhan’s direction. They didn’t get far enough and that was Lan Zhan’s fault. He wasn’t anywhere near enough to Wei Ying as he ought to be.

Dipping the small hand towel into the water, he took hold of Wei Ying’s hand, scrubbing lightly yet diligently up his arm and over his shoulder. The tension in Wei Ying’s body drained away the longer Lan Zhan’s touch lingered on his skin. He couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to that shoulder of his. It was right there, pink and warm and smooth. “Lean back,” he whispered, scooting down the edge of the tub to take hold of Wei Ying’s ankle.

“You’ll get wet!” Wei Ying complained, trying to tug free, skin squeaking against the gleaming ceramic as he held tight to his end of it.

“I don’t mind.” Gentle, yet still forceful, he held onto Wei Ying’s calf, bent to kiss the inside of Wei Ying’s knee. Some water did soak into his pajamas. It was worth it. Here, he was also diligent, swiping up Wei Ying’s long, beautiful leg over and over again. By the time Lan Zhan reached Wei Ying’s thigh, Wei Ying was breathing a little heavier and he squirmed at every touch.

He lowered Wei Ying’s leg back into the water. His fingers skimmed the surface, came away covered in bubbles, and he couldn’t help but flick the excess at Wei Ying just to hear him laugh.

After rolling up his pajama pants, he twisted and placed his legs in the tub, dragging his foot up Wei Ying’s shin simply because it was there and he could.

It was a little more difficult to reach Wei Ying’s other leg, but he could manage as long as Wei Ying didn’t get any ideas. “Don’t even think about it,” he said in warning as Wei Ying’s eyes sparkled and he pulled himself upright.

“But Lan Zhan,” he whined, walking his fingers up Lan Zhan’s knee. “You’d look so good in here with me.”

“Another time. Lean back. Relax for me, please?”

“I’m not very good at it.”

“I know.” Lan Zhan waited until Wei Ying looked at him again. “Do it anyway?”

The moment stretched as he took even longer on Wei Ying’s other leg, stopping long enough to give him a foot massage, carefully avoiding tickling him as best he could. At least Wei Ying was behaving now, letting his head loll against the rounded edge of the tub, eyes closed. He’d pulled his lower lip between his teeth and his brows twitched with every touch.

Each groan Lan Zhan pulled from him felt like a victory.

Leaning in, he dragged the towel up Wei Ying’s thigh again, eager for the whimper Wei Ying let out. The cloth brushed over his now almost fully hard cock, earned a muffled moan for the effort. The sound that seared itself into Lan Zhan’s memory.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying lifted his head when Lan Zhan scooted closer to the side of the tub he was reclining against.

“Keep your eyes closed. Relax.”

He slid the towel between Wei Ying’s legs and pressed lightly against his entrance, watching Wei Ying’s reaction. They were close enough for Lan Zhan to lean over and seal his mouth over Wei Ying’s when it opened in a gasp.

He wasn’t precariously balanced exactly, but he was exquisitely aware of the line between arousal and farce and falling face first into a bathtub with Wei Ying sprawled beneath him. When Wei Ying bucked up against him and grappled at his shoulders, he braced his free hand against the wall, palm slipping slightly before he caught himself.

Need throbbed within him, opened an aching chasm within him.

If he was trying to be the one in control here, he’d have to pretend he wasn’t hearing the sounds Wei Ying was making, broken little huffs of air that threatened to drive Lan Zhan entirely mad. It took nothing at all for Lan Zhan to harden. He kissed Wei Ying until his lungs protested and his pulse pounded in his temple.

Wei Ying was always so beautiful like this.

He slid the digit in more deeply, slowly, the cloth dragging against Wei Ying’s skin as he shuddered and tensed.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, finally tearing free of the kiss, pressing his face against Lan Zhan’s neck as he tightened his arms around Lan Zhan and pressed down. He awkwardly fucked himself on Lan Zhan’s hand, sighing obscenely. Lan Zhan wished he could take his hand away from the wall, wrap it around Wei Ying’s dick, who cared about the water, but if he did—

If he did, he didn’t think they’d manage to make it back to bed before Lan Zhan had seen his plan through to fruition. On a normal night, that would be fine. Tonight, though, when Wei Ying might at any moment say he needed to go back to his own villa, Lan Zhan didn’t want to chance it.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cried as Lan Zhan quickened his pace, cleaning Wei Ying efficiently before pulling him up and out of the bath, toweling him down before throwing a robe over his shoulders. Grabbing the last of the dry towels, he pulled Wei Ying out of the bathroom.

He was originally planning on washing Wei Ying’s hair as well. So much for that.

If they got another crack at a shower, perhaps he would.

Once they returned to the bed, Lan Zhan shuffled the pillows around until they were stacked in the middle of the bed and placed the towel over it. At least they were soft, so it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable for Wei Ying. Turning to look at Wei Ying, he was struck by how fond and bemused Wei Ying looked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Wei Ying said, pressing himself to Lan Zhan’s back, like even after everything they’ve done together, he couldn’t touch Lan Zhan often enough. “Lan Zhan is just so very prepared even on short notice. What a terrible tease he is though.”

He thought about how prepared he could have been if they’d been doing this at home or under circumstances he had far more control over and forced himself not to scowl. This was good. He was going to make sure it was good. What they couldn’t have didn’t matter.

“It’s sweet,” Wei Ying insisted.

“It’s the least of what you deserve from me,” he said, feeling a deep wellspring of stupidity at the thought that Wei Ying could be moved by such a ridiculous thing. It only proved all the more that Lan Zhan should be doing more.

“Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replied, plaintive.

“Aiya, so sensitive,” Wei Ying said, which was rich coming from him. “How do you want me?” Though he asked, his eyes were hungry and he seemed already to know what it was Lan Zhan wanted. That he still asked…

Lan Zhan willed himself to calm with a few steadying breaths and swept his hand out. “Face down, hips up.”

“Mm, my favorite,” Wei Ying said teasingly, bopping Lan Zhan on his nose with the tip of his finger before slipping out of the robe, which pooled on the ground around their feet. Lan Zhan didn’t bother to do more than kick it aside. Once he’d arranged himself, grinding not so surreptitiously down against the towel-covered pile of pillows, he asked. “Arms?”

“However you want them,” Lan Zhan answered. He could adjust from there if needed. It wouldn’t matter for a while yet anyway.

Crossing them, he rested his cheek against his forearm and wriggled again, tantalizing.

“And will you fuck me now, Lan er-gege?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said, though a very visible part of his anatomy said otherwise through the thin layer of damp cloth that protected what little modesty remained to him. Palming himself slightly, he knelt on the bed and pushed Wei Ying’s legs wide again.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said again as Lan Zhan held him in place by the hips, pushing him down a little onto the pillows. The angle wasn’t ideal, not quite high enough for Lan Zhan’s liking, but he could make due as he folded himself onto his knees between Wei Ying’s thighs and spread Wei Ying’s cheeks.

His entrance was already a little red from earlier and warm to Lan Zhan’s touch as he teased lightly, watching Wei Ying’s reaction before pressing a kiss to the base of his spine, then lower, then…

“Oh, god,” Wei Ying said, muffling a moan as Lan Zhan licked and then lightly sucked. He tasted only of clean skin, though it mingled pleasantly with the scent of the bubble bath that lingered. Though Lan Zhan had only just gotten his mouth on him, he was already so responsive, pushing himself into the pillows, unrepentantly noisy. His hands, still pillowed beneath his cheek, clutched at the comforter when Lan Zhan raised his head to peek, just once.

Lan Zhan touched himself lazily, only once, hips rolling in time with Wei Ying’s rocking motion. Just as quickly, he snatched his hand away, wishing he had the same degree of control that Wei Ying did, could come almost as quickly as he wanted or drag it out for himself endlessly. All of it was equally good for him. If Lan Zhan didn’t exert effort, he could have happily rutted inside of Wei Ying until he came, hard and fast.

Sometimes he did just that and it was fun, satisfying, exhilarating, but sometimes he wanted to do something more than that for both Wei Ying and himself.

His tongue thrust in and out of Wei Ying’s body. In and out—Wei Ying gasped again, said, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you’re so, fuck”—in and out, again and again, until he decided to like a warm stripe over his entrance, earning more filthy, beautiful words from Wei Ying, and pressed in again.

Every centimeter of him lit up with his desire. He was so hard now that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t come from this if he wasn’t careful. And he wasn’t always careful.

Well, if he wanted to fuck Wei Ying, too, the way Wei Ying wanted him to, he’d have to be very aware, because he loved doing this, loved feeling Wei Ying buck and cry beneath him, loved the taste of him, loved watching him lose control when so often he didn’t. Every touch of Lan Zhan’s tongue over Wei Ying drew another choked off gasp from him. When he tried to draw his legs inward, Lan Zhan pushed them apart again, held them as he pressed his tongue more firmly, breaching and loosening Wei Ying at the same time, stroking rhythmically until his jaw began to ache and Wei Ying was managing little more than hiccupping, hitched inhalations with each motion. His body went pliant as he gave into what Lan Zhan did to him and he rocked against the pillows. The noises Lan Zhan so enjoyed reduced themselves to rasping breaths. When Lan Zhan stopped long enough to check on him, he saw that Wei Ying was hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

“Don’t, don’t stop—” he choked out, muffled.

So Lan Zhan didn’t.

Lan Zhan didn’t let up, didn’t let himself stop to think about how close he himself was, focusing solely on making this as good for Wei Ying as he could get it. If he narrowed his awareness to the pressure of his own tongue, to analyzing Wei Ying’s reactions—how did he moan when Lan Zhan did this? How did he shudder when Lan Zhan gripped him more tightly? Was it good enough? Could Lan Zhan do better—it was easier to let his own needs go. Even though he already knew all the answers, understood what Wei Ying liked, it made it easier to focus.

He told himself it wasn’t remotely akin to what he’d done with others, but it wasn’t so very different either. It worked, pushed Lan Zhan’s thoughts aside, and that was the important thing.

If he told Wei Ying, he’d tell Lan Zhan to stop, to enjoy this with him, but this was good, too. It satisfied him to do this, even though it was difficult.

It was, perhaps ironically, calming to do this, settle into a rhythm and let it take over as he worked Wei Ying’s body.

Wei Ying gasped suddenly and bucked, dislodging Lan Zhan and throwing him from the settled tenor of his thoughts, pulling him back into his body in such a visceral way that he nearly doubled over as his awareness of his own desire reared its head.

“Wei—”

Slumping forward, Wei Ying sobbed out Lan Zhan’s name, hips jerking as he repeated it again and again. His back, flushed and sheened with sweat, heaved with the strength of each breath he took.

Lan Zhan’s saliva glinted between Wei Ying’s legs. “Wei Ying?” he asked, straining against his pajamas, wet now with more than soapy water, finally slipping out of them as he inelegantly clamored closer.

“If you don’t fuck me…” Wei Ying said, shaky. Braced over him, Lan Zhan could smell his release, the faint salt tang of it. “Lan Zhan… fuck me.”

O…okay.

Grappling for the bed stand, body stretched across Wei Ying’s back, cock dragging over Wei Ying’s thigh, he fumbled around inside as he reached for the bottle of lube he would have hoped to have half-used up by this point. With shaking hands, he attempted to open the cap and failed twice before managing, avoiding spilling on the comforter only thanks to some good luck and determination.

It wasn’t so very difficult to open Wei Ying up further, entrance still spit-slick and relaxed.

“Can you come again like this?” Lan Zhan asked, breathless.

“I…” He shuddered and shoved himself back as Lan Zhan pressed another finger into him. “I don’t… don’t worry about me. I’m, ah… I’m good. Fuck. I’m really, really good, okay?”

That wasn’t what he was asking, but he was getting impatient, his own need clawing up his spine. Wei Ying did look really fucking good like this. He’d get another orgasm out of him. “You are,” Lan Zhan agreed, curving a fourth finger toward the center of the others to form a point, pushing in as deeply as they would go. Curling against Wei Ying’s back, Lan Zhan pressed a kiss to his shoulder, shifting the angle of his fingers inside of Wei Ying. “You’re so good, Wei Ying.”

This time, his cock dragged over Wei Ying’s hip and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting a bit, the friction delicious.

For his troubles, Lan Zhan got a hitched whine from Wei Ying. “Don’t say that.”

“I’ll say what I wish,” Lan Zhan said, unable to hold back anymore, unsure how long he would last, but hoping he could make good on his unvoiced promise. He’d thought, once, that it would be easy to do. He’d managed to make a lot of other men come multiple times once upon a time, not that he’d really cared about such things, but with Wei Ying it was never destined to be the same. It took work that Lan Zhan was incapable of doing most of the time, too turned on, while Wei Ying was too keyed up and intent to tease Lan Zhan. He never allowed Lan Zhan a moment’s peace to do something like this.

It was rare that Wei Ying let himself be so… overwhelmed.

Little resistance met him as he slid home and even Wei Ying only groaned a little brokenly, limply draped over the pillows, forehead now braced directly on the bed. The heat of Wei Ying around him always caught him by surprise, but he pulled every trick in the book that he knew to keep from coming already, strategies he’d needed to learn for Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, stop counting backwards and fuck me,” Wei Ying said, muffled. Not one moment’s peace.

That startled a laugh out of Lan Zhan, which caused Wei Ying to groan again, which did nothing to make it any easier for Lan Zhan to not come. He was barely holding the scraps of his dignity together here and Wei Ying was making him laugh and—and miss him, even though he was right here. He missed him so much. This whole trip felt like one mistake after another and he just. Missed Wei Ying. So much. “Western art movements,” he said, grasping at this moment, to drag it out as long as he could. He thought the truth might be something Wei Ying would delight in, one of those details that tickled him because for whatever reason, he liked all of Lan Zhan’s strange little quirks.

“What?” Wei Ying asked, a little hysterical.

“Western art movements,” Lan Zhan said again. “Recited alphabetically and then in chronological order. I don’t count backwards.”

This time, it was Wei Ying who laughed, choked, laughed for a long, slow stretch of seconds until it sounded like he wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Wei Ying?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Wei Ying said, voice suddenly watery, the very opposite of what a laugh should have made his voice sound like. It was not the sound of happiness. He scrubbed his face back and forth over his forearm and dragged in a deep, audible breath. “Lan Zhan, I love you so fucking much. Do you even know how much?”

Yes, of course he did, but he didn’t see how that tracked from… he wasn’t trying to make Wei Ying feel bad. He shouldn’t have—it was meant to be amusing, but Wei Ying was crying.

Ice water might have been a less effective deterrent.

“Don’t you dare,” Wei Ying said suddenly when Lan Zhan tried to move away. “Lan Zhan, if you—”

Pulling the pillows out from beneath Wei Ying, he tossed them aside, careful to hold the towel in place because that absolutely wasn’t something he was going to want to deal with once this was done. Lan Zhan spooned behind him, pulled Wei Ying back against him until they were as close as he could bring them, kissed every centimeter of Wei Ying’s neck. He stroked Wei Ying lightly until he hardened again as Lan Zhan worked his hips in slow circles. It was agony, delight and despair so intertwined that Lan Zhan would never successfully pick it apart. They would stay here as long as Lan Zhan could keep him. This promise, he would keep.

“Let’s go home,” Lan Zhan said. If Wei Ying was this frustrated about being here, then it was a bad idea. It didn’t matter that the wedding would be happening soon, that it would all be over soon. Something about this whole situation had struck at something in Wei Ying and that—that wasn’t worth it. Proving himself to be worthwhile to Madam Yu wasn’t worth it. “Wei Ying, we don’t have to be here. Nobody will miss us.”

“Madam Yu will—”

“Do you truly care? Because I don’t.”

“I…”

“Wei Ying, do you actually care what she thinks? Does it matter to you more than how you feel?”

He knew before Wei Ying answered what he would say and wished that it was different. Of course other people’s feelings mattered more to Wei Ying than his own. He couldn’t believe he’d missed this all this time. Anger would have flared in him except for how much of a miracle it was that Wei Ying had learned enough to not take himself for granted with Lan Zhan; he wasn’t going to berate Wei Ying for not extending that to everyone. “I care! I want her to approve of us,” he said, gasping as Lan Zhan got enough purchase to thrust a little bit harder. “I don’t want her or anyone to know I don’t deserve you.”

And there it was. Swallowing back a curse, Lan Zhan said, empty, going still, so close and so far from Wei Ying all at the same time, “Wei Ying, it’s not a matter of deserving.”

Wei Ying turned slightly, pressing himself into the bed, pulling Lan Zhan’s weight more on top of him. “If I can’t convince Madam Yu, how am I ever supposed to convince your uncle?”

They needed to talk about this and badly, but not right now, not when Wei Ying was so fragile under Lan Zhan’s hands and Lan Zhan, too, felt breakable.

But one thing could be said regardless, the one truth that was more important than the rest. “I’m with you,” he said. Wei Ying’s earlobe was warm beneath his lips. “I’m with you. They can’t take that from you.”

Wei Ying made another strangled sound in the back of his throat, but he nodded jerkily. “I know,” he breathed out. “I know, I know,” like if he said it often enough, it would be true.

And Lan Zhan knew it was true, knew that somewhere deep down Wei Ying also knew it was true, and only hoped that Wei Ying would one day understand what that meant, too, the full weight of it, so he could free himself of this burden he was carrying. Lan Zhan had only been carrying it since they got here and he was already sick of it.

“Please, Lan Zhan. Just—just fuck me, please. I’m so tired. Bring me back here. I don’t want to be there.”

There were many things he was willing to deny himself, but this wasn’t one of them, not when Wei Ying pled for it this way.

He brought Wei Ying back slow, until they were both sweaty and exhausted, barely able to move, and Wei Ying was wrung out, but present, sticky and slick and quiet. “Thank you,” he said, when Lan Zhan turned him over and held him close, hands cupped around his neck and the dip of his spine.

He would always bring Wei Ying back.

2020

When Wei Ying said they’d be going to Ancestral Tomb, Lan Zhan wasn’t above admitting to himself that he was concerned. Not concerned the way he might have been concerned in the past, but. Concerned. Concerned that he would feel awkward and out of place or that he’d disappoint Wei Ying by being awkward and out of place. But with Wei Ying hanging off of his arm, he found it didn’t matter so much how fearful he was to get it wrong. Any embarrassment was, he decided, worth it.

And then he saw the poster hanging out front. In black-on-black, the poster plucked out the name h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e.

Impossible. h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e didn’t do live performances.

There were only a few things Lan Zhan bothered to know about them: they were probably local based on rumor and the fact that few people outside of the area had really even heard of them. He’d discovered their music thanks to an auspicious visit to his favorite club some years back and ever since, he’d been a fan.

Fan was perhaps not quite the right word for it. Whoever they were, they struck a chord in Lan Zhan, hit a note of yearning that he’d tried to tuck away ever since his mother died and he gave up all thought of following the path she’d encouraged him to explore. The music was important to him, as vital to him as breathing, and suddenly he’d decided to share that with Wei Ying—rather, Wei Ying had bothered to ask him about it—and with equal suddenness, Wei Ying was bringing him on a date here of all places. For this.

He harbored few regrets about the life he led. All things happened for a reason and any inconvenience would have been worth meeting Wei Ying regardless, but that didn’t mean he didn’t occasionally wonder what the alternative might have been if he’d seen that early passion for music through to its end.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, well aware that he must have been making a fool of himself. Even to himself he sounded awestruck, awestruck and a little nervous of what he might find in this bar tonight. He didn’t come out tonight expecting to learn the secret behind h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e. It was, at once, exciting and overwhelming.

“Surprise?” Wei Ying asked, eyes searching as he fidgeted at Lan Zhan’s side.

“But—?” How was what he wanted to know. Was it just coincidence? Luck? There was no way Wei Ying could have organized it himself, but… how?

Wei Ying shrugged, feigning a lack of concern. “Are you disappointed?”

“No!” The sheer thoughtfulness of this gesture toppled whichever parts of Lan Zhan might still have belonged only to him. His heart was not a child’s stack of toy blocks, but he felt every wooden piece of it inside of him rearrange itself according to Wei Ying’s will anyway.

He could only entrust himself fully to Wei Ying’s care, it seemed.

It wasn’t so difficult to do.

Wei Ying asked him about h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e’s instruments, the joyfully flashing AudioCubes and Reactable that he’d use in a few short minutes to help sample and build his work, and seemed genuinely pleased with them, pleased and delighted, and that pleased and delighted Lan Zhan in turn.

He was happy that Wei Ying could be happy doing something that Lan Zhan enjoyed so thoroughly.

This, he thought, was perhaps the part that had always been missing, this single piece, and not just because it was Wei Ying here with him—though of course that was perhaps an even smaller part of it—but because he got to feel known without fear. Wei Ying was not bored and Lan Zhan didn’t have to anticipate that he’d become bored now, because Wei Ying’s attention tended to be solid once it was won. If he thought about it, in the ten years they’d known one another, he’d never once expressed boredom or disappointment or a desire to be anywhere other than where Lan Zhan was when they were together.

Wei Ying was the only person on the planet who would, with no artifice or irony or referential humor, proclaim that Lan Zhan was cool.

Wei Ying did love him and it might ultimately be in the way a friend loves a friend, but that was a tremendous thing to remember. It was so much more than Lan Zhan could ever hope to deserve from someone as brilliant and playful and bright as Wei Ying. Tonight was… so much more than that, but it wasn’t so different from how they behaved normally, was it? It was something he would have to think about very, very deeply, because in all the years they’d known one another, too, Lan Zhan had always acted as though something was being kept from him by their not being together, but—but it wasn’t, was it? Wei Ying gave him everything. How could Lan Zhan ask for more? How could he feel deprived?

It wasn’t easy; it wouldn’t be easy. He did feel things for Wei Ying and wanted to express them in the manner which most sang within Lan Zhan’s heart, by taste and touch, with the salt tang of sweat on his tongue, the metallic bright aroma of release in the air. It didn’t feel coarse the way it was coarse to think of his past dalliances, but if it wasn’t what Wei Ying wanted…

Really, he needed to think this through, think about what it would mean to truly pursue his feelings for Wei Ying. He’d walked into this too quickly. Agreed without thought, fearful that he’d miss out of he didn’t.

That didn’t seem true now. It felt very much as though Wei Ying would always be with him regardless of the circumstances.

He could relax for once.

And right now, he would enjoy what this was for what it was: a lovely night in which Wei Ying has proven something about them that never truly needed to be said, but Lan Zhan had needed to know nonetheless.

The music, at least, was transfixing, transcendent, indescribably haunting and beautiful, entrancing. If he’d have thought about it, he would have expected to hear work he knew, but this was all new, polished, exciting, interesting. H i d d e n f r a g r a n c e had never focused an entire piece—and it was one piece, Lan Zhan thought, drawn out minute by minute—on the guqin, never filtered and layered it this way, built a symphony with two hands working masterfully to string the music along by his whims.

By the time it was done, a pressure had built in his chest that he didn’t know how to discharge properly. When he looked at Wei Ying, he saw such naked, aching want, the sort of want that Lan Zhan understood on a deeply visceral level. For the stretched span of a moment, a minute, an hour, a year a decade a lifetime, Lan Zhan didn’t know what to do.

The glass shards of his understanding mosaicked themselves into yet another new configuration.

Wei Ying shuddered when he cupped his hand around the back of Wei Ying’s neck and Wei Ying was the one who leaned in first, though Lan Zhan met him more than halfway, impatient, unable to wait any longer. His thoughts ground to a halt and condensed down to their most essential parts: Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying.

They were kissing and it was—it was more in and of itself than anything he’d ever experienced before. This alone was a revelation, a vista from which Lan Zhan could see what his life was always meant to be, what it should be, what it will be if he has any say in it.

“Wei Ying,” he said, hoarse. “Wei Ying, can we—” They needed to go somewhere, somewhere that wasn’t here, with the lights coming up, the floors grimy, the people around them eyeing them curiously. They needed to talk or—or—

“Yes,” Wei Ying said, biting down on a groan, an actual groan.

—take that yes as far as it would carry them because everything he knew about himself and Wei Ying was wrong. He’d wasted so much precious time being wrong.

He remembered the drive precisely, but not a lot else, focus rarely straying from the road despite the way Wei Ying squirmed in the passenger’s seat or tapped his fingers against his knees or leaned his head against the window, cheek pressed against the presumably cool glass as he sighed. Whenever they stopped at a light, Lan Zhan couldn’t help but look over, confirm that this was all real and that Wei Ying was with him in this, too, somehow. It was mystifying to think that all of his wildest dreams might be more than dreams.

Every time he tried to say something, break the spell of silence they’d cast over themselves, the moment too fragile for anything else, he couldn’t, throat dry, tongue thick. Words were inadequate. One day, he might regret thinking so.

The garage was a problem. The elevator? A problem. Getting through the door to his condo? Definitely not the easiest thing he’d ever had to do, but then it was done and they were alone and it was the work of a moment to push Wei Ying into the door, plaster himself to Wei Ying, feel him hardening against Lan Zhan’s thigh, a revelation.

Wei Ying wanted… he wanted…

Lan Zhan kissed lines down that beloved throat of his as he clung back, moaning and rolling his hips. He wriggled when Lan Zhan pulled his shirt up and fumbled clumsily for his jeans.

“Lan Zhan, this isn’t going to—I’m not—”

He’d heard it before, often enough that it didn’t bother him in the slightest. As long as Wei Ying got what they wanted out of it, it didn’t matter to Lan Zhan how quickly he came. If he was that turned on…

Lan Zhan tightened his hand into a fist. If Wei Ying was that turned on, then Lan Zhan didn’t have much hope of lasting either. The mere thought of it… even shifting his weight caused wracking pleasure to slice through him. It would have to be enough.

Wei Ying’s shirt was a menace, each button slippery between Lan Zhan’s fingers as he pried them open and even once that was done, there was still the undershirt—since when did Wei Ying even own undershirts anyway, he so rarely dressed for occasions where he’d need one—to contend with.

“Lan Zhan, I mean it!” His head thunked back against the door. “This isn’t gonna—I’m going to disappoint you if you don’t stop.”

A laugh caught itself on Lan Zhan’s tongue. He only managed to choke it back because Wei Ying was staring at him so earnestly, face flushed, eyes brimming with embarrassment—the fact that he could truly believe that he could be disappointing in this context, as though this wasn’t the most incredible thing that might ever happen to Lan Zhan, it was preposterous. Impossible. “Disappoint me?” His thumb brushed Wei Ying’s lower lip, dragging roughly across the kiss-pinked skin of him, and Wei Ying turned into the touch, bit at him. Fuck, that was—

But even beneath the arousal he felt, the overwhelming need to touch Wei Ying, to consume his pleasure, pain jagged through him, pain for Wei Ying, and hope that he could give this to Wei Ying without Wei Ying feeling bad about it.

“Wei Ying, you’re… you could never disappoint me.”

Wei Ying wasn’t convinced, Lan Zhan could tell. His features dripped skepticism.

“What do you want to do?” Lan Zhan asked finally, after confirming at least that Wei Ying didn’t want to stop. He wanted Wei Ying to be comfortable. If this wasn’t the right time for them, Lan Zhan could accept that.

“Did you think about this?” Wei Ying asked, though Lan Zhan couldn’t begin to guess why it mattered. Of course he did; he’d thought about it for ten years.

Perhaps Wei Ying needed assurances. Lan Zhan could do that even if he couldn’t quite admit the full extent of it. Maybe one day, when this thing between them wasn’t so new and fragile, perhaps then he could explain the depths of his feelings. He nodded. Wei Ying asked him what he thought about and the answers he could have given? There were many, varied.

“I’d like to blow you,” he settled on, one of his favorites, but also one that would take pressure off of Wei Ying. He waited, keen, eager, for Wei Ying to say yes. If he said yes, then…

Then.

He said yes.

And it was as perfect as he could have hoped it would be. Wei Ying was flushed, already leaking, and so responsive as Lan Zhan took him. Giving blowjobs generally wasn’t one of his preferred methods of getting off, but he was competent enough at it. For Wei Ying, as with everything, it was different. Of course it was different. All he tasted was Wei Ying. All he smelled, Wei Ying. Every motion was Wei Ying alone and his every thought turned to ensuring Wei Ying felt as good as he could manage. How could it be anything less than perfect?

In turn, pleasure overwhelmed Lan Zhan, too, pulled at him until he was nothing more than his response to Wei Ying’s increasingly erratic movements, a clenched hand, a muscle jumping under Lan Zhan’s palm. The sounds Wei Ying made were obscene and made it so easy for Lan Zhan to tell when Wei Ying was close so he could hold back a little bit, draw this out, greedy for everything Wei Ying would give him, savoring their first time to the best of his ability.

As a general rule, orgasms were difficult for Lan Zhan. They didn’t—as someone who had a terrible sense of humor might say, not Lan Zhan, of course—come easily for him. They took effort, time; his partners appreciated it and Lan Zhan didn’t care as long as it netted the desired result.

And it always worked. Otherwise, he wouldn’t keep doing it. It never really seemed worth it otherwise.

This time, this time he felt he could truly revel in it, truly get swept up in what he was feeling, enjoy the immensity of it, let himself go, just let himself be with Wei Ying, whom he loved, who was letting Lan Zhan do this with him, who was so incredibly hot that Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he’d survive. Each stroke of his tongue over Wei Ying brought himself closer, so close, too—

“Lan Zhan, I—”

The wrecked sound of Wei Ying’s voice, hoarse and distant, was enough all on its own to shove Lan Zhan off the cliff of his own release, surprising and, at the same time, not surprising in the slightest. He grunted into Wei Ying’s skin, felt Wei Ying trying to scramble back and he couldn’t let Wei Ying go yet, not when his release was filling Lan Zhan’s mouth, not when he wasn’t done yet, didn’t want to ever be done, wanted to keep sucking and lapping and letting his mouth be used by Wei Ying, not ready to let go, not ready to—

“Oh, fuck.” That was Wei Ying, but the sentiment was mirrored in Lan Zhan.

He breathed through his nose, chased Wei Ying’s taste one last time before pulling off, pressing his forehead to Wei Ying’s hip to steady himself. His own release was already cooling, uncomfortable, within his underwear, but he’d—he’d worry about that in a minute. It didn’t matter when he felt this good, this alive, this close to Wei Ying.

“Let me…” Wei Ying said, which almost drew a chuckle out of Lan Zhan. Let him what? Lan Zhan didn’t need anything right now. He was perfect.

It took him only a moment to connect the dots and when he did, he asked, “Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him with what was probably a pretty goofy expression, lips turned up in a slight smile. The happiness in his chest wouldn’t stop expanding to fill every empty space inside of him. Even if he wanted to frown, he couldn’t. “Let’s get cleaned up,” he said, finally able to coordinate enough to stand.

“Lan Zhan, you… was that… was that okay?” His features scrunched up in a way that could only be described as cute, even by Lan Zhan, who didn’t consider anything except Turpentine cute.

Because he could, because he wanted to, because Wei Ying was here, he pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s temple, gentle, as reassuring as he knew how to be. “It was perfect.”

2011

Wei Ying hadn’t been lying when he said Mianmian’s get together would be more Lan Zhan’s thing than he expected. They arrived a little bit past the time Wei Ying had told him they should arrive, because Wei Ying insisted they stop and get ice cream first as they walked together from campus to her apartment. Lan Zhan suspected it was because he didn’t want to be the first to arrive, but he didn’t know the etiquette well enough to say. He could manage just fine at gallery events, of course, but that was a different sort of party.

When Mianmian opened the door to her apartment, she showed the same warmth to Lan Zhan that he recognized from the warmth she showed Wei Ying at the restaurant, and held out her hand, “Luo Qingyang. Or you can call me Mianmian. Or whatever honestly. I don’t care.” Her eyes gleamed as she briefly looked at Wei Ying before letting them both in. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Wei Ying.”

“Only awful things,” Wei Ying said, “so that I can keep you all to myself.”

“Actually,” Luo Qingyang said, dry, “he talks about how nice and smart you are.”

“Hey!” Wei Ying said, slapping Luo Qingyang on the arm and pointing at her. “We talked about this.”

“You talked about it. I never promised not to tell him what you’ve said.”

Groaning, Wei Ying dragged his hand down his face. “Where’s the alcohol, then?” When she replied with a gesture and an eye roll, he grabbed Lan Zhan’s hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. Luo Qingyang’s laughter followed them, bright and bubbling. “Lan Zhan, do you want anything?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“You sure? Mianmian keeps decent tea or… there’s water. Some juice?” Wei Ying rifled around in the refrigerator, crowing as he pulled free a beer and a bottle of water, which he thrust into Lan Zhan’s hand. “At least take some water.”

Fondness threatened to overwhelm him, both because Wei Ying was so persistent and because… “You think I’m nice?”

“Hnnnnnngh,” Wei Ying said before taking a long swig of beer. “Yeah, yeah. And smart. In case you really wanted to relive my embarrassment of, oh, two minutes ago. You’re nice and smart. I think you’re really cool. I might’ve… told everyone.” He ducked his head slightly. “Sorry I never really told you that to your face before. You probably deserved to know. I’m going to kill Mianmian.”

Clearing his throat, suddenly warm all over, Lan Zhan decided Wei Ying was a genius for giving something to do with his hands and mouth. After he twisted the cap from the bottle of water and chugged more of it than should have been necessary, he actually managed to come up with an answer. “Don’t do that.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to tell Wen Qing about her embarrassing crush, then,” Wei Ying said in a stage whisper after making sure no one else was around.

It was pathetic to be relieved to hear those words, but these were pathetic times Lan Zhan was living in, chasing after the rush that proof of Wei Ying’s regard brought to him. If Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan was nice and Luo Qingyang wasn’t interested, that meant—it didn’t mean anything, but Lan Zhan felt like he had a chance. “Don’t do that either.”

“Aiya, I wasn’t really going to. They’ll figure it out eventually on their own, I’m sure. Unlike me, they can occasionally be sensible.”

Lan Zhan’s throat seized up again. “Is there someone you like?”

Wei Ying gave him a funny look. “Huh? Ah ha, no. No. Nothing like that.” He used his hands as a shield, raising them to ward off Lan Zhan’s words. “I’m just not a sensible sort of guy is all. You should know that by now.”

Insensible wasn’t the word Lan Zhan would have used, but he chose not to argue. “Would you like to join your friends?”

“Eh?” Then, Wei Ying looked out toward the small, empty dining area past which the living room was. “Oh. Yeah! I guess that’s why we’re here, right?”

To be entirely fair to them, they were immediately welcoming, too, opening up spots on the couch for Lan Zhan and Wei Ying as soon as they came into the room. Or opening up a spot, when Wei Ying complained that they only need one, Lan Zhan could have it, he’d just sit on the floor, it was fine. Which he did. Only he sat with his back against the couch right next to Lan Zhan’s leg, so close that the warmth of his body radiated through Lan Zhan’s trouser leg. It was not fine. In fact, it was kind of terrible.

Lan Zhan wanted him to sit even closer.

“That’s Wen Qing,” Wei Ying said, winking as he pointed at the woman who’d shifted over to give Lan Zhan room. “You might already know Nie Huaisang. Huaisang, we all know why you’re blushing. Stop it.” Almost everyone in the room laughed and Nie Huaisang gestured crudely at Wei Ying, but he wouldn’t look at Lan Zhan at all, which didn’t make much sense. “I’ll tell you later,” Wei Ying promised to squawking protest from Nie Huaisang. “Anyway. That grumpy asshole in the corner is my brother, Jiang Cheng. Not sure why he’s here. The sweet-looking guy next to him is Wen Ning.” Wen Ning, as it turned out, was the waiter from before. He appeared less wistful now at least. It was possible Lan Zhan empathized with him in hindsight. “And, uh, some of Mianmian’s people I don’t know. Hi, Mianmian’s people. Nice to meet you. I’m Wei Ying. This is Lan Zhan.”

“We know,” one of them said, a woman about their age. She eyed Lan Zhan speculatively and he couldn’t tell whether it was in consideration of the fact that he was a Lan and she was, presumably, an artist or if it was for another reason entirely. He hoped it was the former. It would be less awkward than many of the reasons people eyed him speculatively.

Though Lan Zhan didn’t talk much—not that he ever talked much—he didn’t feel terribly excluded from the proceedings either. Wei Ying endeavored often to bring him into the conversation, surprisingly adept at turning it toward a topic that was relevant and interesting to Lan Zhan, would allow him to speak without feeling like an awkward know-it-all. The others, too, listened to him and asked interesting questions and made interesting points and even once the discourse dissolved into silly nonsense as everyone except Lan Zhan got tipsier and tipsier, Lan Zhan wasn’t ready to say goodnight once it hit nine, which was his original plan.

“Can I get you anything else?” Luo Qingyang asked, taking the now empty seat next to Lan Zhan. Though Wei Ying had wandered over to the other side of the room to hang off of Nie Huaisang’s shoulders and chatter with his brother, Lan Zhan was surprisingly okay, a little melancholy to have lost Wei Ying’s presence at his side, but not actively hurt that Wei Ying had chosen to spend time with someone else here. He didn’t, in short, feel abandoned the way he might otherwise have done.

That was a good sign, wasn’t it? “I’m fine.”

“So,” Luo Qingyang said. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

“I am,” Lan Zhan agreed, uncertain about what Luo Qingyang might have wanted from him. “Thank you for hosting.” That felt like an awkward thing to say, but his experience was limited in this realm. He always felt too formal around students his own age.

“I’m glad you agreed to come,” she said. “When Wei Ying mentioned it, I wasn’t certain you would.”

“I’m sorry?”

She waved his apology off. “Not that you had to come, of course, but his heart was set on it, I think, and I worried that he’d be disappointed if you said no.” She smiled then. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this genuinely happy in a long time.”

Disappointed. Lan Zhan wasn’t unfamiliar with the fear. Still, when he looked at Wei Ying now, he didn’t seem any different than from any other time Lan Zhan had seen him. He didn’t say that, though, and found himself a little unhappy with the thought that Luo Qingyang was seeing things in Wei Ying’s behavior that he couldn’t. That wasn’t a fair or even reasonable thing to think. Luo Qingyang and Wei Ying had been friends for much longer than Lan Zhan and he had been friends.

“Anyway,” she continued, “it’s good to meet you properly. I’ve seen you a few times with him at the restaurant. He’s always seemed pretty happy then, too.”

“I’m glad,” he said, though those words encompassed so much more than that for him. “He’s been a good friend to me. I hope I can be the same for him.”

Perhaps it was the fond protectiveness she displayed toward Wei Ying that allowed him to speak such a thing into existence or perhaps it was simply because Wei Ying’s regard for her was high, too. Either way, it felt good to say it to someone.

“He doesn’t have many friends,” she said, as though she was imparting some great secret, as though Lan Zhan didn’t sometimes catch glimpses of the loneliness that lived in Wei Ying’s heart. Unlike Lan Zhan, she had actual proof of it. “He has a lot of people who tolerate him for one reason or another, but wouldn’t go out of their way for him either. Don’t let him think you’re one of them, yeah?”

“I—” Even the mere thought of Wei Ying believing that pierced his heart. “I’ll do my best.”

“I can tell that about you.” She clapped her hand on his knee once, brief, and it wasn’t enough to make him flinch out from beneath her touch.

She and the others left him alone for the rest of the evening, letting him watch Wei Ying as he darted from person to person, bringing smiles to faces that weren’t his own, but forgotten from one moment to the next when he moved on, as though even a few moments of Wei Ying’s time weren’t precious. It made him… angry. For Wei Ying. That his attention was disposable to them.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said finally, draping himself across Lan Zhan’s side as he snaked his arm around Lan Zhan’s shoulders. His breath was warm against Lan Zhan’s neck, a little sour from the alcohol and even that couldn’t disgust him. “Lan Zhan, you haven’t moved all night. How bored are you?”

“I’m not.” I’ve gotten to watch you.

“Well,” Wei Ying said, lofty, “I am. Are you ready to go? I’m ready to go. I’ve pestered these good people long enough, but I haven’t pestered you nearly as much as I would like to.”

Lan Zhan gritted his teeth. Is that what he really thought? “Wei Ying…”

Wei Ying blinked at him, utterly and charmingly gormless about it. “What?”

“You cannot pester me at all,” he insisted. “You’re not a pest.”

He said nothing in response for a moment and then he laughed, long and loud, clapping Lan Zhan on the arm and pulling him upright on slightly unsteady legs. “Lan Zhan, you’re too nice really. I’m not a pest? Where do you get these ideas? Jiang Cheng!” He shouted this across the room, drawing Jiang Cheng’s attention away from Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang. “Jiang Cheng, hey! Lan Zhan here says I’m not a pest.”

Jiang Cheng gave him a venomous once over. “You sure he’s not drunk on something?”

“I am not,” Lan Zhan replied, not quite as loud, but loud enough to carry where it needed to go. He understood that he was overreacting to a joke, that Wei Ying was being self-deprecating and it wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a sign that Jiang Cheng was a bad person, but Lan Zhan still didn’t like that he played into Wei Ying’s behaviors. Maybe it was because of the conversation he had with Luo Qingyang earlier or maybe it was just because it did genuinely sit uncomfortably with him, but he wasn’t willing to let it stand, even if both Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng gaped at him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, patting him on the arm as he recovered. “Defending me against my own brother. That’s so nice of you. Let’s go before I do something stupid, like cry all over you for defending my non-existent honor.”

“Wei Ying…” But Wei Ying wasn’t interested in remaining, dragging Lan Zhan toward the door, saying his goodbyes as quickly as possible and grabbing Nie Huaisang’s face to press a messy, exaggerated kiss to his cheek.

Lan Zhan wasn’t jealous; he wasn’t anything. That display meant nothing, especially when Wei Ying stepped outside, laughing. “Oh, Lan Zhan. He thinks you’re hot,” Wei Ying said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, he thinks you look like your brother.”

He wasn’t well acquainted with Nie Huaisang, though their paths sometimes crossed because their brothers were close. He’d never noticed anything odd about Nie Huaisang’s behavior at those moments. Perhaps it was a new development. “My brother?”

“Your brother is hot,” Wei Ying said, “according to him. Ergo, you’re hot. Not that—I mean, he’s an excellent specimen of elegant manhood or whatever it is Huaisang’s said about him. Frankly, I think this Lan in front of me is his superior, but that’s totally not the point.”

Lan Zhan swallowed dryly, throat suddenly thick. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m worried that Nie Huaisang might be moving from harmless crush territory to feelings territory and I’m under the impression your brother is…” Wei Ying made a little waving gesture with his hand. As far as non-verbal communications went, it probably did accurately convey his brother’s current relationship status. “I don’t want him to get hurt and I figure you would know best how to navigate this information without spreading it around to everyone and their mother or embarrassing him with it.”

Lan Zhan nodded. He didn’t necessarily agree with it: his experience with any relationship, even uncomplicated ones, was severely restricted. “I won’t breach Nie Huaisang’s confidences,” he agreed, hesitant, “but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll speak with my brother discreetly.”

“I’m not asking you to play matchmaker,” Wei Ying said. “I know that sometimes things don’t work out the way we want them to. Your brother seems very kind is all. Sometimes that can do more harm than good, right?”

“I know.” Then: has something not worked out in Wei Ying’s life? Did Wei Ying ever feel that someone was unreasonably kind and developed unreasonable expectations?

Lan Zhan wanted to know, but he didn’t know how to ask.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan. You’re the best.”

He wasn’t, not by a long shot, but it was nice to hear that Wei Ying thought so.

“I’ll miss you over break,” Wei Ying said, not-so-smoothly changing the subject as they walked back. “I hope I don’t annoy you with too many messages.”

“You won’t.” Then he frowned. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer promptly, but… you can message me as often as you wish. I won’t mind.”

Wei Ying’s smile was small, pleased. It seemed a little shy, far humbler than Wei Ying had any right to be over such a thing. Still, Lan Zhan was gratified to have put it there anyway.

In the parking lot outside of Wei Ying’s apartment where Lan Zhan had parked his rarely driven car, they lingered. It would be the last time they’d see each other for a month probably and Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan wasn’t looking forward to it. It was perhaps the first time he wasn’t looking forward to break, even though he’d always enjoyed it before, preferred it even because he got to actually work instead of tread water here.

“The summer holiday will be over before we know it!” Wei Ying said, as he leaned against the hood of Lan Zhan’s car. Lan Zhan stood next to him, remaining upright and poised, until Wei Ying suddenly threw himself into Lan Zhan’s arms and squeezed tight. A hug. Wei Ying was hugging him. “Thanks again, Lan Zhan!”

And then Wei Ying, who’d just hugged him, was darting off, full of energy despite the late hour and drinking he’d done. Lan Zhan wanted to call after him, just to see him turn back one more time, but he refrained.

He should have been proud of his restraint.

Instead, he felt like he was losing a piece of himself by refusing to bend.

2025

Wei Ying slipped out of bed at three and roused Lan Zhan with a regret-filled kiss and the gentle press of his hand to Lan Zhan’s neck. “Sorry to wake you,” he said. “I didn’t want to go without letting you know, but I don’t think I should wait any longer. The rain’s let up.”

Groggy, restless, Lan Zhan pulled Wei Ying down on top of him, bracketed his cheeks with his palms, kissed him more deeply. He understood very well why Wei Ying didn’t want to do a walk of shame back to his lodgings in the full light of day, but Lan Zhan didn’t want him to walk away at all, not only because he wanted selfishly for Wei Ying to stay, though he did, but because he could see, even in the dark, how much it hurt Wei Ying to do so.

Whatever harm would come to him from disappointing Madam Yu, how could it be worse than this feeling? Was Lan Zhan’s support worth so little?

Should Lan Zhan ask him to stay, stake his claim in this argument they weren’t having, tell Wei Ying that his being here was more important than the rest of it?

No. No, of course he couldn’t do that to Wei Ying.

“Have you been awake this whole time,” he asked, “waiting for the rain?”

“No, I… Ah, Lan Zhan. I just… it was nice watching you sleep.”

Sighing, Lan Zhan pushed himself upright and hugged Wei Ying tightly to him. “Okay,” Lan Zhan said. He had a choice here. He could be angry about the situation or he could let it go. “I’ll walk you back.”

“Lan Zhan, it’s pitch black out there and muddy. I’m not going to make you trek all that way just to have you come all the way back. Next time, I’m just going to let you sleep.”

“Will there be a next time?” Lan Zhan asked, a little sharper than he intended.

Wei Ying tensed against him, went painfully still. “If it’s annoying to you, I can make sure I stay put.”

“Wei Ying, that’s not—”

“Maybe it would be for the best if I did.” He wriggled out of Lan Zhan’s hold. “It was stupid to—”

Lan Zhan grabbed his wrist, pulled him back just enough so he couldn’t leave while Lan Zhan stretched to turn on the light. Wei Ying wound up on his lap where he belonged. “Stop,” he said, angry now, truly angry for the first time. So much for his choices. “You’re not like this.” You’re not like this anymore, he thought, distant, shoving it back down into the worst recesses of his mind. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I mean.” He stopped, dragging in a breath. “I just mean that you only seem to be hurting yourself and I don’t know why.”

“I’ve explained…”

“You’ve told me, yes, but Madam Yu has never approved of you or anything you’ve done and nothing like this has ever come of it before. We’ve never fit quite right with our families, Wei Ying. This artifice will accomplish nothing.” Scooting closer, he took hold of both of Wei Ying’s hands. “We’re already lucky that neither she nor my uncle have voiced their disapproval.”

“Wow, Lan Zhan. That’s…” Wei Ying’s laugh dripped with bitter poison. “…cool of you to say that.”

He wanted to apologize. His words didn’t need to be so harsh. That wasn’t what he did though. “What if they never come around?” The words were out before Lan Zhan could trap them in the cage of fear he’d locked them behind without ever really knowing it. “What if it’s always like this? Tense holidays and vague disdain and you contorting yourself for a fantasy?”

“Then that’s how it’ll be,” Wei Ying said, as though he wasn’t the architect of these circumstances. “But I should try, shouldn’t I? You deserve my best attempt, right?”

“I don’t want it.” If Lan Zhan could have one thing on this planet, it would be to force these people to see Wei Ying as he was and respect him as such. He would give Wei Ying a large, doting family to shower with the love he was so desperate to share. All he had was himself and a rabbit and a brother to give. Before this, it had been enough. Or maybe it had never been enough and Lan Zhan just never knew it. “This isn’t something you have to do for me right now. This isn’t your only chance.”

Sometimes, Wei Ying got it in his head that he had to do everything at once to the detriment of his own health and well-being. If a problem wasn’t being solved now, then it would never be solved. But life wasn’t like that. There would be myriad opportunities for him to improve their relationship with his family if he really wanted to. It didn’t have to come down to this.

He didn’t know how to make Wei Ying understand without hurting him more; he knew Wei Ying wouldn’t hear anything Lan Zhan said unless he explained the ways it hurt him, too, and he didn’t want to put that sort of pressure on him. It was, he reminded himself, only a few days and then they would go back to their normal lives. It wouldn’t hurt to wait to tell him, let him process this however he needed to while they were still here. It wasn’t like before and he’d been wrong to suggest as much. Wei Ying didn’t run away when he was uncomfortable. That was one of Lan Zhan’s old wounds talking. “Wei Ying, you already give me your best every day.”

Wei Ying grimaced and clambered off of Lan Zhan’s lap. Lan Zhan hadn’t expected it to work, but at least his wishes were known and Wei Ying could reflect on them if he wanted to. Should it get to be too much, he at least knew that Lan Zhan disapproved. It wasn’t going to stop him now, of course, but maybe…

“Don’t worry.” His lips brushed lightly over Lan Zhan’s forehead. “I can make it back safely.”

He didn’t offer to accompany Wei Ying again.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying said, “for putting up with me.”

Gritting his teeth, Lan Zhan said, “I don’t—”

Wei Ying just smiled brightly, dancing away to steal a pair of Lan Zhan’s sweats and a cardigan, pretending enough for the both of them that this was all okay. “I know you don’t think you’re putting up with me,” he said. “I’m just teasing. I’ll see you at rehearsals?”

It was only six hours until then, but six hours felt like an impossible stretch of time to cross alone. “I’m not even sure why we’re supposed to be there,” he said, only realizing afterward how ungracious it sounded.

“It’s because they want to show off,” Wei Ying said, offhand, slipping into Lan Zhan’s clothing. “Not only do they want the wedding party to see, they want the rest of us to see, too.”

“Since when are you an expert on weddings?”

“Since when are you? It’s been at least a year since I’ve attended a wedding put on by someone in your family and they’re always so tasteful about it. No Lan of my acquaintance knows how to be gauche.”

Wei Ying was halfway to the door before Lan Zhan realized he didn’t want the last thing they said to one another to be about other people’s weddings. “Wei Ying,” he said, not daring to rise from the bed. “I love you.”

“Don’t be a sap.” But his eyes sparkled a bit as he said it. “Love you, too.”

And then Wei Ying was gone, his words echoing hollowly within Lan Zhan’s mind.

Lan Zhan was alone when he arrived at the venue, a nice, shaded amphitheater hidden away from the villas, its own private spot inside of an already very private vacation destination. He wasn’t quite late after having spent the last thirty minutes trying to find Wei Ying in the bustle of getting over one hundred people from the villas to this spot, but he was embarrassed to find that most of the other guests were already here.

No wonder, he supposed, they’d wanted to thoroughly rehearse. It appeared to be a nightmare orchestrating everyone, even with a handful of terrifyingly organized wedding planners who’d shouted and called out names when Lan Zhan arrived. Between the fleet of golf carts and the confusion, it would be a wonder if anyone would make it on time. None of them were impressed with Lan Zhan when he gave them his name, insisting he should have gone ahead when his brother had. There was a schedule for a reason.

Well, too late for that now. As he slipped between the other attendees, he scanned the crowd. No Wei Ying, but his brother, eagle eyed, noticed him immediately and waved him over to where he was standing with a wilting and unhappy Nie Huaisang.

None of the same tension showed in Lan Huan’s face and it likely never would. Still, something was clearly wrong. “A-Zhan,” he said, warm, too warm for the sticky, humid heat. “Where’s Wei Ying?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose he must be with the Jiangs.”

A slight furrowing of Lan Huan’s brow was the only indication of displeasure he received before Lan Zhan stepped in. “How are you both doing?” he asked a little desperately. This time, Nie Huaisang’s eyebrow climbed his forehead in incredulity. Lan Zhan, after all, did not make small talk. “Where’s Meng Yao?”

“He’s been…” Lan Huan started.

“Jin Guangshan coerced him into joining the wedding party once he realized Meng Yao’s actually useful to know,” Nie Huaisang cut in.

“Made indisposed,” Lan Huan said, with a degree more diplomacy, “by Jin Guangshan.” The way he stretched the first words and swiftly chewed through the final ones suggested he agreed rather more with Nie Huaisang than he would have liked. “It’s been discovered that he’s very good at organizing large parties.”

“I don’t think we’ve seen him for more than… what? Twenty minutes at a time?” Nie Huaisang said, arch, arguing without arguing. Lan Huan’s smile went a little tight and Lan Zhan couldn’t help but sympathize. It was easy, when it was just himself and Wei Ying, to forget that they weren’t the only ones suffering inconveniences. “I just hope he doesn’t expect anyone to appreciate his efforts.”

“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan said, wishing he could take back the question entirely. It wasn’t as though he was fond of Meng Yao in particular, though between Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang, he and Meng Yao had an easier time talking to one another. He could at the very least ask Meng Yao about his music. What did he care for Nie Huaisang’s collections of esoterica?

And in truth, what did Nie Huaisang care for Lan Zhan’s sometimes stodgy opinions about art?

He was saved, if saved was the correct term for it, by Wei Ying’s sudden appearance toward the back of the amphitheater, like he’d been there the whole time though it was clear he hadn’t. Jiang Cheng was with him, perpetual scowl etched more deeply across his mouth.

He looked awful. Even more awful than a sleepless night could account for.

“Is everything well with Wei Ying?” Lan Huan asked, following Lan Zhan’s gaze. A concerned expression settled on his face and Nie Huaisang fluttered his hands slightly and looked away.

“What?” Lan Zhan asked. After so many years of knowing one another, Lan Zhan had gotten better at reading Nie Huaisang’s body language. They would never understand one another fully, he felt, but that didn’t mean they were wholly obscure to one another. Lan Huan probably knew exactly what it meant though. “Ge?”

It was… maybe unfair of him to ask for intercession, but Lan Zhan needed to know. If Nie Huaisang had any more idea of what was going on than what Lan Zhan already knew, it was important that Lan Zhan know, too.

“Nothing,” Nie Huaisang said. “I really don’t know.”

“Huaisang,” Lan Huan replied, gentle, before Lan Zhan could say anything more sharply.

“Look, I really don’t know. It’s not like I’ve had any time to see Wei Ying either. Huan-ge, you’ve been with me the whole time. Vouch for me.”

Lan Huan conceded with a slight tilt of his head. How nice it was for them, Lan Zhan thought, distantly jealous, to get to be together at least.

“But you think you know something,” Lan Zhan insisted.

“I might suspect,” Nie Huaisang admitted, “but I don’t know anything.” When Lan Zhan merely stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. I heard that Madam Yu is… encouraging Jiang Cheng. To get married. As soon as possible.”

Both Lan Zhan and Lan Huan stared at him. Lan Zhan, at least, was waiting for an actual explanation; he wasn’t sure what Lan Huan was waiting for.

“I don’t think Jiang Cheng intends to do so,” Lan Zhan finally said when Nie Huaisang gave no further clarification. “What does this have to do with Wei Ying?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “Do you really think he’s managed to avoid telling Jiang Cheng that you’re planning to… you know?” In case Lan Zhan was a complete idiot, he mouthed the word elope. When Lan Zhan opened his mouth to get clarification—how did anyone else even know already?—Nie Huaisang raised his hand. “If I was Jiang Cheng and I knew I wasn’t going to get married anytime soon and I heard that my dumbfuck brother was going to do so in perhaps the stupidest way possible, what would I do?” He tapped his finger against his chin to illustrate. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t do that, Lan Zhan was certain.

If only there was an actual plan at this point.

“Jiang Cheng wouldn’t throw Wei Ying under the bus,” Lan Huan said, uncertain, the statement offered more to Lan Zhan for confirmation. Lan Zhan nodded; he also found it improbable. They might have their disagreements, their moments of casual cruelty to one another, but this seemed too personal.

“God, you both are… really precious,” Nie Huaisang said. “Assuming I’m right, he’s trying to plan your wedding.” The way he said this, Lan Zhan got the feeling he was thinking Lan Zhan was the dumbfuck here, not Wei Ying. “And it’s freaking Wei Ying out.”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth to deny it, but…

But he could see the way the thread tightened on the thought, could see exactly how the Wei Ying of before might have gotten to the Wei Ying of now based on it. If Madam Yu wasn’t cutting her own son any slack and suddenly her son was suddenly trying to impose a wedding that would appease her onto Wei Ying, who already knew what an impossibility that was…

No wonder Wei Ying needed to get out of the villa last night.

And Lan Zhan had thought it was only their anniversary that was bothering him.

“But I don’t know for sure!” Nie Huaisang insisted, raising his hands. “That’s just… I’ve known them both so long. It seems like the kind of thing that would happen! And Jiang Cheng actually does like a good wedding to be honest. You should have seen him when Jiang Yanli got married. It almost came to blows a few times. He’s very fierce.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan said as he mulled it over. Honestly, even if this was the explanation, it didn’t truly serve as any sort of key. It could be entirely correct and it still wouldn’t solve the problem. All he’d succeeded in doing here was gossip about his fiancé. It didn’t help. They needed to talk.

“Do you…?”

“Do I what?” Lan Zhan asked, a little snappish now, annoyed at himself and the situation.

“Do you have any preferences?”

“No.” If he got to be married to Wei Ying, it was enough. The trappings didn’t matter. Whatever put Wei Ying most at ease, that was what he wanted. If that meant putting on a big show for the Jiangs or Jiang Cheng specifically, fine. Equally, if it did truly mean running away and eloping, then that was good, too.

Nie Huaisang frowned, crossing his arms and letting his fingers tap out a rhythm against his elbow. “Too bad.”

“Why?”

“If you did, it might give him something to fight back with.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wei Ying prefers fighting for other people, right? If he thought he was doing it for you, then it would be easier for him to not worry so much about telling Jiang Cheng to shove it. Maybe he’d get back some breathing room and stop looking quite so much like he’s ready to puke or pass out?”

Lan Zhan considered this and found himself angry to discover that Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong and, more than that, might have seen more deeply into the issue than Lan Zhan ever did. How could he when Wei Ying hadn’t even mentioned Jiang Cheng as a potential source of anxiety in this? He’d been so focused on what Wei Ying did tell him that he didn’t look past it.

Nie Huaisang’s speculations, though entirely in character for Wei Ying, weren’t actually proof. Maybe it was as simple as what Wei Ying had presented to him.

He was about to walk over to them when the sound of a mic filled the air, artificial and tinny, played from speakers which had, no doubt, been strategically hidden around the amphitheater. “If everyone could take their seats, please,” one of the planners was saying from the staging area. “Find your seats. They will be the same as tomorrow, so remember where you’ve been assigned to go. We need to accomplish this as quickly as possible.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t invite over one hundred people to your overly elaborate destination wedding, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about the logistics. I believe we’re over here, Lan Zhan, Huan-ge.”

He said this while Lan Zhan took a step toward Wei Ying, somehow expecting that at the very least they’d be allowed to sit together. “Where’s Wei Ying sitting?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced and pointed at the other side, toward where the Jins were being seated. And then he watched Madam Yu take a seat over there and knew, given how few open seats there were, that there wouldn’t be room for him.

Perhaps Lan Zhan was developing a preference. The more he thought about it, the more he really, really just wanted to drag Wei Ying away, register their union and then celebrate in bed for two weeks somewhere with zero connection to the outside world. They wouldn’t throw a wedding ever and then they’d go back to their lives without any new degree of strife within it after they were done living like hermits for a while. Nothing will have changed except for a symbol and some paperwork. Maybe they’d take their friends out to dinner, but that would be it. That was what he wanted most of all. Just Wei Ying and none of the rest of this.

Wei Ying slipped between the other attendees, Jiang Cheng still at his side, to sit in the row behind where Jiang Yanli was currently speaking with Madam Jin. He pressed his hand to her shoulder and squeezed, earning a pat from her, before he leaned back. He seemed happy to see her at least. That eased something within Lan Zhan’s heart.

It was only at the very last moment, as Lan Zhan was taking his own seat on the other side, that he finally managed to catch Wei Ying’s attention. The smile Wei Ying gave was a tired one that only seemed to accentuate the bruises under his eyes, the exhausted, sad weight that seemed to drag him down. He waved, too, and it was such a little action, but it was almost enough to undo Lan Zhan right here, left him choking back something he refused to admit was an emotion because if he conceded that, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t embarrass all of them right here and now by doing something incredibly ill-advised.

Madam Yu seemed to sense something and turned her head, first toward Wei Ying and then across the way to Lan Zhan. Though her lips thinned, she didn’t do anything, didn’t even scold Wei Ying. It still felt like a warning. Lan Zhan took it as one.

What others would have done in the circumstances, he couldn’t say, but he’d learned over the years that he could swallow down the feeling of unfairness within him when called for. He inclined his head slightly, demurred for her for all the good it would likely not do. He felt no better when he lifted his eyes and found she’d already moved on to fussing over Jiang Cheng’s clothing choices, plucking again and again at the collar of his dress suit.

Wei Ying looked his way one final time, but Lan Zhan couldn’t read his expression at all.

2020

Lan Zhan woke precisely at five despite… everything. How late he’d remained up with Wei Ying. How little sleep they’d gotten and how many emotions had rushed through him with each and every touch of Wei Ying’s hand on his body. It continued to do a ridiculous number on his heart, which thrashed even now against his chest just thinking about it. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep in this position, but Wei Ying couldn’t have been far behind, because the light was still on and his head was still pillowed on Lan Zhan’s chest. His hair tickled softly under Lan Zhan’s neck.

Wei Ying had… they’d…

It still didn’t seem real even though the evidence was curled against his side, warm and clinging.

He somehow hadn’t expected Wei Ying to cling. Given Wei Ying’s general tendency to drape himself across every available surface including Lan Zhan, that was perhaps a bad conclusion to reach. In truth, he’d expected indifference once they were done.

Perhaps that wasn’t fair or not the right word, now that he thought about it. Wei Ying remained indifferent about little, but a perfunctory treatment of the act itself wasn’t so farfetched. In truth, the dreams he’d had about Wei Ying, the hopes he’d harbored, they never actually extended to this part. The sex, yes. Sometimes, dating—which wasn’t so different from what they did on a regular basis so it was easy to imagine. Kissing.

Cuddling, though. That was new.

In the back of his mind, he could hear his uncle berating him for idleness, suggesting to him that there was no place for sentimentality even within the tiny bounds of his bed at five in the morning after making love for the first time, sun barely starting to rise. He told that voice to shove it; the ingrained impulse to begin his day could be secondary to savoring this moment.

Shifting carefully, Lan Zhan curled his arm around Wei Ying’s shoulder, pulled him so he was a little more comfortably situated, moving slowly to avoid rousing him. From what he could see of Wei Ying’s face, he looked tired, somehow more so than when he was awake, though his features were slack and relaxed. He ought to sleep a while longer if that was what he needed, and he ought to do it just as he was, pressed close to Lan Zhan.

Though Wei Ying could rest, Lan Zhan’s mind raced with questions that couldn’t be answered until Wei Ying awoke, but wouldn’t quiet themselves anyway. What were they to one another now? Would they be dating or…? Did Lan Zhan even know how to date? Could he be a good partner to Wei Ying? When he brought up his past, would Wei Ying think differently of him?

What if Wei Ying didn’t want more than last night? Could Lan Zhan stomach it? Could they go back to what they were or would Lan Zhan somehow ruin it? And if he did want more, what if Lan Zhan ruined it somehow then, too? What if he was too demonstrative or not demonstrative enough? What if he disappointed Wei Ying?

What if he bored Wei Ying? His life was shaped by daily ritual and Wei Ying’s was not. That could be a problem.

The more these thoughts darted and chased one another throughout his mind, the more he realized: nothing about their personalities suggested they’d be suitable to one another, but they’d been the closest of friends for ten years anyway. Why should this be any different? They would be great together, amazing, exactly what Lan Zhan wanted as long as they found the same page.

He stroked the back of Wei Ying’s head, his hair a soft tangle that he carefully unknotted until it was loose and free, perfect. For a while, he dozed, lulled by the marvel of such a simple, repetitive touch. His worries reeled him back in until finally even he had to accept remaining was useless.

If he was going to uselessly ask questions that couldn’t be answered until Wei Ying was awake, then he might as well complete his morning routine and make breakfast. It was, he thought, the least of what he gave to his other guests.

The muscles in his jaw tightened.

He’d never regretted what he did with other men, because it showed him his tastes and the extent of his physical desires, tempered and shaped him. That information was valuable, but it made this feel rote, like he wasn’t exerting himself especially for Wei Ying, when all he wanted to do was exert himself. For Wei Ying.

Their morning needed to be special, but not too special in case Wei Ying wanted to keep things casual.

Okay. Definitely time to get up. He worked his way slowly out from beneath Wei Ying, caught his cheek carefully and lowered him onto the pillow, pulled the comforter up over his shoulders, willed himself not to crumble as Wei Ying snuffled and groaned, twisting his face away with a huff as though he was annoyed, in sleep, by the loss of Lan Zhan’s body against his.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking on Lan Zhan’s part. Still, he bent forward and smoothed his thumb over Wei Ying’s forehead to brush his hair back and kissed the spot where his thumb had touched. Wei Ying hummed a little, approving, and turned into the touch.

When he opened the bedroom door, Turpentine darted past him, rushing toward the bed before suddenly halting, as though she remembered her exile last night. She turned judgmental eyes on him and waited. Lan Zhan weighed the pros and cons of allowing her there unsupervised and decided that the risk of her getting crushed under Wei Ying’s body were minimal. He hadn’t moved once all night. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing. “No messes.”

Turpentine’s nose twitched, but she hopped around and made a better approach, launching herself at the bed in a way that never failed to look absolutely ridiculous even with how low the bed was—specifically chosen because she could manage to reach if she wanted to. Laughing, he turned away only after watching her hop toward Wei Ying’s chest, where she would presumably hunker down.

Turpentine had always been a good judge of a person’s character.

When he checked back in, she was indeed curled against his neck.

He stretched and changed into workout clothes—left a note, just in case—and worked a quick circuit around a few of the longer blocks around his complex, returned to a silent condo, and showered quickly and quietly before returning to the kitchen to prepare a meal that would be to Wei Ying’s liking. Hot and dry noodles, tofu he could douse in chili oil, steamed buns with a filling Lan Zhan would consider spicy, but probably wouldn’t quite match Wei Ying’s preferences.

He heard Wei Ying before Wei Ying announced himself. His heart jack rabbited harder than earlier, when he’d completed a few sprints along the length of sidewalk in front of the building. “Good morning.” He did not turn around.

“Morning, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying answered, cheerful. “Can I help?”

“That’s not necessary.” And then, because he couldn’t wait any longer to see Wei Ying’s face, he turned, carrying bowls and chopsticks and plates. A cup of tea balanced perfectly on top. Wei Ying was sitting by the time Lan Zhan reached him and Lan Zhan was laying everything down when Wei Ying wrapped his hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist. And then he did more, snaking his arm fully around Lan Zhan’s.

“That was good… right?” he asked, braver than Lan Zhan, who hadn’t figured out how to broach the topic.

“Mn. Very good,” he agreed, tempering his words as much as possible. He did not want to unduly pressure Wei Ying, even subconsciously.

This close, Lan Zhan could hear Wei Ying’s sharp inhalation, watched the way he briefly closed his eyes. Fear fluttered in Lan Zhan’s chest at the thought that Wei Ying might try to let him down now, that Lan Zhan was making it harder by speaking the truth.

He never wanted to cause Wei Ying any difficulties. Otherwise, why would he have done any of the things he did? All he could do with Wei Ying’s arms wrapped around his own was stand still, waiting for whatever Wei Ying needed to say. Only then would he make a decision on how to proceed. So much for seeking answers.

He didn’t usually get so ahead of himself and he didn’t like it.

This was what came of wanting something too much.

“Would you…” Wei Ying said, shaky, too shaky, like he was the one who was afraid and entirely unaware that he held every bit of Lan Zhan in his hands. He seemed almost to gather up his words again and spit them all out, vehemently quick. “Can we do this again?”

That—what? Did Wei Ying really…? It wasn’t until he asked that Lan Zhan realized this whole time, he’d really expected that Wei Ying would walk out that door like any of the others, ultimately unchanged by their night together, uninterested in pursuing more. Wow, what a good lay, they might say. Thanks, man,

That was by Lan Zhan’s own design, but he was only now realizing… it was rather difficult to be left, to encourage others in the leaving. That Wei Ying, of all the men he’d ever met, might be the first to broach the possibility of more…

It was too much to bear properly with Wei Ying wrapped around him, too. Freeing himself, he tipped Wei Ying’s chin up, searching his face for confirmation. He saw desire there, but desire could be fleeting. Maybe there was hope, too, but Lan Zhan didn’t want to read anything into it. He had to know exactly what he was getting into, what he could expect, but he couldn’t ask for it. When it came down to it, he was a coward. “Do you want to?”

“Of co—” Wei Ying tilted his head slightly, averted his gaze. A blush rose in his cheeks. Regardless, he didn’t slip out of Lan Zhan’s touch. “Lan Zhan, I care about what you want.”

It wasn’t that—of course Wei Ying cared; Wei Ying was a good man. He would want to take Lan Zhan’s feelings into account. But it wasn’t that bit that warmed him, no, wasn’t the part that had him almost reaching out to grab the table in order to bolster himself up.

It was the way he’d so quickly started to say yes.

Every ounce of self-control went into the effort of stopping himself from gathering Wei Ying into his arms and leading him back to bed. His mind was a whirl, thoughts going into a tailspin, words almost failing him. Of course, he’d almost said. Of course he wanted to see Lan Zhan again. A revelation. “I would like that if you want to.”

There, he thought. Perhaps Wei Ying wouldn’t feel too pressured by such phrasing.

And then Wei Ying invited Lan Zhan to dinner at his brother’s house on Saturday and Lan Zhan was almost staggered all over again by love and fear. Love, because Wei Ying threw himself headfirst into this in the same way he threw himself into everything and fear because…

He and Jiang Cheng didn’t have the best history with one another. Even until the present, they’d kept that history quiet, knowing how unhappy it would make Wei Ying to know they… didn’t get along.

To put it mildly.

They’d never talked about it, of course, and he very occasionally lived in dread of Jiang Cheng ever bringing it up.

But Wei Ying looked so hopeful.

Still, he had to try to extricate himself. This bond of mutual denial shouldn’t be broken so easily. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.” Already, he lined up his argument. Wei Ying saw his sister and brother together so rarely. Surely it would be an imposition…

But Wei Ying had an answer for him at the ready, like he knew the argument Lan Zhan was going to make even before he’d made it. “We’ve had friends over before…”

Friends. Of course. Lan Zhan was getting ahead of himself. His disappointment threatened to choke him, but he couldn’t allow Wei Ying to see it. Wei Ying wanted to do this again. That was a step, an important one. “What about Jiang Cheng?”

The words came out harsher than he intended and Wei Ying only managed to come across as bewildered, which made sense because he, of course, didn’t know. How could he know the depth of Lan Zhan’s regard for him? How could Lan Zhan tell him now, when they were so newly acquainted with this one final piece of one another?

The stove beeped, saving Lan Zhan from having to confront this right now, breaking through the conversation and bringing it to a halt. Even Wei Ying released a huff of relief. Preparing and bringing the food over broke the worst of the tension and Lan Zhan was given enough time to decide that it was fine. If Wei Ying wanted him there, he would be there.

And just like that, their morning was over, Wei Ying making plans to come by this afternoon to begin the mural, leaving, leaving, leaving when Lan Zhan wanted nothing more than to pull him back in, keep him here as long as he was willing to be kept.

As soon as the door shut—only after spending far too long watching Wei Ying go, of course—he scrubbed his hand across his face, tugged at his hair, wondered just how deeply fucked he was going to be if this all went wrong.

This was, except for the sex, all so new to him, and even the sex felt different enough from what he was used to that it might as well have been new to him, too.

He was out of his depth and Wei Ying was already encouraging in him things he didn’t want to look at too closely.

Going over to dinner at Jiang Cheng’s house. What in the hell was he thinking?

He needed to talk to his brother; he’d know what to do.

2011

At first, Wei Ying’s messages came in more quickly than Lan Zhan could reply to them, stacking throughout the day until he had a spare moment to read them. Wei Ying never seemed to mind the delay despite how lackluster his responses tended to be. Though he liked to think he carried himself with some comportment when he spoke and he could write elegantly, that skill didn’t carry over into chat boxes. Here, in black and white on his screen, it only seemed cold and distant, the way he answered, when he read back what he sent. Comparatively, Wei Ying’s use of emojis and stickers and exclamation points seemed so much friendlier and enthusiastic, warmer somehow than anything Lan Zhan could do in comparison.

Still, it couldn’t bother him too terribly when even the barest acknowledgment resulted in a fresh wave of replies from Wei Ying, each one as upbeat as the last.

They were upbeat until they began to taper off. It was about halfway through their break when Lan Zhan started noticing it. Partly, he didn’t because he became even busier than normal at Hanshi, taking on more responsibilities because the experience would be good for him. How could he notice how long it took Wei Ying to respond when he couldn’t check his phone as incessantly as before?

But notice it he did finally, when strings of ten or more messages dwindled to two or three, when in the evening, as Lan Zhan made dinner, he’d have to wait twenty minutes, thirty, before he got a reply. Even the notifications sounded weary, which was ridiculous because they were no different than before. It was just Lan Zhan’s perceptions of them that changed.

By the last week before going back, he realized that there would be no attempt to see one another before classes started back up.

Lan Zhan thought often about asking Wei Ying about his schedule once the semester began, wanted to push for at least this much certainty, but it didn’t seem right to do that to Wei Ying, not when he didn’t know what—if anything—had changed. Perhaps he’d merely gotten bored of texting Lan Zhan constantly or maybe he got busy, too.

He always put his phone down at those moments, stared down at the dark screen and willed it to give him answers it couldn’t possibly provide.

That last week was awful, full of questions and second guesses. He spent more time at Hanshi, which only worried his brother, and any thought of studying went out the window as soon as he sat down and tried. Every time he looked at his phone, he imagined asking: what’s your schedule, what did you decide, are you sure we can’t take another class together?

The first day of classes was even more torturous to get through.

He didn’t receive any messages at all from Wei Ying throughout it, not one wishing him a good morning or good luck with the start of the semester or anything to suggest that Wei Ying was even back. Finally, at around noon, when he should have been eating lunch, he cracked.

How is your first day back going?

It looked so asinine even before sending it, but it was even worse afterward, when he couldn’t take it back, couldn’t turn back reality to the moment before he shot it off in order to write something more appropriate.

It didn’t matter though, because Wei Ying didn’t answer it either, not by the time Lan Zhan was finished for the day and feeling fidgety and anxious in a way he normally didn’t.

Something must have happened, right?

It… wouldn’t be too weird for him to try to see Wei Ying in person? Right?

It didn’t matter what he felt, weird or not, because his legs were carrying him to the student studios anyway, the only place on campus he knew Wei Ying might be at any given time and if he wasn’t there, then someone would probably know where he actually was. Wanting to see Wei Ying didn’t make him a creep, but even as he told himself that, he didn’t feel any less anxious about it as he stepped inside, feeling like an intruder instead of the welcomed guest Wei Ying had always ensured he felt like instead.

It was loud, immediately noticeable even from the foyer, the sound of people laughing and jumping around, moving equipment and shoving at one another. As he walked down the hallway that led to the studio spaces proper, he was surprised to see the chaos and then was surprised at himself for being surprised.

He was disappointed at first to see so many faces he vaguely recognized, but not the only face here that mattered. Even when he searched out the space that was Wei Ying’s last semester, it was still clear.

The tape he hated had already been laid back down, a different color this semester, bright pink and ugly to Lan Zhan’s eyes. It looked smaller, too, but he couldn’t be certain if that was truly the case or if his perception of it was changed by the color or circumstances. Wei Ying deserved whatever sprawl he could find. It was offensive to Lan Zhan’s sensibilities that he should be constrained by tape and his contemporaries.

That… had to be a good sign, though? Nobody would have bothered putting it down if Wei Ying wasn’t here.

“You’re looking for Wei Ying?” a young woman asked, coming up beside him, so quiet that Lan Zhan didn’t notice her approach.

“Yes.”

“I saw him go up the stairs earlier. I think he’s probably out on the roof.” She chewed her lower lip.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, “but if you wanted to go up, I won’t tell anyone. He’s probably propped open the door so you’ll be able to get out, too.”

“Thank you.” He made as though to leave and then stopped again, looking back at her with a question in his eyes.

“Those stairs toward the back. Just go all the way up, you’ll see the door. If he’s not there, he might be in one of the classrooms, but you’d have to check around to figure out which one.”

He nodded in thanks again and decided that he’d search the whole building if he had to.

Luckily, he did not. In fact, it wasn’t so very hard to find Wei Ying at all with the help the woman had given to him. He sat on a bench near one of the high walls that surrounded the rooftop. Lazy curls of smoke drifted on the breeze from the cigarette he held between two fingers. Lan Zhan didn’t even know he smoked. He’d never smelled it on him before.

From this angle, only the back of Wei Ying’s head was visible, his hunched spine, and he couldn’t see Lan Zhan’s approach. It gave him time to prepare himself.

It gave him time to overthink it, in truth.

But he’d waited all break to see and talk to Wei Ying. He’d marched over here. He’d promised himself he’d search the building for Wei Ying. He couldn’t just turn back now. So he took a step forward and then another and then it was easy. He made sure his steps were loud enough to not startle Wei Ying with his approach and then he sat next to him. Wei Ying turned toward him slightly and then immediately stabbed out the cigarette on the wood, waving his hand to clear the air before dusting the ash off.

“You didn’t see that,” Wei Ying said, a facsimile of his usual exuberance and humor in his voice. “I don’t smoke. Not usually. Not really.”

“I know,” Lan Zhan said.

“Yeah, smells like shit, doesn’t it? Gives you away every fucking time.” He laughed lightly. “Sorry, I just…”

Lan Zhan waited patiently for him to continue, but of course he didn’t. Lan Zhan did not know how to ask, but even if it was clumsy, he tried. “You just…?”

“Sometimes, I just get really sick of my own bullshit, you know?” He scoffed slightly and pulled one leg in, propped it on the edge of the bench, arms wrapping around his knee. It was a precarious proposition when the bench was so small. Lan Zhan chose to turn slightly and held his arm out behind Wei Ying’s back in case Wei Ying lost his footing.

Lan Zhan considered the best way to respond and then said, “What bullshit is that?”

Wei Ying’s face froze and then he smiled, just as he’d hoped Wei Ying would. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Such foul language.” He scuffed the heel of his boot out once and let it remain stretched. His enjoyment of Lan Zhan’s incongruous behavior didn’t last long. “I don’t know. It just seems like everything is a struggle. All the time. Everything I do makes someone unhappy.” He held his hands out before him, sketching a vaguely spherical shape. “I can’t just do or be without it becoming some sort of ordeal.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! Not a damned thing!” He tapped his foot against the concrete. “I mean, nothing most other families would take issue with. Well, I don’t know. Maybe they would. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”

“If you’ll tell me, perhaps I could.”

“I agreed to paint a mural back home. Nothing fancy. Nothing for anyone particularly impressive. Didn’t pay a whole lot, but it was for a small community center. Took all month to do. It was a lot of fun for the first couple of weeks. I would’ve told you about it, but they wanted to keep it under wraps until the reveal.”

“That sounds nice.”

“You know,” Wei Ying said, thoughtful, “it really was.”

“So what happened?”

Wei Ying groaned. “One of Madam Yu’s friends wanted a portrait done at the same time. I’d already committed to the mural, so I said no. There wasn’t enough time in the day nor enough days in the break left for me to do a good job. It’d have to wait or I could recommend someone else. That’s what I said.”

“And?”

“And now I’m the most ungrateful brat in all of Hubei and Madam Yu’s wondering why she ever spent money to let me come here if I’m just going to paint shitty murals for a living. Like that’s the only thing I’ve ever done or could want to do. Like a community center is somehow less deserving of my efforts than her friend.”

Lan Zhan was less surprised, but more affected, than he wanted to be. Imagining Wei Ying working so hard and being told that stung. A mural for a community center probably wouldn’t garner the sort of attention Madam Yu would have wanted for him, it was true, but Lan Zhan liked that Wei Ying did it anyway.

“May I see it?”

Wei Ying fished his phone from his pocket and quickly pulled it up, handing it over. It was an abstract piece, beautiful, with bright, hopeful colors and clean, sweeping lines. Lan Zhan wanted to ask where it was so he could see it in person.

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to say and knew even less what Wei Ying might have wanted to hear. There was only one truth he could think of that might buoy Wei Ying’s spirits. Perhaps it was a selfish sentiment. “You haven’t made me unhappy.”

Wei Ying offered a wry grin and elbowed Lan Zhan, leaning into him for one brief, perfect moment. That didn’t last long either, though. “You’re the only one then.”

They lapsed into silence while Lan Zhan thought through what he could do.

“Can I help?” Lan Zhan asked.

“No, there’s really not… it’s not any one thing, Lan Zhan. I mean, yes, this is one thing, but it’s a trend, not just a once off. And I bring it on myself. I get abrasive and annoying about stuff. I snub my nose and get recalcitrant about it. I could’ve tried maybe. I just didn’t want to do a bad job.”

“Not compromising isn’t a bad thing,” Lan Zhan pointed out. “You wouldn’t be the first person to refuse to do so.”

“Yeah, okay. Tell that to Madam Yu, then,” Wei Ying said. “How did all those other people cope with it, huh?”

Lan Zhan didn’t have a good answer for that. It didn’t always go well based on biographical information, but it wasn’t a foregone conclusion that it would go poorly. Of course, that didn’t mean conformity wasn’t valued and couldn’t be a good thing. Easing the way for others, being agreeable with them, was a kind, honorable thing to do, but Wei Ying walking his own path…

It shouldn’t have hurt him this much when he was as good at what he did as he was.

Perhaps that was selfish, too. Or maybe Lan Zhan was biased. But he couldn’t imagine a situation where Wei Ying was being so awful that he deserved to feel like this. Even Lan Zhan was granted a few small freedoms when it came to his behavior. At least, his uncle wouldn’t demand that he break a prior commitment for a new one. Not like this anyway.

“You’re not annoying anyway,” Lan Zhan insisted, because it needed to be said.

Wei Ying hummed in what might have been agreement. “Just a matter of time, I’m sure. I always get there eventually.”

“In that case, I’ll prove you wrong.”

At that, Wei Ying laughed, genuine and sparkling, beautiful. “Okay, okay, Lan Zhan. I’ll look forward to that then.”

Up here, it was a little quieter than the rest of campus and the building was tall enough that you could see across the various courtyards and pathways that connected the various buildings, dotting the free spaces between them. Even the energy that seemed to hum off of Wei Ying—agitated, nervous, Lan Zhan wasn’t sure—even that eventually stilled. It was nice up here.

For a long while, Lan Zhan didn’t glance at him, fearful of breaking the spell, hopeful that Wei Ying was taking what he needed from this reprieve. It hadn’t, he realized, perhaps been terribly fair of Lan Zhan to intrude, but it didn’t seem to have done any harm.

Eventually, Wei Ying shifted a bit closer, radiating body heat. Lan Zhan hadn’t realized it was so chilly until Wei Ying was there, acting as a buffer. “Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he said, hushed, as though imparting some great secret.

“For what?”

“For bothering to look for me,” he answered. “Here I’d made such a big deal out of seeing you again and then ignored you when I finally had the chance, but you came anyway. It was nice of you.”

It wasn’t a matter of nice or not nice. And if Wei Ying believed Lan Zhan only did it because it was the right thing to do, then Wei Ying deserved to know better. Though a spike of anxiety coursed through him at the thought of saying anything, he unstuck his tongue and replied, “I wanted to see you, too.”

It shouldn’t be so easy to make Wei Ying laugh and smile at him, but laugh and smile he did. Again. It was just as beautiful this time. Wei Ying was beautiful. “Lan Zhan…”

“What’s your schedule like this semester?” he asked, instead of giving more of himself away when it already felt like he was too transparent.

“If you want to meet up, Mondays and Thursday afternoons would be best,” Wei Ying replied. “I took a part-time job the rest of the week and over the weekend. Just, you know, in case.”

“Wei Ying, how will you have time to study?”

“I don’t care. I’ll manage. Monday and Thursday. What do you say?”

Mondays and Thursdays? That was all Lan Zhan would get of Wei Ying? But he would accept whatever was on offer, even if it felt like so much less than he wanted. “I’m free,” he said, relieved at least that his schedule wouldn’t interfere. A few hours on Mondays and Thursdays. That was nothing. He didn’t need to work every hour of the day.

“Why don’t we meet at that tea shop you like? Let’s say… three? Is that okay?”

Lan Zhan nodded.

If that was what he could get, of course it was okay. He wouldn’t burden Wei Ying with a demand for more.

2025

Lan Zhan glanced at his watch, careful to keep his wrist low and hidden between himself and his brother as he failed to listen to Meng Yao as he announced the bride and groom’s arrival, announced how they met—at a museum, so unusual for this crowd—declarations of love that Lan Zhan found gauche and insincere in Jin Zixun’s mouth, more talking than he cared to be subjected to, a cake. Wei Ying barely paid attention from the other side of the amphitheater, body carried rigidly throughout the whole thing, attention directed into the middle distance, which only made the time pass even more slowly.

“When did Meng Yao get made the emcee?” Lan Zhan asked, quiet, leaning close to his brother: a distraction only.

Lan Huan’s lips thinned. “Last night. The person they hired originally was unable to attend. Last minute—something or other. An emergency, I’m given to understand.”

This whole wedding was cursed.

At least he didn’t have to witness the tea ceremony, too.

He’d hoped for a chance to see Wei Ying and speak with him this morning. He hadn’t had a chance yesterday because, as it turned out, Wei Ying had been forced to attend and he hadn’t found out until it was too late to do anything about it. Unfortunately, though he’d made the effort to arrive early today, Wei Ying had not, and he’d slipped into his seat with only a moment to spare. Again.

But now it was almost over and soon he’d get his wish, take it between his hands and demand his desires from it. Nothing, not Jiang Cheng, not Madam Yu, not anything would keep Lan Zhan from sticking to Wei Ying’s side throughout the rest of this miserable day.

The couple exchanged rings. They disappeared. The emcee invited everyone to make their way to the banquet venue.

Wei Ying was off like a shot, beating the rest of the crowd to the fleet of golf carts meant to ferry them back to said venue. Lan Zhan couldn’t catch up through the crowd.

By the time Lan Zhan arrived and found Wei Ying, Wei Ying was already holding a glass of wine, standing in a corner where he might go unnoticed among the many tables currently filling with guests. His hair was loosened from the carefully coiffed and braided ponytail it had been pulled into earlier. It looked rather fetching, a bit insouciant, with the immaculate suit he wore, but Lan Zhan couldn’t enjoy it fully when Wei Ying looked so hunted.

“Where’s your family?” Lan Zhan asked.

“That is,” Wei Ying said, stopping to drain half the glass before he laughed, “possibly the last question I want to think about right now, Lan Zhan. Let’s discuss climate change instead. It might be less demoralizing.”

Lan Zhan frowned. Though Wei Ying was joking, mirth didn’t touch the coldness in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Two-for-two, Lan Zhan. Let’s table that one also.”

“Wei Ying?”

Sighing in disgust, Wei Ying glared at the ceiling of the reception hall which was currently decked out with sleek, sophisticated red and gold shapes that gave the room a cool, modern vibe, like visiting a trendy gallery. It wasn’t what he would have wanted in a wedding for himself, but he was surprised and pleased to see a point of view in the decorations; he imagined someone had to fight for it.

It was then that he remembered that Jin Zixun’s wife was a museum curator. Surely, this was her influence.

Anyway. There were more important things than admiring the architectural quality of the shapes that dotted the room.

“You were right,” Wei Ying said finally. He didn’t sound a thing like himself as he said it, far more bitter than he usually got. “I should have just—I don’t think I ever stood a chance of making anybody happy.” He shook his head and scoffed, finishing off the wine. Though his gaze strayed to the nearest table, he didn’t make a move to approach it and pour himself more wine.

“Madam Yu?”

“Who else?”

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Fuck, Lan Zhan. Are you psychic now, too?”

“Nie Huaisang might have mentioned he knows.” Lan Zhan swallowed, not at all liking where this was going. “What happened?”

“Jiang Cheng just needs to unclench.” This was clearly yet another question that Wei Ying clearly didn’t want to answer and that was fine. It was. Really. Lan Zhan wouldn’t force him to do so, but he sucked in a breath, crouched down to place the fluted glass on the floor, and popped back up. “I just—I waste so much time, don’t I? I wasted it with you. I’ve wasted it in my career. I’ve—”

“You what?” Where was he even getting that idea from? Leaving aside their relationship and the fact that it was a two-way street and the sad truth that they they might never have made it here if not for the route they’d taken, he’d never in his life wasted time in the professional sphere. In fact, he was just about the most efficient artist Lan Zhan had ever worked with, professional and quick and reliable save for a handful of outlier situations.

“I won’t settle on anything,” he continued, answering and not answering at the same time. “I won’t build a following because I’ll never stick with any technique or discipline long enough. My works will sell, but for how long I’ve been working and how much notoriety I’ve garnered, I should be—”

When he tried to push past Lan Zhan, maybe to retrieve that bottle of wine from a nearby table, Lan Zhan held him in place with a hand to the chest.

“You should be what?”

“I should be more well-known, shouldn’t I?”

Frustration sparked beneath Lan Zhan’s skin, fizzled and snapped across its surface. “You don’t want to be that well-known.”

“Everyone wants to be recognized.”

Lan Zhan shook his head so vehemently that a few clumps of hair fell from the gelled back sleekness he’d forced it into earlier. “You want to provide for the people you care about. You’ve done that. Since when do you want recognition?”

Wei Ying wouldn’t meet his eyes, gaze flickering to the empty glass by his feet. He took Wei Ying by the shoulders and shook lightly. “If you wanted that,” he said, finally grabbing for Wei Ying’s chin to pull his face back around, “I would have gotten it for you.” He could have done so many things differently if he’d known.

But of course Wei Ying didn’t have an answer. There wasn’t an answer to be had. He hadn’t wanted it. He couldn’t have wanted it, because Lan Zhan would have known at least that much, right? The only thing that had changed was this, them, the idea that they should marry, too. If this was the price, he wasn’t certain the cost was worth it. It was impossible to believe that something as wanted, as wonderful, as the thought of being married to one another could lead to this place.

If it was true, if Lan Zhan had missed another one of Wei Ying’s fundamental desires, he needed to hear it from Wei Ying.

Wei Ying got very tight-lipped very quickly.

“If this is because of Madam Yu, too—” Or my uncle or anything else at all, he thought, trying to push down the feeling of guilt inside of him. None of Lan Zhan’s past attempts to get through to Wei Ying had worked and now he was dragging into it the one part of himself he’d always been proud of. This couldn’t stand. “If that’s why…”

“It’s not.” Except Wei Ying wouldn’t look at him.

“Wei Ying.” He was keenly aware that they were technically in public and that they couldn’t leave without drawing attention to themselves and that anybody might come up to them at any moment. Scanning the room, he couldn’t see any sign of Madam Yu or the Jiangs yet. It was as close as private as they could get. There wasn’t time. He felt as though he was losing Wei Ying. It needed to be fixed. Right now.

“You’re not listening to me,” he said, as close to genuine anger as he’d been in just over five years. It threatened to pour from him, thick and corroding. “I know it is. I’m sick of pretending it’s not. Do you just—is it just a reflex? Lying to me about this? Because if it isn’t because of her, then you’ve been lying to me for a very long time.”

Wei Ying looked at him as though he’d been struck, features going pale, eyes wide and wounded. Silence grew between them in the spaces cleared by those careless words. And then he turned his head away. His throat bobbed and he coughed lightly into his elbow before drawing his shoulders back. He was going to walk away. Lan Zhan was sure of it. He was going to walk away and he’d tell Lan Zhan not to follow and this time, it was Lan Zhan’s fault. He’d said the wrong thing and the wrong time in the wrong place and Wei Ying would somehow get himself into more trouble with Madam Yu for disappearing and that would be Lan Zhan’s fault, too.

“Wei Ying…”

And then Wei Ying deflated, slumped back against the wall. He diminished himself because of Lan Zhan’s uncharitable words. “Can’t say I blame you for thinking that.” His voice frightened Lan Zhan, devoid of affect. “Let’s just get through this banquet. We’ll be going home tomorrow and everything will go back to normal. I promise I’ll stop being… like this when we’re there. I was careless. I know I’ve tested your patience and—”

“You haven’t.” He couldn’t in truth say that Wei Ying never tested his patience, but this last week. It wasn’t Lan Zhan’s patience on the line, not with Wei Ying anyway.

It was probably not entirely appropriate to so intimately touch Wei Ying where anyone could see it, but he was going to do it anyway, having already done it once without much reprisal. His fingers brushed delicately over the braids on either side of his head, thumb curving to fit over the high arch of his cheekbone. His lips followed, tracing the same path before settling on Wei Ying’s lips.

The taste of the wine lingered, a barely there dryness on Wei Ying’s tongue. When he pulled away, Wei Ying’s brows furrowed and his eyes fluttered open and his mouth hung slightly open. “I’m not impatient with you. I’m concerned for you. I miss you. I don’t like seeing you this unhappy, but you’re not trying me. Please don’t burden yourself with such a thought. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Wei Ying looked away, drew in a sharp breath, blinked quickly several times. “Lan Zhan, you’re too good to me.”

“Only as good as you are to me,” Lan Zhan replied, hoping to assuage that, too, while mentally fighting against everyone who made Wei Ying feel as though he was a burden, wishing he was better at demonstrating his own feelings.

But it was difficult to prove a negative. It had to be reinforced at all times and though he didn’t like it, he accepted it. He would tell Wei Ying until he was blue in the face that he was enough, that Wei Ying deserved everything Lan Zhan could give to him, show him over and over again if that was what it took.

“No, Lan Zhan. I really think you’ve gone above and beyond here,” he said, tangling their fingers together. “Thank you. I’ll… I guess you probably wouldn’t want me to make it up to you, but—but I’ll do my best to make sure you feel like the way you make me feel, huh? Does that sound fair?”

Under different circumstances, Lan Zhan probably would have argued, but if this was the concession he could get, then it was the concession that he would accept. Nodding, he squeezed Wei Ying’s hand and turned slightly so that they were shoulder to shoulder, Wei Ying’s arm warm and comfortable against his. They remained this way, counting down the minutes until Wei Ying would be expected to join the Jiangs at whatever table was set aside for them. Only a little while longer, he reminded himself. Then, home. Then, they’d fix this. All of it.

A young man approached that Lan Zhan vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite place. He wore glasses and his hair was slicked severely back. His clothing was neat, if leaning a little heavily into the quirky art academic, both too cool and too awkward to be anything other than purposeful rather than effortless. It was only when the man began to introduce himself that Lan Zhan remembered.

Xiao Xingchen.

One of the more public faces of Yicheng, a heavy proponent of the work being done by their colony of artists. Wei Ying, features frozen, seemed to have recognized him as well.

What was he doing here though, that was the question, but one that Lan Zhan didn’t care enough about the answer to ask.

“I apologize for approaching you without obtaining a proper introduction,” Xiao Xingchen said, exceedingly gentle. “The art world is small, but it’s not that small. I’m Xiao Xingchen. I work with Yicheng and—”

“Oh, I’m perfectly aware who you are,” Wei Ying said, a light hint of mockery in his voice, not quite enough to be considered rude, but definitely not as pleasant as Wei Ying could be when circumstances were less stressful. “I believe I’ve already spoken with a representative from Yicheng.”

Xiao Xingchen ducked his head and nodded slightly, hiding a smile. “Yes, and I respect your decision, of course, though I hope I might one day convince you otherwise. I didn’t intend to come here to harass you. I merely wished to express my admiration for your work.”

Wei Ying smiled weakly at the praise.

It still felt painfully awkward given the timing. Xiao Xingchen genuinely didn’t seem like he had an ulterior motive, but it didn’t stop a sheen from settling over the conversation, brief though it was. And Wei Ying wasn’t an artist motivated by praise, didn’t care to discuss his work. Privately, he might gloat about how great he was—praise himself to friends and family, behave arrogantly just to get a reaction—but it was an act and generally not one he repeated with people he didn’t know. Xiao Xingchen might, if he only wanted to talk to Wei Ying, have had better luck discussing literally anything else.

Though he seemed to realize it after a moment, too, it seemed that he wasn’t prepared with an alternative. And Wei Ying had run out of fucks to give to anyone except Madam Yu that first day.

Lan Zhan almost felt bad for Xiao Xingchen except for how he was ready for the man to stop disrupting them. Once things were back to normal, Lan Zhan could reach out and apologize properly, perhaps try to help facilitate a more productive meeting between them. There were myriad professional connections which could be made that didn’t require accepting an art residency hundreds of kilometers from your home after all.

I should be more well-known.

No, he couldn’t let this opportunity slip past them.

Only Lan Zhan failed utterly in picking up the slack, only managing to ask awkward, pointed questions about Yicheng that put Wei Ying more on edge at his side. Even Xiao Xingchen seemed to notice, wincing slightly before offering his business card and, oh so kindly, telling both of them that he was very interested in speaking with them again. Very pleasant and cordial.

It was only once he was gone that Wei Ying relaxed back into Lan Zhan’s touch, Lan Zhan’s hand snaking around his back to settle against his hip while he slid the business card into his pocket.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, if only it could always be like this,” Wei Ying said, head lolling against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what. I’m not doing this again any time soon. Madam Yu can—” He cut himself off.

“She can what?” Lan Zhan asked, curious.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sighing, Wei Ying scrubbed his hand over his face. “She can do what she wants. It’s got nothing to do with me or us.”

Nodding, Lan Zhan patted Wei Ying’s hip, slipped his hand into the pocket of Wei Ying’s trousers, and pinched lightly at Wei Ying’s thigh through the silky fabric. “Good.”

“I’m going to stay with you tonight,” he said, determined, “if that’s okay. I’ll get my bags together so we can head to the airstrip for the flight back to Manila first thing in the morning.” Huffing a laugh, Wei Ying shook his head. “We’re finally almost free of this.”

Lan Zhan tried to hide how happy it made him to hear Wei Ying say that, but he suspected that he failed if the soft, regretful look Wei Ying gave him was any indication. “We are.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying said, sharp, pointing toward the door where Madam Yu and the rest were finally coming in. “And that’s my cue.”

Lan Zhan allowed him to take three steps before he grabbed his wrist. It would be an imposition, but he didn’t intend to let Wei Ying face this alone. Nothing happened for a long moment. Wei Ying didn’t move, bit his lip, stared down at the ground as he thought and thought and thought, weighed up, no doubt, the costs and benefits of following through on the promise Lan Zhan was making to him: I’m here.

He almost gasped when Wei Ying took hold of his hand, firm, certain, and pulled him along.

“Well,” she said, once they both reached her. “I suppose it won’t be too much trouble to rearrange everyone’s seating just to accommodate you, Wei Ying. It’s not as though this hasn’t been meticulously planned.”

Lan Zhan waited, waited for Wei Ying to take the first step, prepared to take it for him if necessary since he hadn’t left Lan Zhan behind this time.

Before Wei Ying could do so, Meng Yao, who was standing nearby, chatting with one of the other planners, stepped forward. Though his smile was filled with charm, Lan Zhan saw a glint hiding within it, edged by the same pain within Wei Ying. “You’re already at one of the few tables with an additional seat available, Madam Yu,” he said, falsely serene, “it’s not a problem at all if you’re not opposed.”

Lan Zhan had never seen Madam Yu speechless before and she wasn’t speechless for long before she turned her attention to Jiang Cheng, dismissing all three of them so efficiently that it startled even Lan Zhan, but it was enough to be dismissed, enough because Lan Zhan got to sit with Wei Ying as Jin Zixun and his wife made the rounds of every table to offer toasts, enough because could wrap his ankle around Wei Ying’s if he wished—he wished and so he did—and squeeze Wei Ying’s knee and fill his plate with suckling pig and fish and scallops. It was enough. To be dismissed and not scolded, it was good. Perhaps Wei Ying will see it that way, too.

He caught his brother’s eye from across the room once and felt at ease, happy to see that Meng Yao had managed to install himself in the seat that was presumably meant for Lan Zhan, putting Lan Huan’s relationship to rights while assisting with Lan Zhan’s. Even Madam Yu couldn’t damper the relief that coursed, cool and pleasant, through him. This would never rank as one of the better banquets Lan Zhan had attended in his life, but it became something more than he would have expected.

2020

Lan Zhan wasn’t nervous about the thought of having dinner with Wei Ying and the two people in his family that he cared most dearly for. It didn’t distract him at all from his work—nor did the fact that he knew with a certainty that Wei Ying would be in his home today, in his bedroom, after they’d… after they’d done what they did—and he was totally fine, not at all—

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, smiling gently, waving his palm lightly in front of his face.

Perhaps he was a little bit distracted. He was sitting across from Lan Huan at Lan Huan’s desk and they were discussing…

Something.

And all he could think about was the fact that he’d been invited to Jiang Cheng’s house by Wei Ying.

“Perhaps we should talk about whatever is on your mind before we get back to handling the business at hand?”

Lan Zhan cleared his throat. He’d intended to discuss this at a more appropriate time, like when they were through with work. Embarrassment crept, warm and insidious, up his throat. It wasn’t even that he felt chastised by Lan Huan, but the fact that he could be thrown off at all that bothered him. The exposure left him feeling cracked open and raw. “I…” It shouldn’t have been so difficult to say anything. He’d been there for Lan Huan when his own relationships shifted and changed and he was distracted and uncertain. And yet somehow… he couldn’t bring himself to tell Lan Huan the whole, fragile truth. “Wei Ying invited me to have dinner with his brother and sister.”

Lan Huan’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t…” Lan Huan’s hand made a complicated gesture that looked sort of like a punch if one knew the circumstances they were discussing.

Of course, Lan Huan did. At the time, Lan Zhan hadn’t known how to explain the way his lip became split nor why a bruise bloomed along his jaw except by handing over the truth.

He’d been, rightly or wrongly, a prig at the time. As such, he’d never begrudged Jiang Cheng the punch itself, though he still sometimes wondered why Wei Ying always seemed to exist only on the periphery of Jiang Cheng’s life, an accessory to be held close only when it suited Jiang Cheng or when it seemed like Wei Ying might have someone else who cared for him. That, he still begrudged.

“Jiang Cheng and I are not on the friendliest of terms, no.” They coexisted peaceably enough by never, ever interacting. By mutual and silent agreement, they’d decided that Wei Ying should never know the extent to which they disliked one another. Now it felt like Lan Zhan was the one breaking that delicate truce. He could only imagine how Jiang Cheng would feel once he found out.

Too much, as always. There was nobody else that Lan Zhan knew who felt so much so openly and so much at the expense of others.

“But Wei Ying invited you anyway?” Lan Huan asked.

“Mn.”

“And I’m assuming you haven’t told him about your… past with Jiang Cheng?”

It sounded so sordid when Lan Huan called it that and he frowned at Lan Huan as a consequence. “It didn’t seem relevant for either of us to speak of it to Wei Ying, no.”

“Hm. You’re not willing to decline the invitation, are you?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“Of course not,” Lan Huan mused softly. “Well, you’ll just have to make a good impression, won’t you? Or at least be as polite as you can be if that’s no longer possible.”

Lan Zhan knew how to be polite with ninety-nine percent of the people he came across. The only other person he couldn’t be truly civil with was Su She, but for Wei Ying, he was willing to do his best with Jiang Cheng.

The same, of course, could not be said of Su She, but Wei Ying didn’t associate with Su She, so that didn’t matter.

“What will you bring over?” Lan Huan asked.

“What?”

“Do you need help deciding on something?” Lan Huan asked.

Lan Zhan shook his head. No, that should be easy enough. He’d seen enough distantly acceptable gifts in his time to know what would be appropriate: scarf or shawl for Wei Ying’s sister and perhaps a nice—but not too nice—bottle of liquor for Jiang Cheng. The politics of gift-giving actually formed an interesting challenge and one that Lan Zhan had no problems navigating normally.

Mostly this was because he didn’t care to leave a good impression. It just happened because he was polite. In this case, he was stuck with an already bad impression to clean away. Too fancy and he would look stuck up. Too little and it would look like a slight, deliberate or unintentional. He wanted an olive branch and didn’t quite know how to get it, but he would figure it out.

“I think it’ll be fine,” Lan Huan said. “It could even be a good thing, right? Wei Ying’s bringing you into new corners of his life. Isn’t… isn’t that kind of what you always wanted?”

Lan Zhan’s lips thinned. He was getting dangerously close to a topic he wasn’t quite ready to broach, not until he had worked out with Wei Ying what they were to one another.

“Wei Ying is important to me.”

It wasn’t a lie, he didn’t think, and his brother probably wouldn’t think of it as such either. It still felt as though he was keeping the truth from him. Lan Huan must have misconstrued his look because he raised his hands. “I know you like to pretend you’re unaffected, but I know you still care deeply for him.”

“I do.”

“Is it… not also nice to know you’re important to him, too?”

Lan Zhan tilted his head slightly. The problem, the biggest problem really, the reason why Lan Zhan probably had never been able to truly let go and move on? This was the crux of it. “I already know I’m important to him.” In fact, outside of his siblings, there wasn’t anyone more important. Everything he did and said told Lan Zhan that. There was nobody in Lan Zhan’s life who could or would stay except for his brother… and Wei Ying.

It was what made it so difficult. That kind of intensity, that knowledge that Wei Ying would remain even through everything he’d gone through. Nobody could measure up to that. If Lan Zhan could have excised his physical needs from himself, he would have been entirely happy and not just mostly happy, content, fulfilled in most ways save one.

And Wei Ying has now given him that last piece, too.

“A-Zhan, let me be happy for you.” Lan Huan considered him closely. “I think it’s a good thing. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

Lan Zhan nodded, more settled now. His brother had given him something to focus on by bringing up the gift, something he could chew on in the back of his mind as they worked, and he’d offered Lan Zhan a good reminder. It didn’t matter if he feared seeing Jiang Cheng again, what might happen, he could do it because he was doing it for Wei Ying, because Wei Ying asked him.

Perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t waited for a better time to broach the topic.

“Thank you,” he said. Clearing his throat, he tipped his laptop screen a little, eyes settling on it. “We should get back to it.”

The corner of Lan Huan’s mouth pulled up. “We should.”

The hell of it was, Lan Zhan should have seen it coming, but now that he was here, he had no true defenses.

He’d worried so much about Jiang Cheng that he didn’t consider what Wei Ying might do, how solicitous he might be, and in front of his siblings, like he was staking a claim.

Even though they’d had sex three times now in only four days—which was at least once more than he usually had by this point, managing twice at most when he invited someone back—he might as well have been in the middle of a drought for how he reacted to being near Wei Ying. The problem, as Lan Zhan saw it, was that Wei Ying wouldn’t stop touching him, not before dinner, not during dinner, not after dinner. And Jiang Cheng glared at him the whole time while Jiang Yanli smiled softly at them both and it was so much, too much. Wei Ying couldn’t touch him this much. It shouldn’t have been allowed.

He was pretty sure he was going to die before he ever got out of this house.

It was… moderately terrifying to have Wei Ying plastered to his side on a couch, have Wei Ying’s hand on his thigh as he kept passing food into his bowl at the dinner table, like a truly devoted boyfriend might do, feel his fingers sweep over his skin when neither of his siblings were looking.

Lan Zhan mentally counted down the moments until it would no longer be rude to make his exit. Even if he wanted to stay—which, he didn’t truly, this was physical and emotional torture of the highest caliber—Wei Ying deserved to have some time with his family without Lan Zhan there.

Of course, that didn’t stop Wei Ying from following him out either, following him all the way to the car, staring at him with beseeching eyes, as though he wanted Lan Zhan to ask him to come with him, which… that didn’t seem right at all and yet it didn’t seem wrong either, but Wei Ying wouldn’t say anything and Lan Zhan was only as strong as his silences would allow. He could not speak into existence the thing Wei Ying seemed to want.

Every time he thought to bid farewell, Wei Ying surprised him. Asked him if he enjoyed himself. Asked him to stay. Asked him—

“Why didn’t you tell me Jiang Cheng punched you in the face?” Wei Ying asked as he wrapped his hand around the car door, stopping Lan Zhan from making as graceful an exit as he could manage, which wasn’t graceful at all.

Oh. Well, he supposed he was just glad it wasn’t he who’d had to break that detail to Wei Ying. Presumably, Jiang Cheng told him the truth, but Lan Zhan wasn’t aware of how much of the truth he’d told. It could’ve been that alone or it could’ve been more.

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to reveal, but he couldn’t leave Wei Ying answerless when he was asking outright. It concerned him; he had the right to know about it. Damn the man, he thought anyway. Jiang Cheng really knew how to aggravate a person: namely Lan Zhan.

“It didn’t seem necessary,” Lan Zhan offered: the truth. “He made his position clear.” Another truth.

Wei Ying didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, but…”

“It’s in the past. I bear him no grudge.” Lan Zhan was doing very well on the speaking the truth part of the evening. In fact, it was almost easy now to talk about how he felt about Jiang Cheng.

And yet, despite being so good, Wei Ying wasn’t willing to cut him even the slightest degree of slack. “Why not? Why would you agree to come?”

“Because he’s your brother,” he said, another easy answer to give. But he knew he had to offer some of himself, too, if he wanted out of this. His own truth, like chewing a leg off to escape a trap. “And were our positions reversed, I may have wanted to do the same to him. I came because you asked me to.”

“Lan Zhan?”

That was enough truth for one evening. “Good night, Wei Ying.”

“You’re just—not going to explain that? At all? It’s kind of out of character, Lan Zhan. I can’t imagine you wanting to punch someone.”

Focusing on the steering wheel stopped him from doing something awful, like pushing Wei Ying away so that he wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. Wei Ying wasn’t there in that parking lot in the dark; he was off all but falling apart while he tried to rebuild himself. And Jiang Cheng hadn’t seen through any of Wei Ying’s bullshit to see the truth for what it had been at the time: Wei Ying hadn’t been okay, no matter how much he pretended.

It probably wasn’t entirely fair to blame Jiang Cheng. When Wei Ying didn’t want you to know something, he would go through valiant efforts to keep it from you, sometimes so skilled at doing so that you didn’t even know what you were missing. But it still felt like he should have known.

If he said any of that, though, he’d probably just annoy Wei Ying. For better or worse—and Lan Zhan didn’t truly believe it was for the worse—Wei Ying loved Jiang Cheng and would support him.

Still, Wei Ying deserved to know. “It would have been infuriating to me to know someone else was in a position to help you when I could not. Luckily, it was not me who was forced into that position.” There. He’d said something of what he meant. It was all he had left to say, except for the one thing he couldn’t yet speak of. And it was the truth. He didn’t know what he would do if Wei Ying stopped allowing him to help.

Finally, Wei Ying stepped out of the way.

Once he was home, safely locked away behind the door to his condo, he could breathe again. As he listened to Turpentine ripping up cardboard and hopping around happily in her hutch, he could still his raggedly beating heart. He might have thunked his head against the door, tightened his hands into fists at his side, breathed the words, “Stupid, this is stupid,” into the empty spaces of his condo. Finally he pulled, with shaking hands, his phone from his pocket to let Wei Ying know he’d made it home okay and hoped he conveyed that he wasn’t some weird, obsessed little man who didn’t know how to articulate his feelings, who would have a difficult time with something like this.

He wasn’t certain he got his point across or that there was any point to be made, but as he dressed for bed, body humming with pent-up energy, he forced himself to accept that what was said was said and he could act like a grown up about it tomorrow. He’d make it up to Wei Ying then, he assured himself.

2011

If he thought about it, he would have expected not being around Wei Ying would do wonders for his ability to concentrate on class. Without Wei Ying tapping away at his notebook or fussing with a doodle or staring off into space while Lan Zhan tried to listen to his professors’ lectures, it should have been easy. Instead, his mind was the one that wandered now, hour after hour. What was Wei Ying doing now and now and now? Was he well? Was he happier today than yesterday or the day before or the day before that?

Lan Zhan didn’t know. So he wondered. And the occasional message the rest of the week wasn’t cutting it, especially when Wei Ying was as busy as he said he would be, rarely answering right away and when he did, it always seemed to be after Lan Zhan went to bed. And then, when Lan Zhan would answer first thing in the morning, he wouldn’t hear back until mid-morning, when he was already in class and—

And Lan Zhan hated it, this… friendship conducted in chopped-up slow motion.

He sat on his couch, sighed, threw his pen at the couch cushion along with his notebook with his notes for an essay that felt more like pulling out every tooth in his head, word by single word.

But now that it was done, he could complete his favorite part of the process. Calculating out exactly how much time it had taken him to complete this monstrosity, he could forget for a moment exactly how frustrating this new wrinkle in his relationship with Wei Ying. After all, it was usually soothing to do this: sit down and add this bit of work into the spreadsheet he kept. Each moment spent completing assignments, test preparations, these tedious essays… it was all worth it when it could be documented in this way, stark black and white numbers, color-coded boxes. They were statistics he could cling to. These were the steps he hiked up the mountain path of his life’s plans and they were beautiful in a way, comforting.

Except… except it was a month into the semester and he was noticing a stark downward trend when compared to previous years, even last semester, when he spent part of most of his days with Wei Ying. His grades remained even, at least, but it took more and more time to do the necessary work.

It was not ideal.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying called. Late by ten minutes—practically on time, in truth—he approached the table. Breathing heavy, as though he’d raced here, he said, “Sorry, sorry. I’m a mess.” Lan Zhan had already once offered to move their meeting time to later, but Wei Ying declined, saying he’d do better. He was trying.

He still failed more often than not.

Lan Zhan, once a man who found tardiness to be so disrespectful as to almost be its own sin, found he didn’t mind in the slightest. He would wait any length of time for Wei Ying. One reason, maybe, that it was suddenly taking so much longer to complete his work. Perhaps his growing laxity with Wei Ying was reflecting back on his own habits. Something to consider.

Returning with his order, Wei Ying sat, tossing his bag at the chair next to him. Huffing, he splayed himself halfway across the table as he curled his hands around his mug. There were bruised looking bags under his eyes, the delicate skin dark and a little puffy. Unlike normal, he’d ordered coffee.

This tea shop was not especially known for its coffee. Lan Zhan had never seen Wei Ying drink coffee. And when Wei Ying ordered tea, it was usually full of milk or sugar or both. This looked black, undoctored, the scent pungent.

Lan Zhan wanted to ask about it, but Wei Ying was already chattering away about his day, the inconsequential minutiae that Lan Zhan craved to hear about, wished he’d been there to see, which was insensible because why should Lan Zhan care to have been walking with Wei Ying to class when he happened to see a rabbit hopping around in the bushes by the art building? Why should he want to have sat with Wei Ying during his lunch break when a vending machine had spit out an extra bottle of juice?

“Wei Ying,” he said, finally cutting Wei Ying’s words off entirely. “How are you doing really?”

Wei Ying glared down into the mug that remained mostly full before him. His fingers tapped out arrhythmic beats, awkward and clumsy, against the ceramic. “Good!” He laughed. “Everything’s fine, Lan Zhan. Did I tell you about Mianmian’s performance yet? She was—”

He did not care about Mianmian’s performance. “Wei Ying.” His gaze lowered to the mug and then back up. He gestured at his own eyes. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

“Pfft. I’m sleeping fine, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said breezily, which meant he was not. And there was nothing Lan Zhan could do about it because he wasn’t there enough to help. And anyway: what would he even do? Put Wei Ying to bed himself? Sit on his chest to make him sleep?

“It does not seem so,” Lan Zhan pressed anyway, because he apparently didn’t know when to quit when it came to Wei Ying. He only wanted Wei Ying to be well, to go back to the way he’d been last semester, when he seemed happier. What could have changed in so few months? He didn’t dare ask. Likely, he wouldn’t receive an accurate answer anyway. He knew the shape of Wei Ying’s problem maybe, but he didn’t know its contents.

It was arrogant to believe he could lift Wei Ying’s mood or improve anything for him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

Wei Ying grimaced and straightened his spine. “How are you doing, Lan Zhan? How are all those stuffy art history and criticism classes you’re stuck taking? Have you learned new ways to eviscerate my work in the kindest way possible?”

“Is that really how you see what I do?”

“Ugh, no. Sorry. I just…” Laughing bitterly, he brought the mug to his mouth, nearly draining it. “You’re right maybe. There’s not enough time in the day. I’m hoping it’ll ease up soon.”

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Since when are you my knight in shining armor? I’m an adult. I can handle it.” Though he said this sweetly enough, Lan Zhan could hear the steel underneath. Drop this, that cold, unyielding metal spine said, I will not remain gracious about it.

Lan Zhan did not want to drop it, but he also didn’t want to alienate Wei Ying further when they had such little time together already. Instead, he answered the question Wei Ying asked, only fibbing a little. How was he doing? He was well. His classes were fulfilling.

He didn’t complain about his inability to study efficiently; it seemed like it might rub salt in Wei Ying’s wound.

“How’s the job going? You said it was short-term?” Lan Zhan asked, doing the exact opposite of dropping it. It was like he couldn’t help it. The question asked itself.

“Mmhmm,” Wei Ying agreed. “Sadly not short-term enough. But. Getting there.”

“What are you even doing?”

Wei Ying groaned and turned his head, cracking his neck. “You know the Wen family, right?”

Lan Zhan’s stomach twisted. He did, in fact, know the Wen family. He knew that his uncle hated them and that they bullied anyone who crossed their path unless they were rich enough to stand up to the pressure. How Wei Ying got involved with them was anyone’s guess—they didn’t generally stray far from the port cities that dotted the coast—but they liked to pretend they were benevolent patrons of the art.

It was more like they enjoyed chewing up and spitting out artists, hiring them to create tasteless, joyless embarrassments, but perhaps that was merely Lan Zhan’s uncle talking for him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I know. But it’s really not so bad. Just—tedious. And time consuming. I’ve spent more time with Wen Chao than I ever, ever wanted to, which sucks, too, but it’s a lot of money for something I could do in my sleep and I don’t particularly care if everyone ends up thinking I’m a fool for the hilariously gauche request that’s being made of me. It’s not like I’m planning on trying to make it big in Shanghai or some shit. Anyway, it pissed Madam Yu off, which is a net good, and Wen Ruohan is really happy with Wen Qing for making it happen, so.” He waved his hand. “You know, whatever. I make Wen Chao and Wen Xu look like heroically beautiful men. Wen Ruohan pays me a stupid amount of money. I laugh my way home and get back to the work I actually want to do. The hardest part is they want me to actually go to their stupid penthouses to do it, which is a commute, you know? Who wants to take a train into Wuhan so often? Like I can’t find five hundred photos of them online and send progress updates and then ship the canvases to them when it’s all said and done. They’re fucking morons.” Wei Ying sighed dramatically, opening his hands. “But who cares about integrity when the fruit hangs so low?”

“Wen Qing? Wen Qing is—? And Wen Ning?” He hadn’t even considered the possibility that they were from that family of Wens, but it made a certain amount of sense.

“Yeah, cousins something-something removed, but they’re not like them. Obviously. The point is they’re paying well for garbage. What’s not to love?”

It sounded very much as though Wei Ying was trying to convince himself of this fact, but Lan Zhan said nothing to contradict him.

The rest of the scant hour they spent together passed easily enough now that Wei Ying had confessed what he was doing, explained why he looked the way he did, why he was acting the way he was acting. It did little to appease Lan Zhan, but he was in no position to push for better. They might have been friends, but they weren’t close in a way that made Lan Zhan feel comfortable enough to speak his fears into being in the middle of a warm, late summer afternoon while Wei Ying blew steam from his mug.

And then Wei Ying was packing away his things, thanking Lan Zhan for the company, and dashing out the door, leaving Lan Zhan confused and wanting, wanting something he couldn’t have, wanting more of Wei Ying than he had any right to expect.

He gathered his own things more slowly and wandered back to his car, directionless and frustrated, energy buzzing under his skin that he didn’t know what to do with. It was no better when he got back home, his apartment too quiet and still for what he wanted, what he needed.

He realized, quite suddenly, that he knew exactly what that spreadsheet was telling him. Every distraction in his life now revolved around his thoughts about Wei Ying, his wishes.

In a month’s worth of numbers, it told him the one thing he didn’t want to acknowledge, the thing he’d managed to push down since they’d come back from break, the reasons why he was so distracted:

He wanted Wei Ying.

He wanted Wei Ying in his bed, beneath him and above him, his mouth and his hands and that perfectly shaped ass of his.

He wanted to take Wei Ying on dates, coffee dates, dinner dates, museum dates, and to make him smile and laugh. He wanted to protect the bubble of Wei Ying’s happiness, always threatening to collapse around him.

He wanted to keep Wei Ying forever, be there with him in everything he did.

He wanted so damned much and he could only capture snatches of that want, enough to show him what it would look like if he could have it all.

It threatened to choke him, all the things he wanted, bombarding him in violent technicolor flashes as soon as he stepped through the door to his apartment. He didn’t just want to kiss Wei Ying, didn’t just want those vague imaginings he’d dreamt up on occasion of body pressed to body, nothings that could be swatted away and forgotten because they couldn’t go anywhere.

No, he wanted. Desperately. And now that he was forced to acknowledged it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Wei Ying, who flirted with everyone and wanted nothing more than sweet, fun words in return. Wei Ying, who teased in a way that no one could take seriously. Wei Ying, who’d never once talked about dating or romance or sleeping with people, who treated other people’s hearts with care—Lan Zhan could not forget the way he’d asked Lan Zhan to help him protect Nie Huaisang’s—but wanted nothing for himself.

That was the Wei Ying he wanted and that was the Wei Ying he couldn’t have.

2025

Lan Zhan woke up, slow and languid, with Wei Ying’s warm presence against his back, Wei Ying’s arms wrapped around his torso, Wei Ying’s lips pressed against the juncture where his shoulder met neck, Wei Ying surrounding him for the first time in what felt like a century despite it only having been a week since they’d been able to do this with one another. It already felt like a luxury, a blessing, a thing outside of their normal routine even though back home Lan Zhan woke entwined with Wei Ying every day.

It was nice. This was nice. Feeling Wei Ying’s chest against his back, their legs tangled together, Wei Ying’s… morning presence pressed against him, it was all nice.

He could have—and probably should have—worked his way out from beneath Wei Ying’s touch to prepare for their day, make sure all of their things were together, order breakfast, take a shower, but it was so peaceful like this, a cozy little burrow in the world they’d somehow built for themselves in the night. Slipping his hand over Wei Ying’s, he closed his eyes again. He could forgive himself this much.

When he awoke for the second time, it was a good deal less relaxed than the first time.

“You’re telling me all the flights are delayed?” Wei Ying was saying, muffled, from the hallway. Wei Ying’s half-dressed body crossed the visible sliver left by the door, slightly ajar, as he paced back and forth. “For how long?”

Wei Ying stopped somewhere beyond Lan Zhan’s ability to see from this angle.

“No, no, no. That’s not—I need to know. Really. I’m not just trying to be difficult here, but—I understand there’s nothing you can do about it, but you must have experience with this sort of thing, right? How long does this shit normally last?” There was a laugh from Wei Ying, almost choked. “Un-fucking-believable. No, not you. Sorry. I just—and priority goes to the groom’s family, of course.” A long silence followed. “No, I don’t want to arrange a day at the spa to kill time. I’ll just—can you make sure we’re on the first possible flight out? Please? Thank you.”

There was a quiet exhalation that Lan Zhan might have missed if he wasn’t listening so intently, then a light thud. For far longer than Lan Zhan expected, there was no other sound, no other motion, just a dead zone around Wei Ying just outside the room.

He was in the process of getting up when Wei Ying stepped inside; he looked small, diminished, torn down entirely. His eyes met Lan Zhan’s as he seemed to crumple even further inward.

“Dunno how much you heard,” he said, so careful, so brittle. His palm brushed across his bare bicep, goose pimpled. “Flights are delayed. Fucking rain again.”

It was only then that Lan Zhan noticed the pelting sound of rain against the roof, the ugly grayness of the sky outside the window, mostly hidden by the haphazardly pulled drapes.

Wei Ying sat heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his thighs. He didn’t move, scarcely seemed to breathe for a long moment. Before Lan Zhan could say anything or offer any comfort, he sucked in that breath he’d been holding and clapped his hands together. “Right, well. Nothing to be done about it,” he said, cheerful in a way that Lan Zhan found more troubling than his earlier bad mood. “Fuck it, yeah?”

Falling backward onto the bed, he threw his arms out and stared at the ceiling. His phone rang from where it sat on his naked chest. The caller ID damned him as Madam Yu’s name flashed across the screen. Wei Ying looked down at it, put it on silent, and then tossed the phone aside entirely.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, shifting close enough for Wei Ying to grab hold of his thigh and adjust himself until he could use it as a pillow. He brushed Wei Ying’s hair from his eyes, feathered his fingers through the sleek, soft strands. Wei Ying hummed lightly and rubbed his cheek against Lan Zhan’s leg. The light dusting of stubble tickled pleasantly even through the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

“The front desk didn’t have a good time frame for when planes will be able to land again. It could be ten minutes from now or ten hours. Or maybe with my luck: ten days.” He groaned. “God, I hope it won’t be ten days.”

“It won’t,” Lan Zhan said. If Lan Zhan was inclined to worry, it wouldn’t be about ten days of rain. It would instead be about flooding or a mudslide or damage to the scant runway on which they’d landed coming in. He did not give voice to any of these concerns.

“I don’t know, Lan Zhan. Have you seen my luck since we’ve gotten here?”

“Mn,” he said, still brushing at Wei Ying’s hair. “It’s been terrible.”

That earned a laugh from Wei Ying at least, which was more than Lan Zhan was truly expecting to get out of him. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You sure know how to sympathize with a guy.”

“Only you,” Lan Zhan replied, playing it up in the hopes that the teasing would distract Wei Ying from the worst of his thoughts. It did manage to get a second laugh out of him, which he supposed was progress, at least of a sort.

“Do you want me to order breakfast?” Wei Ying asked, just another form of distraction. “You slept in.”

“I did. I can order breakfast.”

Wei Ying smiled softly at him. “It was nice to see.” Then he pushed himself up onto his hands and brushed his thumb over the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Even if you were drooling a little bit.”

“I was not.”

“Okay, maybe not,” Wei Ying agreed pleasantly, warmer than before. “But it was cute anyway. You’re very cute.”

Lan Zhan didn’t blush at Wei Ying’s words, but he did feel rather bashful all of a sudden, buoyed up by them in a way that he feared he couldn’t buoy up Wei Ying in return. “Let me order breakfast.”

When he found the menu, he discovered he didn’t even need to call, that he could just use an app to do so, and he was pleased at how easy it was to pick out the things Wei Ying would like, before offering the menu just in case he wanted something else, too. Wei Ying said, droll, “How about a bottle of champagne?” He patted Lan Zhan’s knee when Lan Zhan frowned. “Okay, no mimosas then.” He gave the menu a cursory glance and then flung it aside. “I’m good with whatever you ordered, Lan er-gege.”

Though Wei Ying was joking, he Lan Zhan did add a bottle of champagne to the request, as well as coffee and tea, and pineapple-orange juice in case Wei Ying did decide he wanted a mimosa. If this was their last day on this island—and Lan Zhan desperately hoped it was, for Wei Ying’s sake if not his own—he wanted Wei Ying to enjoy himself. If that meant spending the morning getting tipsy and picking over food while they sat cross-legged on the bed, then so be it.

The food arrived quickly and it truly wasn’t so very bad, not even with the specter of Madam Yu’s call hanging over them.

When Wei Ying playfully held up a chunk of mango for him, he allowed Wei Ying to feed it to him, much to Wei Ying’s surprised delight, smiling slightly at Wei Ying as he bit into it, sweet juice flooding his mouth.

“What do you want to do when we get home?” Lan Zhan asked, going so far as to allow Wei Ying pour him a glass of the pineapple-orange juice with a very, very, very small amount of the champagne that remained, still cold, in the bottle.

“Liberate Turpentine from jail,” Wei Ying said, not even needing time to think about it. “Get fucked with all those toys of ours you wouldn’t pack until I can’t move from the middle of our own bed. Not even one handcuff for your poor Wei Ying in all this time. A travesty. What kind of destination wedding vacation was this?”

Heat rose in Lan Zhan’s cheeks and something else rose, too, that wasn’t quite so demure. Draining his glass, he pretended he didn’t enjoy the way Wei Ying was grumbling so dramatically and pathetically. “A single handcuff wouldn’t do much good, would it?” he asked, because being pedantic beat shoving cooling food to the floor for some poor employee to clean up later when it stuck to the plush carpet and congealed. “And anyway,” he continued, “we didn’t put Turpentine in jail.” Boarding her wasn’t jail, even though Wei Ying had looked a little upset when they left her at the local rabbit shelter for the duration of their stay here. Normally, she would have gone to Lan Huan’s on the rare occasions when Wei Ying and Lan Zhan were both going to be gone. This was the first time all three of them needed to be away at the same time. Lan Zhan had been nervous, too, but he hid it a little better than Wei Ying did. “She’s fine.”

“She probably had to socialize with other rabbits.”

“The caretaker is aware she’s not very interested in other rabbits,” Lan Zhan said, secretly a little pleased even now that Wei Ying was so smitten with her, that he worried this much about her wellbeing, knew her personality so well. “She will have kept an eye on her.”

They’d had this argument already—what if they don’t play with her enough, Lan Zhan, what if the other rabbits are mean, Tiny’s set in her ways now, what if she gets sad and Wei Ying, they are paid to keep the rabbits exercised and happy, that is their job, the other rabbits aren’t going to be mean, Turpentine won’t be sad, though he wasn’t entirely sure that last counterpoint was the truth, but he didn’t like to think about it—and Lan Zhan suspected Wei Ying was starting this up again now to keep from talking about other things. Whining about Turpentine and whining about sex were easy compared to the conversation they probably needed to have instead.

It was not, however, a conversation Lan Zhan wanted to have here, so he let it go.

To Lan Zhan’s relief, the rain let up quickly, the storm passing with little enough fanfare. Wei Ying only lost a little bit of his mind as he threw himself around the villa in fits and starts, pacing one moment, flopping across the kitchenette counter or couch or the floor the next. It was easier for him to behave, apparently, when others were there to witness it, because as soon as the door jiggled, key sliding into lock, Wei Ying popped to his feet and feigned ease.

As Lan Huan stepped through the front door, Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang in tow, he stilled and laughed awkwardly and said, “Hey! Long time,” like they hadn’t just spent a week in the same place as one another. He supposed to Wei Ying, each moment must feel like a lifetime.

It had been… a bit of a stretch for Lan Zhan, too.

“Jiang Cheng is looking for you,” Nie Huaisang said, which Lan Zhan understood to mean that Madam Yu was looking for him, too. “You’re not answering your phone.”

Lan Zhan rose from where he’d been sitting on the couch, half an eye on the sliding glass door. Wei Ying hadn’t noticed yet, but the skies were looking bluer than before and sunlight dappled the water, sparking and dancing across its ever-changing surface. Lan Zhan hadn’t said anything for fear of getting his hopes up. They’d be alerted when it was time to go. There was no point bringing to his attention the fact that they weren’t yet given the okay.

“Phone’s on silent,” Wei Ying said, cheerful. “It’s not like where I am is some great mystery. If he really wants to yell at me, he can come here and do so.”

Meng Yao, just outside the open doorway, opening and closing the umbrella he’d brought with him to rid it of the worst of the raindrops that clung to it, turned and threw an incredulous look Wei Ying’s way. With one last shake of the thing, he closed it and placed it against the wall, shutting the door behind him. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in this conversation either, because he ignored it and said, managing a cordial and moderate tone as he not so subtly changed the subject, “There was a storm in Manila, too, but it’s been clear for a couple of hours now. We’ve been told they’re letting planes disembark anyway. The concierge said it shouldn’t be long until the first arrives.” His mouth twisted in a wry little smile. “It’s amazing what having a good last name will do for you. I wonder how long we’d be stuck here if it wasn’t on my father’s dime.”

“We’re sorry to disturb you,” Lan Huan said, precisely ignoring Meng Yao’s jab. “I… didn’t have a chance to pack.”

“Ah, Huan-ge,” Wei Ying said, wagging his finger. “Naughty.”

Lan Huan didn’t have the temerity to blush the way Lan Zhan might have, didn’t look embarrassed or chagrined in the slightest. He just kept that placid smile in place. He said, sparing a glance for Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao both, “We all have our flaws.”

“The concierge also said if you want to have your things made ready at the front desk, they’ll make sure they’re all packed on the plane. From what I hear, ours will be the third out,” Meng Yao said. He didn’t quite meet Wei Ying’s eyes as he spoke his next piece. “The Jiangs will be going back with the Jin family to Beijing for a short time. I believe that’s why Jiang Cheng was looking for you. You are expected to join them.” His gaze flicked to Lan Zhan. “As is Lan Zhan, I believe.”

When Wei Ying spoke, there was ice in his tone. It matched the ice that settled in Lan Zhan’s stomach at hearing the news. “Excuse me?”

Meng Yao offered a consolatory shrug. What can I do, he didn’t have to say. I’m just the messenger. Then again, he wasn’t even really the messenger. He was just delivering the news offhand.

Lan Zhan… really wished he’d kept his mouth shut, because the pacing resumed and then just as quickly got cut off when Wei Ying sharply returned to the bedroom. He returned with his cell phone in hand, already swiping viciously at the screen. Though he was muttering to himself, he was easily overheard. Shoving his feet into his shoes, he said, “Can’t make a single fucking decision about my own life this week, I guess.” He was already out the front door when he barked, “Jiang Cheng, what the fuck,” into the phone and then was politely out of normal hearing range in the matter of a few steps.

“It was a last minute decision,” Meng Yao explained to Lan Zhan. “I believe Jiang Yanli might have mentioned how nice it was to get to see everyone and it… went from there. I’m sorry you two got dragged into it.”

Even Lan Huan, who was generally far more moderate in all respects, including offering the benefit of the doubt to everyone, sighed, exasperated. “A-Yao, your family…”

“I am very well aware.” He swallowed and forced an even wider smile on his mouth. “Trust me, I know.”

“And they didn’t think of inviting you?” Lan Huan asked.

“Of course not,” Meng Yao replied through rows of pristine teeth. “Not that I’m interested in spending more time with them, but no. The invitation was not extended to me.”

“Tsch,” Nie Huaisang said. “I told you, ge. You should have sabotaged the ceremony somehow.”

“The bridal party didn’t deserve that even if the bride has… conspicuously bad taste in husbands. I’m a few months too late to ruin their union anyway.”

“Here’s hoping she’s only in it for the money,” Nie Huaisang said agreeably enough. “Since getting a pre-nup looked too bad for Jin Zixun to allow it. He should have just swallowed his pride.”

“A-Sang,” Lan Huan said, but the rebuke was weak, especially when Meng Yao’s smile seemed to turn a little more genuine at Nie Huaisang’s not-exactly-pleasant words.

“Oh, come on. He’s a blowhard and a jerk. Nobody likes him and yet somehow—” Nie Huaisang waved his hand around. “—he gets all of this done for him? What made him so special? He’s not even Jin Guangshan’s son.”

“That we know of,” Meng Yao said darkly.

“See,” Nie Huaisang said. “I hope she takes him for half his worth and runs off into the sunset with someone handsomer than Jin Zixun.”

Lan Huan rolled his eyes affectionately and opened his mouth to answer when Wei Ying came stomping back up the path. Though it had indeed stopped raining, he’d apparently stood somewhere where it was still dripping, because his face and hair were wet and his shirt was dotted with droplets of water. Outside the door, he wiped off his mud-covered shoes, and gave up when he realized there was no cleaning them enough to bring them inside.

Barefooted, he stomped over to where Lan Zhan still stood and stabbed his finger in Lan Zhan’s chest. “You didn’t want to go to Beijing, did you?”

Lan Zhan shook his head.

“Good,” Wei Ying said, sharp, wild-eyed, “because we’re really fucking not.” Face flushing red, he turned and looked at the other three occupants of the room. “Sorry. That was—really rather rude of me. Anyway. I’ll, uh… I promise I’m not always this…” He gestured vaguely. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay, Wei Ying,” Lan Huan said. “I’m sure we all understand more than you know.”

“Ahah, I bet so. Some of us just aren’t as good at handling it as Huan-ge.” He bowed his head, charming in his exaggeration. “Thank you for your understanding.”

“Yes, yes. I’m very benevolent,” Lan Huan said. More to Lan Zhan than Wei Ying, he added, “We’ll leave you to it.”

As soon as Lan Huan, Meng Yao, and Nie Huaisang retreated to Lan Huan’s long-abandoned room, Wei Ying slumped, seeming all over again to collapse inward. Though Lan Zhan felt he should ask what had happened, he was a little worried about the answer he’d get and selfishly wanted to delay the inevitable.

“Well, Jiang Cheng’s pissed at me,” Wei Ying offered before Lan Zhan could think of anything to say. “Madam Yu is furious and I’ve disappointed jiejie.”

Lan Zhan swallowed down the retort that found itself sitting maliciously on his tongue. When isn’t Jiang Cheng pissed, he didn’t say. Madam Yu is always furious.

Wei Ying smiled at him, unhappy. His earlier hard-earned acceptance of their current situation twisted into something far, far uglier. If Lan Zhan had to lay odds, he assumed it was more because he thought he’d disappointed Jiang Yanli rather than any anger Jiang Cheng or Madam Yu might have directed his way and so he chose to focus on that. “Jiang Yanli could never be disappointed in you.” It was easy to say because he knew it was true as he pulled Wei Ying into his arms again.

“That’s what she said, too, but she should be,” Wei Ying said. “It’s selfish, right? What’s a few days in Beijing in the grand scheme of things?”

Not a lot, admittedly, except for the emotional toll it would take on Wei Ying—on them both, since Lan Zhan’s happiness was tied so intimately to Wei Ying’s. “If I tell you it’s not, you won’t believe me.”

Wei Ying laughed, but didn’t say anything else. Regardless, Lan Zhan heard those unspoken things within that laugh. Others would allow themselves to be pressured or they would be glad to spend more time with their family. It was only Wei Ying—in Wei Ying’s mind anyway—who was so broken that he couldn’t cede to his family’s wishes so easily.

“I did not want to go,” Lan Zhan said. “Take whatever comfort from that which you need.” Give me my share of the blame.

“You would have gone,” Wei Ying said. “I think you would have anyway.”

Lan Zhan considered it. Had it been his uncle asking and had he been so upset about the possibility, what would he do? In the past, he would have and would have suffered through each layer of his uncle’s expectations with grace and placidity. He would have allowed his decisions to be scrutinized and measured, judged good or ill by how well they fell in line with his uncle’s beliefs, how useful his uncle decided they were. But he’d had five years… no, more than that, far more than that, of having learned from Wei Ying what it was to stand as his own person, to learn his own merits and trust something other than what his uncle desired for him. It was not bad to cede to the wishes of others and keep the peace where and when it could be kept, but neither was it the only way to be a good human being. Wei Ying taught him that. “I would not have gone under these circumstances.”

It was settling a bit, the truth and not quite the truth. It might not have been so hard for him to say yes and allow the grating expectations to slide off of him, especially now, but taking into account Wei Ying and Turpentine and the life they shared back home and the difficulty of being separated in this way… he could commit to a stance. “I would have said no.”

2020

Lan Zhan’s phone was turning into the bane of his existence. It wasn’t, he knew, the phone’s fault or the fact that it would allow him to connect instantly with Wei Ying whenever he wanted to—which, now, was every moment of the day. He even sometimes woke up in the night and stretched toward his bed stand, thinking of Wei Ying, wanting to tell him… anything, everything, even though he rarely had anything he felt was necessary to say.

Knowing that didn’t even stop him from picking up his phone, starting a text, and then dropping it again when he realized that truth yet again. The day was a nice one, he supposed, good for a Sunday, but it would be no different than the day as it was over at Burial Mounds or anywhere else in town and wasn’t worth commenting on. Same sunshine, same warmth. He could ask Wei Ying how he was, but where would it go from there?

He could invite Wei Ying over, which would answer the question about where that would go, but it felt crass.

Besides, Wei Ying was probably still with his siblings. It was early enough in the day that Jiang Yanli might not have gone back yet. He hadn’t thought to ask Wei Ying. Perhaps it was something he could text. But he didn’t want Wei Ying to feel like Lan Zhan wanted something from him when this thing between them was so fragile and new.

He didn’t want Wei Ying to feel as though he was being stifled by Lan Zhan’s desire for his attention.

While he sat on his balcony with a cup of tea and all these thoughts swirling uselessly, Turpentine pawed around in her patch of grass.

Though he had more experience than many in terms of sexual experience and certainly more than Wei Ying, he didn’t actually know how to date anyone. In that, though he suspected Wei Ying had no experience either, Wei Ying was already far better, inviting Lan Zhan out twice when Lan Zhan hadn’t extended any invitations at all. In fact, Wei Ying had asked him out and taken him on conscientious dates and shown nothing but the greatest care toward Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wasn’t sure what to call it, but doting wouldn’t have been far off.

Wei Ying deserved nothing less in return. Lan Zhan just didn’t know how to get there from here. It was easy to say yes without overthinking it, but facing making his own offer was far more daunting. What would Wei Ying want out of a date? What would make him happiest?

He considered some more.

His phone pinged, startling him from the wild vagaries of his thoughts. i’d like to start painting your walls today fyi, it said, from Wei Ying. Of course it was Wei Ying, the first one to extend a branch to Lan Zhan always, even if it was only to open a line of dialogue regarding Lan Zhan’s commission.

He didn’t answer right away, though the urge itched in the back of his mind, almost a compulsion.

Luo Qingyang will be performing tonight and he’d been planning on going as a show of support despite the very, very short notice she always operated on, preferring spontaneity to anything else. It… probably wouldn’t make for a very good date since they both went to these sorts of events; it wouldn’t be special the way h i d d e n f r a g r a n c e was special. But.

He chewed on his lower lip, eyeing his phone.

There was a rustle from the grass where Turpentine was busy nosing through the pansies Wei Ying had planted for her. Just like that, the decision was made. Scooping up his phone, he pulled up the camera app, adjusted the settings to best capture the quality of the sunlight—he wasn’t a professional, but he’d learned a thing or two over the years—and took a shot.

“Well done,” he said to her, though she paid him little heed, having decided that eating one of the pansies was more important. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for that. As he watched her, he made a few minor adjustments to the image and then sent it off, immediately following up with an admonition that Wei Ying get some rest.

It wasn’t the message he wanted to send, but it was a start, especially since he was sure Wei Ying would give him another opening as soon as he saw Turpentine’s picture. He wasn’t left waiting for long. His phone dinged again, Wei Ying’s exuberance for Turpentine made manifest over the text. turpentineeeeeeeeee give her a pet for me Lan Zhan she’s so cute!!! He did as requested, snapping his fingers lightly to get her attention and then drawing his hand back and forth across the grass to entice her over. Her fur was soft beneath his fingers, though she’d rolled a bit in the dirt and had gotten bits of grass all over her flanks. Though he’d groomed her this morning, he’d have to do so again.

“Wei Ying taught you to be so troublesome, didn’t he?” he asked, petting her the way Wei Ying petted her, gently between the ears with his knuckle.

Turpentine twitched her nose, whiskers trembling, and then hopped away, rushing back into the thickest part of the flower patch.

His phone dinged again just as he took another picture of her, fluffy golden tail the only part of her still exposed. He warmed. In truth, Wei Ying didn’t text all that often, preferred talking to Lan Zhan in person, so different from their youth. Often, he wandered away from his phone entirely, too busy for it and whoever might be on the other end. The fact that he was, by his standards, blowing up Lan Zhan’s phone made him feel funny, warm. Are you going to mianmians performance?

There, too, was the opening Lan Zhan wanted. He could ask Wei Ying and it wouldn’t be so very awkward to do so, natural in fact. It wouldn’t be an ideal date, but if Lan Zhan waited for an idea that was perfect, he might never get there. Spending time with Wei Ying was important regardless.

Would you like to go with me?

I was going to ask you

Ah, that warm feeling again. How could Wei Ying manage so often to do this to him? It wasn’t fair. And he didn’t seem to notice the effect when they were together. He considered what he should say to Wei Ying in response. I would like that.

Youre okay with it

From the lack of punctuation or any other indicator, Lan Zhan couldn’t tell whether it was a statement or a question, but he supposed it was probably a question. He typed out a few responses, deleted them, and went back to the first thought that came into his head. Why wouldn’t I be?

When Wei Ying didn’t answer, Lan Zhan worried he might have overstepped or embarrassed Wei Ying, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with what he’d said and had no idea why Wei Ying would think Lan Zhan would be anything other than okay with it. The trick, in his opinion, was ensuring he didn’t behave too much like he was desperate for it. The line was harder to find than it should have been given the ten years of experience he had riding it.

Just checking ill meet you there after ive done some work on your walls

Apparently Wei Ying’s strategy wasn’t so different from what Lan Zhan might have done: he punted the question and drove home his original point instead. That wouldn’t do at all.

Why don’t we have dinner instead?

Shit, he didn’t even know where he’d take Wei Ying. While he waited for Wei Ying’s response, he searched for an appropriate option, scouring his memory for any hints. And then he remembered. There was a restaurant near the venue that Wei Ying had mentioned a few times; he’d never, as far as Lan Zhan knew, had a chance to go. Fighting a grimace at the thought of a menu full of spicy foods, he pulled up a link to the restaurant and sent it along, too.

But Wei Ying wouldn’t give up about the wall. Spending time with Wei Ying was way, way more important than any artificial timeline Wei Ying imposed on the mural.

Selfish, he thought. Wei Ying probably wanted to move on to his next project as quickly as possible, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking for this much of Wei Ying, not when it was within his grasp.

Dinner, at least, was good. Far less awkward from the start than the first or second time. He could even put aside the questions in the back of his mind regarding what Wei Ying thought this was between them. Yes, he’d been the one to ask Lan Zhan out and, yes, he seemed very happy to have sex with him and, yes, he even appeared very much as though he enjoyed going out with Lan Zhan, touching him casually, teasing him, flirting with intent as opposed to the directionless flirting he did with others.

It made those moments where Wei Ying pulled back seem very distant, like when Wei Ying told him that he was thinking too much about what this was or like tonight, when he wouldn’t tell Lan Zhan what he was thinking about, only to say he felt lucky to have a friend like Lan Zhan, it was nice and lucky and good, Lan Zhan’s friendship.

Wei Ying’s friendship was important to Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan knew, if he knew nothing else, that it was vital to Wei Ying, too. It wasn’t some terrible slight for Wei Ying to focus on it, but Lan Zhan didn’t have any friends who behaved with him like this, whom he wanted to pull into an embrace and never let go. He was pretty sure it was the same for Wei Ying.

They were, at this time, casual and Lan Zhan accepted that, but he saw a route forward for something else if only they were willing to take it; if he was bold enough to tell Wei Ying how he felt, perhaps he could have that.

He decided, as they approached the venue, that he would be bold.

Again, Wei Ying was the one to give him the opening he needed, like somehow he knew

“I’ve been thinking I’d rather be at home tonight,” he said, in response to Wei Ying challenging him to figure out what would embarrass him. “With you perhaps.”

Even in the waning light of the day, Lan Zhan could see the light flush on Wei Ying’s cheeks and knew he’d succeeded, but even better, Wei Ying responded favorably, ducking his head and laughing, saying he was sure Mianmian wouldn’t mind if they ducked out early.

If he could be bold…

He will be. He’ll make himself be. Perhaps they would duck out early, even though Lan Zhan had never done so before.

Once they were inside the venue, it didn’t go quite so smoothly. He could live with having to listen to Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao flirt with one another in that weird, vaguely menacing way of theirs and he could deal, he supposed, with his brother dragging Wei Ying away for reasons that were not nearly as opaque as Lan Zhan wanted to pretend they were.

At least he’d been right to refrain from telling Lan Huan everything if he was already pulling Wei Ying aside to have some sort of conference while Nie Huaisang studied Lan Zhan’s features.

“What?” he asked, arching one eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Nie Huaisang offered in a trill. “Nothing at all.”

Before Lan Zhan could question him further, his brother and Wei Ying were returning, sliding into place beside Lan Zhan as though he belonged there, which, as far as Lan Zhan was concerned, he did. “Is everything all right?”

When Wei Ying admitted that he thought Lan Huan suspected something, Lan Zhan found himself both irked and pleased. Irked, because Lan Huan shouldn’t be harassing Wei Ying about this already, but pleased because… because Wei Ying didn’t seem terribly upset about the possibility.

“You seem happier lately is what he said,” Wei Ying settled on finally, looking Lan Zhan’s way and then looking elsewhere, back and forth a few times.

He was happy. Incandescently so when he didn’t fear how to keep from breaking it. So much so that he didn’t yet know how to articulate it. Being with Wei Ying, genuinely being with him, was the most nerve-wracking experience of his life, but it was worth it. “I see,” he said, bland, teasing ever so slightly, curious about Wei Ying’s thoughts, which were also opaque to him tonight in a way they weren’t normally. “And what do you think?”

Whatever Wei Ying was going to say was swallowed up by the arrival of the last person on the planet he expected—or, in that moment, wanted—to see. He held nothing against Li Wenfang, of course. He’d been a courteous lay and an articulate date with at least a few interesting ideas about art buried beneath his need to preen. But now? Of all the times to show up?

It wasn’t that he’d never run into his past before, but he’d never run into it while on a date with his present and future, a present and future that was suddenly frozen in place at his side. Frozen, like he was afraid.

Li Wenfang spared a single glance at Wei Ying, offered a paternalistic, pitying smile, and then returned his attention to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan did not appreciate the slight. “Li Wenfang.” Li Wenfang said nothing. For fuck’s sake. “Wei Ying, will you excuse me for a moment?” Before this goes any more wrong?

Of all the people he’d spent the night with, why did it have to be him?

Wei Ying nodded nervously and twisted around as though in search of something to distract himself with. “Of course,” he said, too chipper to be genuine. “I’ll just go say hi to a few of my friends, yeah?”

Before Lan Zhan could say anything further, Wei Ying was darting away, already feeling so far out of reach of Lan Zhan’s hold on him. Jerking his head, he guided Li Wenfang through the various cliques dotting the room. Most of them were people Lan Zhan was acquainted with and so most of them were people he didn’t want witnessing a conversation of this sort.

Li Wenfang, above all, was a mistake and one Lan Zhan didn’t want to admit to in public.

He’d looked a little too much like Wei Ying when Lan Zhan was feeling a little bit too lonely. Under such a circumstance, he shouldn’t have said yes.

But nobody had been the first to approach him in years—a point in Li Wenfang’s favor at the time: he was charming and kind and paid attention to Lan Zhan, wasn’t disturbed or put out by his cool demeanor—because they were all too scared to do so. Li Wenfang was bold and his cheekbones cut at the same angle as Wei Ying’s. His hair, though shorter than Wei Ying’s, held that same wild quality to it. His voice carried the same vivacity, though it was occasionally punctuated by too much confidence, like Wei Ying only got about his work, except it was about himself.

Not that Wei Ying shouldn’t have been confident in himself. He absolutely should be. But that was where the verisimilitude failed. It was how he kept them so sharply demarcated in his mind.

Li Wenfang showing up here now only confirmed how much of a mistake it was, because Lan Zhan’s palms were sweating and he was furious. He recognized it as impotent fury because to truly allow himself to feel it would be… unwise.

“Why did you want to speak with me?” he asked, keeping a stranglehold on his tone of voice. He didn’t want to be rude to the man, not when he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Li Wenfang smiled broadly. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Lan Zhan blinked, silenced, out of his depth. “Then I have no reason not to return to my…” He was going to call Wei Ying his date, but he knew what Wei Ying had called them before and he was willing to respect that. “Friend.”

“Oh,” Li Wenfang said, interest piqued, the words burdened with so much innuendo it was a wonder they made it out of his mouth at all. “Is that what you are? Friends?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Lan Zhan said.

Li Wenfang’s smile softened as he cast his gaze around the room, finding Wei Ying with missile-like accuracy. “You know, I didn’t really want to say hello,” he said, distant, thoughtful. His eyes scraped up Lan Zhan’s body, settling on his mouth. He was forcibly reminded of how well Li Wenfang had taken him and suspected Li Wenfang was doing this on purpose to remind him. It didn’t matter how good Li Wenfang might have looked beneath him, though. He could not stand against Wei Ying in Lan Zhan’s heart.

“I’m not surprised,” Lan Zhan said, though he was. Nobody else had ever dared to try a second time with him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, not at all,” he said with a sigh. “It is a disappointment, yes, but…” His eyes narrowed and he glanced Wei Ying’s way again. Lan Zhan did not do the same. Suddenly, he laughed. “I didn’t realize you were such a cruel tease.”

“What?”

“When are you going to put that poor ‘friend’ of yours out of his misery anyway?”

“What?”

Li Wenfang blinked and tried to affect an innocent air. “What? He’s clearly dying for you. Take a—actually wait a minute he’s kind of looking over this way. It’ll be conspicuous.” He sighed and shook his head. “Listen to me, as someone who knows, he’s thirsty. I know you have some kind of thing about not bending over for anyone in town, but he’s wretched. Look at him, he can’t keep his eyes off of you.”

“I…” As soon as Li Wenfang said it, all Lan Zhan could feel on him was the weight of Wei Ying’s regard, parsed out as he moved between other attendees. Li Wenfang didn’t know the truth, which was that he had and would gladly bend in whatever way Wei Ying wanted, but he must have seen something that Lan Zhan couldn’t. How could Wei Ying be thirsty and wretched all at once? It didn’t seem probable or likely. “Wretched?”

“You really should put up or put him out of his misery.” Li Wenfang considered him with a frown. “Before I approached, I saw the way you let him hang all over you. That’s really not fair, is it?”

What wasn’t fair, in Lan Zhan’s opinion, was how little of this conversation he understood and wouldn’t be allowed to understand because he didn’t dare ask Li Wenfang for more information. That would… give away too much, he felt, invite Li Wenfang into parts of his life that Lan Zhan didn’t want him to be a part of.

The last thing he wanted was for this to touch his relationship with Wei Ying.

“I mean it,” Li Wenfang said, dropping the confident act in favor of being serious. This was also not so unlike Wei Ying that he didn’t recognize the appeal. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you don’t strike me as the sort of guy who trifles with people. I think you must like him, too, if you let him take those liberties. Either fuck him or tell him it’s never going to happen. I think you’ll both be better off.”

“I…” Lan Zhan was so rarely at a loss for words; he didn’t know what to do with the sensation now. “I’m going to go now. I would ask that you don’t trouble myself or Wei Ying tonight.”

Li Wenfang raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to beg for your attention,” he said, biting lightly at his lower lip, insouciant. “Though I would if I thought it might make a difference.”

You did beg, Lan Zhan thought, perhaps a little bit cruel in the way Li Wenfang meant. Frequently. But that did—it did put a thought in Lan Zhan’s mind.

Though Wei Ying went along with what Lan Zhan did to him, he didn’t seem to lose himself in the sensation, didn’t fall apart under Lan Zhan’s touch the way the others he’d had would have done. Then again, Lan Zhan didn’t exactly last with Wei Ying either, did he? Unimpressive the whole way through. Maybe… maybe that was what Li Wenfang was seeing and Lan Zhan hadn’t. In the haze of his own love and pleasure and disbelief, he couldn’t tell that he was leaving Wei Ying unsatisfied by their encounters. Sure, Wei Ying came enthusiastically, but Lan Zhan did—the things he could do…

He hadn’t managed to do any of them with Wei Ying. He didn’t have the patience or the stamina.

Wei Ying deserved everything Lan Zhan could give him including each and every thing he’d given to men like Li Wenfang if that was what he wanted. Lan Zhan would have to find out.

2011

It wasn’t like Lan Zhan didn’t masturbate.

Because he did. An entirely normal amount. And it was satisfactory. Entirely so. It didn’t leave behind a smear of desire or feel as though he was missing out on something or make him wish it was Wei Ying’s hand instead—even better: his hand around Wei Ying. It didn’t, over the course of a few months, become something he avoided doing because it left him frustrated rather than relieved.

It wasn’t like his feelings clawed at him from the inside out, demanding action he couldn’t take, making him feel small. His desires outgrew his body somewhere along the way and he couldn’t track his way back.

If he’d known… if he’d known, he might have done things differently. Might have taken a chance. Perhaps would have risked it all. Instead, he jerked off in the shower because it was convenient and he did it as quickly as possible because thorough and gentle and drawn out didn’t make it any easier on him the rest of the time.

Whenever he saw Wei Ying, it hurt a little more to be around him. His skin became too tight for his frame. And his trousers too tight for, well. Nothing that could be discussed in polite company with people who weren’t interested.

Mondays and Thursdays became exquisite acts of torture and deprivation. He noticed everything about Wei Ying, agonized over the way he held his mug of tea between both hands, agonized over the way he’d lean in, almost conspiratorially, when he talked, agonized over the way his eyes shifted from one shade of gray to another depending on the light, agonized about this thing that had changed between them—or around Lan Zhan, at least, because nothing about Wei Ying had changed except that the spark Lan Zhan so loved about him seemed to flicker and fail more and more often.

It didn’t matter anyway. Lan Zhan’s love sustained itself. Nothing could harm it now.

At one time, the regular ebb and flow of Lan Zhan’s life could have been measured against a tide chart. Now it could be measured by the mounting frustrations he experienced throughout the week, the impatience, the unhappiness, the utterly overwrought feeling of self-denial.

So.

So maybe Lan Zhan wasn’t thinking it through when he was sitting in class—Thursday, of course, still hours yet from seeing Wei Ying—while leading a small breakout group. He went through the motions of it, reading off his notes and taking them by rote in turn, scribbling out what he heard but didn’t really comprehend. In truth, the vast majority of his attention was devoted to the hope that Wei Ying wear the leather jacket he liked to pull out on cooler days. This, he thought, looking briefly out the window where a mist still clung to the grass in the courtyard, was a cool day.

Class ended after an interminable eternity and he was preparing his things when one of the other students approached him. Lan Zhan didn’t know his name; he was a transfer student, new to the department this semester, still trying to break the ice with a cohort that had been together for almost four years now. Lan Zhan could sympathize a little bit; he was used to being the biggest outsider of the group, though it seemed by this time that he was somewhat fondly accepted as such.

That was not, however, why he said what he said when the young man, Zhao Wu, introduced himself and asked him if he wanted to go to a club with him on Saturday. Taken alone, he might have turned him down, firm, if polite. Lan Zhan did not go to clubs. He did not go to clubs with men. And he certainly didn’t go to clubs with men who weren’t named Wei Ying. However, Wei Ying had never asked him to go to a club and didn’t look at him with the sort of frank, uncomplicated interest Zhao Wu was showing now and Lan Zhan was weak, stretched thin.

Though Zhao Wu’s eyes were a poor duplication of Wei Ying’s both in color and shape, his hair curled in the same way, and he looked enough like Wei Ying that a thrum of excitement coursed through him anyway at the thought that this man might want him.

“Why don’t we skip the club?” Lan Zhan asked, uncertain where the words or confidence came from, but willing to ride it out when Zhao Wu’s eyes darkened. As he stood, he put away the last of his pens and a highlighter. “And why wait until Saturday?”

“Are you…” Zhao Wu had some of the same coltish energy Wei Ying did. Lan Zhan refused to be charmed by this facsimile. “You’re serious?”

There was a store next to the tea shop which ought to have the things Lan Zhan needed. If he hurried after his next class, Wei Ying wouldn’t even know Lan Zhan had gotten there early. He had enough theoretical knowledge that he wasn’t overly concerned about the physical aspect. “Do I strike you as the sort who isn’t?”

“I just… I don’t know. I heard that you…”

He’d no doubt heard many things. Lan Zhan was cold and unyielding. He barely qualified as a human being with needs or wants or feelings. He sat in class, did his work, intimidated anyone who got close to him, helped when asked and kept to himself when he wasn’t. “What you’ve heard doesn’t matter.” He looked over at Zhao Wu, surprised by the eagerness he saw there. It felt a little bit good, admittedly, to be wanted, even if only superficially. “I’m not interested in dating if that’s an issue.”

“Oh, um.” Zhao Wu’s cheeks went pink. “Not that I wouldn’t, I guess. At least to see? It might be fun? But… that’s fine. If you only want—I’m okay with that. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?” He laughed a little awkwardly. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy. I don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t.” Lan Zhan knew who and what he was and the extent to which he cared whether Zhao Wu thought he was nice was limited.

“You’re just really hot.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan said, because he didn’t have a good answer to that. Beauty was such a subjective, personal matter. It didn’t reach inside of Lan Zhan and upturn his heart to hear Zhao Wu say such things.

“Do you want to come by my place… tonight?” Zhao Wu asked. “My roommate’s out of town, so…?”

“Fine.”

“Cool, I’ll—” He reached into his bag and pulled out a notepad, scribbling his address and phone number. “Here. I’m free after five.”

By the time he was finished with his errand, he thought he was prepared to see Wei Ying again, but almost as soon as he sat down, tucking the bag discreetly beneath his chair, he knew that for the lie it was. Wei Ying was a little late, as usual, but Lan Zhan still didn’t mind. He knew that Wei Ying tried. The slight gleam of sweat in his hairline told Lan Zhan everything he needed to know about how hard he did.

And he was wearing the jacket Lan Zhan liked.

Though this was normally the point at which Wei Ying offered his apologies, earnest and bright, he merely sat heavily and pulled a bottle of water from his bag. “Hey, Lan Zhan.”

“Are you not going to order?” That was what Wei Ying always did, buying some milky sweet monstrosity while Lan Zhan waited. To have Wei Ying do anything differently felt strange and was made all the stranger by Lan Zhan’s own break from his usual behaviors. With that bag under his chair, he felt exposed and vulnerable, like something very bad would happen if Wei Ying found out.

“No, I’m…” Wei Ying shrugged, taking another sip of water. “To be honest, I’ve probably had too much caffeine and sugar today already. This is fine.”

It was true that he seemed a little twitchier than normal, eyes rimmed in red. He must have been wearing metal somewhere or maybe had a handful of coins in his pocket, because there was a rhythmic clicking sound as he bounced his knee.

Lan Zhan frowned, not knowing why it was important that Wei Ying should have tea, too, but knowing in his heart that it was necessary. He upturned one of the other little ceramic cups that dotted the table and poured some of the tea from his own pot into it before sliding it toward Wei Ying. “There’s not much caffeine. It’s cool outside today. Have some.”

The corner of Wei Ying’s mouth turned up as he took the cup in his hands, holding it as though it was some especially delicate thing. “It’s good,” he said once he tried it, as though surprised. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No,” Wei Ying replied, “it is.” He looked for a moment as though he was going to say more about it, but instead he shook his head slightly. “How are you today?”

It felt accusatory, Wei Ying’s question, though it was no different than any of the other times Wei Ying asked him. No, it was Lan Zhan who was different today, who knew far too well what he felt about Wei Ying and was determined to do something about it, just… not the thing he really wanted to do. He realized, in this moment, that he didn’t have to go through this with Zhao Wu. He could tell Wei Ying how he felt, could let Wei Ying make the decision.

But looking again at Wei Ying, he knew he couldn’t. Wei Ying was clearly stretched thin, too, exhausted and burdened by his own circumstances. He didn’t need to carry this, too. It would hurt nobody to use Zhao Wu’s boldness to relieve some of the pressure he was feeling. As long as everyone was on the same page, it was fine.

“Lan Zhan?”

Oh, Wei Ying was still expecting an answer. “I’m well.”

Wei Ying’s eyes crinkled as he smiled fully. Though he was tired, he still had it in him to be glad for Lan Zhan, a twinkle of pleasure forming in his gaze. “You do look rather fetching today, Lan Zhan. There’s something different about you.”

Stilling, cup halfway to his mouth, Lan Zhan scrambled for an answer, unable to find one, not when Wei Ying was looking at him with such unabashed curiosity. “You’re imagining things.”

“No, really.” Wei Ying leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “I have a sixth sense. Do you have a date? Did someone ask you out on a date? Your ears are pink.”

“No,” Lan Zhan answered, vehement even by his own standards. “I don’t have a date.”

“Someone asked you out though?”

The easy lie would not come. It would have been harmless. No one would have been harmed by this either. And even so…

“Ah, Lan Zhan is too handsome to not be asked out,” Wei Ying said, answering his own question as he sighed wistfully, theatrically. It didn’t mean anything. Wei Ying was just speaking to speak. “Why did you say no?”

Because I want you to ask me out, Lan Zhan thought, childish, churlish. I want to ask you out. “Why would you assume someone asked me out?”

Nonplussed, Wei Ying said, “I don’t know. It seemed like it could be the case? Is it so improbable? You’re handsome and kind and thoughtful and you’re funny.” He began ticking off more of Lan Zhan’s supposed attributes on his fingers: smart, gentle, wonderful.

“Nobody thinks that,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Oh, nobody thinks you’re handsome? Tell that to all my classmates who moon after you when you visit the studios. All they talk about is how pretty your eyes are and how silky your hair looks.”

Lan Zhan gritted his teeth. Wei Ying was being obtuse on purpose. It was not attractive in the slightest. “The rest of it. Nobody thinks that.” Wei Ying was the only one who thought that and he was across the table gleefully imagining Lan Zhan dating other people.

“They should,” Wei Ying said, sharp, and then softening, “Lan Zhan, you deserve to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” Lan Zhan insisted. And he was. Or at the very least, he was content. If he could solve this last piece—and maybe Zhao Wu would be the one to do it—then it would be fine. He could have these moments with Wei Ying without ever trying to ruin it by demanding more from him; he’d rather be close with Wei Ying like this than alienate him with the burden of everything Lan Zhan felt.

In his family, one couldn’t have everything. That was a lesson he learned early. You had to choose and the choice was always between what you wanted and what you had to do.

Wei Ying smiled again, a little dubious, but he quieted and remained so throughout the rest of their time together, so short, too short.

Wei Ying walked him to his car, his gait loping.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said in that particular way he had, seemingly unconcerned and open. “I can’t wait to see you again.” He got a wistful smile on his face. “I’ve missed having class with you.”

Lan Zhan knew he didn’t mean it the way Lan Zhan wanted him to mean it, but that didn’t stop his heart from soaring, clichéd, in his chest at hearing it. Wei Ying could pretend all he wanted that it was normal that he should like Lan Zhan and enjoy his company and want to see him again and say as much, but it just wasn’t the case.

“So have I,” Lan Zhan agreed, cracking his own rib cage open just by saying these words. It wasn’t fair to Wei Ying to be the only one to say anything, even if perhaps speaking so frankly about his feelings was easier for him than it was for Lan Zhan.

It was worth it for the fond smile Wei Ying favored him with. “You sweet talker.”

And the thing was: it should have felt like mockery, like Wei Ying was teasing him for his lack of eloquence on this subject, but all Lan Zhan could see was genuine pleasure that Lan Zhan had articulated the feeling to him at all. It meant something to Wei Ying that Lan Zhan missed him, too.

“It’ll all be over soon, though, right? We’ll both be graduating and then… who knows?” Wei Ying fidgeted his hands together. “We’ll have more time together again?”

In truth, Lan Zhan hadn’t been thinking that far ahead, to what it would mean for them when they graduated. Lan Zhan would be remaining here, of course. He couldn’t just abandon Hanshi, after all, and he’d been here now for years, owned a condo already, built a life. If he’d thought about it, which he hadn’t, he would have assumed Wei Ying would do what a lot of people did: go to one of the major city centers in search of wider acclaim. If anyone could have gotten it, it was Wei Ying. “You’re staying?”

“Yeah! Planning on it anyway! I like it here a lot. The scene’s just right and everyone is really cool.” There was a short span of silence before Wei Ying spoke again. “Why would I leave?”

Lan Zhan could think of a lot of reasons. “I don’t know.”

“You’re so silly, Lan Zhan.” And with that, as well as a parting wave, he was off. Like he hadn’t dropped yet another bomb into Lan Zhan’s lap. Wei Ying was staying. They could—

No, nothing really had changed. He had to remember that. But it felt like it, a future path unfurling before him. Their time, maybe, wasn’t so very limited after all.

“Do you need a ride?” Lan Zhan called after him, not quite ready to let go.

“No!” Wei Ying called. “I’m okay with walking. Thanks, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan wanted to argue—he hadn’t asked if he was okay doing that—but it was difficult doing so to a retreating back. And anyway, he had a… thing to prepare for. He checked his phone. It was after five now.

His hold tightened on the small, discreet bag before he tossed it into the passenger’s seat. The plastic and cardboard clattered together in protest at the treatment, but Lan Zhan couldn’t find it in himself to care.

2025

Wei Ying was quiet on both flights back, quiet and still, and Lan Zhan couldn’t decide which was worse when he was used to the opposite from Wei Ying by both metrics. The only upside was the fact that none of Wei Ying’s family or the Jins were on either of their flights, so he could rest without risking another argument with Jiang Cheng or Madam Yu. On the second flight, Nie Huaisang tried to interest Wei Ying in a celebratory ‘we made it through the bullshit, congratulations’ drink when the flight attendant walked past their row, he wasn’t tempted and Nie Huaisang gave up trying to bother him in favor of pestering Meng Yao and his brother. When Lan Huan ducked his head and smiled, shaking his head slightly when he and Meng Yao got into an argument about the proper ingredients for a Bloody Mary, the tension of the last week easing in his shoulders, Lan Zhan realized it was over. Finally. Actually. Over.

Wei Ying, who normally might have insinuated himself into those antics as a means to stave off the boredom of being stuck in a plane for hours on end, merely leaned his head against the window, staring out at the swirl of clouds that dotted the sky, broken right now by peeks of deep blue through the white.

“Wei Ying,” he said, slipping his hand into Wei Ying’s to lace their fingers together. He leaned in, pretending he cared about the view out the window when he only really cared about the view just inside of it. His lips brushed the shell of Wei Ying’s ear and he couldn’t help but lean in just a little more, crowd Wei Ying just that little bit further into his seat. “Are you all right?”

Wei Ying didn’t speak for a long moment, but Lan Zhan knew it wasn’t because Wei Ying was ignoring him, not when he swallowed dryly and turned his attention to their joined hands. “We won’t be back in time to pick up Turpentine,” he said, toneless.

Lan Zhan was aware. He’d already called the shelter and told them he and Wei Ying would be there first thing in the morning. And he missed her, too, but it would be okay. The owner had told him she was doing well and would be just fine there one more day. This was just another one of those little straws that threatened to break Wei Ying’s fragile hold on his mood. Lan Zhan didn’t intend to become the last.

“I’m okay, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. “Just tired.”

Lan Zhan pushed up the arm rest between them and was surprised to see that Wei Ying’s seatbelt was still fastened. Even when he was just sitting, even though it was better to have it clasped, he always removed it. After undoing his own, he did Wei Ying’s and scooted over while pulling flush with him. Already, the seat dug into his thigh, uncomfortable. It didn’t matter. “Rest,” was all he said as he snaked his arm around Wei Ying’s shoulder and teased at his hair, pulling it free of its hairband, an excuse to scrape his nails over Wei Ying’s scalp. Though he was surely not the sort of tired that a few hours of sleep would alleviate, he did close his eyes and curled awkwardly against Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying didn’t move again until the flight attendants were coming through to pick up the detritus of various drink cups, meal trays, napkins that might have been missed in past sweeps, jostling Lan Zhan from an uneasy sleep, too. Groaning, he plastered himself even more thoroughly against Lan Zhan, which improved things immensely. For that alone, the ache in his leg would have been worthwhile. When Wei Ying finally stretched, his joints popped loudly enough for Lan Zhan to hear. “Lan Zhaaaaan.”

Maybe he wasn’t physically tired, but apparently a nap hadn’t hurt him any. Lan Zhan was pleased to see it. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, why did you let me sleep the whole time? Now I’m going to be up all night.”

“Mn. That would be quite all right with me.”

“Lan Zhan, you scoundrel.” He slapped Lan Zhan’s arm and sounded so pleased by the possibility that Lan Zhan didn’t even care that he was going to have to stand up once they were allowed to disembark. Once circulation returned to his leg, maybe he’d be able to walk without hobbling around. Hissing quietly, he rubbed at his knee and then the back of his thigh while he waited for Wei Ying to drag their carry-on from the overhead bin.

But the sleep must have done some good. There could be no regrets for the discomfort he suffered to ensure it.

Wei Ying dumped his bags in the doorway, took Lan Zhan’s and dumped those, too, yanked at Lan Zhan’s shirt before pulling his own over his head. They dropped, unceremoniously, to the floor.

Lan Zhan probably should have tried to pick their things up so they wouldn’t have to deal with them in the morning, but he didn’t care, not when Wei Ying was doing a perfectly good job of shoving him back into the door and doing his level best to meld them into one person, skin-to-skin, no break in contact. Being pinned and held this way comforted him.

Wei Ying ground the full length of himself against Lan Zhan’s thigh, grinding down as though in punishment.

“Lan Zhan,” he chanted between bruising kisses, sharp enough to cut and bleed.

Of the two of them, Wei Ying was not usually the one who was so ferocious.

“Bed,” Lan Zhan said, shoving at Wei Ying’s shoulder before grasping him by the biceps to frog march him that way. “Now.”

“Lan Zhan,” he said again, sounding so much like himself that Lan Zhan could have wept in relief if he wasn’t so damned turned on.

If a situation like this ever happens again, Lan Zhan wasn’t going to let it slide, wasn’t going to let Wei Ying hurt this way if being removed from it was enough to bring him back to something approaching normalcy. Lan Zhan kept his mouth shut because family was complicated and familial expectations could be even more so and he didn’t exactly have room to talk on that front. He wasn’t perfect and he accepted that—clearly he’d missed something, maybe going back even further than the last week—but he could do better.

By the time Lan Zhan sat Wei Ying on the edge of the bed, Lan Zhan kneeling to yank his jeans from his hips and down his legs, it was Lan Zhan who felt wild, desperate. “What do you want?”

“What—whatever you want, Lan Zhan. I—”

“No.” He looked up at Wei Ying, ignoring the prominent tent of his stupidly bright pink boxer-briefs, incongruous, bought on impulse because they’re fun, Lan Zhan. A wave of affection threatened to pull him under at such a simple remembrance, but he had to focus. “What do you want?”

Wei Ying swallowed, hands fluttering, not quite able to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes. It was an easy question—or it should have been. For Wei Ying, it was apparently not. Lan Zhan knew how to help. “Is it because you don’t know or because you don’t want me to know?”

“Lan Zhan, that’s not—”

He rested his forehead on Wei Ying’s knee, breathed in, waited as patiently as he could for the answer. He knew what to do with one of the answers; the other…

He really, really wished he’d put his foot down for Wei Ying sooner if he was going to walk around acting like he wasn’t entitled to what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” he said and he sounded so sad all of a sudden that guilt wormed through Lan Zhan for having pushed Wei Ying at all. “I don’t know, Lan Zhan. I just want you.”

Pressing his lips to the inside of Wei Ying’s knee and up the long, muscled length of his inner thigh, he nodded, biting and nipping lightly.

Pushing himself up, he wandered to the closet and took hold of Wei Ying’s favorite tie from the tie rack. He also grabbed a length of silk that almost matched the tie, much longer and more versatile. It would make more sense to avoid using the tie altogether, since he’d have to get it cleaned and pressed after, but Wei Ying liked it and Lan Zhan liked seeing Wei Ying wrapped in it and every once in a while doing something frivolous was okay, no matter that it might be a chore later.

Wei Ying’s eyes lit up when he saw the lengths of silk at least, which counted for something in Lan Zhan’s mind, like it was a sign that he was making the right call.

With so much on the line, it was easy to ignore his own arousal as he approached. Wei Ying shimmied out of his underwear. A flash of pink crossed Lan Zhan’s peripheral vision as they were tossed aside.

“How do you want me?” Wei Ying asked eagerly.

“No preference?”

Wei Ying shook his head enthusiastically. “No preference,” he repeated. This, at least, wasn’t so out of the ordinary. Wei Ying just wasn’t picky about how he was tied up. He liked anything and everything that could be done with a cuff or chains or silk or leather. Behind his back, demurely in front, laced up to the elbows, wrists to ankles, it didn’t matter to him in the slightest.

Positions, though, Wei Ying did have preferences from time to time. “Facing me or away?” He figured that question might be easier than going complicated.

Wei Ying flushed down to his neck.

“Wei Ying?” Though he had his own preferences on this score, too, he wanted Wei Ying to try first.

A few small shadows cut across Wei Ying’s cheekbones as he lowered his gaze. “I’d like to see you.”

Good, Lan Zhan thought, feeling warm and affectionate again. Letting the length of silk fall across his forearm to keep the silk from pooling on the floor, he crossed Wei Ying’s wrists and then carefully wrapped the tie around them, tucking the ends in loosely to keep it secure long enough for Lan Zhan to wrap the silk around it more tightly, winding the long, long strip of fabric until he could tie it.

Without Lan Zhan having to ask, Wei Ying balled his hands into fists and nodded.

He divested himself of his own trousers quickly, tossing them aside, too, because that didn’t matter and Wei Ying didn’t seem terribly interested in making this into a performance.

“Lan Zhan, I don’t want your fingers,” Wei Ying said when he went for the drawer.

After doing the bare minimum prep, Lan Zhan knelt in the middle of the bed and pulled Wei Ying onto his lap, guiding himself in as Wei Ying gasped and wriggled, throwing his arms over Lan Zhan’s head so his arms were braced on Lan Zhan shoulders.

Wei Ying was warm around him and once he was fully seated…

Burying his face in Wei Ying’s neck, even though all he smelled was skin and the staleness of having sat on a plane for hours on end, it was glorious. He bit hard into the meat of Wei Ying’s shoulder, sucked even harder, bruising Wei Ying’s skin as Wei Ying moaned and tilted his head to better expose himself. Lan Zhan couldn’t get enough of the way Wei Ying’s muscles shifted and bunched under his lips and Wei Ying didnt seem interested in stopping him from indulging. Time lost meaning as he marked Wei Ying’s smooth, soft skin, tracked only by the noises Wei Ying made in the dark of their room and by the tightening of Lan Zhan’s fingers into Wei Ying’s muscles—his arms, his back, his hips, especially his hips. Each could have signified a minute or an hour. Lan Zhan wouldn’t have known the difference.

Though he was inside of Wei Ying, he didn’t move, didn’t thrust, just… stayed. And so did Wei Ying, not bothering to find any purchase to ride Lan Zhan either, like he was just as aware that he wanted to be here like this for as long as possible. They remained locked together, like the fundamental laws of the universe didn’t apply to them: what did time and space matter here and now?

It wasn’t until Lan Zhan lifted his head, saw the gleam of his saliva on Wei Ying’s skin in the thin trickle of moonlight that slipped between the drawn drapes, the deeper, rounded shapes peppered on Wei Ying’s shoulder, that he realized Wei Ying was rocking slowly against him, murmuring pleas against Lan Zhan’s throat. He couldn’t properly wrap his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, but he did his best. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, please, please, please,” he said, until the words blurred together, watery and graveled at the same time, rough.

Gripping hard at Wei Ying’s waist, he pulled Wei Ying down onto him, drawing a delayed little hiccuping gasp from him as Lan Zhan’s cock shifted inside of him. He let up once to allow Wei Ying to roll his hips and then grabbed at him again. This time, his nails dug in. That earned Lan Zhan a hiss and a keening groan that cracked on the end, a shard of rock sheared away from the naked cliff face of Wei Ying’s desire.

In contrast, each motion sent a pulse of liquid, languid pleasure through Lan Zhan. Like molten gold, it filled each and every matched, fractured space in him. They were so delicately, precariously balanced here.

He shifted, ground down against Lan Zhan. “Let me, please.”

If he slowed the pace or sped it up, gentled it or thrashed what gentleness existed in it currently, he feared what might happen, what it would do to Wei Ying, what it wouldn’t do to him.

“Wei Ying,” he said, scrabbling for control, gripping Wei Ying’s chin, lifting his head. “What do you need? I’ll—”

He didn’t know what he’d do, what he could do, other than follow this brutally meandering pace, go where Wei Ying went, follow because he couldn’t do otherwise. Wei Ying’s brows furrowed, eyes squeezing even more fully shut. He buried his face against Lan Zhan’s shoulder and his eyelashes fluttered against Lan Zhan’s neck, tickling.

“Need you,” Wei Ying said, lost in whatever it was he was feeling, never deviating from this maddening drag across centimeters, back and forth. Each shift in Wei Ying’s weight on his lap brought Lan Zhan closer to release and tore him away from it again, over and over, and Wei Ying didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it or cared that he was—

Lan Zhan was going to come from this, he just didn’t know when. Whenever Wei Ying let him, he supposed, enamored of the thought suddenly, pulled out of this moment by the possibility that Wei Ying might do that to him, keep him here on the edge for as long as he needed, taking nothing of Lan Zhan’s wants into account.

Lan Zhan’s thighs tensed and he jerked slightly. Fuck, the very thought was…

“Ah,” Wei Ying said. “Ah, Lan Zhan. No, like this.”

Fuck, fuck. How could Wei Ying do this to him without even trying? Without even knowing he was doing it? There wasn’t another man on this entire god-forsaken planet who could wreck Lan Zhan with a single word no.

It did something new to Lan Zhan. Something, something good, he felt.

The tension drained from him. He relaxed for the first time in what felt like—ages. Forever.

Languid, Lan Zhan bit again at Wei Ying’s shoulder, right over the first mark he’d left, deepening it until he could almost feel the marks in Wei Ying’s skin when he tongued at the wound after. Wei Ying’s skin was so hot beneath him. Sweat prickled along Wei Ying’s hairline, carrying the last remnants of scent the hotel’s shampoo could give, lightly floral and deeply musk at the same time, only the smallest hint of it left behind for him to lick away.

It was torture, exquisite, perfect, unbearable torture that Wei Ying enacted upon him, like he intended to stay this way all night, in this strange, sticky, stretched period where nothing mattered except the feel of Wei Ying around him, the taste of him in his mouth, the sound of him filling his ears. Lan Zhan’s whole body ached and Wei Ying couldn’t have been any better off, especially not when he’d been the one doing the majority of the work, Lan Zhan little more than the frame on which Wei Ying hinged himself. In fact, Wei Ying was beginning to slow, reduced to small, circular movements of his hips and nearly silent exhalations, like he was too tired for more, wearying quickly.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “You’re so good. I’ve been too selfish. You should—you should fuck me now.”

Wei Ying was going to kill him in the smallest increments possible if he didn’t infuriate him into an early grave first. Selfish? If this was Wei Ying being selfish, then… then Lan Zhan was going to have to work on Wei Ying’s definition of the word. This was—it was good. It was what Lan Zhan wanted. He found Wei Ying’s ear with his mouth, nipped lightly. “I want you to fuck me.”

Somehow, it was easy to say.

“Mm. Okay. Okay, I can…” He let out a long, heaving breath. Lifted himself up and slid back down Lan Zhan’s length, slow, inexorable, intractable. Unbearable. Pleasure ravaged Lan Zhan’s body, pushed him close, closer. Wei Ying made a small humming sound and stilled, breathing deeply, arms going slack, forcing Lan Zhan to balance on the precipice of release. “Ugh. Let me be lazy, Lan Zhan.”

Any desire Lan Zhan had to argue crumbled before him. He looked so tired.

“Wei Ying?”

“Mm?” he answered, dreamy. No, not dreamy. Sleepy. Soft and exhausted and—fuck, so pliant and biddable. “Come on, Lan Zhan. As hard as you want. Or slow.” His jaw cracked as he yawned. “I just want you in me whatever you do.”

Lan Zhan’s throat went dry.

Bracing his hands under Wei Ying’s shoulder blades, he lowered him back onto the bed and then held himself up as Wei Ying blinked, slow, at him.

He’d long ago resigned himself to the fact that reaching orgasm was never going to be Wei Ying’s priority here, no matter how much they delighted him. It wasn’t the compulsion that drove him. In this, Lan Zhan might never understand him, but he respected it and Lan Zhan no longer felt quite as much like his entire goal had to be bringing his partner off. Between the two of them, that was perhaps the more selfish thought. After so many years spent reducing other men to nothing more than their climaxes and having them thank him for it, Wei Ying was a revelation, but nearly ten years of habit was impossible to break in its entirety even for Wei Ying.

“Would you… if I went slow, would you…?”

“Would I what?”

“What if you fall asleep?” He brushed aside Wei Ying’s bangs, cupped his cheek. If nothing else, he looked relaxed, contented. He’d gotten what he wanted from this and that was all Lan Zhan could hope for. “I thought you weren’t tired.”

“Then I’ll have very sweet dreams of you fucking me while you’re fucking me,” Wei Ying said. “If I do, you’ll have to tell me if I come or not.” He yawned again. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought?”

“Wei Ying, we don’t have to—”

Wei Ying mumbled through another yawn. “I want you to. I really, really want you to.”

Lan Zhan tried and failed to suppress a shudder. The thought of Wei Ying letting him do that while he… if he… could he manage it? He was already on edge, every slight shift and hitch hitting like a gut punch. His body shook with the need to let go, but his mind raced ahead of him, wanted this thing Wei Ying offered to him.

Capturing Wei Ying’s lips, he moved slightly, rolled his own hips, taking from Wei Ying the rhythm he’d set, excruciating and exciting all at once. Wei Ying kissed him back, just as slow, treacly, like honey, even sweeter than that.

Keeping careful hold on his self-control, he moved slowly inside of Wei Ying, swallowing Wei Ying’s moans, reveling in the feel of Wei Ying’s hands coming up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, sweeping back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until even that action stopped.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan whispered as Wei Ying’s hands went even laxer, so trusting that it shook Lan Zhan to his core. He felt very, very alone for a moment in the quiet dark of the room. Even Wei Ying’s breathing could no longer be heard and Lan Zhan, uncertain, blinked back the unexpected tears that prickled so warmly in his eyes. But it was only a moment, that feeling of being alone, and then he was bowled over by how humble he felt by Wei Ying’s generosity.

He moved experimentally, only a little bit at a time, barely shifting Wei Ying on the bed; he mumbled encouragements in response, wriggled a little, settled. Settled and stilled entirely.

“Wei Ying?”

No response.

Pleasure built itself again slowly within him, a small thing drawn out and out and out until Lan Zhan’s awareness narrowed to the feel of Wei Ying’s body, slack, around and against him, the warm slip of the lube against his skin, Wei Ying’s face slightly turned, a relaxed smile turning the corner of his mouth, like he was happy even in sleep.

Leaning down until they were chest to chest, Lan Zhan pressed his forehead against Wei Ying’s, nuzzled at his temple, promised with whispered words that this wouldn’t happen again, not like this. He’d protect Wei Ying better.

When he came, it almost didn’t matter, both catching him by surprise and offering little fanfare. No anxiety accompanied it, only pure, if subdued, pleasure, gossamer fine and delicate.

Wei Ying remained soft, only a glinting hint of precome to indicate he’d been at all interested in the proceedings.

He waited to feel a twinge of guilt at having somehow disappointed Wei Ying. It didn’t materialized. No matter how much he poked at his own feelings, all he could find was gratitude toward and love for Wei Ying. Without the disappointment of the last few months to grind away at him, he could only feel a release of pressure within him.

With a fond, quiet sigh, he raised himself up and fetched a towel, cleaning himself and Wei Ying as carefully as possible. He removed the silk from Wei Ying’s wrists, shone his phone’s light on Wei Ying’s hands to ensure he wasn’t suffering any ill effects, fearful of waking Wei Ying if he were to turn the light on to check. It wasn’t worth his time to wrestle the comforter out from beneath Wei Ying’s body, so he grabbed one of the thin blankets from the cabinet above the washing machine, unfurled it and threw it across Wei Ying’s body before slipping in behind him, turning him so Lan Zhan could spoon behind him and gently rub circulation back into Wei Ying’s wrists.

At some point, Lan Zhan slept, but he couldn’t have said when or for how long.

In the morning, only a little after five, Wei Ying woke him with kisses peppered across his nose, forehead, and cheeks from his perch on Lan Zhan’s lap. A more cheerful demeanor than he’d seen in over a week greeted Lan Zhan. His proclamation of, “Lan Zhan, you’re the best. You felt so good. Did you like it,” was the sweetest thing he’d heard in longer than he could describe.

“Mn,” he agreed, because he had, so much, all of it. Giving himself over to Wei Ying in that way, having that offering returned to him, it was indescribable. Wei Ying’s eyes crinkled in pleasure and then he shrieked in delight when Lan Zhan flipped them, pinning Wei Ying down to suck more marks into his skin, a vast collection of them in celebration of the happiness lodging itself in his chest. “I liked you.”

They were finally home; Lan Zhan was determined to take advantage of that fact.

2020

“Let me take care of you.” Lan Zhan spoke firmly, determined. He filled his words with the note he’d come to associate with what others expected of him, what got them off, though he’d never said these specific words to anyone else. Only this time, he meant it. He had a plan and he was going to see it through whatever it took. If Wei Ying was unsatisfied with him, then Lan Zhan would rectify it. If Wei Ying was still unsatisfied after that, Lan Zhan would do what he could to fix that, too. Whatever Wei Ying wanted. Whatever he needed. Lan Zhan wanted to be the one who gave it to him.

Wei Ying looked at him like he’d grown a second head, scoffing and laughing, shifting out of Lan Zhan’s grasp even as Lan Zhan gently held his face, scraped his nails down Wei Ying’s skin as he shuddered. Other men could never resist that voice, but Wei Ying was…

Wei Ying resisted it.

Ten years of experience under his belt and none of it prepared him for Wei Ying. Nobody was like Wei Ying. Wei Ying was Wei Ying and Lan Zhan loved him and he wanted too much, so much it threatened to shred him from the inside out, perhaps snap and cut against Wei Ying, too, if he wasn’t careful. “Please,” he begged, unmoored.

If Wei Ying would not allow him this, he worried that something would be lost irrevocably.

It was impossible to hold Wei Ying’s gaze.

But Wei Ying’s fingers captured his chin anyway, forcing him to look up. It was only then that he acknowledged Lan Zhan’s plea. “Why?”

God. Wei Ying was really going to make him answer. If it was the wrong one, what would Wei Ying do? And how would Lan Zhan be able to fix that? The only correct response was the truth. So he gave it as best he could. “Because I haven’t yet.”

That much was true. Rutting against Wei Ying, letting Wei Ying get him off. That wasn’t what Lan Zhan did and could do. He could be so much more for Wei Ying if only he had the self-control he cultivated in every other part of his life.

“What do you call what we’ve been doing?”

That was an easy answer. “I’ve been selfish.”

Before Wei Ying could reply, he leaned in, biting and sucking at Wei Ying’s neck, replacing conversation with action. This, Wei Ying allowed and then he allowed himself to be guided to the bed.

Lan Zhan was already painfully, predictably hard.

He needed—

Arranging Wei Ying on the end of the bed, he realized he needed five minutes. Five minutes to jerk himself off in the bathroom, half-curled with need, wishing it was Wei Ying’s hand around him now that he knew what that felt like, but even imagining it pushed him close to orgasm. Knowing Wei Ying was waiting for him did the rest. He spilled into his hand, pulse after pulse, and washed the evidence away quickly.

That would hold him. He could focus on Wei Ying entirely now, clear-headed and with purpose, only momentarily distracted when Wei Ying asked him to disrobe as soon as he returned.

“It’s only fair, right?” Wei Ying asked.

He wasn’t wrong.

He thought about the way he’d pinned Wei Ying to his bed last time, and how much Wei Ying seemed to have liked it. Perhaps… his thoughts drifted to his closet where there were plenty of options depending upon what Wei Ying said to his question: how do you feel about being tied up?

His response wasn’t an enthusiastic yes, but it wasn’t a no. “I’ll tell you if I don’t like it,” he offered. It was somewhere to start anyway.

Inside his closet was a chest which contained many things, but they were all things he’d used with others. Cuffs of various shapes and sizes, blindfolds, that sort of thing. He didn’t want to see Wei Ying wearing the same things so many others had. He’d have to replace them if this… if they worked out.

His mind cast around for an answer and fell on the row of ties that lined the inside of the closet door. One wasn’t long enough to reach the hook he’d installed in the back of the bed, much more elegant than a lot of the contraptions he’d researched over the years, either too ostentatious or ugly to allow him to enjoy himself, but two… two might work.

Two were a worthy sacrifice.

On a whim, he grabbed the one that Wei Ying had always responded favorably to, jokingly referring to him as handsome whenever he wore it and their paths crossed. He had no reason to believe Wei Ying especially liked it except a hunch and then confirmation when Wei Ying’s eyes darkened upon his return.

Taking hold of Wei Ying’s wrists, he pulled them above his head, keeping an eye on Wei Ying’s reactions. His cheeks and chest were flushed. More importantly, he was hard, leaking against his own stomach in a way that was tantalizing to the point of madness.

Wei Ying watched him with wide, wild eyes as he wrapped one tie around Wei Ying’s wrists. Tying the second around it, he formed a loop that he attached to the hook. It was easy, just this once, to go analytical, adjusting the pillows Wei Ying was laying on in order to get the right degree of tension in the tie so that he wouldn’t get free easily or wind up accidentally freed because there was too much slack.

Only then was he able to focus fully. As long as he treated each part of Wei Ying he touched as a separate piece, he would be okay. Here, the neck, which he kissed and bit at lightly, the clavicle, deltoid, bicep, tricep. Wei Ying trembled beneath him as his fingers pressed and pinched each tense cord of muscle. Elbow, back to the neck, a kiss behind the ear, a scrape of teeth over bone, fingers pressed to cervical spine. Wei Ying trembling, twisting. A trail of tongue down Wei Ying’s chest. Thumb swept across nipple.

A keening gasp. Wei Ying jerking. Another grinding moan. Though Wei Ying had been loud before, it wasn’t anything like this. And then he quit, bit raggedly at his lips, sealed himself up again. The silence rang inside Lan Zhan’s head.

No, Lan Zhan couldn’t allow that.

“Don’t stop,” Lan Zhan said, drunk on the sound of it already.

“What?” Wei Ying’s voice was so raspy that it didn’t sound like him at all at first.

“You were—” God, he couldn’t do this, not when Wei Ying was this way, so responsive and lost to the sensation. It was too much, but he needed more, everything that Wei Ying would give to him. This was what he’d been chasing this whole time and Wei Ying was the first—he was the first to… “You were making sounds. You stopped.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Don’t stop.”

Whining, Wei Ying bucked up, wriggling, perhaps to get Lan Zhan to continue, “Seriously, what did—nngh. What did he say to you?”

There was no need for Lan Zhan to ask for clarification. What did he say? What did Li Wenfang say? What did it matter what he said? “It has nothing to do with us.”

As far as he was concerned, Li Wenfang had no place here, not now or ever. He returned to his duty here, which was to make Wei Ying feel as good as possible. Tracing the lines of his body with his mouth felt like a good place to start.

Only…

“Lan Zhan, untie me. I want to—”

Lan Zhan rushed to comply, but the request managed to get through to him too late. Wei Ying was already tensing up, digging in, pushing himself up until he could free the tie from the hook and by then he was—he’d tackled Lan Zhan to the bed, silk pooling on his chest, and he was so staggered by the sudden change that he instinctively grabbed the silk, yanking it up.

He wasn’t used to people disobeying him. Not that he’d issued any orders, but they usually complied with whatever he set for them. They didn’t fuss and they didn’t free themselves. Staggered, Lan Zhan could only look at Wei Ying, who was looking at him with a challenge in his eyes.

His inner thigh slid against Lan Zhan’s length. He was hardening again already and Wei Ying must have felt it, because he ground against Lan Zhan.

Shifting further, he allowed Lan Zhan to hang onto the silk, pulling his arms up even as he knelt and opened his mouth. So he could. Oh.

Oh, he was going to—

It was possibly the sloppiest blowjob Lan Zhan had been on the receiving end of, but it was also the only one where Lan Zhan feared he wouldn’t be able to hold back long enough to do the right thing or at least find out what the right thing was. His thighs tensed as Wei Ying tested and teased, finding the best angle and rhythm so quickly that Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he’d survive.

This… this had to be Wei Ying’s first blowjob and he was going for it as though he was a pro, heedless of things like—of the possibility that—

He was actually, physically trying to swallow Lan Zhan’s length and the motion, the feel of it—Lan Zhan jerked upward, hips snapping, cock bumping Wei Ying’s throat as he—fuck, as he came in Wei Ying’s mouth without any warning or preparation, without—

He tried to pull free, didn’t want to choke Wei Ying or hurt him, and only managed to spurt come all over Wei Ying’s lips. Letting go of the tie, shocked at his own reaction, he tried to pull back. Frozen, mortified, he couldn’t apologize enough for this. What was he? A teenager?

But Wei Ying was stroking himself, licking his lips, still flushed, and it was only the work of a moment for him to come, too, into his palm, making Lan Zhan irrationally jealous because that could have been him doing that.

“Wow, Lan Zhan—”

He couldn’t handle Wei Ying being kind to him right now, didn’t want to hear it, not when he’d gone into this with the intention of proving to Wei Ying that he could be good to him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Wei Ying asked, shifting slightly. “That was—that was good, right? I mean, you were—that was really hot, Lan Zhan. With the—” He gestured between them and poked his tongue in his cheek because he was apparently an asshole. “And the…”

“Wei Ying!” he said, fierce.

Wei Ying, apparently having not a single bit of interest in saving Lan Zhan from the grimiest of his thoughts, wiped his own come across his abdomen, leaving behind a gleaming streak that would haunt Lan Zhan’s dreams until the end of time. Lan Zhan’s dick tried its very best to twitch, but it was down for the count, much to Lan Zhan’s relief.

If Wei Ying ever found out what that image did to him, he’d probably run away screaming. Or torture Lan Zhan forever with the knowledge. Hey, Lan Zhan, remember that time I stumbled across the concept of come marking and you nearly lost your mind? Good times!

“Maybe you’re not the only—” Though he’d started the sentence with confidence, Wei Ying faltered, blushing.

“Maybe I’m not the only what?”

Wei Ying grinned, naughty, and slapped Lan Zhan’s flank with the back of his still bound hands, startling Lan Zhan with the high, loud clap of skin against skin. What startled him even more, though, was what Wei Ying said next. “Maybe you’re not the only sex god in this relationship!”

Sex… god? Has Wei Ying even been here for the last few rounds? They weren’t Lan Zhan’s best efforts. Mediocre, maybe, though Lan Zhan treasured them, though they were the best he’d ever had. “Sex god?” Then, pulling himself upright, laughing in distraught disbelief: “Relationship?”

Was that what this was? It was what Lan Zhan wanted desperately, but despite the sex and the dates, Wei Ying signaled at every step that he wanted to keep it casual. Lan Zhan respected that and he wanted it anyway. But he’d lost his illusions one by one. Wei Ying couldn’t build them back up again now.

Relationship?

When Wei Ying stammered through an explanation—yeah, yeah, you know, we’ve known each other forever, haha, that’s what I meant, Lan Zhan—he refused to be disappointed in himself or Wei Ying or this situation. He could say no at any point. He won’t, of course, because he was starting to realize he’d grasp for whatever Wei Ying chose to give him, but he could. Wei Ying wasn’t trying to take that from him, too.

“You don’t have to worry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, quiet, serious, perhaps sensing the precariousness of the moment. “We know what we are and that’s what matters, right?”

“I know,” he said, sharp. This time, it was Wei Ying who startled back.

But before Lan Zhan could apologize, Wei Ying curled his shoulders forward, hunching inward, and said, “Lan Zhan, you’re really great.”

The hell of it—maybe the worst part of all—was Lan Zhan knew Wei Ying believed that. No matter what, Wei Ying cared about him, even if it wasn’t in quite the way Lan Zhan cared about him in return.

“I didn’t ruin your whole… thing, did I?”

“No.” He didn’t even sound like himself as he answered. It wasn’t Wei Ying who was ruining this. That was on Lan Zhan’s shoulders alone.

But that wasn’t enough assurance for Wei Ying. His hands, still bound, twisted in his lap. “Lan Zhan, I…”

Enough. Enough, this was just cruelty now. Cruelty to himself, cruelty to Wei Ying. How could two people who just had orgasms act so unhappy about it, really? “Wei Ying, you barely got your mouth on me and I came all over your face. What does that tell you?”

Imitating a very beautiful, very shocked fish, Wei Ying blinked at him. Then he held his hands up, thumb and forefinger very close to one another. “You didn’t come all over my face. Just a little bit.”

Lan Zhan was going to kill him. Or he was going to go join a celibate monastic order to avoid this hellscape he found himself in. Wei Ying shouldn’t be allowed to say these things. They were going to drive Lan Zhan mad.

Wei Ying, after a few more moments, seemed to realize that Lan Zhan was at his breaking point, because he backed off, made excuses about working on Lan Zhan’s walls and though that was a shitty thing to do, making Wei Ying work after he’d just gotten Lan Zhan off so spectacularly, he couldn’t bring himself to say he should rest instead, that Lan Zhan would dote on him the way he truly wanted to.

It was cowardice and Lan Zhan knew better, but he didn’t do better.

2011

Zhao Wu’s apartment was… fine, at least. As he looked around, he didn’t see anything particularly disappointing. It wasn’t a disaster, though there was more clutter the was fond of seeing, the detritus of school work covering a coffee table here, the chaotic spill of cords around the television where at least three more video game systems than necessary were hooked, a jacket thrown across the couch which could just as easily have been hung up. A normal apartment.

Zhao Wu offered him water or tea or something stronger like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that Lan Zhan was here, which made the whole thing a little more awkward than Lan Zhan wanted it to be, forced him to think about it rather than just do it.

“I’m fine,” he answered, uncertain how to put Zhao Wu at ease when he was so out of his own depths, still hung up on the feel of being around Wei Ying, how much easier it was with him, how much more he wanted this with him. “How do you want to do this?”

He tried to keep his voice from sounding cold and clinical and he thought maybe he succeeded, because Zhao Wu’s eyes darkened and he inspected Lan Zhan as though in consideration. “Do you like to fuck or be fucked?”

I don’t know, he thought, though he realized somehow that he didn’t want Zhao Wu to fuck him and he didn’t even know why. It shouldn’t matter, right? What they were doing would be giving away his first experience with this regardless. One act or another, it didn’t matter.

“What would you want?” Lan Zhan asked, figuring that was a safe enough question.

Zhao Wu shrugged. “I’m easy,” he answered. “Though, if you’re taking requests, I wouldn’t mind it if you did me.”

Lan Zhan did not let out an audible sigh of relief, but he did nod.

“Are you sure I can’t get anything for you?”

“No.” Then he thought about it. That was rude, right? Just jumping right into this? “Would you like something first?”

“No, its…” He bounced on the balls of his feet. They were of an age, but suddenly Lan Zhan felt so much older and more tired than him. It wasn’t even that he felt more mature, just more worn out. “This is all I’ve been thinking about all afternoon. I’m ready when you are.”

Wonderful. Exactly what he wanted to hear. Very romantic and memorable. He gestured in the direction he presumed the bedroom was in, waiting for Zhao Wu to precede him.

“Oh,” he answered. “Right!”

The small bottle of lubricant and pair of condoms mocked him from within his pocket.

In some ways, it was easy. He’d done enough, uh, research before coming over to understand the mechanics, memorized enough tips to ensure as he worked Zhao Wu open that it was good for him. He watched with detached interest as pressing one way made Zhao Wu wriggle. Another elicited a groan or a pant or a plea for more. He had no reason not to follow these cues as far as he could take them.

Throughout, he felt nothing. Or almost nothing. He supposed there was some degree of natural bodily recognition of what was happening, but it wasn’t anything like what he’d read about, what he’d thought to expect. He didn’t harden immediately, didn’t feel any overwhelming urge to continue. He might have been writing a particularly boring critique or watching a variety show or staring at a wall.

“Nngh, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to finger me until I come?”

“What?”

Zhao Wu huffed and then choked on a groan. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re—fuck—really methodical?”

Not in this context. He looked down at himself and frowned. He wasn’t sure he’d even be able to put the condom on.

Steadying one hand on Zhao Wu’s flank, he reached for himself, annoyed that he hadn’t thought to use the lube on both hands because it was dry and unpleasant to kneel here masturbating when most people would probably be a little further along in the process without a helping hand.

But this guy was going to start wondering what was going on and he had to—he didn’t want to do it, use thoughts of Wei Ying this way, but awkward, embarrassed panic was building inside of him and he had to do something. He’d said yes to this guy because he reminded him a little bit of Wei Ying. And even more from the back, he could pretend…

He could pretend it was Wei Ying if he really tried.

It wasn’t instantaneous and it didn’t do more than get him to the point where he could maybe actually perform, too much guilt swirled within him to truly enjoy it, but he quickly grabbed the condom, put it on, and coated it in more lube.

It was easier once he was inside, the heat of Zhao Wu’s body around him, muscles clenching against his shaft. This time, at least, he did feel something, a frisson of pleasure flickering up his spine as he acclimated himself. Shifting experimentally, he felt it again and released a pent-up breath, guiding himself in deeper, holding onto Zhao Wu’s hips as he pulled him back until their thighs touched.

This was okay. It was fine. There was some gratification to be had in the way Zhao Wu was cursing beneath him as he tested a slow rhythm, then a faster one, then slowing back down again when neither seemed better to him. Zhao Wu responded to the slower rhythm better. Might as well since Lan Zhan had no preference that he could tell, not yet anyway. The only thing he really knew about himself was that he wanted Wei Ying. The rest? The rest was opaque to him.

Wei Ying. If he closed his eyes, if he pretended he couldn’t hear the sounds Zhao Wu was making, it might have been Wei Ying beneath him. It was neither right nor fair to both Zhao Wu and Wei Ying to think this way.

After an indeterminate length of time, Zhao Wu began babbling, sobbing, urging Lan Zhan to speed the fuck up, come on, are you a fucking machine, your stamina, fuck, let me come, like it was Lan Zhan’s job to make that decision for him.

Frankly, his back was starting to ache, so maybe Zhao Wu was right. Or maybe he needed to start diversifying his exercise routines more. He supposed both of these things could be true.

What if the condom broke? Did he use enough lube to keep the friction from tearing it?

He slammed into Zhao Wu with everything he had, groaning under his breath in frustration. And Zhao Wu was really loud. It kept breaking his concentration. Every time Lan Zhan thought he might be getting close, he kept intruding with deprecating encouragements and curses until finally, finally he collapsed forward in a heap, accidentally freeing Lan Zhan in the process.

The condom appeared intact. Lan Zhan didn’t sigh in relief.

“Holy shit,” Zhao Wu said, loose and pliable as he turned over, breathless. “Wait, you’re still…? Do you want me to…?” He made a vague gesture that explained very little about what he was willing to do. Whatever it was, Lan Zhan didn’t want it. “Wow.”

“It’s fine,” Lan Zhan said. “Thank you.”

Nervous, embarrassed, he began to soften under Zhao Wu’s attentions. Maybe he could pretend it was because he’d come. Would Zhao Wu be able to tell if it was a lie? He didn’t know. “Did you… was it okay for you?” He smiled lightly. “I don’t want it to get around that I’m not a good experience.”

Lan Zhan blinked. “I don’t intend to make our private business public.”

“No, that was—sorry, I know. It was a joke. Bad one. Sorry. Anyway, I just meant… I’m kind of sensitive if you were wanting to keep going, but if you like hands or mouths, I’m your guy? I could do that.”

Apparently, Zhao Wu was more observant than Lan Zhan wanted him to be. How could he just say things like this and not want the floor to open up and swallow him? “It’s fine,” he repeated, and because he didn’t know the etiquette, “I enjoyed it. If I could use your bathroom?”

“Oh, um…” Zhao Wu’s eyebrows furrowed, but he pointed. “The door across from mine is my roommate’s room. The door next to his is the bathroom.”

Lan Zhan muttered his thanks and gathered up his clothing.

For a long, long moment, Lan Zhan stood in the bathroom, frowning at the mirror, feeling no different than before, no better, no worse, no more relaxed. Though his limbs felt tired, muscles worn down, body aching and coated in a thin layer of sweat, that pent up pressure he was feeling remained.

Peeling the condom free, he tossed it into the small garbage can by the sink. He washed his hands. He wondered, a little bit, just what was wrong with him that this had to be so difficult.

Dressing, making sure his clothes laid correctly on his body, running his hand through his hair until it approximated normalcy, he returned and wished Zhao Wu a good evening, glad he’d put his boxers back on and a t-shirt while Lan Zhan was in the bathroom.

When he got back to his apartment, he allowed himself to touch himself, allowed himself even to think of Wei Ying.

He had, he was troubled to note, no trouble performing now. But he could also tell, as he sprawled on the bed afterward, that it was a little different than before. The ache from spending the evening with Zhao Wu did form a soothing counterpoint to the short burst of pleasure he felt with each stroke. It was a reminder of something larger than himself. He didn’t feel quite as alone with his hand only. Knowing what another person felt like, the touch of skin to skin, muscles tensing and flexing, having connected, even briefly with another person, it… it wasn’t bad exactly. It was something to think about anyway.

Nobody’s first experiences were perfect. Why should Lan Zhan’s have been?

The next day, when he was working on his spreadsheet, tracking his day by the hours, he placed one small asterisk next to the date. Nothing indiscreet. Just… one extra data point. A curiosity that he could ignore if he wished to. Nothing truly important. One data point indicated nothing, wasn’t any sort of commitment to further exploration. It only had to mean what Lan Zhan wanted it to mean and nothing more.

2025

Though it was only just nearing eight and they’d stayed up incredibly late last night, it was Wei Ying who was the more awake of the two of them, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they ordered tea at the shop next door to the shelter, waiting until it opened so they could go in and get Turpentine. Wei Ying, excitable, chattered happily with the server at the counter as he swiped his phone to pay before turning and offering Lan Zhan one of the cups. Relief lapped at the shores of his heart to see Wei Ying’s smile; he suspected it would always be so.

It was good that Wei Ying was feeling happier, leaning into Lan Zhan’s side as he sipped him his drink, teasing him as they went back out to the sidewalk, where it was not quite warm, but getting there.

Wei Ying elbowed him and then squeezed his bicep. “We’re getting our baby back, Lan Zhan.”

Before Lan Zhan could reply, the owner poked her head out the front door and shook her head. It was still a few minutes to eight, but she gestured them in. “You two are something else,” she said. Inside, it smelled like warm, clean hay, even though the areas for the rabbits were out back. The front was entirely dedicated to—

“Oh, no, look at the little leashes!” Wei Ying bounded over to a wall of harnesses and grabbed the cardboard backing of one of them. “It’s a little safety vest.”

At one time, Lan Zhan had considered the possibility of leash training Turpentine, but he’d discarded it as unnecessary. Instead he chose to ensure he spent plenty of time with her to keep her occupied and occasionally brought her over to Burial Mounds to make use of the backyard area that Wei Ying and Wen Qing had built up over the years; they’d even gone so far as to build a little fenced area for her use. Between that and the balcony, it was enough. But that safety vest, small and yellow, was actually really adorable. The thought of Wei Ying diligently strolling up and down the sidewalk with her was equally so.

“Wei Ying,” he said, fond.

“Right, right.” He swept back over and smiled at the owner. “Where’s our girl?”

The owner smiled back and looked between them. “Come on, then, but she’s still sleeping, so you might want to approach quietly. We can talk back there.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth. Lan Zhan plucked his cup from his hand and disposed of both of them, hoping he appeared calmer than his nerves suggested.

“It’s nothing bad,” she assured them, perhaps sensing their sudden nervousness. “Your lop is a sweetheart is all I can say.”

“Tiny?” Wei Ying said, dubious, and Lan Zhan silently agreed. She was sweet with them and with Lan Huan, but she tended to be utterly disinterested in most other people and they were, as a result, disinterested in her. She wasn’t rude or aggressive, but nobody else thought she was anything special. It was only ever Wei Ying who’d taken time to get to know and care about her. “This I have to see.”

The owner merely smiled and led them back. She spoke quietly to them as they walked through the large room filled with hutches. Some of the rabbits were awake and bouncing around, ready to start their days; some were still asleep. Lan Zhan wrapped his arm around Wei Ying’s waist and felt him practically vibrating through his skin at seeing all the rabbits, so many breeds and colors. “Lan Zhan, they’re so cute.”

“I know.” Lan Zhan loved Turpentine with all of his heart, but he did sometimes feel a pang of regret at knowing she wasn’t interested in…

They stopped at a sectioned off area of the floor, surrounded by a little wooden fence, a hutch in the corner, and it was Wei Ying who found his words first. “What the fuck?”

The woman, thankfully, only laughed.

“Oh, oh. God. Sorry,” Wei Ying said. “We’re just…”

“Surprised,” Lan Zhan offered when Wei Ying’s words failed him, because Turpentine was currently sleeping very cozily next to a tiny, gray fuzzball with—

“Oh, my god. Lan Zhan, those are the smallest ears I’ve ever seen in my life.” His voice cracked with enthusiastic awe. “Lan Zhan, she’s almost twice as big as it. Tiny’s already little.”

It was indeed very, very small, dark where Turpentine was pale and golden and unlike Turpentine, its ears didn’t flop at all, not that there was much ear available to flop. They were very tiny ears. Lan Zhan was enchanted and Wei Ying looked like he was going to pass out from delirious joy.

The owner continued to indulge their ridiculous overreaction for a few more moments before speaking. “We did our best to keep them apart,” she explained. “You were right that Turpentine wasn’t interested in the other rabbits, though she was very well-behaved about it.” Her smile widened. “However, this little one made it her mission to win Turpentine over.”

Wei Ying nudged Lan Zhan’s arm over and over again and, when he didn’t react, started poking his ribs. Hard.

Lan Zhan swallowed, swatting lightly at Wei Ying’s hand. He knew already. He knew. “Is she available for adoption?” It wasn’t even a question that he wanted her. If Turpentine was happy to have the companionship, Lan Zhan wouldn’t stand in her way. “Can we…?”

He didn’t know a damned thing about helping rabbits bond, all of the research he’d done lost to the mists of time because it hadn’t mattered once he got Turpentine, but he was determined to learn it all over again for her. Them.

They were really cute. It wasn’t fair.

“Only if you want to,” she answered. “She’s a very, hmm, energetic one? A few have tried to adopt her into their homes, but it never seems to work out. Since we’ve gotten her, we’ve tried to help, but I’ve never seen her this calm. We kind of assumed she’d just become the shelter’s rambunctious little mascot.”

“If—”

“We want her to be happy. It’s clear you care deeply about Turpentine and have taken into account her quirks and personality. I think if anyone stood a chance at giving her a happy home, it’s you. Not to exert any pressure, of course. We love her here, but it’s not quite the same thing when we have to split our attention between so many other rabbits.”

“We want her,” Lan Zhan said and what he meant was tell me everything.

Before the owner could say anything else, Turpentine’s nose twitched and she blinked her eyes, looking up at Lan Zhan and then Wei Ying, who crouched down. Though he was painfully excited, he remained still as he held his hand out for her. Within a single hop, the gray rabbit was awake, too, shooting ahead of Turpentine and hopping around her once to stop her. “She’s like a little cannon ball. Lan Zhan!”

The gray one stopped when she heard Wei Ying say that, turning toward him, jumping out to press her nose into his palm. “Hey there, Cannon Ball. Aren’t you a cute one? Yes, you are.” Turpentine followed behind, nudging at him, too, before approaching Lan Zhan, who was now crouching, too. After a few strokes, Cannon Ball was following suit and Wei Ying gasped in delight. Already, Lan Zhan couldn’t imagine another name for her, silly as it was. “She has good taste, Lan Zhan. Look, she likes you, too.”

After a few moments, the owner said, “Well. I guess that answers any questions I might have. Do you have any for me?”

Lan Zhan did, a multitude, in fact. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his laptop or any paper on him, so as he stood, he fished his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the notes app.

Wei Ying was a step ahead of him, though, and yanked his sketchbook out of his bag, along with a stubby little pencil. For the next thirty minutes, he made notes, took brochures from the owner, bought more toys and supplies than were probably truly warranted, but what did that matter? The joy in his heart, the astonishment that flooded Wei Ying’s face, the contentment that Turpentine radiated was worth all of it, even though between the two of them they still had to take two trips from the shop to the car to get everything and everyone.

It was impulsive. His uncle would have complained. It didn’t matter.

Lan Zhan had never been more charmed, not with Wei Ying in the passenger’s seat studying the many papers and tracts in his lap with more seriousness than he’d ever seen Wei Ying show toward school or anything else.

At a stop light, Lan Zhan turned, caught sight of the pair nuzzling in the carrier. “Cannon Ball seems happy.”

“We can’t really name her Cannon Ball, can we?” Wei Ying asked. “I was just teasing.”

“Why not?” Lan Zhan asked. It wasn’t any worse a name than Turpentine. In fact, he thought it was rather cute. And he’d been watching her in the hutch as the owner gave him the instructions they would need to get her settled; it suited her, Cannon Ball.

“I… don’t actually know.” Twisting around he shoved as much of his upper body through the space between the seats as he could, stretching to press his fingers to the grate of the carrier they’d bought. “Hey, Nonnoball? No-no? I guess it works? I’ll have to come up with a better nickname probably.”

With Wei Ying turned away, he would be safe to smile without risk of making Wei Ying go even more excitable. Cute. It was cute. Wei Ying was cute.

For the wonderful span of a few hours, they acclimated Cannon Ball to her new home and Turpentine’s new life with another rabbit in hers, Wei Ying and he remaining side by side as they worked with her.

It was the best morning he’d had in a very long time.

It would have been the best afternoon, too, if Wei Ying didn’t groan as he looked down at his phone. “Ugh, Lan Zhan. I should probably make sure the studio hasn’t burned down, but the rabbits are too cute.” He pointed at them in illustration. Cannon Ball was still nosing around, uncertain, but Turpentine watched over her as she explored. Sighing, he leaned against Lan Zhan’s side, rubbed his face against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “And you’re so cute, too. How am I supposed to go?”

He considered encouraging Wei Ying in his desire; he considered being selfish. He did neither as Wei Ying pushed himself to his feet. There was a glint of something hidden in his eyes regardless, a desire. Perhaps merely to visit it. Perhaps something more.

“Are you excited about it?” Lan Zhan looked up at him. “Whatever is waiting for you at the studio?”

Wei Ying paused and bit his lip before smiling, as though mulling over the answer. “I am actually. You’ll see soon. Do you mind if I take the car? I’ll make sure my phone’s not on silent in case you need me.”

“Not at all,” he answered, though Wei Ying’s question only led to more on Lan Zhan’s end. He so rarely wanted the car when he was only going to the studio. He didn’t give voice to the ridiculous notion that crept into his thoughts: I always need you. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you.”

More carefully than he might otherwise have done, Wei Ying swept forward and pressed a kiss to Lan Zhan’s forehead. “You’re never a bother.”

And with that, Wei Ying sauntered to the bedroom, remained there a few minutes, walked across to the bathroom, now wearing grubby clothes, and washed his hands. “Be back soon!”

Not an hour later, Lan Zhan’s focus entirely on the rabbits, who were behaving so naturally and happily together that Lan Zhan felt certain something bad was going to happen if he looked away, Lan Zhan’s phone rang, startling him and, in turn, sending Cannon Ball careening toward the hutch before she darted over to the more familiar—and still open—carrier that sat in the corner of the room.

His brother was calling him. He would have expected Lan Huan was also taking the day off to rest, perhaps to spend time with Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang.

“A-Zhan, how are you today?” he asked first thing, which set off warning bells despite the fact that he hadn’t said anything different than he might have at any other time. Perhaps it was just the sound of his voice, the slight hint of hesitance.

Turpentine hopped in slow increments toward the carrier. Lan Zhan followed at a slight distance, keeping a careful eye on them in case they started fighting, but she was careful with Cannon Ball, remaining on the outside of the carrier as Cannon Ball approached her instead.

“A-Zhan, I just want you to know—”

There was a sharp rap on the front door and Cannon Ball darted to the back of the carrier yet again. Turpentine shot off toward the bedroom door, which was closed and then raced around to the hutch.

“I tried to stop him,” Lan Huan said, which didn’t make any sense, except that he must have heard the knock, too. “He only called me to let me know he was coming when he was downstairs already.”

“Who?” But even as he asked it, he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly who it was.

Another rap, more insistent this time. His name, spoken through the door. By his uncle.

Pushing himself to his feet, he swallowed back as much of the bile-tinged dread he was feeling at having to open the door for his uncle. For all of his faults and flaws—faults and flaws that each and every Lan had in one way or another—he didn’t generally pull stunts. “What am I supposed to do with him? He can’t—how long is he going to stay?”

“I don’t know. A-Zhan, we’ll figure it out, okay?”

Sure, sure. They’d figure it out, but he wanted to know how to deal with it now. He didn’t have the space to host his uncle for one thing and for another… for another, he couldn’t fathom how Wei Ying would feel if he tried.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Lan Huan either.

“We’re coming over,” Lan Huan continued. “Meng Yao’s already arranging the spare room. You’re inviting us all over for dinner, do you understand?”

“Ge, that’s—” It was, as much as Lan Zhan hated to say it, a relief. “Thank you.”

As soon as he opened the door, his uncle swept inside, unhappy. His gaze immediately settled on the new carrier. Somehow he always knew when Lan Zhan did something he wouldn’t have condoned. It normally slid from his shoulders. This time, it wormed under his skin, wriggling to settle at the base of his skull, a dull throb. “You’ve gotten another rabbit?”

Lan Zhan bit back all the words he wanted to say, the explanations his heart demanded he give before he remembered that, of all the things he owed his uncle, a full accounting of his day-to-day life didn’t have to be one of them. “Yes.” He gestured toward the couch. “Why don’t you rest and I’ll make some tea? The journey from Suzhou must have been tiresome.”

His mind spun through every possible solution to this problem and kept coming up with nothing. He even dragged out the process of brewing the tea, taking his time finding the cups and tea pot, only setting the electric kettle once he’d retrieved everything else first, anything to give himself more time.

He vacillated between texting Wei Ying and leaving him in ignorant bliss for a while longer. Delaying ran the risk of having this all come as a surprise for him, but telling him also risked ruining his concentration.

Message me when you’re on your way home, he finally settled on. That shouldn’t worry Wei Ying too much, but it would give him a chance to explain before Wei Ying waltzed through the door.

Wei Ying sent back a smiling emoji and a thumbs up.

He put aside his own worries for the time being, knowing there was nothing else that could be done.

He finally brought the tea to his uncle, feigning the indifference his uncle seemed to prefer in his nephews rather than display any of the concern or annoyance he was feeling. It was uncomfortable to be so stiff again in his own home when it had been years since he’d felt the need to be.

“Is everything well?” Though that was the question he asked, it was not the one he meant. What he really wanted to know was why his uncle picked now to come all the way out here when there were no planned lectures for him to participate in, not even anything at the university which might strike his ever tightening fancies.

“Everything is well,” uncle answered, taking the mug of tea and drinking deeply. His attention lingered on it, as though to make sure it was up to his standards.

It was, of course, up to his standards. Lan Zhan was trained to allow for nothing else. Even when Wei Ying complained that he could let the tea steep a little longer in favor of trading kisses, Lan Zhan thought about how unhappy his uncle would be that Lan Zhan would choose one frivolous thing at the expense of another.

He always chose the kisses and he never regretted it, but he hated that it was a choice he still considered.

Lan Zhan opened his mouth and then closed it again. What was there to say when his uncle wouldn’t answer him openly anyway? I hope the tea is to your satisfaction, he thought, not a little annoyed. The tea was probably going to be the last thing Lan Zhan could do this afternoon which had a chance of meeting his uncle’s approval.

“How was the wedding?” his uncle asked, bland, like he wasn’t at all interested in the answer.

“Overindulgent,” Lan Zhan answered, blunt, the way he always got around his uncle, dredging up old habits from the depths, but he’d learned over time that the less he said to his uncle the better; they both preferred it that way. “Unnecessary.”

“Mn,” he agreed, nodding. “As is often the case with the Jin family.”

Lan Zhan waited for the shoe to drop. His uncle wouldn’t just casually arrive to discuss Jin Zixun’s marriage. That wasn’t who Lan Qiren was.

In the past, Lan Zhan would have tried to break the discomfort by capitulating first, but this was not the past; he found he was okay sitting with this discomfort.

The burden could fall on his uncle’s shoulders. It was only a small rebellion, but it was a rebellion even if it only existed in his heart. Lan Zhan knew better than to believe his uncle wanted to actively sabotage his relationship with Wei Ying, but he couldn’t have picked a better time to assert more pressure than right at this moment, couldn’t have chosen a more fragile time to come.

“Uncle, as much as I would like to be fully welcoming to you,” he finally said when it was clear his uncle didn’t intend to speak. “Wei Ying and I have only just returned home and have barely settled. Ge has also barely settled.”

“Why exactly did you decide to get another rabbit?” uncle asked, sniffing as Turpentine hopped across the floor to the carrier. Her progress was slow and she stopped often to observe Lan Qiren, as though expecting him to do something to her, treating him like the interloper he was.

“Turpentine bonded wi—” His phone beeped. A message from Wei Ying. Already? It felt like he’d only just gone. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Lan Zhan’s heart beat out a furious rhythm in his chest.

To imagine going out into the hallway outside of his condo to have a conversation with his fiancé was untenable and yet that was exactly what he did, not quite trusting the privacy or lack of it that he might have had instead if he retreated to his bedroom.

When Wei Ying answered his call, Lan Zhan could hear his muttered curses and the sudden slam of metal against metal. His voice sounded far away, the microphone picking up the wind as he offered a hello to Lan Zhan. He sounded so cheerful despite the trouble he appeared to be having with the trunk or the backseat.

Lan Zhan hated to ruin that good cheer.

“What’s going on?” he asked finally, sounding normal, if tinny, over the line. The car door shut and then it was quiet except for the jangle of keys. He was humming to himself.

“I…”

“Lan Zhan?”

“There’s… news.” He closed his eyes and paced the carpet, scuffing his shoes over it, petulant and unhappy. “I didn’t want to disturb your time at the studio, but…”

“Lan Zhan, you’re kind of freaking me out,” he said, still cheerful, but it was such brittle cheer that Lan Zhan knew with a certainty he’d shatter it no matter how hard Wei Ying tried to keep up the façade. “Who’s hurt?”

“Nobody’s hurt. It’s just—”

“Just?”

“My uncle has arrived. He’s sitting in the living room drinking tea.”

Lan Zhan counted the length of Wei Ying’s silence by the thumping of his own blood in his ears. It went on at least ten seconds too long for Lan Zhan’s comfort.

The keys clattered loudly again. “Fuck,” Wei Ying said, followed by a sudden flurry of sound as he presumably picked them up from wherever they’d fallen. There was one sharp, short thudding sound and then the sound of the keys jamming into the ignition. “Fuck, what the fuck.”

“I don’t know why he’s here yet,” Lan Zhan said, feeling every inch a failure that it wasn’t the first question out of his mouth as soon as he’d arrived. Wei Ying deserved a better answer than this.

“I can’t. Lan Zhan, I cannot deal… any other time, but—”

“I know.” It wasn’t fair at all to ask Wei Ying to shoulder his family’s burden, too, when Wei Ying had just weathered his own and did his best to keep Lan Zhan out of it entirely. “I know. He’s going to be staying with my brother and I’m going to invite him to stay for dinner, but that’s all.” He winced. “It won’t be long.”

“You’re right. Fuck, you’re right, Lan Zhan. That was—childish. Do you know how long he’ll be here?” Lan Zhan could hear the defeat in his voice and didn’t like it at all, didn’t know how to undo it.

“Not yet.”

“I’ll… I’ll do my best, okay?” Wei Ying’s voice shook a little, but he was earnest, fierce. “I can’t promise I won’t piss him off, but… I’ll try.”

You shouldn’t have to try. “I know.”

“Okay, Lan Zhan. I’ll be home soon. I have a surprise for you anyway.”

“For me?” He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it might be even though—ah. Of course. Their anniversary. He’d forgotten about it entirely. Again. His own plan, back-burnered long ago, felt tainted now. What was the point of a wedding when getting registered would suffice? If Lan Zhan never attended another wedding, it would be too soon.

Guilt twanged inside of him at this having slipped his mind, too.

Lan Zhan returned to the condo to find his uncle inspecting his living room, staring up at the paintings currently hanging on the walls. One was a velvet painting of Turpentine that always got a pleased laugh out of anyone who stopped by, especially Lan Huan, who’d all but begged Wei Ying to paint something similarly terrible and wonderful for him.

The other was one of his mother’s landscapes.

His uncle, of course, paid the latter no mind and scowled at the former. “What’s this?”

“A birthday gift,” Lan Zhan answered, unable to counter the smile that crept across his lips, “from Wei Ying.”

Sniffing, Lan Qiren shook his head. “You know better than to encourage… this.”

Swallowing around a flare of anger, he replied, quiet, “I don’t believe I do.”

“This isn’t art.”

There were many different definitions of art and Lan Zhan had studied, considered, discarded, synthesized, so many of them that it would make his head spin if he thought about it all too deeply. Wei Ying made him reach for even more, demanding his time and attention with every piece he created, even the ones that were done for the sheer delight of it, little more than a joke and a few hours spent in amusement. When he was younger, he might have said the same thing his uncle said now.

It was not to his uncle’s credit that he spoke these words.

Who was to say it was not art? Who even cared?

And anyway, it had led to a more legitimately ‘fine art’ endeavor, which was a series of traditionally inspired landscape paintings done on velvet, which were truly stunning, merging two disparate aesthetics into multiple harmonious pieces. One had even ended up in a contemporary art exhibit for a museum in Guangzhou. The others sold very, very quickly.

If he was really determined, he might have lectured on the importance of kitsch and populist art movements or any of the many things that Lan Qiren chose to exclude from his understanding of valuable and not valuable, but the only truth that mattered was this and so he felt no need to defend it on its academic merits: Lan Zhan liked it and Wei Ying had painted it for him.

“Uncle,” he said, as they continued to stand there, staring at the painting. He kept his voice bland and as diffident as he could manage. It was very difficult to do though he had practice. “Wei Ying is my intended. He has learned to show respect to you despite your many disagreements over the years. I would… I would ask only that you don’t deride him in this way.”

Lan Qiren turned his attention to Lan Zhan, focusing entirely on him, perceiving far too much. It was clear in the slashing frown of his mouth that he was displeased with Lan Zhan’s words. After so many years weathering his disapproval of Wei Ying, it should hardly have registered.

He said nothing, refused to acknowledge Lan Zhan’s words at all, resuming his seat on the couch before he dropped a grenade in Lan Zhan’s lap. If he realized how deeply his words affected Lan Zhan, he didn’t say it.

“I’ve been hired by your alma mater,” he said, drinking his tea, as casual as any Lan could claim to be. “I’ve begun the process of purchasing an apartment in this building.”

Lan Zhan was not often given to theatrics, but his thoughts swam as his uncle’s words registered. He needed to sit down and lowered himself carefully to the couch as far from his uncle as possible.

An apartment? In this building? “You never said anything,” he said, weak. “I would have helped you find a house. There are many excellent homes closer to—”

“I don’t wish to be so near to the campus. Too noisy. But here is more conveniently located than your brother’s residence.”

There was nothing convenient about where Lan Zhan had chosen to live. He just happened to like it.

“I see.” He did not.

In fact, he didn’t understand any of this at all or why it had to happen now.

2020

Lan Zhan climbed the steps that led to Burial Mounds’s studio space, carefully avoiding putting his weight on any of the ones that creaked.

For no better reason than because he felt like it, he wanted his arrival to be a surprise. A frivolous impulse, maybe, but Wei Ying encouraged such things in him and he possibly wanted to indulge.

Wei Ying’s earlier message—hey lan zhan i’d like to come by this afternoon to paint—was merely a conveniently timed excuse for him to waylay Wei Ying instead. It had been a few days since they’d seen one another; Lan Zhan was eager. And not, now, because he was particularly interested in having his wall painted.

So. If he cleared his schedule, that was his business. There wasn’t anything terribly pressing on the docket anyway and Lan Huan had done it often enough that turnabout was entirely fair and welcome if Lan Huan’s words when he asked for the time—take care of him, A-Zhan, he seems a little rundown—were any indication.

Before he attempted to coax Wei Ying into ignoring his duties and responsibilities—the irony was not lost on Lan Zhan—he allowed himself to watch Wei Ying work. In action, he was a whirlwind and today he was lost in his own world, too, head and body bobbing along with whatever music he was unexpectedly listening to. Every once in a while, he shimmied or twisted his hips a bit, unselfconscious as he twirled his paintbrush between his fingers, not quite at risk of dripping all over the floor, but close. He found he liked watching Wei Ying like this. Of course, he liked watching Wei Ying regardless.

“Wei Ying,” he said. No response.

Lan Zhan catalogued the various half-completed sketches and studies that dotted Wei Ying’s space. He didn’t think all of these could be for his walls, but a lot of them seemed like they might have been.

Lan Zhan swallowed, humbled. Wei Ying was working very hard for him, harder than he needed to. Considering Lan Huan had also asked for work from him… Lan Zhan couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Though he did seem to be working himself to the point of exhaustion, he didn’t show it from the back, still moving around the space as though his energy was infinite, unrelenting in motion. “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying backed up a step and then another and when it was clear that he was on a collision course with Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan didn’t move out of the way, choosing instead to wait and then help Wei Ying keep his balance when he turned, startled. He yanked the earbuds so violently from his ears that Lan Zhan winced in sympathy.

Not that Wei Ying noticed. He tittered through a few questions—when did you get here, why are you here, like Lan Zhan didn’t have a vested interest in being around Wei Ying whenever possible—before saying, awkward, “If we keep seeing one another like this, you’re going to get bored of me,” like that was even remotely possible.

“No,” was all he could say to that, because he’d spill less wise admissions if he offered more. Instead, he used Wei Ying’s work as a distraction, noting distantly that there were several sketches that Wei Ying apparently didn’t want him to see. Though he thought Lan Zhan didn’t notice maybe, Lan Zhan couldn’t help but see the pages unceremoniously shoved behind another canvas. This, he chose to ignore as it wasn’t his business. Instead, he allowed them to fall into easy patterns, gentle criticism falling from Lan Zhan’s mouth with very little prompting. It had been a while since they’ve been able to do this, Lan Zhan offering his thoughts and Wei Ying taking careful hold of them.

Afterward, he didn’t even really remember what he said, though Wei Ying had quite charmingly started scribbling on his palm while he said it.

By the time he’d convinced Wei Ying to come by, convinced him, too, to put aside thoughts of working, found himself teased and charmed in turn, he felt sure he could do this, could be what Wei Ying would allow him to be, a friend plus this, this fragile, physical, wonderful thing between them.

“Lan Zhan, will you let me draw you this time?”

The question was unexpected, surprising, troubling to Lan Zhan because he wanted to say yes, but years of saying no crowded his throat, urged him to open his mouth and deny this to Wei Ying. Instead, he fumbled it, almost ruined the chance; he wanted to give Wei Ying anything he wanted, even this.

He couldn’t deny that he was a little curious to know what Wei Ying really thought of him, how he would portray him. Before, fear kept him from allowing it, but now…

Now things had changed. Allowing Wei Ying to do this would answer a question or two, give him some guidance for the future, do something to ease Lan Zhan’s thoughts, put his concerns and desires to rest.

The problem, as he soon discovered, was that Wei Ying could be a compelling whiner when he wanted to be, which apparently he did want to be. Because Lan Zhan had convinced him to leave his stuff behind, he didn’t have ‘good supplies,’ as though he hadn’t seen Wei Ying compose beautiful pieces out of dry, brittle graphite and make compelling sketches in the dirt with a thin stick and boredom to compel him.

The answer, he knew, lay in the bedroom, hidden away, waiting. He’d considered offering what was there to Wei Ying many times over the years and the time had never been right. Possibly the time wasn’t right now, but he couldn’t imagine a better opening than this.

He pulled Wei Ying toward the bedroom, knelt before the bed, pulled open the drawer. Inside was a box he’d seen on one of his mother’s periodic supply runs. She didn’t always take him because he’d still been very young, but this time she had. It was one of the few memories he had of just himself and her together. His brother had been with other friends that day, leaving Lan Zhan tearful, crying about how his brother had abandoned him as only a small child could. He’d always remember how she’d stopped to admire that box at an antique store on the way home and how he’d pled with his uncle to take him back to buy it.

Later, she’d sat down with him and held his hand while they painted it and then she asked him, on his own, to sign the bottom. He hadn’t signed it, since it wasn’t his and it was her strengths and skills that decorated the rest of the box, but he did, in his careful, yet unsteady scrawl, write her name.

After her death, he’d always made sure the supplies inside were cared for and never really knew why until he met Wei Ying. Even when he was a child and didn’t know how to condition brushes for himself, he tried.

The sketchbook had been a gift to her from his brother, the last gift she’d received before she passed, never having had the time to make use of it.

It was an honor to finally give them to Wei Ying. Watching Wei Ying take them was like witnessing the collapse of a building, features buckling under the weight of—

“I can’t. Not if it’s hers,” he said, once Lan Zhan had confirmed the provenance. He begged, “Lan Zhan, be reasonable.”

It was unreasonable to allow good equipment to go to waste. It was a tragedy for his most loved one’s possessions to gather dust in his bedroom when he knew she would love Wei Ying and the work he could do with them. Everything good in him was split between this box and Wei Ying.

Wei Ying had to know that. There was no possible way he could believe these weren’t meant for him, that Lan Zhan wouldn’t entrust him with this and more.

He kissed Wei Ying deeply, pulling him close, digging his fingers into Wei Ying’s biceps. The box dug into his chest, painful, but he didn’t care, not when Wei Ying was responding, when shaking hand met shaking hand as they reached for one another.

The box and book were set aside carefully. That was okay. He’d fix it after. He would ensure Wei Ying understood.

“Will you fuck me?” Wei Ying asked him.

Lan Zhan wanted to. Very much.

Though Lan Zhan wasn’t expecting the awkward condom conversation, he’d had it often enough that it was easy to skirt past despite the sudden shame that he hadn’t stopped before to put Wei Ying’s mind at ease. Wei Ying apparently trusted Lan Zhan to be safe, but didn’t believe Lan Zhan might trust him in return.

This was all wrong. All wrong.

When Wei Ying asked to use the bathroom, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, scrubbed his hand over his face. What are we doing here, he asked himself. Could he even be good for Wei Ying like this? He wanted Wei Ying so much, was already so turned on he could only think of burying himself in Wei Ying and never coming back out.

He heard a thud and a clatter from across the hall, quickly muffled, and worried that Wei Ying was thinking the same thing in the other room, perhaps staring at himself in the mirror, regretting asking for this, regretting wanting it at all. There was the faint sound of water striking the sink as Wei Ying turned on the tap. He imagined Wei Ying splashing himself in the face as he talked himself into doing this.

He was determined, when Wei Ying came back out, to tell him they couldn’t, not when it felt so fraught. It was the right thing to do.

It was the thing he should have done. He rehearsed the words while Wei Ying showered, certain he’d found the right ones when—

When Wei Ying stepped into the hallway, returned to the bedroom.

He wore only a robe—Lan Zhan’s robe—and he was looking at Lan Zhan like he needed something from Lan Zhan, and he couldn’t… the words dissolved on his tongue, like bitter candy floss. Shivering in the middle of the floor like that, Wei Ying looked lost, looked like he wanted to be found by Lan Zhan specifically.

Lan Zhan was not a strong man and, it turned out, he couldn’t be a better man for Wei Ying. He tried. Oh, he tried. Lan Zhan kept trying right up until he kissed Wei Ying, guided Wei Ying to the bed, rid himself of his own clothing and then Wei Ying’s robes.

By the time he had Wei Ying arranged on the bed, he was certain he’d die before he ever managed to bring Wei Ying to climax. He could not stop himself from kissing every centimeter of skin he could find or sweep his fingers over every plane of muscle. Lan Zhan memorized every response he drew from Wei Ying. Every sound, every shift. He would remember it.

His skin was flushed red, warm, presumably from the shower, but also growing more so as Lan Zhan dragged his hands down Wei Ying’s back, exploring, tentative.

“You’re not just doing this for me?” Wei Ying asked, voice muffled by the pillow that would now smell like Wei Ying and himself mingled.

Lan Zhan almost laughed, as though he hadn’t dreamed about exactly this for going on ten years now. Because he didn’t have to look Wei Ying in the eyes, he found himself wanting to be honest. He would do anything Wei Ying asked only because Wei Ying asked for it, of course. “But I am not doing this only for you. I would like to have this with you.”

As long as he kept control of himself, a very difficult proposition at the moment with Wei Ying squirming beneath his hands, he might succeed. It felt different today. Wei Ying’s request—the first real request he’d made—deserved to be honored.

This continued for a time, slow minutes spun out beneath his fingers as he collected Wei Ying’s reactions to him, greedy even as he hardened fully, the weight of it distracting against his thigh. This part, preparing his partner, he’d never much cared for it, considered it the price paid for the relief of orgasm. Even though he’d experienced men who loved this, were enthusiastic to the point of pain to be fingered, it wasn’t until he touched Wei Ying that he truly understood the appeal.

I could make Wei Ying come from this, he thought, heady.

Wei Ying, clutching at the pillow, gasped and pushed himself back onto Lan Zhan’s fingers, stretching himself too quickly. He hissed and then, startling Lan Zhan, twisted around and threw himself into Lan Zhan’s lap. “I need you.”

He sounded as wrecked as Lan Zhan felt.

Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan wasn’t certain how long he’d last inside of Wei Ying, but as he held Wei Ying open, pressed himself inside slowly, slowly, mentally reciting lists of art movements, artists within art movements, biographical details about artists within art movements, felt each and every millimeter of drag until Wei Ying was shuddering around him, he was determined.

Around him, Wei Ying flexed and squeezed and though he’d managed to keep himself quiet mostly, he couldn’t muffle the choked sob that found its way out of his mouth. He was—they were here, doing this. It was real. And if this was all he would ever have of Wei Ying, it was enough. One perfect night to match the amazing nights that had come before. These moments that Wei Ying had given him would be prized forever, even if he never felt anything more than this for Lan Zhan. It was a gift that Wei Ying kept giving him, intangible and therefore not a possession that could be taken from him. He didn’t need to fear its loss.

Wei Ying was… he was incredible, grinding his body down on Lan Zhan’s lap, riding Lan Zhan, touching him everywhere, and all Lan Zhan could do was hang on and hope he lasted until Wei Ying came. Wei Ying tore sounds from him that he’d never heard before, made him feel things he’d never imagined he might feel. When Wei Ying bit and sucked at Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he made noises that should have been illegal and Lan Zhan couldn’t hold back any longer, rolling his hips up and up and—

And Wei Ying was gone, off of Lan Zhan’s cock, off of his lap entirely, flinching backward as though—

“Sorry,” Wei Ying said, sounding genuinely aggrieved as though that was any consolation for the sudden, ragged wound in Lan Zhan’s chest. Sorry, like he wasn’t about to break Lan Zhan’s heart with his words. Sorry, like he was the one at fault here. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And then he was scooping up the robe, racing to the bathroom as though he couldn’t get away quickly enough, throwing himself out the door with a slamming thunk after he’d managed to change into his own clothes.

Oh.

It didn’t matter what happened because Wei Ying was done with him.

Apparently, he was wrong. There were plenty of things left in the world to fear.

Of course sex with Lan Zhan wouldn’t be enough for Wei Ying. Why should it be? Why should he be? The last time he’d been enough for someone, she’d left him, too, not of her own choice. But.

Stunned, embarrassed, terrified into inaction, Lan Zhan sat there, only pulled from the mire of his thoughts by Turpentine’s nearly silent hops as she approached the bedroom, nudging the door though it was already wide open. Surprised, he checked the time and found he’d been sitting here on stained bedding, surrounded by the reminders of what he and Wei Ying had been doing—even the pillow still smelled like Lan Zhan’s shampoo, the shampoo Wei Ying had used, shampoo and sweat—for twenty minutes without even noticing.

Right. Well, then.

As he gathered up the comforter, the pillow case, tossing them both into the washing machine, replaced both with a spare set, certain he’d have to buy new ones entirely because he wouldn’t be able to use these ones again, he tried to figure out how exactly he was supposed to move on from this.

Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to.

2011

im so sorry i have to cancel today It was late morning and Wei Ying usually didn’t message him at this time of day. Lan Zhan was only just getting out of one class, readying himself for the next, distracted. It was rare that he received messages during the day, so for a moment, he was worried something had happened as he read it. Then he realized what he was feeling was disappointment.

No, nothing as mundane as that. It felt, for a moment, like this entire world had been taken away from him. In the hallway, he stopped, unable to fully process just how devastated he was to know now he wouldn’t be seeing Wei Ying today, when these doled out hours were the only thing in his week that he looked forward to. A part of him was angry that this could be taken from him so easily. So few words exposed how truly fragile their underlying relationship was. It could be unmoored with one slip of its cabling, cast adrift by a single message delivered via messaging app.

A body collided with him, knocking shoulders, its owner saying, “Hey, you ever think about moving out of the middle of the hallway,” as he passed, glaring back at Lan Zhan.

He shifted closer to the wall and forced himself to calm down. It was one afternoon. Wei Ying wasn’t abandoning him, not when he’d been diligent for months already, every week, just as happy to see him as he always was no matter how tired he looked to Lan Zhan’s eyes. Still, as he responded, he couldn’t help the cold dread dripping down his back. That’s fine. Is everything all right?

The app very helpfully showed it when Wei Ying started typing, when he stopped, when he started again only to abandon the endeavor entirely a moment later, going inactive.

Lan Zhan tried not to read anything into it through his last handful of classes for the day; he tried not to read anything into it when he went home, apartment even more lonely than normal; he tried not to read anything into it when, later, unable to stop himself from thinking about Wei Ying, he wrapped his hand around himself and jerked off with brutal efficiency before getting back to work on a critique for class.

He should have been glad to have the extra time to study. These hours he spent with Wei Ying were an indulgence. The fact that he could afford them should have been a warning sign that he wasn’t taking his schooling as seriously as he ought to. His uncle would be appalled.

Instead, he was angry all over again. It shouldn’t have taken him until ten to finish this critique. He could have done it in his sleep, except that sleep eluded him where thoughts of Wei Ying wouldn’t.

When he woke up in the morning, there was a message that came in overnight while his phone was on do not disturb. The timestamp showed it was sent at 3:36AM. sorry again everythings okay see you monday?

See you Monday, like it wasn’t a foregone conclusion, like Lan Zhan was even capable of saying no at this point, like Wei Ying was still incapable of taking Lan Zhan’s answer for granted despite the ever-growing evidence that Lan Zhan would do anything for him. Get some rest. I will see you on Monday. He wanted to wish Wei Ying a good weekend, too, but decided against it for reasons that weren’t entirely clear to him.

The whole thing left him feeling as though he was going to jump out of his skin. When he sat down to study, his thoughts drifting constantly back to Wei Ying, what might have happened to him, why he was sending messages at 3AM, what he’d do if Wei Ying cancelled again on Monday. It was n overreaction, he knew, and he tempered his unhappiness as best he could.

He didn’t precisely know why he did what he was doing, but he found himself searching for clubs in the area, clubs that might suit his purposes, though he really didn’t know a thing about which would get him what he wanted.

Frustrated, no closer to an answer after thirty minutes of research, he picked one at random, dressed as he thought might be expected of him, and headed out.

It was… far easier than he’d expected, required little more than a glance at the right person at the right time. In a way, it was disappointing, because he found that the music here was interesting, deep and resonant, high and mournful, building and crashing instrumentals that intrigued him. He’d never heard music like it before and he wanted to hear more, but the man whose eye he’d caught was already approaching, a smile on his mouth, promise in his gaze, and Lan Zhan knew if he didn’t do this now, he might never do so.

It was easier this time to take the lead, ask to be brought back to the man’s apartment—just down the street, how convenient—to tell the man what he wanted in concise terms, pushing through the embarrassment he felt as he spoke gracelessly about what he intended to do, which was exactly the same as what he’d done before except better, more refined.

“I like a guy who knows what he wants,” the man answered, a little nonplussed, if intrigued, after he was done speaking. “Be my guest.”

Knowing what to expect, knowing where his own pitfalls were, improved the experience, even he could admit that. He knew already how to get himself where he needed to go, what he needed to do to perform. He didn’t allow himself to think specifically of Wei Ying. That didn’t seem right to do. But he did think about a shoulder that might have been Wei Ying’s, a paint-streaked stretch of lower back that perhaps could belong to a man of Wei Ying’s weight, height, and build.

He hardened as he ought to, managed to feel the beginnings of pleasurable anticipation as he worked the man open, didn’t feel any overwhelming urge to stop the man from babbling at him. He figured out quickly enough that this guy didn’t like slow, kept cursing at him to move, and Lan Zhan discovered he rather liked it, too, the mindlessness of it, the heat and ache and struggle of it. It was nice to bruise this man’s hips with his thumbs and hear him shudder in response, and when he finished into his palm, body clenching around Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan came, too, surprising enough that Lan Zhan could only kneel there as pleasure whipped itself up Lan Zhan’s spine, a burst of release that loosened something in his chest.

Lan Zhan climbed off the bed and considered the man’s bare back, his reddened skin, the turn of his head as he looked up at him from the pillow, gaze keen as Lan Zhan stripped the condom and wrapped it in a tissue from the box on his bed stand “You’re really gonna be something someday,” he said, considering. “Don’t get me wrong, that was good, but you’re not very experienced, are you?”

Going still, Lan Zhan looked back at him, challenging to counter the slide of embarrassment through him. “Is that a complaint?”

“No,” he said, hissing as he sat up. “Not at all. Just got a feeling. If you wanted to stick around…?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. He didn’t even know this guy’s name, didn’t want to know it. The less he knew, the better.

“Hey, no worries.” The man flashed him a bright smile. “Thanks for the good time. Bathroom’s all yours if you want it.”

Frankly, Lan Zhan just wanted to get out of there, but he didn’t want to do a walk of shame out of the building at nine in the evening either. The thought that he could be so easily led around by his libido was galling, but he couldn’t deny there was something different about how he felt now versus how he’d felt yesterday and the only changed variable was the sex he’d had.

When he stepped back out, hair dripping rivulets down his face and neck, he heard the guy calling for him, voice muffled by the door. “I think someone’s trying to text you.”

His phone was still in his pants. Which were on this guy’s floor. There were only a handful of people who would text him like this.

He was already reading the first text, sent four minutes ago at 8:55, asking him to come over to Nie Huaisang’s, like Wei Ying knew it was his last possible chance before Lan Zhan went to bed and he’d held off on doing so. i know its late for you, but. please.

Lan Zhan wouldn’t have denied him anything, but his heart still thundered against his chest as he realized he’d be seeing Wei Ying so unexpectedly. He’d gotten so used to their time together being parceled out to Mondays and Thursdays only that it left him nervously lightheaded to think he’d be seeing Wei Ying tonight, that Wei Ying was asking to see him.

Wei Ying wanted to see him now? After he’d… with another…?

He could pretend he didn’t see it. Wei Ying wouldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t have to go to Nie Huaisang’s with wet hair and wet clothes while trying to hide the fact that he’d just fucked a man he didn’t care about because he couldn’t fathom the thought of telling the man he did care about that he wanted whatever scraps of attention he could spare and if those scraps were romantic in nature, all the better.

There was, of course, only one answer he could give.

I can be there in fifteen minutes.

2025

When Wei Ying arrived, he carried a large, long case and offered the bare minimum of greetings before disappearing into the bedroom. Before returning, he must have brushed his hair because his ponytail was neater than before, less pleasing to Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Uncle,” Wei Ying said, spine straight, hands behind his back. His voice was crisp and cool and distant, unpleasant for all that it was perfectly cordial.

All Lan Zhan could think about was the bomb he held in his hands, placed there by his uncle; he’d never before considered the truth to be so destructive, even if he knew it could be used as a weapon. It could only ever illuminate in the end, but this…

He shook his head, did his best to gather his courage. This, right now, could do real harm to Wei Ying. Waiting would only make it worse.

“Uncle, Wei Ying and I need to speak privately for a moment. Will you excuse us?”

Furrowing his brow, Wei Ying allowed himself to be dragged to the bedroom. “Lan Zhan?” he asked, quiet, clearly nervous and only growing more so as he stared at Lan Zhan, who couldn’t quite control his own fears. Surely his features weren’t as composed as he might have wanted them to be and Wei Ying was responding to that.

Wei Ying sat heavily on the end of the bed. “Out with it,” he said, empty, hunched as though waiting for an ax to fall. He pressed his hand to the case, which occupied most of the mattress. “It can’t be as bad as what I’m imagining.”

Lan Zhan remained near the door, arms crossed protectively. “What are you imagining?”

Laughing bitterly, Wei Ying shrugged, only then looking up. “Your dear uncle wanting to move in with us?” Lan Zhan’s face must’ve shown something because Wei Ying paled. “You’re kidding me. Lan Zhan, tell me you’re kidding.”

Lan Zhan swallowed, unable to meet Wei Ying’s eyes. “It’s not that precisely.” Wei Ying sighed in relief. “He intends to purchase an apartment in the building.”

Shooting to his feet, Wei Ying paced around the room, wandering toward the windows. “Why would he… he works in Suzhou. He’s happy in Suzhou. Why would he want to come here?”

“He was offered a job at the university,” Lan Zhan answered. “He decided to take it.”

“That’s not an answer,” Wei Ying replied, vehement. “That doesn’t explain…”

“I don’t know why.” Lan Zhan refused to get testy over this. Though Wei Ying’s voice was harried, tense, he wasn’t angry at Lan Zhan even if Lan Zhan was becoming the target. The more difficult thing to moderate was his own frustration at the situation. Wei Ying wasn’t alone in this, though he was doing a very good impression of it. He had to remain in control.

Lan Zhan didn’t want to return to living under his uncle’s rules any more than Wei Ying wanted to be subjected to it. And they would be. Often.

Wei Ying gestured between himself and Lan Zhan. “What are we going to tell him?”

“I should think that’s obvious,” Lan Zhan replied, not quite able to smother the strain in his voice.

“It’s not obvious to me, Lan Zhan! He’s your uncle,” Wei Ying said, “and he doesn’t like me.” The metal clasps on the case rattled as Wei Ying sat on the bed next to it again. “And he’s going to live here? I’ll have to leave the entire fucking province to ever know peace again.”

Fury, fear, regret. All of these things choked him. It wasn’t fair that their life together could so easily be tipped into such uncertainty. They’d already been through so much of it in their lives, self-imposed and imposed upon them by others. Wasn’t that enough?

“And you’re my husband,” Lan Zhan said, voice raised out of nowhere. Of the two of them, he wasn’t sure who was more shocked by the sound of it. Wei Ying or himself. It wasn’t a shout—Lan Zhan hadn’t shouted even once in his life—but it was as close to it as he would ever get. Softly, he amended, “You’re as good as my husband. You proposed to me. The lack of documentation is meaningless. His feelings about you are irrelevant. He could live in this house and it wouldn’t matter.”

In his heart, even if they never married, Wei Ying was his partner. They weren’t the sort of family his uncle would have wished for; neither his brother nor himself had followed any sort of path that their uncle would have wanted for them. Wei Ying was not the sort of spouse his uncle would have chosen for him and multiple partners… it was unheard of.

That his uncle kept his thoughts to himself most of the time was a miracle, except for how he apparently held it all back in order to do this instead. It felt like an invalidation of the choices Lan Zhan and Lan Huan had made. It was a grab for control that would never be his.

And Lan Zhan could see how deeply this struck Wei Ying. It was obvious in the slumping curve of his shoulders, the way his arms crossed his midsection as though to protect him from a body blow.

Another body blow. He’s already experienced so many of late.

“Lan Zhan… It’s hard enough being despised by the people my loved ones care about when they live far away. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to…”

He stepped forward. His palm cupped Wei Ying’s jaw, fitted perfectly over the curve, thumb brushing the jut of his cheekbone. Wei Ying’s head tilted into the touch and his eyelashes fluttered. “I will clear this up with my uncle.”

“No, Lan Zhan.” He shook his head so violently, moment broken, that it dislodged Lan Zhan’s hand. “He’s your family, too. He has every right to want to work here and be near you and your brother. Why wouldn’t he want to be? You’re his nephew.”

He never behaved toward you the way I would want my family to behave, Lan Zhan thought. He thought, too, why is it always Wei Ying who bends in the end?

And at what point would he break for good?

This was Wei Ying’s home. If Lan Zhan doesn’t fix it, he’ll have to watch his every movement. It’s too much to ask of him.

“I think…” And now Wei Ying wouldn’t even meet his eyes, which meant he knew Lan Zhan wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I’m going to see how everyone’s doing at Burial Mounds.” His voice was dull with a flat affect. Not unlike what people accused Lan Zhan of sounding like from time to time. “I’m sorry.”

“Wei Ying?”

Pulling himself from Lan Zhan’s touch, he said again, “I’m sorry.” He skirted past Lan Zhan to reach the door and when Lan Zhan tried to reach for him, he flinched away, and then he came back, but only long enough to toss the keys at the bed. “I’ll catch a Didi.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan, please. I need some space. I don’t want to say anything to your uncle that you or I will regret. Please, just. Trust me. I know I haven’t been—but trust me, please.”

“You haven’t been what?”

“Reliable.”

The last thing he wanted to do was allow Wei Ying to walk out that door, but the second to last thing he wanted to do was force Wei Ying to stay when he so clearly didn’t want to. The contradiction was difficult for him to square within himself. These twin urges, they would pull him apart. He reminded Lan Zhan of an animal caught in a trap, trying to go any which way to ease the pain he was in.

The fact that he couldn’t seem to believe Lan Zhan might be the one to free him from that trap hurt, drew hurt upon hurt over him, because he hadn’t proved himself very reliable of late either, had he? Why should Wei Ying want to stay?

Don’t go, he wanted to say. “Are you coming back tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try.”

Not good enough, he thought. It wasn’t good enough. He needed to know Wei Ying would be back. When he’d be back. This, he couldn’t ask either.

Wei Ying left.

The slam of the door could be heard from all the way back here.

When he returned to the living room, his uncle didn’t look in the least perturbed by what he’d instigated, neither glad for the disruption he’d caused nor angered by Wei Ying’s reaction to it. It was like Wei Ying didn’t matter to him at all, didn’t fit into his uncle’s understanding of the world and was therefore disposable.

Even his art had gotten more of a reaction than his retreat from his own home.

“Stay for dinner,” Lan Zhan said, turning his attention from his uncle to Cannon Ball and Turpentine, who were huddling together in the carrier. Holding out his hand for them, he was pleased when Turpentine hopped forward and nuzzled him, Cannon Ball following suit a moment later, emboldened. “I don’t think Wei Ying will be joining us. There’s much to discuss.”

“There is,” his uncle agreed, placid, fully at ease. If only Lan Zhan knew what that felt like.

When Lan Huan arrived, his gaze darted past Lan Zhan to where their uncle was sitting on the couch and then through the rest of the room’s open floor space. “Where’s Wei Ying?”

“At Burial Mounds.” By the widening of Lan Huan’s tired, bruised eyes, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting. His gaze flicked to the hallway anyway, as though he thought Wei Ying might be hiding in the bedroom or bathroom or maybe tucked above the washing machine.

“Er-ge, come on,” Nie Huaisang said quietly, trying to squeeze past Lan Huan, closed fan rapping lightly against Lan Huan’s bicep.

“Oh,” he said, shaking his head before stepping in enough to allow both Nie Huaisang and Meng Yao entrance.

“Uncle, hello,” Nie Huaisang said in a way that would sound respectful to anyone who didn’t know him very well. For Lan Zhan only, he said, “You let Wei Ying leave?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Lan Zhan answered, too sharp. “And I wouldn’t force him even if I did.” He might have tried a little harder if he’d known Lan Huan would bring his own significant others as backup. Wei Ying might have felt more comfortable if he wasn’t the only unwelcome face in the group.

Meng Yao’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, but whatever he thought was carefully locked behind his teeth as he slipped past them and approached uncle himself, offering his congratulations on the position at the university. Their uncle did not appear amused or impressed by this display, but Meng Yao had weathered worse in his time and bore up under it.

“I can’t believe this is what uncle truly wants,” Lan Zhan whispered, glad for the distraction Meng Yao was indirectly—or perhaps, given it was Meng Yao, it was purposeful—responsible for. “He’s just doing this—”

“Can you not?” Lan Huan asked. “A-Zhan…”

“Ge,” Lan Zhan replied, somber.

But Lan Huan wasn’t moved. “A-Zhan, he’s been alone in Suzhou since you started university. I know we’re not the most affectionate of families, but perhaps… perhaps he’s lonely?”

“So he wishes to upturn both of our living situations the day after we come back from—” Lan Zhan flinched away as Nie Huaisang squeezed his forearm, pushing him lightly down the hallway. “What are you doing?”

“You maybe don’t want to have this conversation right here?” Nie Huaisang said, jerking his head toward Meng Yao. He brought his voice to a fraction of its usual strength and then flicked his hand toward the hallway where he might have more privacy.

Nie Huaisang, arching one eyebrow, said to Lan Huan, “I think we can get you a few more minutes if you want. It usually takes him that long to start snapping at us anyway. Perhaps I can interest him in the collection I’ve begun acquiring.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan said, vicious. His brother couldn’t salvage the situation for him. Venting further would be pointless. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll finish dinner. Thank you all for coming.”

His voice was so awkward and stiff that even more annoyance drove itself inward, lodging in his heart. Lan Huan grabbed his arm before he could go to the kitchen.

“All will be well,” Lan Huan insisted as he guided Lan Zhan toward the bedroom against his wishes.

He couldn’t imagine how. It felt like he was being collared and yoked to his youth, unhappiness pressing its heavy weight into his back. Getting out from under the constant presence of his uncle’s expectations was one of the best things that could have happened to him. The thought of going back to that…

There was nothing he could do, he realized. He couldn’t ban his uncle from this path.

“How?” Lan Zhan couldn’t help but ask, barely cognizant of the fact he’d spoken the question aloud.

“I don’t know yet,” Lan Huan admitted, “but you’re not alone in this regardless. You have me and you have Wei Ying.”

But what if he didn’t? What if Wei Ying was driven away?

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, somehow both disappointed and supportive, knowing exactly what Lan Zhan was thinking. “It’s Wei Ying. You don’t have to worry about this so much.”

“I…” It was difficult to come up with the right words to describe what he was feeling. This wasn’t something he talked about. In fact, it felt a little bit like a betrayal to say anything now. And yet… “He ran before.”

“I seem to recall he came back,” Lan Huan replied, poking him in the shoulder, “even though you also tried your best to push him away. If he can withstand you at your worst, he can withstand this. Don’t take his strength from him before it has actually failed.”

That was… it felt different than this time, but he didn’t know how to articulate that to his brother, who seemed to glide effortlessly through his own relationships no matter how fraught things got. Nothing ever seemed to stick to them. He wanted that certainty for himself.

“It’ll work out,” Lan Huan insisted. His attention drifted to the case that was sitting on the bed, almost as long as the mattress. There was still a divot in the duvet where Wei Ying had sat next to it. “What’s this?”

“From Wei Ying. I didn’t get a chance…” He approached it, a little fearful of what he might find. Perhaps he should have waited, but he lifted the lid anyway, careful. His brother was looking down at it over his shoulder and drew in a deep breath.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, reverent.

Lan Zhan brushed his fingers over the smooth polished wood of a guqin. And it wasn’t just wood. Thin strands of silver formed an inlaid cloud pattern in the body. Pale chips of jade were nestled in as well, perfectly polished, bright against the dark, lacquered wood. They’d talked about it over the years, Lan Zhan’s vague, ill-formed wish to practice again. It never went anywhere no matter how much Wei Ying tried to convince him; Lan Zhan always shied away, feeling himself unworthy of the desire. It was easier to lock it in the past with his mother, the one thing he’d ever left behind of his own accord.

A handful of sketches were tucked slipped into the corner of the case, sealed in a plastic bag, designs, apparently, for a guqin. Lan Zhan recognized them after a short time puzzling over their inclusion. They were the pages Wei Ying had been so cagey about back when they’d hauled all his things from Burial Mounds to the studio. A note on the backside of the plastic said, I promised it was all one secret. Without thinking, he curled his hands into fists and then relaxed them only at the last moment to keep from crumpling the drawings.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Lan Huan said, stepping around him to brush his thumb over one corner of the instrument. When he pulled back, Lan Zhan saw that Wei Ying had inlaid a small, delicate rabbit into one corner, as though a message for him and him alone: indulge, have fun. “A-Zhan, how can you doubt him?”

Lan Zhan swallowed to clear his throat, pressed his finger lightly to one string. The guqin let out a sonorous, warmly resonant note.

Like this, it was an art piece, somehow both more and less pressuring than if Wei Ying had just gotten Lan Zhan a guqin. Like this, it could serve as a conversation starter, an expression of his interest in music, but nothing that required more from him than an aesthetic appreciation. Were he to, say, place this in his office, it could act as a talking point to which he could answer: I do like guqin music, but I don’t play, I merely admire the artistry of this particular instrument. Yes, it’s Wei Ying’s work. No, it isn’t for sale.

He couldn’t have done that with any random guqin. Any other guqin would have felt as though it came with expectations and obligations attached. This way, it was an open-handed gesture, friendly, welcoming, but not demanding. Lan Zhan, it seemed to say, I think you should do this, but if you don’t want to, it’s still pretty cool to look at, right?

Lan Zhan lowered the lid, drew in a deep breath, worried about the funny twist in his stomach, the throbbing in his chest.

“Let’s get this over with,” Lan Zhan said, because he needed his fiancé back and that wouldn’t happen if this continued to hang over their heads.

Either his brother was prescient or had spoken his intentions into the universe when he insisted Wei Ying hadn’t run, because halfway through their meal—no doubt awkward to Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang, though both Lan Zhan and his brother were still used to the silences—the door opened and Wei Ying stepped through. He only stopped there for a moment, perhaps surprised to see so many people sitting at the dining table, a little cramped even though Lan Zhan had put in the extender while Lan Huan finished the dinner preparations.

“Ah, it’s a party,” Wei Ying said, seemingly to gather his courage. Though he sounded normal, it signified nothing. Lan Zhan would continue to worry until this was resolved. “Sorry I’m late.”

He and his brother hadn’t even had a chance to speak yet with their uncle.

Lan Zhan rose to retrieve the last of the extra folding chairs from the small storage closet near the door.

“Lan Zhan, I’m already here. I can get—” Wei Ying wrapped his hands around Lan Zhan’s midsection when he was near enough to be pulled unto an embrace. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Lan Zhan said, disentangling himself. Bringing the chair over, trying to keep his emotions in check despite how grateful he was to see Wei Ying, he placed the chair next to his own.

“I think there will be,” Wei Ying whispered as he sat down.

With Wei Ying now here, even the silence couldn’t be calm any longer. It felt fraught, everyone eating lightly, as though worried to tip the boat.

Wei Ying pretended he didn’t notice, digging into his meal—one that would be rather on the bland side for him—with more alacrity than the occasion called for. Lan Zhan’s uncle adopted a sour expression as he continued to silently and mechanically eat. In fact, he seemed to be counting how many times he chewed each bite, gaze flicking occasionally to Wei Ying from across the table.

An interminable amount of time passed before his uncle put his bowl aside, serving as a signal to the rest of the table that they could do the same, maybe break the awkwardness of the moment.

“The meal was excel—” Meng Yao said first.

“There’s something I’d like to say,” Wei Ying said, a fake, fake, fake smile plastered across his mouth, as he spoke at the same time as Meng Yao. “If the interruption can be excused. Sorry, Meng Yao.”

Though Meng Yao’s smile was also forced, he inclined his head. “Of course. I jumped the gun. My apologies.”

Wei Ying’s gaze gave nothing away. Lan Zhan’s stomach tightened; whatever it was, he felt certain he wouldn’t like it. If the frown now marring his uncle’s mouth was any indication, he believed he wouldn’t like it either. Then again, he never liked what Wei Ying had to say. It was a foregone conclusion that he would be unhappy.

“Earlier this year I was offered—”

Oh. Oh, not this.

“—a contract with Yicheng to act as a curator for one of their gallery space, set up an exhibition of artists from around China. Kind of a… tie-in with their art festival. Uncle, I’m sure you’re aware of Yicheng, right?”

For an interminably long moment, his uncle said nothing. And Lan Zhan couldn’t intervene. Nothing he said would help this situation. Any words he had were for Wei Ying’s ears only. Though Wei Ying hadn’t gotten to his point yet, Lan Zhan could see it coming from a kilometer off. Worse, he couldn’t stop it.

A small, bitter, very inappropriate laugh fell from his mouth, more a scoff than a laugh, really, and it drew everyone’s attention, even Wei Ying’s. A flash of guilt crossed Wei Ying’s features, but he remained resolute, too. Ah, this was Lan Zhan’s fault. This was penance for suggesting he give the offer its due consideration. Now he empathized too well with Wei Ying’s pain at the time, understood it far too deeply. How could he ever have suggested Wei Ying go? How could he at any point have been so comfortable with that sort of absence?

“I am aware,” his uncle finally said, through gritted teeth.

“Imagine anyone liking my work that much. Isn’t that exciting?” Though he managed a patronizing degree of enthusiasm, behind it, Lan Zhan could hear the struggle in Wei Ying’s voice. “Even though I turned them down originally, they kept the spot open for me. I’ve decided to accept.”

“Congratulations,” Lan Huan said first, warm despite the confusion he only showed when he turned to look at Lan Zhan. When did he change his mind, he couldn’t ask.

Lan Zhan’s throat closed around his grief. It hadn’t been so gratifying to Wei Ying months ago, when this all first started. At the time, nothing mattered more than remaining by Lan Zhan’s side; he’d, much to his shame, taken it for granted that Wei Ying’s desire to be with him would always trump everything else. He’d let himself learn to take it for granted.

“It was nothing much when I first received the news,” Wei Ying said, keeping his tone light and airy, perhaps entirely unaware of the effect he was having on Lan Zhan by saying these things. “I didn’t appreciate the opportunity enough. I know better now.”

Lan Zhan’s hands clenched into fists in his lap as he stared down at the table, focusing on the half-empty bowls, the detritus of their meal, carefully wrangled by Lan Zhan, his uncle, and Lan Huan, none of whom could help themselves from clearing up the clutter as best they could while a meal was still ongoing, none of them able to relax. No, they just had to consolidate plates and stack them and never, ever let anything go.

When Lan Zhan was able to lift his head, Wei Ying smiled beatifically at him, but the guilt remained, a guilt that matched the thick stone’s weight of regret that existed within Lan Zhan, too.

“Perhaps it will be good for you,” his uncle said, “to see how artists truly work.”

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan said, warning.

“Lan Zhan,” he replied, placid, uncowed by Lan Zhan’s remark. The words that followed were for Wei Ying. “Of course, that would require Yicheng to produce any artists of note.”

“That is the rub, isn’t it? In your view, there can be no contemporary artists of note, is that not so?”

“When artists of your generation learn to respect—”

“There are many ways to show respect—”

“When artists of your generation learn to respect the body of work that came before them, then I will consider the merits of their work.”

Wei Ying’s grin was so wide that Lan Zhan feared it might split his jaw in two or that a chasm that would open beneath the too-fragile words that followed: “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Uncle,” Lan Huan said into the silence that followed, speaking before anyone else could get another word in. “Will you return with me to our home? We’ve made up your room for you. There’s more space. Surely the journey was an exhausting one.”

Lan Zhan prayed that his uncle would say yes, so grateful to his brother that he wasn’t sure he’d have the words even if there was an opportunity to say them. He tried to feel bad for his brother as well as Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang, but he couldn’t quite get there. He needed a private moment with Wei Ying more than he needed to absolve himself of the guilt of failing in his responsibilities to them.

Again, his uncle said nothing for a long time, putting the entire table on edge. Lan Zhan wondered if he did it on purpose.

Finally: “Very well.”

The rest of the evening—what was left of it—passed in a daze as he and Wei Ying silently cleaned up while his uncle took tea and rested for a short time. Wei Ying kept slipping glances at the clock as though he, too, was aware of how important the rest of the night would be for them.

Each plate was scrubbed twice as long as it needed to be and was dried with a towel despite their usual habit of leaving them to drip dry over the sink. “Wei Ying,” he said. “We need to talk about this.”

And finally, with Lan Huan hurrying his partners and their uncle out, he and Wei Ying had the privacy to do so.

2020

Until now, Lan Zhan really hadn’t realized how truly integral Wei Ying was to his life. That was probably an oversight on his part, but where before he’d considered Wei Ying important to him—they spent a lot of time together, Wei Ying’s work kept his days interesting, Lan Zhan had been in love with him so long he didn’t know how to be anything else—it wasn’t until now, when that relationship was entirely barred to him, that he could actually feel the effect of Wei Ying’s absence and what it truly meant.

Moment by moment, the lack, the loss of him, shaved pieces of himself away. Every breath was a little bit more difficult to draw than the last. Each exhalation, hard to let go of. Wei Ying’s departure held a dagger to his thoughts, sometimes cutting him on it, sometimes drawing just enough blood to remind Lan Zhan of the reality of it.

“Ge?” Lan Jingyi was saying, waving his hand in front of Lan Zhan’s face. A worried expression settled in the furrowing of his brows, the tension around his mouth. They were standing in Hanshi, purportedly to discuss Jingyi’s and Wen Yuan’s duties for today, but Lan Zhan’s mind was locked at home, hunched on the end of his bed for no better reason than because Wen Yuan had mentioned, offhand, visiting Burial Mounds after work just before Lan Zhan approached. “Zhan-ge?”

“I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I, ah…” Wen Yuan flushed. “Nothing. It was off-topic.”

Of course it made sense that Wen Yuan would visit Burial Mounds. Wen Yuan frequently visited his cousins.

“Wen Yuan,” Lan Zhan said, then cleared his throat. His musings evaporated.

“Yes, Lan-ge?” Wen Yuan replied, far too polite, his head slightly ducked.

“Have you been to Burial Mounds recently?”

“Yes,” he replied. A smile softened his already soft expression.

That was… not very helpful. “Have you seen Wei Ying?”

The smile dropped, making Lan Zhan think he knew something, but then he shook his head. “Not since Jingyi and I picked up that triptych a few weeks back. I just saw Ning-ge a couple of times and Qing-jie.”

It didn’t take someone especially adept at reading other people to understand that Wen Yuan was a little surprised and perplexed by the question. He was a fine young man though and waited patiently for Lan Zhan to say something else, to explain. He looked at Lan Zhan as though he might happily wait until the end of time in order to be useful to Lan Zhan even if he didn’t know why or how.

“I’ll probably be heading over later if there’s anything I can do?” Wen Yuan finally offered when Lan Zhan gave him nothing.

“No, no.” That was… “It’s fine. Thank you.”

For a moment, Lan Zhan thought Wen Yuan was going to say something else. At the last moment, he seemed to decide against doing so.

“Let’s get back to it,” he said, dusting his hands down the front of his suit, nervous and hoping neither of them noticed it.

If they did, they were very good actors, even Jingyi, who’d never met an out-of-turn comment he didn’t want to blurt out the moment it crossed his mind, remained silent as Lan Zhan confirmed their schedule for them.

His focus didn’t improve even as he sat in a meeting with his brother toward the end of the day. Tired, unable to recall most of what he’d done today, he was more interested in checking his phone, tapping out a message one word at a time between hums of acknowledgment.

“A-Zhan?”

“What?” Lan Zhan asked, phone falling from its perch on his knee into his lap. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

“We can do this another time,” Lan Huan said. “The only reason I suggested doing this now was because you seemed restless out front.” Out front, where he’d been trying to conduct an appointment with a newer client. It hadn’t gone particularly well; he was stiffer than normal and his analyses of the works he was attempting to shift were less than compelling. He hadn’t been paying attention to the client at all and it had showed.

Embarrassment burned in his stomach.

Lan Zhan unlocked his phone, deleted the handful of words he’d eked out, and then locked it again, tossing it on Lan Huan’s desk with a plaintive thump. “Let’s do this now.”

Lan Huan frowned at him, stared openly, silent as he analyzed and contextualized Lan Zhan’s behavior for himself. Lan Zhan hadn’t yet mentioned what had happened and he didn’t ever intend to tell him, but Lan Huan had a way of figuring things out anyway. He wouldn’t ever know more than the broad strokes—they shared many things, but the details of their sex lives weren’t one of them—but the broad strokes were already enough to shatter Lan Zhan.

Lan Huan nodded very graciously and shifted his attention to his laptop. “There’s a one-night exhibition next week I was hoping you might be able to attend. It sounds like there will be some interesting artists showcasing their works.”

“Mn. ” Plucking up his phone, he opened the calendar app. “My schedule is open.”

“I know you request Wednesday nights and Thursday mornings off, but…”

“It’s fine.” It had been a long time, longer even than his time with Wei Ying, that he’d done more than jerk off on Wednesdays. It wouldn’t be a problem. “Wednesday night then?”

“Six o’clock.”

He tapped out a few notes, getting the address from Lan Huan, a few hours away by car, not a big deal.

If this was before, it would have been the perfect opportunity to enjoy a few thoughtless hours with a willing body. This would not happen. Already he knew that.

“A-Zhan, you would tell me if something was truly wrong, wouldn’t you? I might be able to help if—”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“A-Zhan.”

“Ge,” he replied, stubbornly unhappy. “I apologize for the strain I’ve put on Hanshi with my behavior, but I’m fine.”

“That’s not—”

“It will be resolved.” Once he knew how to do that anyway. “You needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried about Hanshi,” Lan Huan said, voice very slightly edged with annoyance, but only slightly. “I’m worried about you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Wei Ying—”

“It’s nothing.”

Lan Huan sighed in frustration, but shook his head, palms open as he shrugged. “Okay, it’s nothing.”

It remained nothing the rest of the week and into the next, as Lan Zhan built, brick by brick, a façade of nothingness that didn’t actually protect him from Lan Huan’s worried glances, but seemed to convince everyone else. He was able to focus on his job, on the clients and artists who relied on him to bridge the gap between them, and he thought about Wei Ying less and less with each hour that passed that he didn’t reach out, that Lan Zhan didn’t attempt to reach out in turn.

Everything was just fine until he very nearly knocked Wei Ying himself over in the hallway outside of his apartment as he was leaving for that exhibition.

He looked—wrecked. And not in a good way, not in the way Lan Zhan would have wanted him to be wrecked, loved and sated and so happy there was no room within him for anything but that happiness.

His bag, a large, thick box, and a can of paint threatened to topple him as he realized Lan Zhan was standing in his way, barring entrance to his condo. Before Lan Zhan could think about whether Wei Ying would welcome his touch, he reached out to steady him, thrilling at this contact even now. Foolish. What right did he have to it?

“Wei Ying?” he asked, though he had no right to Wei Ying’s name being in his mouth either and from the way Wei Ying startled and tried to step back, it was the wrong thing to say anyway.

“Oh.” It was only when Wei Ying tried to wrench out of Lan Zhan’s grip that he realized he was still holding onto Wei Ying. “No. I should have realized—”

He should have realized what, he thought, before realizing that wasn’t the answer he was interested in. His attention turned to the box, the can of paint, the overloaded backpack. It seemed obvious that he was here for the mural, but Lan Zhan couldn’t help but hope he might be here for something else. “Why are you here?”

Wei Ying explained in stilted language that he’d been working. He wanted to apologize. He—

He wanted to paint over the half-completed mural in Lan Zhan’s bedroom. Joked about Lan Zhan burning his paintings or foisting them off on the first person he saw, as though Lan Zhan wouldn’t have hoarded them all if it was feasible.

Letting Wei Ying into the condo, he watched as Wei Ying leaned the carefully packed canvases against the wall.

“This is really what you want to do?” Not only had Lan Zhan messed up, he’d messed up badly enough that Wei Ying wanted to… wanted to what? “Get rid of the evidence?” As much as it hurt, he would do it if that was what Wei Ying truly wanted; they could pretend none of this had happened. He could pretend Wei Ying’s work was disposable to him if that was what Wei Ying required of him.

“I’m… not sure how to answer that,” Wei Ying replied, abashed, which Lan Zhan supposed was something. It wasn’t a yes.

“The truth would be nice,” Lan Zhan said, though nice wasn’t the word he truly would have used to describe it. Nice should have been for better things than this, things that Lan Zhan didn’t have to fear.

“I want to do what I thought would make you happy.”

“Do I seem unhappy?” he asked, but the only question he really wanted to ask was, do I seem so difficult to please? When it came to Wei Ying…

Anything he did… it was enough for Lan Zhan. He might have criticized Wei Ying for his work when asked, might have played the part of the unbiased art dealer when necessary, but the full truth of it was this: Lan Zhan didn’t care. In every piece Wei Ying produced, there was value to Lan Zhan, even the ones Wei Ying didn’t believe in. They could gather dust on the walls of Hanshi, find no one else with whom they might resonate, but they would always mean something to Lan Zhan.

He could not say these things to Wei Ying, not right now, but he could offer one truth of his own. “I would be unhappy if you didn’t finish the work.” Because Wei Ying, no matter how much he struggled, always found a way through and Lan Zhan had to believe there was a way through this, too, one that didn’t require tossing themselves aside. They just needed time to figure out how.

“After what happened? How could you want it?”

That… Lan Zhan wasn’t expecting Wei Ying to make even a subtle mention to what happened. Speaking it outright like this… Lan Zhan’s heart thumped wildly and he didn’t—what was there to say that wouldn’t hurt the both of them more? It would be a lie to say he was okay, but it would equally be a lie to indulge Wei Ying in his desire to be—to be what? Punished? The way he was speaking, it was like he wanted Lan Zhan to chastise him. “How could I not?”

Wei Ying twisted his hands and wouldn’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes and Lan Zhan had to accept that even though it was the last thing he wanted. This distance from Wei Ying, it was heart wrenching. If he could take back what they’d done…

“Lan Zhan, I’ll… do my best for you. I agreed to this. I’ll see it through.”

He considered for a moment: were all those moments worth this?

But Wei Ying was trying and so Lan Zhan could, too.

“Thank you. Let me know when you want to come by. I’ll ensure I’m not here.” It was the least he could do for Wei Ying, so they wouldn’t have another awkward run in like this. When Wei Ying had completed the project, then he’d come up with another solution.

“I… deserve that,” Wei Ying said, an awkward laugh in his voice. Lan Zhan had no idea what it meant or what to do with it, so he did nothing, politely ignoring it for the both of them.

Lan Zhan glanced at his watch. He really did need to get on the road if he wanted to make it in time. It was the last thing he wanted, but…

But it looked like Wei Ying might prefer some time alone anyway. Lan Zhan could unhappily oblige that desire.

2011

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying was calling, finding him the minute he stepped into Nie Huaisang’s apartment, like he had some kind of sixth sense devoted to being able to locate Lan Zhan. A useful skill? Probably not. But it warmed Lan Zhan in places he wasn’t used to feeling warm, made him feel wanted and cared for, like he mattered to at least one other person in the world who wasn’t obligated to want or care for him. Even now, slipping between other partygoers, he stopped long enough to press kisses to cheeks or ruffle hair or squeeze shoulders, a little desperate it looked to Lan Zhan, like Wei Ying was searching for something in them that he couldn’t find.

He was dressed in faded grey jeans, tight fitted, and a white t-shirt, nothing special, but special because Wei Ying was the one wearing it.

When he reached Lan Zhan, though, his smile was so wide and beautiful, holding a hint of sadness that seemed out of place against the backdrop of bubblegum sweet music playing over Nie Huaisang’s speakers. “Lan Zhan, you came.”

“You asked me to,” he replied, surveying the room. It was still early enough that it hadn’t devolved into drinking games, mostly small throngs of people proclaiming their artistic prowess to one another. Even Wei Ying’s motions, liquid-loose from alcohol, weren’t so very far gone yet. It wasn’t that he worried about Wei Ying or how he blew off excess energy, but he didn’t like seeing Wei Ying drag himself into the tea shop with bruises under his eyes, wincing at the lights, only half as present as he ought to be only for him to do something like this. Standing here like this, incongruous, it was like he was holding himself hostage in order to force a good time upon himself. How long has it been since he’s rested?

It didn’t used to be like this. It was only this year that Wei Ying’s demeanor shifted to something darker… unhappier. Especially in these last few weeks.

“I did ask you to,” Wei Ying agreed, grabbing Lan Zhan’s hand and pulling him toward the kitchen, “but you didn’t have to come. Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

Of course I had to. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he’d only just showered, that he smelled of unfamiliar body wash, that his clothing stuck uncomfortably to his skin and his bangs were still damp, curling a bit into his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I really do,” he said, laughing sharply. He grabbed a cup and splashed straight vodka into it and downed it in one go before making his way to the refrigerator. From inside, he took a bottle of water and a bottle of jasmine tea.

“I know it’s not your preferred,” Wei Ying said, handing him the tea. He drained half the bottle of water, throat bobbing again and again.

“Thank you,” he said, when Wei Ying finished. He stared down at the tea’s label and then looked up at Wei Ying again, feeling as though it was both more and less than what it was.

“You know, I really am sick of this.” Though he gestured at the room around him, Lan Zhan wondered if this party was what he truly meant. Lan Zhan’s breath caught. What else might he be sick of?

Or who else?

Or maybe…

“If you want to leave—” Assuming that he was tired of his current surroundings was probably the safest bet.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Go back where?

“Just—” He sighed, pacing back and forth across the linoleum like a caged animal. There was no space in this kitchen, but he used all of it. “Will you come with me?”

Lan Zhan nodded, allowed himself to be dragged away. It didn’t matter where Wei Ying intended to take him; Lan Zhan would go willingly. When it was one of the bedrooms, Lan Zhan’s whole body ran cold, then hot, his stomach twisting up in anticipation of—

Of nothing. Obviously. And even if it was something, which it wasn’t, Lan Zhan didn’t want it this way. But Wei Ying just made his way to the stereo and put his phone in the dock, poking at it until they connected and there was something playing that Lan Zhan didn’t recognize, slower and sadder than what was being played in the other room. Wei Ying took another swig of the water as though it was alcohol and swayed lightly, eyes closed, head back to expose the line of his throat.

“I am so sick of this shit,” Wei Ying said again. “You shouldn’t indulge me, Lan Zhan. You shouldn’t have come. You always accommodate me.” He opened his eyes again, his gaze honed on Lan Zhan, as direct and sure as a laser. “Why?”

Could Wei Ying see it? Did Wei Ying know what Lan Zhan felt?

Trapped against the door, Lan Zhan answered, “It does no harm.”

Wei Ying laughed bitterly, choking on the sounds. “No one else would agree.”

Lan Zhan shrugged. There was Wei Ying’s answer. No one else wanted to make anything easier on Wei Ying. No one except Lan Zhan. So what? Why couldn’t he want that? Wei Ying scuffed his boots over the pristine silver-gray carpet and glared at the ground. “Will you accommodate me one more time?”

Lan Zhan nodded once, a concise simplification of the truth, but it allowed Wei Ying to set the bottle down, step forward and hold out his hand. Wei Ying’s playlist switched to another slow, sad song. Lan Zhan took Wei Ying’s palm in his, knelt long enough to place his own bottle on the floor, and found himself pulled forward into Wei Ying’s embrace. Before Lan Zhan could react, Wei Ying had their joined hands pressed against his chest. His other hand was on Lan Zhan’s hip, gripping tight.

Surely, surely Wei Ying felt the fluttering stammer of Lan Zhan’s heart.

His cheek brushed Lan Zhan’s and it was almost too much for him to bear, this closeness, as Wei Ying moved against him, barely considering the beat of the music. He hummed along to it awkwardly. It did nothing to detract from the moment. They’d rarely been this close before and never for so long. Lan Zhan feared his inclination to treasure it too deeply, apply too much meaning to it. This, he thought, is not a pipe.

“Wei Ying?”

“Shh, just—” He sighed, aggrieved. “I know it’s not fair of me, but—can we just be? For a few minutes? I promise I’ll explain. I just need a few minutes to not think about anything other than you.”

His heart would jackhammer through his sternum, bore itself into Wei Ying and never come out again. He was sure of it. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” Let me give you this, he begged silently. Let me have this. I don’t know what it is, but please.

“Please just—I know I’m not...” Wei Ying pressed a little closer and his hand tightening in Lan Zhan’s. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Anything,” Lan Zhan replied, heart threatening to escape now through his mouth in the form of overhasty words. Since it failed to crack his rib cage open, it wanted to find a new escape route.

Another eternity passed. A few strands of Wei Ying’s hair fell from the hasty ponytail he’d pulled it into and tickled Lan Zhan’s cheek. Lan Zhan pushed them behind his ear. Wei Ying barely seemed to notice the touch.

“I... I’m dropping out,” Wei Ying said finally. “No one wants me here. They just keep trying to shove me into smaller and smaller boxes. And Madam Yu doesn’t want to pay for it anymore anyway. I’m not going to ask Uncle Jiang to make a choice between supporting me or angering her. I sure as fuck don’t want to start paying for it all on my own. I’m not learning anything I can’t study for myself. This place is holding me back. It’s pointless. I just… managed to figure it out today.”

I want you here, Lan Zhan thought, unfair and unworthy. Am I holding you back? He organized his thoughts, searched his mind for the best way to help with these new parameters. The question about what Lan Zhan would do on Monday and Thursday intruded selfishly. “What will you do?”

Wei Ying shrugged. “Take odd jobs? Paint when I can? Work in a fucking office? Whatever I have to do until I can do what I want to do? I don’t know, Lan Zhan, but I know I can’t do it here.”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the dryness in his throat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Who else is there to tell?” Sighing again, always sighing, a tinge of disgust in it. “But you’re right. Of course I shouldn’t have bothered you with this. You were probably going to bed and—” Guilt, so much, stretched itself over Lan Zhan, penned him back in, shrank him down to size. And all through it, Wei Ying kept talking. “I told you I’m selfish. I’m always—listen, you don’t have to put up with my shit anymore. That’s a good thing, right?”

“No.” And though Lan Zhan didn’t have the right, he pulled Wei Ying closer to him, as close as physics could allow. Sagging against him, Wei Ying gave up even the pretense that they were dancing and clung instead, hands wrapping tight around Lan Zhan’s back. “Wei Ying, I—”

But the words caught in his throat. No matter how much he tried to push them out, he couldn’t.

Wei Ying merely shifted, bent his head until his cheek brushed Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and his sigh this time was more settled, like he’d missed that moment of disappointment entirely, like it didn’t even exist to him. “Lan Zhan, you’re so good,” he murmured.

He wasn’t doing anything here that was worthy of praise. Clinging onto the status quo wasn’t good and, oh, was he clutching it, squeezing it to death between unyielding fingers. “Where will you go?”

“Huaisang said he’d put me up until I find an off-campus apartment.”

“Why didn’t you ask me?” How does Nie Huaisang know?

Wei Ying was close enough to him that he felt it when Wei Ying shivered. “Huaisang was, uh, there when I… yeah. I might have told my advisor to fuck off when he wouldn’t approve my final project. Anyway. He offered. I’m not in a position right now to say no or else I would, but I don’t want to impose on you.”

Please, Lan Zhan did not think, please impose on me. “It’s not an imp—”

“I know you think it’s not,” Wei Ying said, rabbit quick. “But Lan Zhan, it’s a big ask and if I had to choose… I’d rather piss Huaisang off than you. It’s only going to be for a little while anyway.”

“Will you—” He cleared his throat. “Will you let my brother and I help you at least?”

Wei Ying’s tone went flinty and cool, brittle, like one strike was all it would take for a spark to catch fire off of it. “Help how?”

Wei Ying was smart. It was easier to speak when they didn’t have to look at one another. “I wanted to ask you to exhibit with us once you were through with your studies,” he answered, resolved in this at least. He would not allow Wei Ying to see it as charity, because it was not, but he would not let Wei Ying go forward thinking he was without assistance. “What I would ask now is to be allowed to do so whenever you’re ready.”

He didn’t run. That was something. He didn’t turn Lan Zhan down immediately. That was another thing. These things counted.

“Okay, Lan Zhan. When I’m ready.” He sounded defeated. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

Wei Ying huffed lightly, still bitter, but he was relaxed against Lan Zhan’s body and that was enough. “Stay with me here a little while longer?”

If Lan Zhan didn’t already know he loved Wei Ying, now would have been the moment it revealed itself to him. The request overfilled his heart, spilled throughout his body, warm. There was nothing quite as sweet as being asked to stay. “As long as you want.”

If he had his way, staying would mean forever.

Clasping their hands together, Lan Zhan swayed, taking Wei Ying’s weight, hoping his presence was as comforting to Wei Ying as Wei Ying’s was to him. “Will you remain here? Once you find your feet?”

“That’s always been the plan, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying was pressed so closely to him that Lan Zhan stopped noticing where he ended and Wei Ying began; they were simply one. “I still love it here. I just don’t love it there.”

Lan Zhan breathed out in relief. This, just this right here, it could be enough for him. It didn’t feel like asking too much, wanting Wei Ying to remain with him.

And yet, hearing those few words meant everything to him.

2025

“Okay, so.” Wei Ying drew a shuddering, shattering breath before blurting out the rest, barely waiting for the door to close behind Lan Zhan’s brother and uncle. “I should have talked to you first.” Though Lan Zhan was glad that Wei Ying was willing to speak at all, he also felt sick at the thought of listening, sick at heart, physically nauseated, the works. Even so, this wouldn’t become a fight. That was the one thing he would not allow. Especially not since Wei Ying seemed to expect it, holding himself so carefully that Lan Zhan worried he might break under the slightest strain. Though Lan Zhan was by the table and Wei Ying by the door, Lan Zhan saw everything Wei Ying probably didn’t want him to see: the tremor in his hands, the tremble of his lower lip.

“How long?”

“Three months? Give or take.”

The answer didn’t register at first.

Then the sort of question a masochist would ask spilled from his mouth. “How soon?”

Wei Ying wouldn’t look at him. “As soon as possible.”

None of his arguments when Yicheng first presented itself were invalid now: it would be good for his career and it would be good for him to be surrounded by other creatives who weren’t so entrenched in the local scene. Yicheng’s art colony was vibrant and interesting and innovative. Here was a place full of rich people with moderately good taste and a penchant for supporting artists, not bad in terms of getting works sold, but not the sort of stimulation Wei Ying deserved. And sometimes change was good despite how little interest Wei Ying seemed to have in it. Unlike so many, Wei Ying seemed content as long as he was with Lan Zhan.

None of this mattered now.

“You’re free to make your own decisions.” The statement sounded so flat, toothless, insincere to say, obvious. Of course Wei Ying could make his own decisions; he was his own person. “I did… encourage you to do this.” He swallowed and looked away. Cannon Ball and Turpentine nosed at the mouth of the carrier and finally ventured back out onto the floor. Turpentine led the way, showing Cannon Ball that this place belonged to them as much as it belonged to Lan Zhan or Wei Ying. Even so, Lan Zhan didn’t like how skittish they were about it now, like they sensed the stress and found themselves infected by it. “Wei Ying, is it what you want?”

The bunnies riveted Wei Ying’s gaze, too, warming his features and dissipating some of the tension Lan Zhan failed to ease. “Honestly, Lan Zhan? I want to kidnap you and make for the fucking hills, never to be heard from again. We can be weird mountain hermits that the local villagers talk about sometimes and we’d never have to deal with your uncle or Madam Yu or anyone else. That’s what I want.”

When Turpentine and Cannon Ball began sniffing around his feet, Lan Zhan crouched down and held out his hand to them. The softness of Turpentine’s fur comforted him as she butted her head against his fingertips. “I think that sounds nice.”

“Don’t encourage me. What if I did carry you away?” As he scoffed at his own suggestion, a smile, small and fragile, pulled at the corner of his mouth. Though he strained forward like he wanted to approach, he remained over by the door, arms crossed, fond, but distant, like he was already teaching himself how to pull away.

“Then I will have to suffer with being carried.” Lan Zhan continued to stroke the top of Turpentine’s head with one knuckle. At least, he tried. Cannon Ball was now doing her best to push Turpentine out of the way, apparently deciding it would be a good thing to get petted, too. She was too small to truly bully Turpentine, but Turpentine didn’t much seem to mind, skittering sideways a little to give Cannon Ball room. “You might need to work on your arm strength first.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. So cruel.”

Lan Zhan could have allowed himself to be drawn into the distraction Wei Ying was offering, but he was too well-versed in Wei Ying’s tactics to fall for it.

“Wei Ying—”

“Aiya, aiya, Lan Zhan. I know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know what you’re going to say. It’ll be perfect and wonderful because you’re perfect and wonderful, but I know you got yourself attached to a—a lot of baggage when you agreed to be with me.”

“No more or less baggage than I’ve got.” Lan Zhan could be just as uncommunicative as Wei Ying. And he couldn’t always tell Wei Ying what he wanted. Wei Ying’s ‘baggage’ as he called it might have been more obvious, but it was no more damaging to them than Lan Zhan’s. “Wei Ying, I’m not perfect.”

“Then you’re the closest thing this world’s got. And even better: you’re a good man, Lan Zhan. You’re—”

“You’re a good man.” Doing his best not to frighten the bunnies, he scooted them along and pushed himself to his feet. Annoyance barbed the tone of his voice. “Wei Ying, I wouldn’t be half as good a person as I am without you. You seem to forget how cold I was at university.”

“No!” Wei Ying raised his hand as though to bat the recrimination aside. “Are you kidding? You were so nice, Lan Zhan. Quiet, sure, but so nice.”

Frustration for and because of Wei Ying bubbled inside of Lan Zhan. How could one man be so stubborn? “I was curt and disinterested in other people’s lives,” he said, sharp. “They were obstacles in the pursuit of my”—uncle’s—“goals. And… I treated other men like they were disposable when—” He faltered here. They rarely talked about this anymore. Wei Ying never expressed pain over Lan Zhan’s past, but he occasionally expressed his regrets about having taken so long to notice Lan Zhan’s feelings. It was something he did his best to avoid throwing in Wei Ying’s face; Lan Zhan had made his own bed there. “Maybe I was outwardly courteous, but that doesn’t mean I was nice or good.”

“What would you call yourself then?”

Lan Zhan thought about this for a long moment. “Adequate maybe.”

Wei Ying laughed and turned away, scrubbing at his hair. “You were adequate? Lan Zhan, you really are too much sometimes.” A disbelieving breath hissed out of him. “Adequate. Then what are the rest of us mortals,” he said to himself. “Okay, Lan Zhan, you were adequate. That means I was—”

“Good,” Lan Zhan said, annoyed and—and actually angry. That was the sensation curling around his heart, hot as a brand. “You were good, Wei Ying. I don’t understand how you can look at yourself and not see it.” If Lan Zhan was the one with any degree of artistic skill, if he’d been allowed to cultivate it within himself or if he had pushed for the opportunity more, perhaps he could better show Wei Ying. If he had done that, maybe Wei Ying would listen, but his words had to suffice and they were—

They were the things that were inadequate here, these words. They could not save Wei Ying from wilting right before his eyes. Lan Zhan spared one more glance at the bunnies, who seemed to be getting along just fine as they rolled around near the bottom of the couch. Lan Zhan strode over and took Wei Ying’s cheeks between his hands. “What is so wrong in there that you can’t? What else can I do to make you understand?”

Wei Ying’s brilliant, expressive, tattletale eyes brimmed with hurt. Wrenching himself out of Lan Zhan’s grasp, he said, “It’s not about you, Lan Zhan. It’s not your job to make me understand. I can’t just—you’re right. Maybe I’m not as… as…” Unable to come up with anything, he moved on, stepping past Lan Zhan toward the door. “But even if you think I’m the greatest thing the world ever produced, Madam Yu will never feel the same. Your uncle will never feel the same. And having that fall back on you…”

“I don’t care.” These inartistic words clawed out of his mouth, scored gouges in the solid walls of the relationship they’d built around them, and still he couldn’t stop them. “I don’t care what either of them think about me. I don’t want you to care about what they think of me. We’ve managed this long without any repercussions. They’re not capable of taking me from you. Wei Ying, you promised me that if you couldn’t convince them, you’d let it go. We discussed this.”

“I said I had to try first. This is me trying. Lan Zhan, I can’t just turn it off! Trust me, I wish I could. But right now, it’s driving me fucking crazy and I can do something about it. At some point, they’ll have to acknowledge that I’m wor—”

“That you’re what?” Lan Zhan could see Wei Ying move his hand toward the door handle, but he couldn’t let Wei Ying leave this way. “What? Worthwhile? Was that what you were going to say? Again?”

“Lan Zhan…”

They were within kissing distance now, Lan Zhan’s arm stretched to hold the door in place, Wei Ying backed into it. “You told me you could accept it if my uncle didn’t accept you. You heard my uncle. He didn’t seem particularly impressed with you, did he?” This wasn’t—Lan Zhan wasn’t this person. He didn’t say things like this, not to Wei Ying, not to anyone. And from the wideness of his eyes, Wei Ying was equally startled by it. Being silently supportive, quietly supportive, it hadn’t worked in fifteen years to dig this problem free. “Wei Ying, you’re enough. Just as you are. What do I need to do to make you understand that?”

Nothing he’d done in their years together had convinced him.

The door handle clicked and his features went cold, harsh.

“You don’t need to do anything for me, Lan Zhan.” Pain laid the groundwork upon which his words stood, too solid in a moment that felt poised to topple.

This was Lan Zhan’s fault for encouraging this, for not choosing Wei Ying sooner. He should have seen that something needed to be done. Lan Zhan was perfectly happy to fold up the important parts of himself and tuck them away. Wei Ying couldn’t, not without destroying himself. Of course it would always come down to this.

By not resolving this sooner, he’d been a coward.

Don’t go, he thought again and again. Don’t go, don’t do, don’t go.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan said. “If that’s what you need to do.”

Months of Wei Ying being in Yicheng. Lan Zhan could handle that. He would have to, because him being able to leave anytime soon with another rabbit so new to their home would be impossible.

There was no relief in Wei Ying’s eyes when he said this, no comfort to be found in the idea that he’d at least made Wei Ying happy, but he let go of the door handle and that had to be enough.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying said, concerned, stretching his arm toward him. Lan Zhan flinched out of reach, reflexive, before his own hand shot forward and pulled Wei Ying into a tight, bruising hug. Wei Ying drew in a deep breath and buried his face against Lan Zhan’s neck, mouth pressed against his pulse point as he held on just as tight. “I know I’m—I know this doesn’t make sense to you. I wish I could explain better. I just—I have to try. I’ll always wonder if I don’t. I know I shouldn’t care as much as I do. I know your opinion is the only one that matters to me. I know, but I still… I still want…”

He clutched harder at Lan Zhan’s shoulders, as though that might somehow ease the worst of what they were both feeling.

“I want to be good enough,” Wei Ying said, small, whispering the words into Lan Zhan’s skin. “I don’t deserve the good fortune I’ve had.”

Lan Zhan bit back his frustration. It would do no good. “How soon are you going?”

“The train leaves tomorrow morning.”

Taking Wei Ying to the train station was simultaneously easy and hard, easy as long as he shoved all of his fears to the back of his mind and hard because he could see how Wei Ying dragged with each and every step like his meager luggage weighed far too much for him, until they reached the Wei Ying’s platform and Lan Zhan…

Lan Zhan let him go with a kiss, a request that Wei Ying message or call when he reaches Yicheng. They were still standing right in front of one another and Lan Zhan already missed him.

“When I get back, I’ll…” Wei Ying said, staring at his shoes. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he said, reeling Wei Ying in for one more kiss before he could finally allow himself to let Wei Ying go.

“Young love?” a woman nearby said as he finally turned away. It startled him to be drawn out of his thoughts this way.

“What?”

Her eyes twinkled, both mischievous and sad, as though she, too, was sending someone off she didn’t want to lose and she was trying to pretend otherwise. “That young man of yours?”

Oh. Young love. Ha. “Fifteen years, aunt,” he answered, truthful because it felt important to acknowledge it. They weren’t young anymore, though they weren’t yet old either. He wasn’t sure what they were. Wei Ying certainly kept him feeling like they were barely out of university.

By the strictest standards, he might have said five years, but he knew—they’d loved one another from the start.

Five years was more accurate, but it wasn’t the truth.

“Ah, he’s lucky then, to have such a handsome man care so deeply for him.”

Even a random stranger who didn’t know them wanted to undervalue Wei Ying. No wonder he was moved to leave. “I’m the lucky one,” he replied, offering a polite nod of his head. “Take care.”

Lan Zhan’s dinner sizzled and popped away on the stove when Wei Ying video called him. Though it would probably burn if he wasn’t careful, he took the call anyway and sat the phone on the counter. Wei Ying bullied him into finding the spare phone stand so your precious Wei Ying can watch, Lan Zhan, let me live vicariously. It was a little difficult to hear Wei Ying through the tiny speakers while he did meal prep, it was worth it for Wei Ying’s colorful commentary.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Wei Ying asked when he reached for one of the jars of chili oil they kept in the pantry at all times.

Looking down at the half-used glass jar, Lan Zhan frowned. “What do you mean?” He always cooked this way when he was feeling too lazy for anything else. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the thick tangle of noodles and vegetables he’d warmed up. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I’m not there,” Wei Ying said, as though that explained anything.

“I’m keenly aware of that fact.”

“You… don’t have to use the chili oil?” he pointed out, slow, as though helping a child correct their own mistake.

“Don’t be absurd.” But then he thought about what Wei Ying had said. He didn’t have to use the chili oil. Glaring down at the tiny screen, leaning in close so he could see Wei Ying, he shook his head. “Don’t be absurd.”

And then he scooped even more of it out than he might have done otherwise.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying laugh, thinned by distance and awful cell phone speakers, remained beautiful, “Why would you do that? I know you don’t like spicy that much!”

It was true he hadn’t developed the same alacrity for harsh, hot flavors the way Wei Ying did, but over the years, he’d learned to appreciate them anyway. He found, on occasion, he did like the taste and even held opinions on the brands of chili oil they purchased, the quality of the peppers in Wei Ying’s side of hot pot, and any number of things he never would have expected to have about spicy things. “Mind your business,” he replied, sharp, knowing Wei Ying would merely laugh again. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, yes. I ate on the train.”

“You ate out of a vending machine.” Lan Zhan frowned. “The food is terrible.”

“It was fine,” Wei Ying insisted, blasé. Of course he would.

A muscle in Lan Zhan’s jaw jumped. There were few things he disliked more than the food while traveling. Only Wei Ying would think it was fine. He would go along with anything uncomfortable or disappointing to avoid rocking unnecessary boats.

There was much to admire in that except for how Wei Ying applied it nearly across the board of his life and even sometimes to the boats that did truly require to be upturned.

He bit back further arguments about vending machine snacks. There were more important things to think about. “How are your accommodations?”

“Nice! The building’s charmingly rundown, but cozy enough. The gallery space is pretty cool, too, and everyone’s been really friendly so far. Finish up your noodles and I’ll show you.”

“Then keep telling me about it,” Lan Zhan replied, hating that he had to turn away from Wei Ying in order to avoid burning down the condo. Wei Ying rose to the occasion admirably, talking about how Xiao Xingchen had come to the train station to pick him up himself. “He has a lot of interesting thoughts, Lan Zhan. I think you’d like him. I feel a little bad about being a jerk to him at Jin Zixun’s wedding. Anyway. He really did give me complete control over the curation, so that’s pretty cool. It’s, like, in the contract and everything.”

As Lan Zhan plated the noodles and turned off the stove, he came back around to look down at the screen, picked up the phone, placed it on the dining table. “What about studio space for you?”

“Oh, that’s the best part! There’s space in the house. It’s huge! And it opens into this big grassy, overrun garden in the back. It reminds me of Burial Mounds a little bit. They basically just let whatever grow however it wants. It’s beautiful. There’s an honest to god swing hanging from one of the trees. It’s like something out of a Ghibli movie.”

“Did you take any pictures?”

“Uh…”

Lan Zhan bit back a smile despite himself, admonishing, “Take a few pictures, hmm,” to cover the longing pang in his heart.

“But I’m about to give you the tour. Hold on. Go ahead and eat though. I promise you’re still attractive even from the crappy camera angle and the noodles hanging out of your face all weird.” There was a rustling sound and the image went all laggy and pixelated for a moment. “Okay, can you hear me okay?”

“I can hear you.”

It was awkward getting a tour through a phone like this, but Wei Ying did his best. It was, as he said, ‘charmingly rundown,’ though Lan Zhan might have used the word quaint instead. Exposed brick seemed to be the theme.

“And look at the rafters,” Wei Ying said, swinging his phone up to where there were, indeed, rafters. “Do you remember that bar we went to in Portland that one time?”

“How could I forget the bar in Portland that one time?” Lan Zhan answered to another laugh from Wei Ying, precious to Lan Zhan now that he was so far away. “It had rafters, too.”

A fourth laugh. How could it be so easy to make Wei Ying laugh from so far away?

How could Wei Ying be so far away?

How could he seem happier there?

As though Wei Ying felt the same, his laughter died away. “Anyway,” he said. “Let’s go sit in the garden for a bit, huh?”

Outside Wei Ying’s home—home for the next few months anyway, not home—the sky was a little lighter out that way, only serving to further distance them. “Supposedly it’s ridiculously pretty at night. All sorts of stars. The colony’s far enough outside the residential areas and business districts here and Xiangyang proper that there’s very little light pollution.” Wei Ying brought the phone up until all Lan Zhan could see was the gray-dark green of foliage along with the purple-tinged blue of twilight. “It’s not even full dark yet and you can see them. The river’s not too far either.”

“It sounds like you like it there,” Lan Zhan said, between bites of food because somewhere along the way he’d learned that speaking during mealtimes didn’t result in the end of the world.

“I don’t know about that, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, musing. He brought the phone back around so that his face filled the screen and that, more than even a million not yet visible stars, served to lift Lan Zhan’s melancholia.

Lan Zhan stared down at his bowl, glanced around the condo, thought about his ordered little life and how easily Wei Ying had slipped into it despite his tendency toward chaos and spontaneity. “Do you ever get bored?” The words fell from his mouth without his permission. That wasn’t what he intended to ask. He wasn’t intending to ask anything.

“Lan Zhan?”

“With me? Are we… is this boring?” This was not the time to have this conversation. It wasn’t even a conversation. Never before in their lives, not since the early days of their friendship, had Lan Zhan worried about being boring to Wei Ying. It was one of the first things Wei Ying had ever assuaged him about. And Wei Ying had stuck with him for fifteen years even though Lan Zhan so rarely adjusted his own behaviors to better accommodate Wei Ying’s preferences. If he tended toward boredom with Lan Zhan, it would have reared its head already. “Don’t—”

Don’t listen to me. Don’t answer. You don’t have to answer.

“Are you bored?” Wei Ying asked. It wasn’t just the terrible microphone and call connection quality that made Wei Ying’s tone come across so stiffly.

“No. Never.”

“Well, me neither.”

“I just—” Why did the words he wanted to say have to be difficult? Even now? “I miss you.”

Though Wei Ying smiled at him, it was tinged with sadness, perhaps a little mischief. Wei Ying’s smiles always contained so much. “I miss you, too. My very own Lan er-gege.” Sighing, he leaned back and there was a creaking sound. “This swing is pretty cool.” Twisting to lean against the rope, which couldn’t have been comfortable in the slightest, he hummed. As far as distractions went, it was a passable effort. “Could you imagine having sex on this thing?”

Spluttering, Lan Zhan nearly choked on the last bite of noodles in his bowl, throat burning. He coughed into his arm and stepped away to grab a glass of water. After a few gulps and a moment spent breathing, he returned, stone-faced. “You’d get splinters.”

“You’re right. You’re far too prepared to be the one who winds up with an ass full of wood, haha. Might be worth it though.” He swing creaked and the image of Wei Ying, staring up, rocked slightly. “Then I could sprawl on the bed while you remove them for me. Imagine all the little bruises you’d be able to leave on me with a pair of tweezers. You could just pinch and pinch away for as long as you wanted. I bet I could come again, grinding against—”

“Wei Ying.”

“What? You’re not interested?” Wei Ying’s neck craned, as though he’d be able to see more of Lan Zhan than the screen showed. Laughing—when was he going to stop laughing?—he shook his head. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You’d probably say it’s unsanitary.”

“It is unsanitary.” That didn’t stop Lan Zhan from thinking about Wei Ying sprawled on a bed as he bruised up his skin little by little. It was such a bizarre image. He could see his own features, focused seriously on the task. He wouldn’t use tweezers, though they’d probably hurt more, make Wei Ying squirm more. He’d rather do it himself.

He wouldn’t let Wei Ying get splinters on a swing, not ever, but they could pretend, he supposed.

But now wasn’t—

He pressed his palm over the crotch of his trousers, bit back a moan as his cock responded to the stimulation. “Wei Ying, you should rest,” he said, hoping his arousal couldn’t be heard in the sound of his voice. “And avoid getting any splinters if possible.”

Wei Ying stared at him openly, considering. Probably Lan Zhan’s wish was a vain one.

There was a clattering, rustling sound from further in the living room.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Ying asked.

“Cannon Ball.” Lan Zhan climbed to his feet and put his dishes into the sink, relieved for the reprieve. “And Turpentine, I think.”

A look of longing crossed Wei Ying’s face, there and gone in a blink. “I’ll let you go. And—I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. For all of this.”

“Mn. I understand,” he said, though he didn’t fully. But he understood enough and that was what mattered in the end.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night. Dress comfortably, Lan er-gege.”

At that, Lan Zhan flushed again.

Wei Ying’s cackle trailed after him long after their conversation ended.

“All right, you two. There’s plenty for both of you to share,” he said, finding Cannon Ball and Turpentine tussling over an empty paper towel roll. Grabbing another from within the hutch and sitting on the floor before them, he watched them bounce around one another, biting and pushing the rolls around. Sometimes, they stopped long enough to groom one another for a couple of seconds before they nudged and then chased one another around again.

It wasn’t quite as much fun without Wei Ying here to witness it, too, but it was nearly as good when he got a few seconds of footage and sent it to Wei Ying, earning a long, earnest string of messages back.

He realized after spending a good ten minutes reading and rereading Wei Ying’s responses that they never even had a chance to discuss their marriage plans before he went.

Another thing that would have to wait. There was really no point talking about such things now.

2020

Stepping into the club was a little bit like stepping back in time. Once he’d graduated, he rarely came, having decided that work took him out of town often enough that he could avoid embarrassment that way. Despite the stretch of years separating him from his last visit, it looked exactly the same and the clientele was largely the exact sort of people who came here when Lan Zhan was younger. In a way, it allowed him to relax. The familiarity of it was enough to allow muscle memory to take over and stop him from thinking too deeply. He approached the bar, flagged down the bartender, ordered a soda and lime, accepting that he’d have to carry around a silly looking cup that would better fit at a sporting event because drinks got abandoned and dropped frequently as people made their way to the dance floor or set their sights on one another.

Even now, he attracted a few eyes, though fewer than in the past. It had mostly got around that he wasn’t interested, so anyone who might have recognized him didn’t bother. And anyway, he was edging out of the age range that used clubs like these to secure companionship. It was safe enough, he thought, to simply enjoy the music.

Nobody approached him anyway. Too intimidated as always.

That was fine. It wasn’t his goal here anyway, not when he’d…

It would be a very long while until he recovered from Wei Ying, he felt. It wouldn’t be fair to try drowning that out with anyone else in the meantime. Already he occasionally felt as though this whole… exercise had been pointless. Years and years of pointlessness culminating in this complete and total failure.

But how could he move on? Wei Ying was Wei Ying. Until this disastrous misunderstanding, there had never been a single person who knew him so well except his own brother. There was no moving on from that.

He just wanted to listen to the music, the honey-thick trickle of guitars bent to unusual purpose, of soundscapes built on the sonorously drawn out notes of a bass. He wanted to be roused from his stupor by cutting electronic blips and hollow-toned clacks and think about anything except Wei Ying for five minutes at a stretch. There was nowhere else in this entire town that hadn’t been touched by his relationship with Wei Ying except for this one place. It stood to reason it might offer a reprieve even as it dredged up old memories.

Finding a spot against the back wall, he allowed it to hold up his weight, closed his eyes as he held his cup by the rim at his side.

Occasionally he took a sip of his drink and watched the people beginning to writhe on the dance floor, accompanied by the slow, grinding music that was playing. Occasionally he saw…

He sighed. Occasionally he saw someone he knew and pretended not to notice.

Fighting a grimace, he straightened up, wished that he’d run into anyone except Su She, but of course he had and, of course, Su She saw that he’d seen him and now the night was going to get awkward for everyone because Lan Zhan couldn’t be cut a single break this week.

Well, Lan Zhan had plenty of practice over the years with roleplaying a brick wall when it came to Su She. Today didn’t have to be any different.

When Su She reached him, he didn’t let his gaze flick away from the musician on stage in the back for more than a moment.

More of his life than he cared to admit to was spent avoiding Su She and having all that effort ruined tonight was enough to turn the low-grade agitation he’d been experiencing into full-blown aggravation. It was Su She’s decision to come over here; he could do all the heavy lifting on the subsequent conversation. Lan Zhan didn’t care in the slightest how rude it might come off as.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, putting Lan Zhan’s teeth on edge. “I wouldn’t have expected to see you here.”

Wouldn’t you, Lan Zhan asked himself. It was funny how often Su She coincidentally found himself enjoying Lan Zhan’s haunts. After a pause just shy of condescending, he replied, “I find that implausible.”

“Hm?” And then, because he wanted to take advantage of the situation maybe, he leaned in close. “Could you repeat that?”

“You have always had a good grasp of my schedule,” Lan Zhan snapped. “Excuse me, please.”

He moved as though to push away from the wall and found himself with Su She’s palm pressed against his chest. It felt too warm even through his shirt, somehow a little sticky, wet with condensation that Lan Zhan could only hope came from a cup. The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched. He was too bold, had always been too familiar. Lan Zhan sometimes wondered if he’d gone into their mutual line of work simply because he wanted to do what Lan Zhan did. “I heard about what happened with Wei Ying,” he said. Perhaps the thing that made Lan Zhan’s skin crawl the most was the fact that Su She did seem genuinely… moved. By whatever he thought he knew. He certainly sounded sympathetic. “You deserve better than that.”

Lan Zhan slapped his hand aside.

“What did you hear?” There shouldn’t have been any gossip at all and if there was, Su She shouldn’t have heard about it. Then again, Lan Zhan hadn’t gone out of his way to be discreet, had he? In fact, he hadn’t known he should have been. If he’d known Wei Ying’s feelings on the matter, he might have been more circumspect.

Su She’s brows furrowed and his mouth pulled in a puckered little frown. “He broke up with you, didn’t he?”

I’m pretty sure we weren’t ever actually together, Lan Zhan didn’t say, already feeling foolish. It sliced him open to even think about it. And in front of Su She? Unfathomable. “Where did you hear this?”

“It’s going around…?” Su She answered, awkward, as though Lan Zhan was a very small child who didn’t know how gossip worked. In truth, did it really matter where it came from? “You two were basically attached at the hip whenever you were seen together and then suddenly you weren’t? And given that Wei Ying seems to have moved on just fine while you’ve been…” Lan Zhan had been a lot of things this week, it was true, but Su She shouldn’t have known about any of them. “Out of sorts?”

“Absurd,” Lan Zhan replied. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall for whatever Su She was trying to peddle. ‘Wei Ying seems to have moved on?’ By what metric? What was there to move on from? And who would Wei Ying move on with, when he’d never shown an interest? “How would you know this?”

“He’s at the bar next door,” Su She replied, a not unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. He always looked a little bit hungry in Lan Zhan’s vicinity and was always trying to bend Lan Zhan’s attention toward him. This was just another ploy. Too bad his heart was now in another building. Wei Ying? So close? And Lan Zhan hadn’t known? “I was just over there and… it sounds like he’s trying to score. Doesn’t that make you mad?”

Even if it was true, which Lan Zhan highly doubted, it wasn’t Lan Zhan’s concern. Or Su She’s. Or anyone’s.

“Leave,” Lan Zhan replied, cool. “I’m not interested in your thoughts on Wei Ying’s social life. It’s his business.” Su She didn’t move. “If you don’t leave my sight now, I will embarrass you publicly.”

“But—”

Lan Zhan had, perhaps, been too willing to overlook Su She’s interest for far too long. If he was trying to use Wei Ying against him now, it was time to rectify that. “If you think I will ever fall into bed with you for any reason, you are sorely mistaken. If I made a list of every man I’d be willing to fuck, you wouldn’t even make the bottom of it.”

One of the men standing nearby overheard and started laughing, As he elbowed his friend and smirked, he looked on with amused pity. Su She’s face reddened and he spit vitriol when he finally gathered enough wits to speak. “Everyone knows you’re a fucking prude with a pathetic crush.”

The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth curled. Su She couldn’t hurt him with these words. He wasn’t a prude after all. “I will involve security if you don’t go.” He made a little shooing gesture because Su She couldn’t help but bring out the worst in him. “For your own good, I’m no longer asking.”

Su She remained in place for so long that Lan Zhan thought he was going to have to say something else, but finally, finally he made a noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a huff and snarl. He turned away, disappearing into the crowd on the other side of the room.

It wasn’t what Lan Zhan would have wanted—Su She leaving entirely would have been preferable—but it was enough that he settled back against the wall again. This time, he didn’t relax quite enough to close his eyes, could no longer enjoy the calm wash of music, but it was…

It was okay.

Wei Ying was one building away and that was… that was fine, too.

It was fine up until Wei Ying showed up, Luo Qingyang, Wen Qing, and Jiang Cheng in tow, flowing through the crowd like oil in water, their own little bubble of contained motion at least until Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng peeled away.

He shouldn’t watch Wei Ying this way, not when Su She was around, even when Su She wasn’t around, but it felt even more… exposing to know he was here and would likely—

Lan Zhan was going to leave. He should leave.

Luo Qingyang pulled Wei Ying onto the dance floor and held him close, embraced him intimately. Her hands settled around him and he, in turn, collapsed against her, gave her leave to hold him up, a pillar against which he might rest. He barely moved—this hardly counted as a dance—and Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan was too tired to seethe, too heartsick to lash out.

He was not too tired or heartsick to feel the worst parts of himself scream indolently at the unfairness of it all. It held the same screeching, betrayed quality he remembered from his childhood, from before he’d learned how to tuck away the covetous terror within him.

They returned to him in full force now: all that fear, all that desire to hold and never let go. He wanted to be the one giving support to Wei Ying. Even if they were never… even if they weren’t more to one another than what they were, he wanted this much. His fingers itched to touch, to claim even a hug as his own. He longed to breathe in the scent of Wei Ying’s body, offer comfort and take comfort from the giving of it.

As Wei Ying buried his face against Luo Qingyang’s neck, he seemed to give all of his concerns over to her. Lan Zhan desired that.

Wei Ying’s eyes lifted, found his across the crowd and widened in fear just as Lan Zhan worked up the strength to leave.

Fear. Like Wei Ying had anything to fear from Lan Zhan.

Soda splashed across his wrist as he nearly dropped his drink. The liquid, cold, focused Lan Zhan’s attention. Years of practice with navigating crowds in this club made it easy for him to slip away, abandon his cup by the door. No matter what, he could heard Wei Ying shouting for him over the sticky music.

He didn’t stop. If Wei Ying could leave, Lan Zhan could learn how to do the same.

Wei Ying shouted his pleas across the parking lot. Lan Zhan, stop, stop for five seconds, stop.

He didn’t want to stop, because he already knew what would happen: another misunderstanding layered on the ones that already existed between them. This wasn’t a movie or a drama, but he already knew what Wei Ying was going to say. The things that angered Lan Zhan couldn’t be reduced to seeing Wei Ying dancing with someone else. That didn’t matter. None of this mattered. That was the problem.

Wei Ying’s hand wrapped, clammy, around his wrist.

“No need. Let me go.” It was curt and it didn’t actually do anything to stop Wei Ying. Not even wrenching himself out of Wei Ying’s grip was enough. Of course, of course he had to say the words Lan Zhan didn’t want to hear.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Wei Ying insisted, following the script Lan Zhan feared he’d follow. Of course it wasn’t. Lan Zhan knew Wei Ying better than that. And even if it was, so what? Wei Ying made his position clear enough when he said he couldn’t do this with Lan Zhan. Whatever else happened, it wasn’t Lan Zhan’s business.

That didn’t mean he wanted to have it explained to him.

Jaw clenched, he said, “It looked like you were dancing with Luo Qingyang. Should I think anything else of it beyond that? I know you and I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” His voice was just shy of cruel. This wasn’t who he was. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The hurt inside of him ran too deep. “Let me go.”

And yet, Wei Ying didn’t let him go. For a man who couldn’t do this he was sure having a difficult time with the concept.

Wei Ying babbled through the most utterly garbage apology Lan Zhan had ever heard in his life. He was a dick, Wei Ying said. He was awful. He didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t be what Lan Zhan needed as though Lan Zhan needed anything more than Wei Ying exactly as he was, perfect in the only ways that mattered to Lan Zhan.

Something snapped in Lan Zhan, something unkind, unfair to Wei Ying. He shoved Wei Ying against his car, held Wei Ying’s face between his palms. Wei Ying’s skin was soft and warm beneath his touch and Wei Ying’s lips parted so prettily at the touch. It stopped him from speaking further, which was great, amazing, wonderful. The last thing he wanted was for Wei Ying to keep talking about being sorry about this.

He bent toward Wei Ying, kissed him deeply, clutched more tightly to him, as though fearing he would disappear if Lan Zhan was gentler. He bit at Wei Ying’s lower lip, focused on the sounds Wei Ying made, low and keening, consumed them, memorized them. Lan Zhan could have listened to this forever and never gotten tired of it. He wanted more, everything Wei Ying would give to him, which was apparently less than what Lan Zhan wanted and—

Even if he took and took and took everything now, it wouldn’t ever be what he wanted.

He told himself he’d stop as soon as he ran out of breath, as soon as Wei Ying shifted, as soon as this and that and that and that, mentally bargaining with himself until finally he had the strength to admit that he couldn’t keep going.

It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault that Lan Zhan was like this.

Pulling away, he schooled his features as best he knew how, vision unfocused so he didn’t have to look away and didn’t have to see the consequences of what he was doing at the same time. If he could see Wei Ying’s face clearly, he wouldn’t have the strength he needed to walk away.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Each word dragged itself out of his mouth as thought it was a ragged-edged rock, blunt and sharp at the same time. “Not even an explanation.” The next words were equally difficult to get out, but he managed them, too. It wasn’t any harder than letting Wei Ying walk out of his condo. This was the lie he told himself anyway. “I don’t want your apology.”

It was hardest of all to say, “Let me go,” even though he’d already done it once.

He made the fatal mistake of looking at Wei Ying one last time.

He didn’t allow himself to look again.

2011

It was awful at first, knowing what Wei Ying planned to do. If he’d thought Wei Ying incommunicative before, it was even worse now. There were no texts, no calls, no requests to see Lan Zhan. Nothing. And he knew Wei Ying needed time, time to figure himself out, time to get himself disentangled from his obligations to the school, time to land on his feet, but Lan Zhan hated it and hated even more how useless it made him feel.

Unlike the physical desires that plagued him, he couldn’t exactly fuck his way out of worrying about Wei Ying.

There were, sadly, no mental equivalents that might ease this pressure. No matter how many runs he went on, no matter how long he meditated, no matter how much time he spent cooking or cleaning or doing anything other than what he ought, his concerns didn’t ease in the slightest. Wei Ying was a grown man, of course, and didn’t need Lan Zhan to swoop in and save him, but it was exasperating that he knew nothing while Wei Ying lived with Nie Huaisang, who would, by that fluke of luck alone, be privileged enough to know Wei Ying was, at the very least, getting by.

So he might’ve snapped and messaged Wei Ying. Day fourteen. Maybe that wasn’t as pathetic as it could have been.

Are you well?

hanging in there, lan zhan

The reply arrived so quickly and lacked so many details that Lan Zhan couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more worried. It was an answer though and it didn’t invite further questioning so Lan Zhan needed to let it go.

He told himself: let it go.

If you need anything, please let me know. I’m here.

No response.

Though he didn’t know what to do with the mental strain he was feeling, he did, on the other hand, know how to discharge the physical frustrations that prickled beneath his skin. Maybe one night spent thinking of something other than what Wei Ying was doing would be useful.

Same club, same disinterest in drinking or dancing or doing any of the things the others here seemed to enjoy. The music was curious, disarming, interesting. For a little while, he was pleasantly distracted by that. Sipping the sparkling water he’d ordered from the bar simply so he wouldn’t look so terribly out of place, he found himself enjoying the mere act of being here.

At first, he wasn’t sure who or what he was looking for as he watched the crowd. A handful of men and some of the women, offered frank, appreciative glances, but none of them were quite right. He wouldn’t have been able to put into words what he was looking for, but he knew it when he saw it.

Unlike the others he’d been with, he approached this one of his own accord.

“Are you here with anyone?” he asked, once he was close enough to be heard over the deep, rhythmic sound of the music. The man was a little bit shorter than him, slimmer. His features had the same mischievous qualities that Wei Ying’s shared, though the eye color was just wrong enough for plausible deniability. He was a little bit older, too, just enough that Lan Zhan felt relieved that he probably wouldn’t risk running into him at school. Suffering through class with Zhao Wu was bad enough and he worried incessantly about running into that other guy on campus.

If he kept doing this, he needed to figure out a way that he didn’t risk running into them in the future.

The man’s gaze was appraising. Lan Zhan could feel himself being weighed, measured against an internal scale Lan Zhan couldn’t hope to parse in such a short time with such little acquaintance. Jerking his head slightly, he gestured for Lan Zhan to follow him toward a less occupied area of the venue. A thrill of anticipation climbed his spine and left him wondering just what in the hell he was thinking, what he was doing.

“Top—” He gestured high, hand rising to about his ear, top, and then low, “—bottom or both?”

This, at least, he could handle. Questions with answers were easy. “Top.”

The man smirked a little, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, but it must have been the correct answer, because the look he favored Lan Zhan with was a little warmer, not quite so patronizing. “Well, congrats. That puts you one up on a lot of the guys here tonight.”

Lan Zhan wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed by the strange form of praise or not, but he chose to take it as a good sign when the man offered his name—Liu Zihao—and asked for Lan Zhan’s in return without Lan Zhan feeling unduly self-conscious about it. All that energy waiting to discharge inside of him clamored for more when the guy gestured toward the door, turned in the crowd to catch the eye of a friend to do the same again, and said, “Tonight’s your lucky night, Lan Zhan. What say you we get out of here?”

Lan Zhan wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when they arrived at Liu Zihao’s apartment, but a sparkling clean home, austere even by Lan Zhan’s standards, wasn’t quite it given the laid-back charm this guy had exuded at the bar. He also wasn’t expecting him to say, frank, “Do you get tested regularly?”

Lan Zhan tried to pretend he didn’t fumble for his phone. In truth, he’d decided after the second one to go have a panel done, easier and less embarrassing than he’d expected. He’d chosen to drive out of his way for it, too, but nobody showed an excessive amount of interest in what he was doing and so he’d felt silly about it at the time and again afterward when the results arrived.

When Lan Zhan showed him the screenshot, he nodded. “Good boy.”

Lan Zhan blinked, momentarily disconcerted by the praise in this context—or any context to be honest. Nobody in his life had ever called him a good boy before. Something must have shown on his face, because the guy just laughed lightly and shook his head. “Thanks for being a responsible member of society is what I meant,” he said, grandiose. “Not like… good boy, you know? Unless you’re into that, I guess. Maybe you are. I don’t know yet.”

No, Lan Zhan didn’t know, but he felt very much like he should have.

“Anyway,” Liu Zihao said breezily. “Do you want tea? I could use some tea.”

It was a rare occasion when Lan Zhan felt like he was incapable of keeping up—most of them revolved around Wei Ying, truth be told—but he was giving Wei Ying a run for his money. Still, Lan Zhan followed him into the kitchen area, cramped, but tidy. Liu Zihao heated his electric kettle and grabbed a few canisters of tea from a cupboard, all neatly labeled in a good, confident hand. “Preference?”

“The white,” Lan Zhan said.

“Good taste.” As they waited for the water to heat, he looked speculatively at Lan Zhan. “So what are you into?”

“Into?”

He gestured vaguely in the direction of what Lan Zhan hoped was the bedroom. “We’ve established you like to top, but there’s a lot of leeway there.”

“I…” Lan Zhan had no good answer.

“Why don’t I start and we can go from there? And please don’t feel like I’m expecting you to do this. We’re just having a conversation, right?”

Lan Zhan suspected that he was trying to make Lan Zhan feel more comfortable, but it only made Lan Zhan more nervous. He wasn’t used to people treating him with kid gloves after all.

“I like to be held down,” he said simply. “Or tied up. I’m good with rough. Really rough.” He looked Lan Zhan up and down, as though seeing something in Lan Zhan he didn’t recognize for himself. “You don’t seem like you’d be into talking dirty, but that’s on the table for me, too. Humiliation, that sort of thing.”

Lan Zhan tried not to feel overwhelmed, but in his heart, he was a little overwhelmed. Dirty talk, that wasn’t something he thought he was into. Humiliation… no. Being held down, though? Tied up? Rough? He shifted slightly. Maybe he was interested in that except he didn’t know what to do, how to make it good, why it would be good for those on the other end of it. He didn’t like feeling so inexperienced, but he also maybe needed to talk about it if he ever wanted to not feel inexperienced.

It was awkward, but he didn’t imagine he’d have a better opportunity to learn. He put Lan Zhan at ease the way Wei Ying put Lan Zhan at ease. “I would… like to hold you down, I think.”

As soon as the words were out, he knew they were worth it when the man smiled and nodded. “Now we’re talking. Let’s have some tea first, get to know one another a bit, yeah?”

That sounded like a terrible idea, but twenty minutes and a conversation about Ji Dachun later, Lan Zhan was feeling more relaxed, could enjoy a little bit the way Liu Zihao smiled at him as they talked.

“How do you…?” he asked, refusing to allow himself to feel as overwhelmed as before. He liked this guy for whatever that was worth, liked that he was no-nonsense and not shy in the slightest. He didn’t feel like he was going to get laughed out of the room or like he had to prove anything. There was no reason to be nervous. “How do you want to do this?”

Even expressing one opinion was too much for Lan Zhan right now. They’d narrowed it down to holding him down. That was… about as far as Lan Zhan could think this through and succeed at not getting pulled under by every other possibility open to them. Lan Zhan could hold him down in a lot of different ways. He didn’t know which one would be ideal for either of them.

If someone put a gun to Lan Zhan’s head and forced him to be honest, he would have to admit he’s not very good at not being good at things. And all of this had just been exercise after exercise of not being good at things.

The guy tilted his head, looked at him, looked at the bed, and nodded. “I’ll show you. Let’s get undressed first, huh?”

It should have felt clinical and in truth it kind of did, walking through the steps like this, awkwardly undressing next to one another, but Lan Zhan pretended it wasn’t a big deal and soon they were naked and the guy really did have a nice body, not unlike Wei Ying’s: lean, but muscled, wiry, compelling enough for Lan Zhan to feel some small stirrings in his gut despite the myriad differences. Actual stirrings of interest, actual, he thought, desire, for what they were doing in this moment with one another.

Though he reminded Lan Zhan of Wei Ying, he didn’t only remind Lan Zhan of Wei Ying.

If nothing else, he felt as though he owed this man a good time for everything he was putting up with from Lan Zhan. He probably hadn’t started the night expecting to hook up with a guy who acted like he didn’t have the first clue about anything. Liu Zihao was patient about it and kinder than Lan Zhan deserved and so when he explained it—what he liked, what he wanted, how he enjoyed the fact that Lan Zhan’s hands were large enough that one could successfully pin both of his wrists—Lan Zhan wanted to give that back to him.

At Liu Zihao’s direction, he coated his fingers with less lube than he was used to using, barely worked him open before Liu Zihao told him enough was enough. Lan Zhan rolled the condom down his length, slicked up, wiped his hand off. Kneeling between Liu Zihao’s legs, he finally stretched his arm to grab his wrists and hold them above his head. He made sure his hold was tight, almost bruising, fingers digging into the soft skin of his wrists as he slid inside, sure it wasn’t going to be the man who was overwhelmed by the experience.

A few experimental strokes helped him find his pace.

“Nngh, harder,” Liu Zihao said and that, at least, was something Lan Zhan could do.

It felt incredible for once, holding him in place, being told to push himself until his hips snapped forward in quick, shallow thrusts, skin slapping against skin. Unlike the others, Liu Zihao made himself known. Unlike the others, it didn’t annoy the hell out of him. And no matter what Lan Zhan gave to him, he took it. When he tried to wriggle his hands, Lan Zhan held onto him harder and he seemed to respond to that, too, groaning and pushing himself back onto Lan Zhan. He said, “I’m not going to break,” and Lan Zhan took him at his word, took more than that and felt for once like he was more than his urges even though he was reduced only to his urges.

His orgasm built inside of him, gathering low in his gut, formed into shape by Liu Zihao’s occasionally goading comments and his own abandon.

When it happened, it almost took him by surprise, and he let out an unexpected grunt, bending nearly in half against Liu Zihao’s back as he came. If not for his quick thinking as he let go of the man’s hip and held himself up on his palm instead, he might have collapsed forward, the other hand still wrapped around Liu Zihao’s wrists. Aftershocks worked through him as he dragged himself free. It was—that was good. It felt good.

Before Liu Zihao could hold his hand through what to do next, Lan Zhan allowed himself to drape across Liu Zihao’s back and wrapped his fingers, dry, around his length and stripped it, using only the glide of Liu Zihao’s precome to ease the way, pulling his orgasm from him with brutal strokes and then going for one more when he encouraged Lan Zhan to keep touching him.

He did. He could. His first impulse wasn’t to retreat. He watched in fascination as Liu Zihao bucked back and cursed, body rocking against Lan Zhan’s. That felt good, too.

“Wow, you really are magnificent, aren’t you?” Liu Zihao said when Lan Zhan finally let go of him, a second orgasm wrung from his body. He laid there for a short time, stretching and rolling his hips before he turned on his side to look at Lan Zhan, who was sitting upright next to him, trying to bring himself to get off the bed and get rid of the condom or do anything other than stare into nothingness, a vague sense of pride and accomplishment simmering under the mirror-sleek surface of his thoughts. “You okay there?”

“Hm?”

The man smiled, a small, smug little thing and Lan Zhan found he didn’t entirely hate seeing it, wasn’t hurt that it wasn’t Wei Ying’s smile instead. “Was that good?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan agreed and it didn’t feel like a betrayal to have done so. More than that, it was true. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, huh?”

“I…” In truth, he did not, and now that he did know, it felt like something was slotting into place, something that had nothing to do with Wei Ying and everything, simply, to do with him and his tastes. Strange as it was, it came as a relief to him, that this one thing could belong to him, wasn’t necessarily a byproduct of his feelings for Wei Ying. It made him feel a little less obsessed, a little more normal. Lan Zhan could conjure Wei Ying’s image at a whim, describe him in minute detail. He had no idea what he would like in bed. If he wanted to be held down, Lan Zhan had no clue about it. “No.”

His smile widened. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did.”

“Good.” He looked around the room as though to gather his thoughts and sighed a sigh of, Lan Zhan hoped, satisfaction. “Listen, we can be awkward about this part if we want,” he said, “or I could invite you to stay a while and we can do that again. If you’d like to, great. If not, I’m glad to have had such a good time and wish you well.”

When the options were spoken this openly, without judgment or expectation, Lan Zhan didn’t feel awkward at all. As much as he enjoyed this, he didn’t think he wanted to do this again with him, didn’t want to turn it into something more and risk further complications down the line. But even thinking of complications was more than he’d considered with anyone else.

He hoped one day to be this at ease with how he felt, what he wanted, who he did it with. In that spirit, perhaps remaining wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“I think I would like to stay.” He really was good looking after all. And Lan Zhan was enjoying himself.

He clapped his hand on Lan Zhan’s knee. Lan Zhan thought, for a moment, to cover it with his own. “Let’s have some more tea. I’ll tell you about what I’d like to do to you.”

The second round was even better than the first, face to face against the wall just outside the bedroom with one of Lan Zhan’s hands over his mouth.

“I’m rethinking my decision to not date,” the guy said, sprawling across the bed later. “Not, uh, that… anyway. You don’t seem the type either. My point is where did you get that amount of body control?”

“Yoga,” Lan Zhan said, dry, not true in the slightest. He wondered what Wei Ying would make of this, Lan Zhan making a joke while he pulled on his underwear, feeling both no different and incredibly new all at once.

“You’re full of shit,” he answered, laughing.

Lan Zhan couldn’t even work up the nerve to be annoyed. This guy even sounded the way Wei Ying sounded, like he, similarly to Wei Ying, saw something in Lan Zhan worth teasing and had decided to do something about it. It was not anything that most people would think to do to him. He liked that it happened now. It stopped him from begging off when he was offered half the bed and a few hours respite with another person.

He stayed long enough to have breakfast and a third round with a pair of cuffs—a revelation—and by the time he was ready to go, he felt good, tethered, solidly in his own body in a way he hadn’t ever really experienced before. At the door, he almost did ask for his number, thought maybe to offer his own. He considered the possibility of searching him out again. Instead of finding someone else, he could just… reach out. To him. From time to time.

No, it was impossible. His life was already too complicated.

When he kissed Liu Zihao goodbye from the doorway, he didn’t regret that he was giving away his first by doing so.

2025

Dress comfortably, Wei Ying had said, and though Lan Zhan could think of many, many, many reasons why he might have wanted Lan Zhan to do that, there was only one way in which he hoped Wei Ying would follow through.

That desire followed him throughout the day, leaving a low-level arousal behind that pursued him throughout the morning. As he made breakfast, he wondered what Wei Ying was up to and what he was thinking about, what he intended to do with such a request. As he worked through lunch, he continued to wonder.

The only time he stopped thinking about that was when he put a call in to the guqin instructor whom Lan Zhan was reasonably sure Wei Ying had gone to for his gift. Zhang Yueyin was a well-respected musician in her own right and, if memory served, she was somewhat acquainted with Meng Yao. It stood to reason.

It was confirmed when she picked up the call and he introduced himself, palm sweating against the phone case. “Ah, the one with the doting partner. If only we were all so fortunate,” she said, warm. Even over the phone she conveyed a comfortable sort of dry fondness. Lan Zhan liked her immediately. “Wei Ying kindly sent along a picture of the finished guqin. How do you like it?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around the rush of affection he felt for Wei Ying and the bloom of gratitude he felt toward her for acknowledging Wei Ying’s part in this. “It’s beautiful.”

“I told him if he ever wanted to take on a different line of work, he’d have a clientele,” she replied, fond. It was funny, the way Wei Ying could build so much goodwill with some and be considered the absolute worst of the worst among another group. It pleased Lan Zhan to think he’d won yet another person over to his side.

If only it would sink in for him just how loved he was.

“Anyway, how can I help you?”

“I was hoping to arrange lessons,” he replied, feeling a little silly. Here, a grown man indulging in such things, but he thought…

He thought perhaps it would be nice for Wei Ying to come home and know his message hadn’t been given in vain, that he wasn’t putting this part of his life off any longer. It frightened him a little bit to open himself up to this, reconnect with the part of himself he’d turned away from when he chose to walk down the path laid out for him by his uncle, but it invigorated him, too. Something he couldn’t quite define shook free just from the act of committing.

“Ah, he’ll be so pleased! And I’m pleased, too! My adult students are always my favorite.”

A little startled, Lan Zhan asked, “Why?”

“They’re always so dedicated,” she responded. “You can tell that they’re there out of passion for the guqin. They’re diligent and hardworking.” She laughed a little. “They don’t have sticky fingers that need to be cleaned all the time!”

Lan Zhan hummed a little, off-balance. “That won’t be a problem.”

They arranged a date and time quickly and with little fuss. This thing he’d stumbled over for so long slotted right into place. After the call ended, he felt settled. Calm. Despite his earlier nervousness, he felt at peace. And even though Wei Ying was so very far away, he felt cherished and encouraged.

These sensations bounced like buoys across the surface of his thoughts throughout the rest of the afternoon and they kept him occupied as he heated up the noodles leftover from yesterday.

The blaring ringtone he’d long ago set for Wei Ying startled him and then he remembered—

Dress comfortably.

“Lan Zhan! How is that comfortable?!” Wei Ying said immediately, though all he could possibly see was the collar of his shirt. “I ask you one thing only and you betray me like this!”

Fondness for Wei Ying and his antics flooded him in a rush.

“It’s comfortable enough,” he replied, plucking at said collar. It was one of his older shirts, well-loved and well-worn.

“What’s comfortable are my shitty oversized t-shirts that aren’t even fit for my studio any longer or, you know, those nice t-shirts you insist on buying us that are basically translucent and soft as hell. Honestly, how do you get by without me? You’re wearing actual pants, too, I bet.” Though his words sounded stern, there was a sly smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps er-gege intended to put on a show for me?”

A flush climbed Lan Zhan’s throat as he considered just what that might entail. As he stared down at the screen in his palm, he swallowed. “You’re not even going to ask how my day was?” This was, he had to admit, a blatant ploy to tease back, gain some control that was lost by Wei Ying saying something as obviously provocative as er-gege. “Am I just a sex object to you?”

Later, he wouldn’t know how he managed to keep a straight face or an even voice, especially not when the video lagged, like Wei Ying maybe almost dropped it.

“Lan Zhan!” His voice cracked under the strain in his excitement. The purity of his happiness over something as silly as Lan Zhan teasing staggered him. “Lan Zhan, you are definitely more than a sex object to me! Babe, baby, sweetheart, darling. Tell me all about your day.” He perched his chin on his hand, leaving Lan Zhan to wonder whether he was sitting at a desk or maybe on his bed or perhaps even just standing in the middle of the room, acting dramatic for the sake of it. From the background, Lan Zhan couldn’t tell. “And, you know, if maybe you wanted to undo a few buttons on that shirt, you could do that, too? Angle the phone down, dollface, I can’t see.”

Wei Ying’s mouth twitched around the endearments. Lan Zhan wasn’t quite willing to admit he maybe liked it a little bit. Gege was one thing. It got pulled out from time to time and dusted off whenever Wei Ying felt like being a mischievous asshole. But he wasn’t sure his heart could withstand a strategically deployed babe even if he was merely acting over the top about it.

“Where are you?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Bed, duh!” He himself angled his phone to get a good shot of the duvet, a wild riot of colors and shapes. His features did go all warmly affectionate when he said, serious, “Lan Zhan, how was your day?”

He truly meant it this time.

What a soft touch his Wei Ying could be; Lan Zhan had never been very good at preparing for that.

His day was, of course, merely routine. Mostly. But the part that most excited him would remain a surprise until Wei Ying returned.

“Who cares?” He stood primly and placed his bowl in the sink, setting the phone next to it as Wei Ying’s squawked in complaint. After washing his hands, he picked up the phone again and slowly worked open his shirt as he walked toward the bedroom. He angled the phone as asked and preened a little at the sharp inhalation he earned for it.

“Wait, wait, wait! Bunnies!” Wei Ying crawled around a little and then his face was filling the screen. “I see you walking to the bedroom and I want you there, but let me take a look at my babies first.”

God, only Wei Ying would get a man hot under the collar and then demand to see rabbits. Crouching by the hutch, rather awkward in his current predicament, he subtly adjusted himself and aimed the phone as requested.

“Oh, they’re sleeping,” Wei Ying called, quiet. “Tiny! Tiny, have sweet dreams! Take care of your dad, huh? Make sure Nonnoball feels welcome! Have a good nap.”

Turpentine twitched her foot, rustling the bedding in the hutch.

Clearing his throat, Wei Ying said, “Okay, Lan Zhan, let’s get back to paying attention to you. Maybe grab the adjustable phone stand while you’re at it, huh?”

Ten minutes, a search for said phone stand, and Wei Ying’s opening gambit later, Lan Zhan was fairly certain he would die tonight, overwhelmed as his heart finally gave out.

“What if I got a projector?” Wei Ying asked, tapping his finger against his chin. From the way Lan Zhan was kneeling, he had a hard time seeing the phone screen, but it was propped on the ground just the way Wei Ying wanted it, so that was the way it stayed. “Then I could just stare at the wall. I could make you stare at the wall, too. See yourself as I’m seeing you. You look very beautiful on your knees for me, er-gege.”

Er-gege again. Monstrous.

“Don’t you wish you’d put on sweatpants or something like I asked?”

Lan Zhan’s lips thinned. “Not in the slightest,” he replied, recalcitrant. His dick strained behind his fly, the zipper stiff and unyielding. Every time he shifted, it brushed against the head, a cheap little thrill, which only caused him to harden further and make it easier for it to happen again, rinse and repeat ad infinitum. It was nice, but he thought maybe being allowed to touch himself would be nicer. “I happen to like it this way.”

Apparently without Lan Zhan there to distract him physically, he could be kind of a dick, distant and demanding. It should have made him feel alone maybe or pissed off—he didn’t generally like being told what to do and this kind of behavior wouldn’t have flown with anyone else—but because it was Wei Ying, he was helpless to it, relaxed into it. Wei Ying saying, as soon as he reached the bedroom, “On your knees,” got him there with deadly efficiency.

“Oh, tough words,” Wei Ying said now, feigning the seriousness of a blowhard, thumb brushing over his chin. Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched. “Tough words indeed. Tell me, is it comfortable there on the hardwood?”

“You have more experience here than I do,” Lan Zhan replied, smooth. What are you doing, Wei Ying, he wondered, arousal spiking within him, both from the novelty and the fact that Wei Ying had thought about this, planned for it. Voice rough, he teased back as best he could. “You tell me.”

“Joint health is important,” Wei Ying said. “I just want to make sure my Lan Zhan is taken care of.”

His Lan Zhan. His. Yes.

“My joints are adequately prepared for the challenge.” He regarded the screen coolly, tipping his chin down, certain that his face looked atrocious from the low angle but refusing to care overmuch about it. He was not vain. “Such that it is.”

“Ah, now you’re questioning my technique, huh? Well. I was going to be nice to you, but since you’re being so mean to me, maybe I should just finish by myself and imagine what it would be like to have a fiancé who was willing to indulge a man his whims.” Sighing, Wei Ying clutched his hands to his chest. “Oh, what would such a fiancé be like, I wonder? Would he spread his legs a little bit?”

Lan Zhan knew an order when he heard one. He’d given enough in his time. And so, shifting, he did just that. The slight stretch in his thighs felt, admittedly, pretty good. The change in position did nothing to ease the pressure against his groin. He couldn’t stop himself from flexing a little, just for a little fric—

“Ah, ah. No moving without permission,” Wei Ying said, except his eyes were trained on Lan Zhan’s crotch. Even from such a high angle compared to the screen, Lan Zhan could tell what Wei Ying was looking at it. If he wanted to…

His hand clenched at his side.

But no. Wherever this was going, he wanted to get there with Wei Ying, even if he was a tease and Lan Zhan tried to tease in return. That was, he thought, part of the fun for Wei Ying. He preferred it when Lan Zhan made it difficult for him. Apparently that worked even when he was on this side of it.

“You know what I miss?” Wei Ying asked, casual. Before Lan Zhan could play his part and ask, Wei Ying was already answering: “I really miss having your mouth on me.”

Those words sent a jolt through him, only unexpected because he didn’t think Wei Ying would go there quite so quickly. He knew that…

Well, Lan Zhan really liked putting his mouth on Wei Ying, so that made two of them. It was one of those things that was theirs alone and they both knew it. On Wei Ying’s side, it was a sure-fire turn on. On Lan Zhan’s…

If this was what they were talking about, Lan Zhan was actually possibly in trouble.

There was a reason he’d only shared this with Wei Ying.

“Ha,” Wei Ying said, like he could read Lan Zhan’s mind. “I knew it. Er-gege, you’re in trouble.”

Lan Zhan could only swallow and pretended as though not moving also meant he shouldn’t speak. Otherwise…

“Your fingers, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, devastating. “I want them in your mouth.”

Fuck.

From the way Wei Ying’s mouth curled up, borderline malicious glee gleaming in his eyes, Wei Ying knew he had Lan Zhan pinned. Even from half the fucking country away, he knew.

“Don’t you have work you’re supposed to be doing there?” Lan Zhan asked, hoping against hope he didn’t sound too pathetic. Except Wei Ying was chuckling now, so he knew that was a pointless wish.

“I do. I really do,” Wei Ying said agreeably, “but Xiao Xingchen is a big, lazy softy. Today was, like, get to know your team, the town, blah blah blah. Consider this a hurrah of sorts. Not the last one, of course, but… one. Anyway, how am I the more gracious about being ordered around? Come on, Lan Zhan. Chop chop. Time’s a-wasting and you’re gonna be at this for a while.”

He loved this man more than he loved anything else in his life, but he was beginning to think it was possible he was a menace. Or some kind of savant. How could he just hop into doing something like this and sound like that and then snap his fingers right at the screen and say again, “Lan Zhan,” in that particular tone of voice and have it work for him.

It wasn’t—god, he clenched his fist and relaxed, stretching his fingers against his flank and tried to imagine—

He flushed all over again with embarrassment. There was no way he could do this. How it would look…

Obscene.

Wei Ying tapped his wrist. “Tick tock.”

“Fuck you,” Lan Zhan said, choked, with feeling.

Wei Ying grinned. “We’ll start with one. You can do one, can’t you?” He brought his own index finger to his mouth, bit lightly at the knuckle. “For your fiancé? What if you imagined it was mine?”

What if I came to Yicheng and made you put up or shut up, Lan Zhan thought, still trying to comply with Wei Ying’s admittedly mild request.

But one person’s mild was…

Well, now he knew why Wei Ying was so delighted about him being stuck in slacks now.

He wasn’t going to start with one, not now that Wei Ying was trying to take it easy on him. Which was how he found himself pushing two fingers into his mouth instead while he wanted to die or combust or somehow get back at Wei Ying from here.

“Ah, Lan Zhan! Top of the class already,” Wei Ying said, approving, and that did nothing to ease the heat in his gut. Flames licked through him to his extremities, left him breathless.

It felt strange to do this. Sure, sometimes he—well, sometimes finding the lube wasn’t always convenient and sometimes Wei Ying was very adamant and getting on to it quickly. Usually, he used Wei Ying’s mouth, though sometimes he used his own, but it was only a means to an end in those moments. The swirl of his tongue over the pad of his fingers or across his nails, it did nothing for him.

Except that apparently wasn’t true, was it?

“In and out,” Wei Ying suggested, requested, demanded. Lan Zhan wasn’t certain because he was so calm and collected about it, insouciant almost. He still didn’t have a good angle on the phone to check and reached to move it from where it was stuck to the floor. “Ah, ah. What are we doing?”

His fingers popped free, slick with spit, and even that wasn’t enough to make him grimace. “I want to see you.”

“But I’m having such a good time down here.” Wei Ying pouted. “Best seat in the house. You’re so hard, Lan Zhan, and I’m front and center. How could you move me?”

Lan Zhan glanced down at himself. Yep. Wei Ying’s description was accurate. There was a definite bulge right there and even a bit of—

Obscene. It was really obscene.

Wei Ying probably couldn’t see the slight, slight, very small stain that dotted the most obvious, uh, point. Surely their phones and the connection couldn’t be that good and they were a dark gray that could probably hide the darker spot.

“You’re blushing!” Wei Ying pointed out. “Lan Zhan, seriously?”

“Shut up.”

“No, I didn’t—” His tone grew hushed, reverent. “I didn’t think you’d be—fuck, fuck, no, okay. I got this. I got this.” Blowing out a breath, he jiggled his hands back and forth, then blew into them and rubbed them together. He was such an asshole and Lan Zhan loved him so much.

He wanted him back here, home, where he belonged, where it could actually be his dick in Lan Zhan’s mouth and not two of his own fingers and—

“Okay, I’m ready.” Smiling, he gestured beneficently, like royalty offering their graces to the waiting masses. “Move me wherever you want, Lan Zhan, I’m flexible.”

Lan Zhan grabbed the stand by its long, supine neck and pulled, dislodging the suction cup from the floor with a thwicking sound.

He was doing okay until he realized he’d have to—

Wei Ying grinned at him.

—crawl. On his knees. Either to the end of the bed where he could use a bit of the platform or over to the bed stand.

Undignified.

Feeling very much aggrieved and still way too turned on for the occasion, he shuffled toward the bed, ignoring the drag of thick fabric across his cock, breathing through the sensations it was pulling from him, far more of them than seemed truly right or fair under the circumstances.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said in warning, which only delighted him further if the laughter was a good indication. After one false start due to hands that absolutely were not shaking or overly eager, Lan Zhan had the phone angled in a way that he found appropriate. Which meant he could see Wei Ying’s stupid, joyful face, eyes lit up without wrenching his neck.

“Okay, okay. Fine. You have good ideas sometimes,” Wei Ying said, a little breathless, which was the least he could feel under the circumstances. “You’re—you’re looking good there, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s skin was on fire. It was going to curl away to ash. He really was going to combust. Wei Ying was going to come back home to find a scorch mark on the floor and then he’d be sorry. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, putting into words his thoughts from earlier, “put up or shut up.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying said again, shifting his own screen a little. “Fingers. Mouth. Go, go, go. I’m definitely not going to shut up though.”

It was a little easier this time to do as Wei Ying asked, especially now that he could actually see Wei Ying’s face, the greedy way he leaned forward a little, filling the screen. He looked back at Wei Ying, pushed down the thought that he must look ridiculous, and imagined it was Wei Ying in his mouth.

“Mm, good,” Wei Ying said. “Just like that, Lan Zhan. You’re thinking about me, right? I hope so, because I’ve been thinking about you and—and the first time we did this.”

Scoffing indignantly around his fingers, Lan Zhan glared. Who else would he be thinking about?

But the invocation of their first time was enough to—

Oh, oh. He understood now what Wei Ying was getting at.

That was—it had been embarrassing was what it had been. He’d been embarrassing for so long with Wei Ying back then, couldn’t control himself, was sure he’d been unequipped at giving Wei Ying a good time and that Wei Ying would notice except he never did, no, he actually loved everything they did, no matter what it was, simply because he loved Lan Zhan so much.

“Can you do it?” Wei Ying asked. “Without me there?”

Lan Zhan glared even more deeply, made a deliberately provocative sucking sound around his fingers, pulling them almost all the way out before shoving them all the way back in. It was nothing like Wei Ying’s cock, but given enough impetus…

He dragged them across his lips, watched Wei Ying track the motion with his eyes. “Keep talking.” It was entirely possible he would if only Wei Ying kept speaking. This time, he added a third, felt even more ridiculous, but hoped Wei Ying was—he hoped it was good for Wei Ying. That was all.

“You don’t blow me often enough, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, voice low and awed. “Fuck, you should see yourself. It’s unreal.” He shook his head, shifted slightly. Lan Zhan imagined him palming himself out of frame, hoped his hitched gasp was due to him stroking himself. “Sh-shame on you.”

Lan Zhan’s free hand, of its own accord, pressed against his—

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Wei Ying cried. “Naughty. This isn’t like I remembered at all. You didn’t even have to touch yourself before.”

He snatched his hand away, fisted it in the bedding to give it something to occupy itself with.

“Think about me in all this! I have to pretend like my hand is your mouth. There’s not enough lube in the world to make that seem plausible. Masturbating wet is awful. So messy. It’s a good thing this quilt is an atrocity.”

Fuck. Fuck, Wei Ying needed to stop talking if he wanted this to last. It was—it was ridiculous. Wei Ying was ridiculous. This wasn’t how dirty talk was supposed to go, but the way Wei Ying did it was intoxicating.

“Your mouth has ruined me, Lan Zhan.” And then his breath hitched again and Lan Zhan felt it like a punch to the gut. “When I come back, you’re going to blow me, okay? For hours. I’ll be so messy, Lan Zhan. Your jaw will hurt so much.”

His jaw was already aching, sweet and almost tender. He wanted—quite desperately—to do just that right now. Despite his mouth being full, he moaned and Wei Ying caught it, eyes narrowing, head tilting slightly.

“Do you like the thought of me being all messy? Maybe you’d lick it up for me? All that spit and precome…”

Nngh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“How’s your gag reflex these days, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, light, delicate, voice somehow still intimate. “We haven’t tested it in a while.”

Wei Ying was goading him. He knew it. Wei Ying knew it. And even so, he pushed his fingers in to the last knuckle, until it was awkward, until his fingertips brushed his soft palate and his nails skimmed the back of his throat. Though his eyes watered a little, he swallowed around the sensation and suppressed the urge to choke.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Such a good boy.”

This wasn’t going to work on him. It absolutely wasn’t going to work on him. It wasn’t—

“Ah, ah. Hand back on the blanket. Should you be shackled to the bed? Don’t be bad now, Lan Zhan.”

For a moment, Lan Zhan nearly whited out, thighs too far apart to be useful, hips jerking against nothing, the friction so close to what he needed and not nearly enough to get him there.

He wasn’t even—he couldn’t even. Everything that he felt. It was too much. So much. Overwhelming in its intensity that he couldn’t pinpoint any one thing in it. His focus skittered around, the only anchor in all of it Wei Ying’s voice, unstoppable as always.

“Keep those fingers there,” Wei Ying said, when he tried to pull them free—when did he try to pull them free? He—

He moaned and it was meant to be a plea. If he needed to, he’d beg. For Wei Ying, he’d—

“Lan Zhan, you look so pretty,” Wei Ying said. “Your face is all—I didn’t know you could blush like that.”

Wei Ying was going to pay for this the next time they saw one another in person. Lan Zhan would never, ever beat him at this kind of vulgar shamelessness over the phone, but in person…

“Show me how close you are,” Wei Ying said, breathless. “Lan Zhan, let me hear you.”

Lan Zhan focused his attention as best he could on Wei Ying, watched the suggestive way his shoulder was moving, the only indication Lan Zhan could see that anything was happening on Wei Ying’s end beyond the way he bit his lower lip.

It wasn’t anything specific that did it, nothing beyond Wei Ying being Wei Ying, nothing but the trapped, hot feeling of his body yearning for more, more from himself and from Wei Ying. The press of his own fingers in his mouth infuriated him suddenly, made him want to gnash his teeth, catch hold of Wei Ying and never let him go, grind their bodies together, suck him off for hours, he didn’t care, he didn’t care because Wei Ying was so far away and he still tried so damned hard for Lan Zhan, still wanted him, still wanted them to be together like this even though it might be easier for Wei Ying to not go through this much trouble just for him when he was so much easier going about things like this. What did he care? Getting off didn’t matter to him. And still he did this elaborate bullshit for Lan Zhan.

He felt all of this as he knelt on the floor, body aching everywhere, wanting everything all at once, hamstrung by their circumstances and the distance between them and Wei Ying’s insistence that he not touch himself and—

“No, no. Gege, come on, spine straight, I can’t see,” he said and that was—

He curled further into himself, orgasm pulled from him against his wishes, or maybe against Wei Ying’s wishes. It hardly mattered with the stain spreading across his trousers, the flash of pleasure as he grunted around his fingers.

“Holy shit,” Wei Ying said. “Lan Zhan, what are you…?”

Lan Zhan dragged his hand across his mouth and then pressed his palms to his eyes and when he was able to look up again, he tried to smile, but he—

He just couldn’t.

“Wei Ying, I…” He sounded hoarse to his own ears, throat scraped raw.

Scrambling upright, Wei Ying grabbed up the phone, held it close to his face. “Lan Zhan? Hey, hey. What—Lan Zhan?”

He didn’t know why the words were sticking in his throat this way, why he couldn’t just say it, but Wei Ying was staring at him as though he was frightened, like he’d done something wrong here when he was just trying to get by, they were both just trying to get by and having a rough time of it, but finally he pushed them out: I miss you. He’d said it before, of course, but never like this.

Wei Ying was climbing out of bed, video going wide as he lowered the phone, but he was still talking. “Okay, this isn’t—I wasn’t expecting—”

“I miss you,” he said, thinking perhaps Wei Ying hadn’t heard him as he scrambled around his room. His sweats hung low on his hips and Lan Zhan could see, briefly, the various stains along the front and the outline of his still-hard dick, entirely forgotten in the midst of whatever he was doing.

He stilled, seemed to remember the phone in his hand, brought it back up. “Lan Zhan?”

“I miss you.” It was easier to say this time. “I love you.” He should have said it before Wei Ying left, but he… “I messed up. With my uncle. And Madam Yu. I didn’t protect you and you left me and I miss you.”

He—he said it. He actually…

You left me.

Now it was Wei Ying’s features that crumpled, eyes glinting as he blinked too fast.

“Okay, I’m… I’ll…” Wei Ying’s head swiveled around and he ran his free hand through his hair, grimacing and swearing under his breath before he scrubbed it against his shirt, leaving another streak that matched the one on his pants. “I’ll come back. I didn’t know. I mean, I did. I do. But.” Fuck, so stupid, he whispered, not to Lan Zhan, but he picked it up anyway. “Fuck all of this anyway. It was—Lan Zhan, you listen to me. I needed space because of me. Me. Not you. I don’t ever need time away from you or because of you. Shit, that’s really what you think, isn’t it? Lan Zhan, I said it was—”

Somehow it was easy to tell him this way. Easier anyway. “It’s my fault. I don’t blame you.”

“Lan Zhan! You’ve—you’re…” He made a choked off little sound before dragging in a deep, steadying breath. “I can’t believe—I’ll figure my shit out there, okay? It’s not your fault. My god.” He sounded horrified. “I’m coming back.”

It was the only thing he wanted and it was the only thing he absolutely could not take from Wei Ying now.

“Wei Ying, no.” This he said more loudly, authoritative, or as best he could get when his voice was this shaky and he felt so off-center, realizing he’d been far too complacent up until this point, taking for granted their ability to not give a fuck about what was going on around them. That had to change. This last week proved it. His uncle shattering their carefully built home life with almost no effort and no design to do so proved it.

This would… maybe it really could be good for them in the long run.

With Wei Ying there, focused on something new and different and exciting—Lan Zhan saw that he’d enjoyed it yesterday, that wasn’t a lie, there was something there for him, he needed to find it—he could clean house. Get his own head on straight.

He could ensure that Wei Ying came back to a home that was more comfortable to him, ensure somehow that even if his uncle and Wei Ying never got along, they could live side by side. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage it, but he would try.

If he couldn’t resolve this, he might have to make a choice he didn’t want to make, but he’d do more for Wei Ying if he had to gladly. He’d do anything for him at all. Fixing this for him? He could try the way Wei Ying was trying.

Rising from his place on the floor, knees protesting, he sat on the edge of the bed, hands clutched tight around his phone.

“Lan Zhan?”

Faith was a thing that had to be given every moment of every day. Belief could shatter if one was not careful. Lan Zhan hadn’t been careful for a long time. And this was what that disregard had gotten them.

He believed Wei Ying when he said this wasn’t about leaving Lan Zhan behind.

“See this through,” Lan Zhan said, against his own heart’s wishes, steady only because he needed to be. He’d make sure it was worth it by the time Wei Ying returned. “It was what you wanted to do. You should respect that wish and trust yourself.” He wished he was there so he could say this to Wei Ying in person. “I know you’ll come back.”

“But—” Wei Ying was still looking at him with worry in his eyes. “Lan Zhan, you don’t—”

I know I don’t, he thought. I’m sorry I did. “Wei Ying, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” If Wei Ying needed to trust himself, Lan Zhan needed to trust Wei Ying.

“Lan Zhan, no. I can’t—”

“I didn’t want you to go,” Lan Zhan blurted. “I wish you didn’t feel like you needed to. Even though it’s only been a day, I don’t like that you’re not here now.” Over a grainy video call, he couldn’t see everything he needed to see, but he heard Wei Ying’s drawn-in breath. It felt good to say that, too. “I do want you to come home.”

Dragging in a shuddering breath, Wei Ying scrubbed a shaking hand over his mouth. “Okay. Next train out, I’ll—”

“Wei Ying!” He’d already said the worst and he was still here. “I will be here when you get back at the end of this.”

Wei Ying bit his lip, stared at Lan Zhan through the phone for long, long moments, finally said, “But Lan Zhan—”

“I’ll tell you if it gets to be too much. I promise.”

“Oh.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying’s gaze seared him. It scalded. It would expose any lie Lan Zhan tried to tell. “You’d better. Lan Zhan, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.”

“I will.” And then his attention drifted to Wei Ying’s crotch, still visible in the frame. He wasn’t hard anymore. Lan Zhan felt awkward, shy for having utterly demolished the mood with… that whole. Outburst. He needed a distraction from what they’d just done, a bit of distance, time to reconstruct himself. “Do you want to continue?”

“Huh?” Then Wei Ying looked down at himself in surprise. “Oh, uh. Honestly? I got what I wanted out of it. Do you… would you like me to?”

Wrung out, keyed up and exhausted all at once, Lan Zhan shook his head. Though he rather liked the thought of watching Wei Ying jerk off, it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need this proof. Besides, there would be other chances to see him do that if he wished it. “If you’re satisfied, then so am I.”

“Really?”

Lan Zhan turned the question over in his mind, worried it for fractures and weaknesses, and nodded.

“It’s just, you know, normally you need a little more convincing that I’m good if you haven’t railed me into oblivion. Are you sure you’re good?”

“I’m…” Good would be a lie, but not as much of one as it could be and not because of this specifically. “I’m content knowing you’ve gotten what you wanted out of it.”

“Lan Zhan, seeing you like that for me was… I can’t even explain to you how good it was. I’m one-hundred percent satisfied with what we did. But it felt okay for you, too? It didn’t suck?”

“No.”

“Even when—”

“Even then.”

“I haven’t said it!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Then…” Wei Ying hummed, a little shy himself. “Will you stay on the phone with me a while longer? I was going to get started working on my plans for tomorrow, but…”

“Yes.”

Wei Ying, rueful, glanced down at himself. “Want to join me for a shower first?”

“Yes.”

They stayed on the phone until well past Lan Zhan’s normal bedtime, until they’d long run out of things to say and mostly just worked in one another’s company, looking over at one another every so often to exchange smiles, first shy, then longing, then genuine and warm and relaxed.

It was nice.

Even though Wei Ying was many kilometers away, it felt a little bit like Wei Ying was right there with him, closer than he’d been in a long, long time.

2020

Lan Zhen knew Wei Ying, knew he’d be coming to finish the work he’d started because he was stubborn and would cut himself on any edge he came across to fulfill his obligations unless Lan Zhan outright told him to fuck off, that he didn’t want to see him, that he’d changed his mind and didn’t want the mural anymore and that was something he didn’t have the strength to do. The correct reaction, he was already desperately aware, wasn’t to stay away, but that didn’t stop him from lingering at Hanshi afterhours, late enough that he felt reasonably sure he wouldn’t have to face Wei Ying.

He entered his condo every night like a criminal, quietly opening the door and listening for signs of life inside. Wei Ying was never there, of course, not even despite how desperately Lan Zhan wanted him to be.

Even when he was home, he slept on the couch to avoid looking at Wei Ying’s work, had gone into his bedroom only once after coming home from the club, eyes averted, to pull a week’s worth of clothes from within the closet before retreating again. That exhausted him, too.

As he stepped into the condo tonight, he felt… odd. Different in a very different way than he had been feeling, like his home was cloaked in melancholia or loss now rather than mere absence. If asked, he couldn’t have said what set off such a feeling, only that it existed and he was aware of it.

Turpentine was asleep in her hutch, suggesting that Wei Ying may have been around to play with her a bit and feed her the treats he thought he was good at hiding. Denying himself the urge to rouse and pet her, he headed for the bedroom to confirm what he suspected to be the case.

Wei Ying truly had no reason to return now.

Somehow, that felt even more final than Wei Ying’s flight from this room the last time they were here together within it. Somehow this, out of all the things, was the one that struck him, left him breathless and reeling, required him to sit on the edge of his bed and stare at the floor.

When he was finally able to look, to really, truly look at the mural, it was even more beautiful than Lan Zhan might have expected it to be.

His body felt numb, stiff, separate from himself, cold. A tear dripped onto the back of his hand where it hung between his knees. Even that he didn’t truly notice until another and another and a silent stream of them tickled at his chin.

He recalled telling Wei Ying that he didn’t want to see himself reflected back at him, but it turned out he should have feared something even worse: this was all of Wei Ying’s love for him reflected back instead, but it still wasn’t enough to keep him here or stop them from hurting one another.

“A-Zhan, is everything all right?”

“Hm?”

Lan Huan was looking at him with concern, which wasn’t so very unusual.

“Is everything all right?” Lan Huan repeated. “You’ve been staring at this painting for quite a long time.”

“Wh—” He couldn’t admit that he didn’t care about the painting and had entirely forgotten than an opinion was actually expected of him this time. It was a piece that Jingyi had insisted they rep and so they had, trialing moving him into a more active role in Hanshi’s acquisitions. His youthful exuberance and strangely Wei Ying-like ability to find interesting avenues of artistic exploration and pass along the resulting tips to Lan Huan had already borne fruit in the past. He might make a good dealer one day if he so desired, but so far he seemed more interested in working the logistical side of things, which was just fine with Lan Zhan. As he looked at this painting though…

“It’s a very good painting,” he replied. “Jingyi’s developing quite an eye.”

“Mmhmm,” Lan Huan agreed. “Walk with me?”

With a sweep of his hand, Lan Huan indicated without really indicating anything that Lan Zhan should follow him back to his office.

As soon as the door closed, before Lan Zhan even had a chance to sit, Lan Huan said, “You were late to your appointment with Miss Levesque last week and now you’re describing a rather divisive acquisition as ‘very good.’ Would you like to tell me what’s wrong or shall I guess?”

“We could do neither,” he replied as he took the chair across from Lan Huan’s. “There is nothing to stop us from not discussing this at all. You could also refrain from issuing guesses.”

“I rather suspect I don’t need to.” Sighing, Lan Huan shook his head, mouth pulling in a disappointed frown. “Didi, is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.”

“Will you do your best to resolve this? I don’t like seeing you walk around in such a daze and I’m sure you don’t like it either.”

No, he didn’t. Never before had he been so compromised with regard to his feelings and relationships with others. That Lan Huan would even mention it was mortifying and from the stiff way he held himself, carefully formal, he wasn’t particularly happy to mention it either.

“Did Wei Ying hurt you?” Lan Huan asked, making Lan Zhan feel even more foolish, like he was stuck in a melodrama, suffering from a life-destroying blow rather than what this was, which was nothing, a mistake. The worst would pass soon.

“Wei Ying wouldn’t hurt me,” Lan Zhan said, the truth in part. Wei Ying wouldn’t want to hurt him. He wouldn’t mean to hurt him. But he wouldn’t be able to control the resulting hurt either. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s choice whether he hurt Lan Zhan or not. It was only Lan Zhan who could decide to be hurt.

“You should speak with him when he comes back,” Lan Huan suggested, kind. “I’m sure whatever’s happened will be resolved if you do.”

“When he’s back?” Lan Zhan swallowed. He didn’t even know he’d gone anywhere. And yet his brother knew already? Even this, he was so distant from.

Lan Huan’s lips pursed in a questioning expression and Lan Zhan knew he made a mistake in sounding so surprised, so lacking in knowledge.

“I saw Wen Qing earlier,” Lan Huan answered, uneasy. Now anything Lan Zhan did would be suspect. “She said that Wei Ying is visiting his sister.”

Questions cluttered Lan Zhan’s mind. How did the topic of Wei Ying even come up? What else was said? Why did Wei Ying choose now to go to his sister’s? None of these were questions he wanted to ask his brother, not when he was already suspicious. Whatever was happening, he didn’t want Lan Huan to think poorly of Wei Ying, not when Lan Zhan was at least as responsible for this rift as Wei Ying.

“It’s been some time since he’s done that,” Lan Zhan said, hoping it sounded neutral rather than concerned. “I’m sure the trip will be good for him.”

“I’m sure,” Lan Huan said agreeably, still wary, but perhaps a little less worried. If Lan Zhan acted normal, then he would be assuaged, wouldn’t he?

He could act normal.

He pushed himself to his feet. “I apologize for my behavior of late. I will… be more present going forward.” There, that was appropriate, wasn’t it? And he would do his best to do so. He owed Hanshi, his brother, himself, and Wei Ying that much.

“A-Zhan, you don’t have to be so serious all the time,” Lan Huan said. “I’m just worried about you. Don’t add more pressure to your own shoulders, okay? I just want your happiness. You don’t owe anyone an apology. Do you want to take some time for yourself?”

Lan Zhan shook his head. The last thing he needed was time for himself if he couldn’t even do anything about this until Wei Ying returned.

He made it as far as the door before Lan Huan spoke again. “She said he’d be gone a week.”

Lan Huan knew him far too well.

“Thank you, brother.”

It was a mere coincidence that had Lan Zhan seeing Wei Ying walking through the same park that he was currently walking through. He needed to clear his head, he’d decided earlier, and hadn’t thought about how close to the train station it was.

Even if he had considered it, he wouldn’t have imagined Wei Ying coming here immediately after returning from his sister’s. It wasn’t that he didn’t imagine Wei Ying wouldn’t come—though he gave off the air of someone who didn’t appreciate the quiet and stillness of nature, he enjoyed it more than most people of Lan Zhan’s acquaintance, once told Lan Zhan that it steadied his thoughts when they were out of sort.

Was he out of sorts now?

Before Lan Zhan could think better of the impulse, or think of it at all, he called out and Wei Ying jogged over.

He looked so changed, so much like his old self that Lan Zhan’s heart stammered in his chest. There was a becoming flush on his cheeks and his smile was radiant and it made Lan Zhan wonder exactly how…

It was only after they’d gotten together that Wei Ying started looking so troubled, acting so strange.

Had it really been so bad for him that he’d had to run away like that instead of talking to Lan Zhan? Had he pressured Wei Ying somehow? Or made him feel stifled?

He’d seemed…

Lan Zhan had thought they were on the same page, but they weren’t, were they? The love they felt for one another was incompatible. Lan Zhan would always want too much of him and Wei Ying would ask too little and while Wei Ying might be able to turn that tension into something heartbreakingly lovely, Lan Zhan had none of that skill.

Strained would be too kind a description for the ensuing conversation. Every straw he grasped for only snapped off in his hands, giving him no purchase. Even bringing up Jiang Yanli only earned a few words in response before Wei Ying was turning the conversation back on Lan Zhan.

Wringing his hands, he asked, unsteady, “Are you well?”

It made Lan Zhan so nervous that he could only nod and say, “Mn.”

This was hell on earth, some sort of punishment set for Lan Zhan specifically. As they walked, he felt sure he was going to die of embarrassment or guilt or some unholy combination of the two.

His mind scoured itself for anything they could talk about, anything other than the truth, because he wasn’t ready to confront it yet.

And then: “The mural is beautiful. I thought you should know.”

Instead of cutting Lan Zhan slack, Wei Ying merely continued to fidget. Even though they’d stopped walking, he bounced on his toes, scuffed his boots.

“I’m glad,” he replied, breezy, as though the mural didn’t matter at all. To him, perhaps it didn’t. Maybe it was only in Lan Zhan’s mind that it mattered at all. He hesitated for so long that Lan Zhan worried he would have to be the one to speak already, even though he knew—he knew what it was he needed to ask. “Lan Zhan, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Wei Ying?” he asked, breathless, clinging to this lifeline. Wei Ying seemed much happier despite his nervousness. Perhaps his news was good.

He opened his mouth, said nothing, drew in a deep breath, said nothing, then—

“But I need to know first—”

“What did I do wro—?” The least of the questions Lan Zhan wanted to ask fell from his lips, unbidden, at the same time Wei Ying finally started speaking. It wasn’t a question that needed asking, not when Wei Ying had something important to tell him.

“—if we can still be friends?”

Oh.

Oh, this was… this was Wei Ying letting him down gently, wasn’t it? He was being kind. This was why Wei Ying was so relieved. He will soon have fully extricated himself from this thing between them, every loose end tied up. Why shouldn’t he be relieved? They shouldn’t have done this in an area without seating. He—he needed to sit down. Collect himself. His palms itched with sweat and he wasn’t sure what to do with them as a result. His gorge rose and it was difficult to swallow it back.

He already knew what was coming. How could it still land such a blow?

Wei Ying’s voice cut so loudly through the sound of his blood pulsing in his ears. “Lan Zhan?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—you were saying?” Why did he have to sound so unhinged, erratic? Why?

“Lan Zhan, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re perfect. Everything about you is perfect. How can you do anything wrong? Look, you don’t have to worry about me bothering you if… I—I wouldn’t do that to you. I just… want to make sure we’re friends. Before I say it.”

Lan Zhan couldn’t hear this. He couldn’t. The last thing he wanted was Wei Ying’s kindness, not when he’d behaved so deplorably, selfish in taking more of Wei Ying than he was willing to share, not understanding properly what it was they were doing. He couldn’t be friends with Wei Ying like this, not now. The fact that Wei Ying even bothered was…

He ought to break this off entirely. That would be for the best. Then Wei Ying wouldn’t have to worry.

And maybe he’d be able to get over his feelings. “Friends?”

“Yes?” Wei Ying asked, hesitant.

“I…” He couldn’t say it, but he had to say it. Wei Ying was the best friend he had in the world. The person he was closest to besides his brother. He never in all his imaginings could ever have thought himself capable of this, didn’t know he could feel—

But it wasn’t fair to Wei Ying. That friendship was exposed for the lie it was the first time they made love.

“I don’t want that,” he said, honest to a fault, too blunt, but if he didn’t say it, he wouldn’t say it and Wei Ying and he would continue participating in this awkward dance. Wei Ying deserved to be cut free of it.

He looked up in time to see devastation spill across Wei Ying’s features, so laden with pain that Lan Zhan knew, knew he’d somehow made a mistake. He’d misconstrued again, but he couldn’t find the thread he’d snapped or where it went, what it had been severed from.

Wei Ying laughed, long and hard and disbelieving. It was awful to hear.

“Right. I mean, sure. That’s… yeah! I can…” His heel nearly caught on a rock as he pulled back. “I did say I wouldn’t bother you, didn’t I? I can—I can do that!” His smile was even worse, a rictus of a grin, the kind of thing you might see on the dry, pulled back skin of a mummified corpse. “I’ll be the best ex-friend you ever had, Lan Zhan. You won’t even know I’m here.” His voice was pitched so high and quick that his words started to run together. “Thank you for being there for me for as long as you were. I’m just going to go. Now. I should—go.”

He needed to explain. Clearly Wei Ying wasn’t—he didn’t understand. Lan Zhan didn’t understand either, but he had to try as Wei Ying kept backing away from him.

Lan Zhan called his name.

And Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan got exactly what he deserved.

Wrenching himself from Lan Zhan’s grasp, Wei Ying said, “Let me go, Lan Zhan.”

2011

It was another fourteen days—a whole month in total, how did a month pass without Wei Ying—before he heard from Wei Ying, not only heard, but saw.

He looked terrible as he loitered outside the history department’s building. His hair was in disarray and his clothing was rumpled and this was not the Wei Ying that Lan Zhan knew. A whole slew of possibilities ran through his mind: drugs, liquor, utter destitution, but none of them fit right, not when Wei Ying lifted his clear-eyed gaze to Lan Zhan’s face. It was run of the mill exhaustion.

Lan Zhan didn’t like it one bit, though it was better than his worst fears imagined.

“You’re working too hard,” Lan Zhan said, disapproving.

“Mmm,” Wei Ying agreed, climbing to his feet from where he was sitting against the brick wall. He dusted his pants off and stepped forward. “Maybe so, but it’s all for the best, right?”

Not if it’s doing this much damage to you, Lan Zhan thought darkly, unhappily. Not if it means I don’t get to see you at all until you spring up out of nowhere looking haggard and worn out.

“Why haven’t you messaged me?” Lan Zhan asked instead of saying what he was desperate to say instead: let me skip class, we’ll go somewhere and talk.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“This and that,” Wei Ying said, his cheeks going a bit pink. “It’s all terribly ignoble and will make for a very exciting chapter in the biography of Wei Ying once I’m famous enough at home and abroad to warrant one.”

Lan Zhan leveled him with a glare.

“No, really. It’s just that working two jobs is hell and trying to paint on top of that…”

Two jobs. And trying to paint, too. No wonder he was tired.

He should have stayed. Lan Zhan should have tried to make him stay. Even if he hated it, he could have at least focused on what he wanted to do instead of scraping by. He might not have been learning anything of value according to him, but he couldn’t possibly be doing much of value for his vocation, his calling if he was this strung out with exhaustion.

“If you’re so busy and tired, why are you here?”

“Oh, um…” Wei Ying’s hand scrubbed over his elbow. “I’m between shifts right now and was bored… I don’t work very far away so I thought I’d try to squeeze in a glimpse of your handsome face.” He looked down at the ground again. “You’re right. I haven’t been a very good friend lately.”

“How long do you have?” Lan Zhan asked. His class started in ten minutes and he had to make a decision quickly if one was going to be made at all. “Until you have to go to your next shift?”

“Forty minutes?” He checked his phone. “Uh, forty-five if I book it. Lan Zhan, I—”

There was a restaurant nearby that was quick and filling and open this early in the morning. He’d never in his university career skipped a class, hadn’t even missed because he was sick, but here he was contemplating just that. If he was late, so be it. This was more important. “Come on.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Sort of? Why—what are you…?” Wei Ying glanced at the door to the stuffy, stodgy building he was supposed to enter. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” he replied, grabbing Wei Ying by the arm.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t skip class! That’s not what this was about.”

“Then what was it about?”

“I just wanted to see you. I didn’t want you to go off the deep end with me.” He tried to wrench his arm out of Lan Zhan’s hold, but Lan Zhan was determined.

“You’re being dramatic,” Lan Zhan said. The deep end, really? One class wasn’t going to make or break his academic career. Even if his uncle yelled at him for it, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. “It’s breakfast, not a criminal offense.”

“Lan Zhan!”

But he was not going to be convinced not to do this. Nothing felt as important to him as spending these few moments with Wei Ying.

“Wei Ying.”

Then, Wei Ying sighed and Lan Zhan knew he’d won this argument. It didn’t happen all the time—Wei Ying tended to do his own thing regardless of the consequences—but on rare occasions, Lan Zhan got what he wanted. Once they were seated in the restaurant and their order was placed, Lan Zhan waited for Wei Ying to speak, since he was usually the first to do so. When he didn’t, Lan Zhan sighed and poured tea for him. “You didn’t really just want to see my face, did you?”

“It’s a handsome face, Lan Zhan,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it. Not that it ever really was, but usually he was a little happier about teasing Lan Zhan. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“Wei Ying,” he said, admonishing. Whatever was wrong, Lan Zhan would do his best to help, but if he wouldn’t say what was wrong, how could he? “What is it?”

Wei Ying fiddled with his napkin. “I need you to talk me out of something.”

Lan Zhan’s heart pounded furiously in his chest. What new bad idea could Wei Ying have come up with in the month they haven’t seen one another? His throat dried and he couldn’t have gotten any further words out even if he wanted to. His mind was too full of the possibilities. What if he decided to leave entirely? Or…?

“There’s a piece of property,” Wei Ying finally said, now shredding that napkin into pieces on the table, sad, messy confetti Lan Zhan would probably end up sweeping up, “a little bit out of the way. An old warehouse complex. Run down, been unoccupied for years. Cheap. Or cheapish.”

Lan Zhan opened his mouth to question Wei Ying and then realized he didn’t even know what to ask.

“It’s practically condemned. Nobody wants it. I heard it’ll probably be pulled down eventually. There’s a small patch of ground, too. All concrete and ugly as hell, but I—”

The waiter arrived with their meal, startling Wei Ying into silence. Lan Zhan had never in his life been angrier at an interruption and he didn’t even really know why yet. He hadn’t really said anything at all. The waiter asked, entirely within his rights and duties, “Is there anything else you need?”

“Not at this time,” Lan Zhan said, sharp, a little unnecessarily cold, then, searching the table, “Wait. Chili oil. Thank you.”

The waiter inclined his head in acknowledgment and disappeared quickly the way he’d come. Though Wei Ying had implied he wasn’t really eating well, he still only poked at his food.

He also suddenly seemed like he wasn’t all that interested in talking about it.

While Lan Zhan attempted to choke down his own meal—not wanting to waste it, but unlike Wei Ying, he’d eaten and wasn’t feeling terribly well right now either—he waited for Wei Ying to continue and felt very much as though it was never going to happen. “Wei Ying, why are you talking about an abandoned warehouse?”

“It’s probably stupid,” Wei Ying said, still fussing.

It probably wasn’t. Most of the time, Wei Ying wasn’t stupid at all. In fact, he was the smartest person that Lan Zhan knew, quick-witted and bright, his intellect a shining beacon. He didn’t have to work for it, though he did work hard anyway.

“I walk past this warehouse every day when I’m going to work,” Wei Ying said. “I don’t even think it’s feasible that I could do it, but…”

Lan Zhan sighed, impatient. When had talking to Lan Zhan become this difficult for Wei Ying? “If you don’t want to talk, will you at least eat something?”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. It’s fine. I just—” He shrugged, did manage to actually manage to get some of the rice in his mouth at least. “There’s something about it. I feel like I need to be there.”

“In an abandoned warehouse?” Maybe this idea of Wei Ying’s was stupid.

Wei Ying scowled, as unhappy as Lan Zhan had ever seen him. He was about to apologize for how callous his words sounded—surely they came off as skeptical—when Wei Ying said, “You know, you’re right. I—”

And then he pushed himself to his feet, which was the last thing Lan Zhan wanted at that moment. Grabbing for his wrist, he yanked Wei Ying back before he could get very far. Even though Wei Ying had said he wanted to be talked out of it, this was clearly important to him. It sounded… improbable to Lan Zhan, whatever the case. How would Wei Ying even pay for such a thing? Even if nobody wanted it and it was cheap, it was surely still out of his price range. And it wasn’t like he had any family who would want to pool together to help buy it for him. What would Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian do? Move into it in their dotage? When they had their biological son and daughter?

“Wei Ying, stop.” He couldn’t let Wei Ying go like this, not when he had no idea when Wei Ying would come back. He wasn’t willing to leave it up to the whims of their cell phones, where Wei Ying might easily miss a message or decline a call. “I just want to understand. What’s your plan?”

Carefully, Wei Ying sat back down, like he expected to be laughed at or punished for his wishes. Lan Zhan frowned, but hid it away when Wei Ying’s gaze met his. He didn’t want Wei Ying to see his concern right now; that as surely as anything else would drive him away. Wei Ying was so proud and didn’t always take criticism well. He understood why, when so many people naysaid him and he bore it with a laugh and a smile and a joke, but Lan Zhan never wanted to be one of those people.

“I… think I’d like to start a collective?”

“A collective?”

“Yeah, you know, a—”

“I know what a collective is,” Lan Zhan answered, patient again now that he knew the shape of what he was dealing with. It was incredibly easy to see why Wei Ying would want one, how something like that could be a comfort to him. “This would be an alternative to formal schooling?”

Wei Ying grimaced a little, but nodded, like he knew what Lan Zhan was thinking. And he probably did know. Such a thing was risky; he’d certainly anger his family if he hadn’t done so already with the way he’d dropped out. Formal schooling allowed people to network, even if they did nothing else for them. That was vital.

However…

However, if one were to pick a place to set such a thing up, there were few places as amenable, large enough to host a vibrant community, but small enough still to get noticed. There were many toeholds into the professional industry outside of the university and a good half of the major players outright scorned the sort of artists the school tended to spit out.

It didn’t hurt that the people who were willing to pay often enjoyed the thrill of experiencing other people’s outsider status firsthand.

“What do you need?” Lan Zhan asked as delicately as he could get away with. The answer could have been many things, but they all boiled down to one thing at their heart: money.

“You’re supposed to talk me out of this, Lan Zhan.”

“I will not,” Lan Zhan said. “What do you need?”

“I’ve… worked out the financials, how I’d make it viable, the estimates of what would be required going forward, best and worst case scenarios since I don’t know yet how much work would need to be done.”

“You’ve had time to do all this?”

Wei Ying’s laugh was sharp, bitter, a little poisonous. “Oh, Lan Zhan, don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

“Wei Ying?”

“If I can keep it up. With the jobs I’ve managed to wrangle, I can make the down payment on my own in a year, but I don’t have the, hmm, background that would make me a viable candidate for a loan of the size that would be required to actually secure it.”

That was a nice way of saying artists were flaky when it came to money. For the most part, Wei Ying never seemed to care enough for it to matter much to him. He got by at the very least, but getting by didn’t mean anything when hundreds of thousands of yuan were being tossed around.

“I could—” Lan Zhan was already saying, not even sure what he was willing to do. Everything up to giving him the money outright was on the table as far as he was concerned.

“Lan Zhan, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t trust myself enough, but if I do manage to get the money together and it doesn’t get bought or torn down in the meantime, would you be willing to co-sign? Just until it’s established and I can prove the enterprise viable enough that you won’t have to put yourself on the line anymore?”

“That’s all?”

Wei Ying laughed again. “What do you mean, that’s all? I’d be holding your good name hostage. I’m asking way, way too much, but I can’t see any other way that I could do this with a hope in hell of actually succeeding. Maybe I should just wait, but…”

Time was Wei Ying’s enemy here, not his determination. Lan Zhan couldn’t do anything about the former, but he would strengthen the latter in any way he could. “But it’s important to you?”

“Yes.”

As much as he wanted to understand the whys and hows and what he’ll do if this all falls apart, he didn’t ask about them. In the deepest corners of his heart, he knew that even if Wei Ying stumbled, he’d be with him through it. If he wanted to, he could support Wei Ying. “Then that’s what’s important to me.”

Wei Ying stared at him for so long that Lan Zhan worried he’d conveyed something other than his support, but then wonder bloomed bright in his eyes, awed, and he looked a little less haunted than before, less unhappy and downtrodden once the gleaming brightness faded and his breathing calmed.

Lan Zhan would do whatever it took to make Wei Ying look at him like that again.

2025

His uncle’s knock became well known to Lan Zhan’s ears and when it arrived today, he was simultaneously surprised and not surprised to hear it. He was vaguely annoyed that there wasn’t time to tidy the space. On the other hand, he was pleased that neither Cannon Ball nor Turpentine dispersed at the sound of it. Though it was a change, his uncle was becoming a natural part of his life here. Unpredictable as his habits could be, even the rabbits were adjusting.

Sighing, he scanned the room and decided that his uncle would have to live with the fact that he hadn’t yet vacuumed today. His guqin remained out as well. That, his uncle would just have to live with. Perhaps he would still see it as a distraction from the real work, but he had no true say in the matter. Now was as good a time as any to hash this out, too. After letting him in, Lan Zhan watched for signs of displeasure.

As his uncle approached the instrument where it sat on a small table near the couch, he frowned. Lan Zhan waited with his hands behind his back, ready for whatever complaint his uncle issued regarding it. His mother’s presence, an artifact he always felt when he practiced, like he was rediscovering a piece of her, too, loomed large. Before Wei Ying, she was the last one to encourage his playing after all.

Much to Lan Zhan’s surprise, he said nothing derogatory about it.

“Who made this?” he asked, gently touching his fingers to the inlaid metal.

“Wei Ying had the guqin made for me,” Lan Zhan said, “and completed the process of inlaying it with the metal himself.” He couldn’t help but say more, push just that littlest bit. “The guqin master I take lessons from was impressed with it as well.”

His uncle said nothing for a very long time. Even he couldn’t deny that this was done with respect. There was not a single mistake or inelegant mark on the thing. This was a beautiful, thoughtfully crafted piece of Wei Ying’s heart given over to Lan Zhan’s care. There was nothing for which it could be criticized, though if anyone could find a way, it was Lan Qiren.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan said carefully, sensing an opening he might be able to use. “It isn’t Wei Ying’s intention to disrespect your scholarship. The work he does… it’s not meant to slight what came before. Not for a long time. He hasn’t been what you think he is since university.” Before, he didn’t have the heart to say, just. Before. It wasn’t fair that there was a time in his life during which his uncle could no longer embrace the aesthetics and artistic movements he so cherished, but it also wasn’t fair for Wei Ying to become the focal point of his resentment. “And he doesn’t want to disrespect you specifically. He stays out of your way. He’s only ever done what his heart’s told him to. You are both very dedicated. You both love the art. Is that not enough?”

Again, Lan Qiren said nothing and Lan Zhan could only bring himself to push a little more.

“Will you allow me to show you more of his work?”

No response. Lan Zhan’s heartbeat pulsed in the back of his throat as he waited yet again.

“Hm,” was all his uncle said, but hope roughhoused with the fear that lived inside of him, chased it teasingly around the muscled terrain of his heart until it forgot itself for the span of an afternoon’s tea.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying was saying, cheerful as he sat on the swing in the backyard he was so smitten with. His smile was almost too big for the size of the screen. Lan Zhan took comfort in it. “Lan Zhan, my first event will be opening next week, a small exhibit and competition leading into the festival proper. Xiao Xingchen asked me to make some opening remarks. Do you think you’d read them over and give me your thoughts?”

“Have you written them already?” Lan Zhan asked, sitting again at the counter, eating alone. He was tired, so very tired, of finding his entire life bounded by the small rectangular shape of his cellphone, but each day drew him closer and closer to the end of it. Each day felt better than the last. He could survive this exhaustion.

“What do you take me for, an overachiever?” Wei Ying asked, sly, and then surprised him totally. “They are already done. I was… inspired, I guess?”

He ducked his head, shy, as though he, too, knew how unusual it was that he was done. Quickly moved on to asking Lan Zhan about his day, he then told Lan Zhan about what he’d seen on the Tinynon-cam—he’d asked Lan Zhan to set up a webcam for the rabbits and he’d done it gladly, watching it sometimes when he was at work, too—and made innuendo-laden comments until he was forced to retreat inside and put that mouth of his to work for Lan Zhan and, sometimes, himself.

When he got back to his laptop, he found a document in his email from Wei Ying. When he clicked it open, it was called, “Tradition // noitidarT: The Contemporary in Retrospect,” and his thoughts were very, very good. So good that Lan Zhan was forced to blink back a few tears, his heart squeezing in his chest over how much he missed Wei Ying, missed hearing such thoughts spoken aloud throughout the day, missed engaging in art with him and hooking his ankle around the back of Wei Ying’s while they ate and later watching as Wei Ying sprawled on the floor by the hutch, making little sounds to get Turpentine’s attention when she was just trying to sleep or play by herself.

Lan Zhan managed to read it and immediately messaged his brother. Will you be able to take care of the rabbits next week? Then he emailed Wei Ying with his thoughts and suggestions, content.

He also asked if he could share a copy with his uncle to which Wei Ying said, with less reluctance than expected: I think I’d like that.

Lan Zhan stepped into the small, nameless little gallery he’d been directed toward by a friendly woman on the street.

He never would have found it on his own, not even with the map that pointed out each and every gallery, shop, and restaurant currently—at least as of June, perhaps things had changed since then, she’d admitted, because things changed often here—occupying the many streets that made up the colony. As soon as he rounded the corner onto the dusty little street, the concrete sidewalk cracked with weeds growing through, he might have figured out where he was going: people spilled onto the pavement, waiting to gain admittance, slipping inside one at a time as they jockeyed for better positions. Of course it should be this way for Wei Ying.

Something about Lan Zhan’s features must have struck a chord with people because they parted a little easier for him and he was able to get a spot in the back. Brightly painted velvet cordons protected the paintings, drawings, and photographs on the walls, the handful of sculptures that dotted the room, the delicate glassworks that hung from the ceiling, sparkling with light.

It was sticky and already close, muggy and disgusting and damp from the people even with the fans circulating air around the room, humming beneath the excited chatter around them.

Toward the front was a small platform and there—

There, Lan Zhan saw Wei Ying speaking with Xiao Xingchen and a handful of other people Lan Zhan didn’t recognize. They were laughing. Wei Ying seemed relaxed, friendly, happy. Over a month away and he was as beautiful as ever.

He wanted to shove through the crowd, interrupt Wei Ying, let him know he was here and supported him.

But there was no time left to do so. Wei Ying waved them off and, still laughing, stepped up onto the tiny little stage. He carried no notes. No podium stood before him. A tiny headset was wrapped around his head that he took a moment to adjust. “Wow,” he said, repeating himself when his voice wasn’t amplified. “Ah, there we go. Hey, everyone.”

A few of the attendees laugh, a few even giggled, and one woman next to him actually sighed at Wei Ying’s grin and the little wave he offered.

“Thank you all for coming,” Wei Ying continued, oblivious to the quality of the attention directed his way. Lan Zhan didn’t think most of those here were only here because of Wei Ying—they all looked far too in the scene to be here specifically for that—but… well. Wei Ying was charming and handsome and personable. Who wouldn’t find themselves caught up in him?

As Wei Ying scanned the crowd, he didn’t seem to see Lan Zhan. He was just another nameless person here to see the exhibit about to find himself bowled over by Wei Ying.

“So, uh, let’s get into this, huh? For whatever reason, Xingchen-ge wanted me to speak to you all tonight. I tried to tell him that the works chosen tonight are me speaking to you, but he got the possibly accurate impression that I’m just trying to shirk my duties here.” He turned back and smiled, probably winked, too. “Anyway, let’s talk about a few things, huh?”

In truth, most of the people probably didn’t start their night wanting to be here for Wei Ying specifically, but by the end of his remarks, a cool thirty minutes, full of interesting observations and an earnest examination of his own thought processes in choosing these pieces to highlight, he was pretty sure that everyone was indeed here for him in the end. He’d never heard a talk conclude with so much clapping and excited chatter from the audience. Enough even chose to swarm around Wei Ying that it was difficult for Lan Zhan to make his way forward and find an opening.

There was a lovely gleam in Wei Ying’s eyes, too, like he recognized what was happening here and hadn’t expected it in the slightest. Lan Zhan might have guessed, but it was good to see it, too.

If nothing else, Wei Ying deserved this proof that his thoughts and opinions mattered outside of their small circle, that it wasn’t just critics of him outside the protective walls of Hanshi’s gallery space, the sometimes haphazardly constructed group of loyal aficionados he’d accumulated over the years.

Lan Zhan hung back, watching as the crowd failed to disburse around Wei Ying, each and everyone interested in his thoughts. His attention was so widely sought that he didn’t quite seem to know where to look, head swiveling between the people chattering around him, looking to him for more information. As much as he wanted to monopolize Wei Ying’s time, sweep him away to someplace more private, he also wanted Wei Ying to have this.

Wei Ying deserved it.

So, he waited. And waited. And then when others had finally had their fill of him and were shooed jovially away to enjoy the works themselves, Lan Zhan remained, a little to the side, maybe just a slight blur in Wei Ying’s peripheral vision. Once Wei Ying believed himself unobserved, he allowed his shoulders to slump and yawned into his elbow. The color remained high on his cheeks though, fetching, exhilarating. If Lan Zhan pressed his hand to Wei Ying’s chest or neck, would his heart thump in violently joyful abandon?

He went to turn away entirely, when Lan Zhan called out to him from over his shoulder, “I found your remarks on Xue Yang’s knife portraits to be particularly compelling. Perhaps you might spare a moment for—”

Wei Ying spun so quickly that Lan Zhan worried momentarily that he might overbalance, but then his arms were full of Wei Ying and it no longer mattered. If Wei Ying tripped, Lan Zhan would keep a steady hold on him. “Lan Zhan!” Laughing, he tightened his hold, squeezing until Lan Zhan wasn’t sure he’d succeed in drawing a full breath. “Lan Zhan, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” he answered. “You can only have your first curatorial experience once.”

“Lan Zhan, that’s—you didn’t have to though.”

“Of course not,” Lan Zhan agreed. They were so far beyond being obligations to one another that it didn’t even register. “I wanted to.”

“What about the rabbits?”

“They are well provided for.”

“What about work?”

“My clients and artists will survive my brother’s care.”

“What about your uncle?”

“He can provide for himself.”

Wei Ying pulled back slowly, reluctant, and searched Lan Zhan’s face like he was a mirage which might disappear at any moment. His thumb skimmed over Lan Zhan’s jaw, as though to ascertain the truth by touch. “How long are you here for?”

He wished he could make the offer that lived in his heart: as long as you’ll have me. But he gave to Wei Ying what little he could and trusted that it was enough. “A few days.”

He half expected Wei Ying to pout or tease, to remind him that a few days was so much less than he deserved from Lan Zhan, but all he did was snake his arm around Lan Zhan’s and pillow his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan is too kind,” he murmured. “Truly, he’s the best and most doting fiancé.”

Before Lan Zhan could argue the opposite, he was pulling Lan Zhan toward the exit, slipping expertly between the crowd still creeping slowly through.

“Wait,” he said, stopping halfway through, dragging Wei Ying back. “I’d like you to show me the work you did here.” Though he had a fairly comprehensive understanding of what he was doing here, he’d like to see the end result of it.

“It might be easier to come back when it’s not so…” Wei Ying waved his hand.

“You only have a first opening night once, Wei Ying.” You should enjoy it, he didn’t say. You should get to see the crowds of people who are enjoying the efforts you put into this.

Wei Ying laughed, half a scoff, and shrugged. “Okay, Lan Zhan. A little edging never hurt anyone anyway, right?”

Lan Zhan refused to concede that he choked, but, knowing he was at fault here, he accepted that he’d brought it on himself.

“We can make it up to one another soon,” Lan Zhan said, proud of himself for keeping his dignity.

They managed a good forty minutes, during which Wei Ying and he were interrupted multiple times by more individuals who wanted to gush. At first, Wei Ying preened, but by the end of it, Lan Zhan could see how strained his smile was getting. Whatever he’d gotten from the attention before, he’d reached his limit. Any more would do him no good.

It was time.

Stopping Wei Ying from taking a step toward yet another painting, Lan Zhan jerked his head to discreetly indicate his intention to walk toward the door.

Wei Ying’s smile bloomed instantly, rejuvenated. “About time,” he said, pulling Lan Zhan through the still-thick tangle of the crowd.

His lodgings were every bit as quaint as Lan Zhan had expected from the “tour” Wei Ying had given him previously and so when, after removing their shoes, Wei Ying tried to give it again, agitated, Lan Zhan just said, “Bedroom,” as Wei Ying wilted in relief, shedding clothes as he went, first his jacket, then his tank top, then a second tank top that he’d worn underneath that, until his back was exposed and Lan Zhan couldn’t stop himself from skimming his hands over Wei Ying’s warm, smooth shoulders. Wei Ying went easily when Lan Zhan pulled him backward and bent his head to suck a mark first into the back of Wei Ying’s neck and then along his throat.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called shakily, doing his best to drag Lan Zhan along. “If you’re not naked in the next ten seconds, I’ll—”

“What?” he asked, though naked sounded very good.

His hands fumbled for his fly. “I’ll take care of myself. You let me walk around like this for forty minutes, Lan Zhan. That’s cruelty.”

“Not cruelty,” he replied, skimming his hands down Wei Ying’s bare sides, each bump of his ribs familiar and beloved, until they reached Wei Ying’s jean-clad hips. Holding him in place there, Lan Zhan pressed himself more closely, sure that Wei Ying could feel the outline of his desire against him. “Joint suffering maybe.”

“Ah, ha. You’re—you’re really funny, Lan Zhan,” he said, breathless as they stood in the doorway. “How about you fuck me and consider a change in career paths afterward? You’re wasted in art.”

He would have liked to take his time, show Wei Ying how he felt for as long as possible, until he was breathless beneath Lan Zhan, incoherent with how much pleasure he felt, whining and crying for his release while Lan Zhan fucked him through it, make them both feel as though they’d never have to part again.

But he had plans. And good ones.

“You said I don’t blow you often enough,” Lan Zhan said, biting at Wei Ying’s earlobe, “or for long enough. Why don’t we change that?”

“Fuck. Lan Zhan, you fight dirty.”

“Bed,” he managed. “I’ll go get my things from the car.”

“You drove?”

“Rental from the train station.” He pointed at the bed again. “Get comfortable.”

He could have avoided renting a car, he knew, and instead carried his small suitcase with him to the gallery, but considering what was inside of it, he didn’t particularly want the reminder so close at hand while they were in public.

Even the thought of it sent a throb of excitement through him despite how tame it was compared to what they did sometimes, what toys they might have used.

Given how little time they’d had for one another over the last months, it was no wonder.

When he returned, he did his best to ignore the naked expanse of Wei Ying’s body on display, no matter how much Wei Ying pouted and simpered in his peripheral vision. “Lan er-gege,” he said, keen. “You were taking so long, I thought I should finish myself off if you didn’t hurry.”

The bed wasn’t ideal, but it did have posts, so Lan Zhan could make due.

Not yet, he told himself, body clamoring to enact every thought that raced through his mind. Each was more explicit and complicated than the last and each drove Lan Zhan just that much closer to—

Well, he’d never had the best control with Wei Ying, but as long as Wei Ying didn’t come too quickly, he supposed what happened to him didn’t matter so much.

“Lan Zhaaan,” Wei Ying called, needy, one hand wrapped loosely around himself, a taunt.

That wouldn’t do.

Dropping the suitcase onto the floor, he crouched and opened it. “I was going to be nice,” he said, pulling a zippered pouch from inside. Retrieving one of its contents, he flung it at the bed where it landed neatly next to Wei Ying’s hip.

Wei Ying scrambled to pick the object up. “You brought a plug on the train?” It was one of Wei Ying’s favorites and they both knew it.

But Lan Zhan didn’t intend to be nice now.

Fully unzipping the pouch, he exposed the contents, all neatly secured with stretchy bands. The only other thing he pulled free was a couple of carefully folded lengths of silk. “No sneaking was necessary,” Lan Zhan replied. “It’s not illegal.”

“I know, but like… you had to sit on a train knowing you had that in your bag. Didn’t you feel anything about that?”

He’d felt a lot of things. All of them were pleasant. “Who edged whom?” He’d anticipated this moment for hours and now he was finally getting to do something about it. What was not wonderful about that fact?

Waving the plug between his fingers, Wei Ying asked, “This is you being mean?”

“I’m not using that yet,” Lan Zhan replied, pushing himself to his feet to begin disrobing. “I just wanted to show it to you.”

“Oh.”

“That’s me being mean.”

“Oh.” Then he looked, a little forlorn, down at the silk. He picked one up and gave Lan Zhan a hopeful glance. “What about these?”

“Mn.”

If Wei Ying kept looking at him like this, this wasn’t going to last long at all.

Deep breaths, he told himself. Don’t think about— Don’t think about how incredible Wei Ying looked naked, his body toned and lithe and perfectly proportioned, a little bit softer these days than when they were younger because Wei Ying no longer ran himself so ragged that he seemed part beanpole.

“Lan Zhan, you really are mean. You keep standing there exposing yourself to me, but you won’t come here. You won’t give me the plug and I’m hearing something about silk, but it’s just not happening. How am I supposed to feel?”

“Good,” Lan Zhan answered, surprised to find that he had indeed fully disrobed while he wasn’t paying attention. Taking the first step was difficult, but the next wasn’t so bad, nor was the third, and suddenly he was towering over Wei Ying. He captured Wei Ying’s lips in a searing kiss, took everything that Wei Ying offered before pulling away again. Wei Ying chasing after him when he didn’t resume kissing him immediately.

“Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, merely began wrapping the long length of silk around Wei Ying’s forearm and down his wrist, crossing each end around before securing both in a knot around the post. Without needing to be prodded, already well acquainted with the drill, Wei Ying pulled and twisted his arm. His already hard cock twitched against his thigh. “Secure and comfortable, Lan Zhan, as always.”

Lan Zhan repeated this with his other arm and the other post and rather wished he’d thought to bring more silk. The pale fabric looked lovely against Wei Ying’s skin and he thought it might be nice to keep his legs immobile, too. Then Lan Zhan really could do anything he wanted to him.

Another time. For now, this would do nicely.

“Lan Zhan, I want to taste you,” Wei Ying blurted, slumping back against the bed, relaxing the way he always relaxed when the choice to do otherwise was taken from him. “It’s been so long. You can fuck my mouth if you want—”

“No,” Lan Zhan said, sharp, before Wei Ying could put more images in his head. “‘You don’t blow me often enough, Lan Zhan,’” he repeated, shameless, more than happy to feel these words in his mouth. “You wanted my jaw to ache.”

“Ahahah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied, tugging lightly at the silk. “I, uh, you don’t have to. What about you? Don’t you want to fuck me instead?”

“My hand will suffice,” Lan Zhan replied. He was going to pretend it wasn’t entirely possible he wouldn’t need it. “When I fuck you later, I’ll let you have the plug.” As he came to kneel between Wei Ying’s legs, he added, “I want to do this, Wei Ying. It’s all I’ve thought about since—”

Since that damned video call. Weeks and weeks of replaying it and dreaming about it and jerking off to it.

“Lan Zhan, why does your pretty mouth have to say such pretty things?” Wei Ying asked, groaning, pulling already at the silk. “God, I fucking missed these. You have no—oh, oh. Fuck.”

In the back of his mind, he heard Wei Ying’s voice in the same domineering tone he’d used over that video call, just a little adjusted. Mouth. Dick. Go, go, go. Who was Lan Zhan to deny himself that? Wei Ying still smelled faintly of the cologne he must have put on before going to the gallery, familiar. Lan Zhan’s cologne. Once Lan Zhan had wrapped his lips around him, Wei Ying muttered, oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, digging his heels into the bed until Lan Zhan clamped his hands over Wei Ying’s thighs.

A little bit breathier, he went on. “It’s not the same if you try to tie yourself up, you know?”

There was nothing, nothing in the world like the weight of Wei Ying on his tongue, he decided. No amount of fucking could quite equal this, but Wei Ying speaking nonsense into the world like that, that might actually be better. He looked up, saw that Wei Ying was staring back down at him, open mouthed, barely keeping himself still as Lan Zhan pulled off. “You tied yourself up?”

Wei Ying groaned, rather theatrical, and threw his head back, arching his neck a little. He was doing this on purpose just to rile Lan Zhan up. It was working, but more importantly, Lan Zhan liked it. “Shit, did I say that?”

Lan Zhan didn’t swoon, but he came as close as he thought was possible without a medical intervention becoming necessary. He swallowed. “Yes.” He tried to imagine it, Wei Ying awkwardly tussling with whatever bonds he’d picked for himself. It wasn’t the worst image he’d ever conjured. “What did you use?”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

Lan Zhan pondered this. “You’ll tell me about it while I blow you,” he decided, “or I’ll stop.” Searching Wei Ying’s face, he added, “Unless you are truly opposed to telling me.”

“No, no. I love to share my many and varied travails with you, Lan Zhan. You know this. Embarrassment kink is my middle name. Do your worst.”

Lan Zhan lowered his head again, gratified when Wei Ying cursed an entire planet’s worth of ancestors when he took him fully. Rolling his tongue lightly over the underside of Wei Ying’s cock, slow, with so little pressure that Wei Ying wouldn’t get off on it even if he wanted to, not for a long while yet.

“Oh, god. Okay. So. Some dipshit—ah. Some dipshit needed PVC tape for a project of theirs.”

Lan Zhan was forced to press down harder against Wei Ying’s thighs to stop him from moving again. He was squirming so much, more than normal, and as much as Lan Zhan liked it, this wasn’t going to last very long if Wei Ying kept writhing around. Maybe it didn’t have to, but Lan Zhan wanted it to, wanted that ache in his jaw. The scrape of his teeth served as warning, only light, but it caused Wei Ying to stammer out a filthy curse.

Lan Zhan hummed as soon as he stilled. A reward. Good boy.

“So, uh. I think—some of these people out here are horny as fuhuck, but they’re maybe a little focused on being artists. And I think this guy saw black tape just hanging out in someone’s apartment and he took it? And then started yelling when it didn’t adhere to shit.” There was a pause again as Wei Ying tensed up. “Lan Zhan, please. You’re gonna—fuck, okay, you’re gonna—”

Lan Zhan flattened his tongue, pressed hard, pulled back, and swiped the tip across Wei Ying’s slit in one smooth, practiced motion.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Wei Ying gasped, flinching back, drawing in a deep breath as Lan Zhan’s heart started hammering hard against his sternum. Did he hurt—? What—? “Phew, okay, okay. That was—” Gulping down another breath, he tried his best to flick his sweaty hair out of his face with the pillow and failed miserably, so Lan Zhan reached up and did it for him, stretching to smooth the damp strands out of the way. “You can’t be that hot, Lan Zhan. It’s not fair. Is your jaw aching yet, by chance?”

A smile, quite probably smug, pulled at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. This was fun. Listening to Wei Ying talk was fun. Getting him off was fun. Enjoying all of those things was fun. “No.”

“Fuck. Okay, then, uh… give me a minute. And maybe suck more. Uh. Metaphorically. If you did actually suck, I might, well—I don’t want to disappoint you in your journey to follow through on my bullshit. Anyway, be less competent.”

“I’ll do my best. You can’t—”

“I know, I know. I can’t disappoint you. You’re the best of all time. Most doting fiancé, always wants me to have what I want as quick as I want it. But I’d like to, you know, stay good to my word here.”

As soon as Lan Zhan’s mouth was back on him, still hard, still hot, the taste of his skin a little musky, he simply held him, sliding down a little and then up again, nothing more.

Wei Ying kept up his end of the bargain. “So, he’s yelling about this tape, right? And apparently I’m the only one who figured out what it was or else someone else would have taken it first, I’m sure. Honestly, I feel a little bad for the person it was probably stolen from to begin with.”

Lan Zhan pulled off again to ask a question, but used it as a pretense to kiss and lick lightly up Wei Ying’s shaft. The fact that Wei Ying gave him a full body shudder and keened was neither here nor there. He palmed himself lightly, groaned at the uncomplicated ripple of pleasure he felt. “You were that hard up?”

“You’re such an asshole, Lan Zhan. Yes! I was hard up! Just like I’m hard up now! Fuck.”

He stroked Wei Ying once, maybe not so accidentally scraping his nail lightly down his shaft as he cried out. “Rope might have been easier to obtain.”

Panting, Wei Ying said, “You know I don’t like rope except for that bamboo shit you buy sometimes.”

“It’s not that hard to find.”

Five years ago, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have known Wei Ying could have a preference like this. And five years ago, he probably would have scorned someone for being that picky. But here and now, he was forced again to think about Picasso to keep from coming against the comforter over Wei Ying being pissy and opinionated about rope. It was a joy to hold himself back tonight, with Wei Ying so happily babbling away for him, the anticipation good.

“And anyway, how am I going to tie the knots?”

Practice, Lan Zhan thought, wondering if maybe he ought to buy Wei Ying a book or something. Or update his bookmarks at least. But he hummed in encouragement instead, dug his thumbs into Wei Ying’s skin until he was sure there would be bruises. It didn’t really matter anyway. Lan Zhan would always be there to tie him up if that was what he wanted.

“So, I used the tape,” he said, as though that explained everything.

But Lan Zhan wanted every detail, wanted to know exactly how it felt, what he did, if he still had the bondage tape lying around. Was it something he did once and then give up as pointless? Did he struggle with it? He couldn’t decide beyond what Wei Ying had said about it not being the same. His thumb swept across Wei Ying’s hip and he hummed his question, ignoring what he himself was thinking and feeling, because what good was it to allow himself to be both turned on and sad to think about Wei Ying trying to replicate the experiences they shared with one another when they were a good five-hundred kilometers from one another?

He was here now. He could make this good for Wei Ying.

“I don’t know what else to say, Lan Zhan. It was tape. I jerked off. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as I thought it would be.”

Lan Zhan stared up at Wei Ying, poised over him, ready to take him again as soon as Wei Ying spoke. “How did you jerk off?”

Wei Ying was very good at throwing his head back and wriggling. “Oh, come on, Lan Zhan!”

“Do you still have it?”

“What?”

“The tape. Do you still have it?”

“No, I—I don’t know what happened to it. It’s probably used up by now. I think the guy figured it out because he was using it correctly the next time I saw what he was working on.” A flush crept up his neck. He shook his head. “Wasted on a mannequin. I ordered, like, a pack of it and tracked down where the guy got it from and kind of just left it there.”

“I could go into Yicheng and get more,” Lan Zhan said. Surely there was somewhere in town with some. He could tell Wei Ying what to do with it. Maybe while they were on another video call.

“Don’t you dare!” He wrenched himself around until he was a little higher on the pillow and could glare down at Lan Zhan. “We’re not wasting what little time we have here on tape because I—”

Resting his chin on Wei Ying’s thigh, deciding perhaps it wouldn’t be terrible to skim his fingers over Wei Ying’s length again, teasing, wet with all the spit and precome Wei Ying could want, he asked, “Because you…?”

Wei Ying turned his face away and his chest rose and fell a little more quickly than before. “You’re not the only one missing somebody here, Lan Zhan. It sucks. It’s been good, but… it sucks, too.”

With a few more gentle strokes of his hand, he resumed making good on his promise. This time Wei Ying was far more quiet, gasping and moaning, jerking at his bonds when Lan Zhan did something he found particularly pleasant.

By the time he let Wei Ying come, just as messy as Wei Ying had demanded, his abdomen and thighs glinting with sweat and Lan Zhan’s saliva, Lan Zhan’s jaw was aching and he was so hard that only a few strokes of his hand separated him from his own orgasm. Simple, easy, enjoyable. When he finished, Lan Zhan unwound the silk from Wei Ying’s arms and rubbed them lightly between his palms.

He didn’t realize until Wei Ying was embracing him after they’d cleaned up just how simple and easy it had been. It was like… it was like they’d found their equilibrium again somewhere. This was how it had been before this all happened only now Lan Zhan knew to appreciate it better.

Head nestled beneath Wei Ying’s neck, he marveled.

“I did good, I think,” Wei Ying said. “Don’t you think?”

“I thought so well before today,” Lan Zhan replied, kissing and nibbling lightly along Wei Ying’s earlobe because he was here and he could and he was lying on Wei Ying, pliant and soft and that demanded small affections. “And I knew it would be a success as soon as you sent me your remarks. But—yes. You did good.”

He’d done incredibly well. So well, in fact, that he could see Wei Ying finding a place here in a larger community, one that appreciated the merits of his work and thoughts outside of what could sell. He did get to do what he wanted to do back home, but it didn’t come as much with the sort of validation he could apparently find here.

Wei Ying twisted and curled closer, while Lan Zhan was grateful that Wei Ying couldn’t see the frown on his face from this angle. “Ah, but it will nice to go back home, yeah? I was nervous as fuck up there. Too much stress for me.”

“Wei Ying,” he said, swallowing. “Wei Ying…”

“Mm? Lan Zhan, what is it?”

Words were easier to come by these days than they used to be, but that didn’t mean it sometimes wasn’t still a struggle. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Is what what I want?”

“To go home.”

Wei Ying, shifting, planted both of his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest, staring down at Lan Zhan like he’d grown a second head. His hair had grown in the weeks they’d not seen one another, the ends long enough to develop a gentle wave. The video calls hadn’t made that part clear.

Lan Zhan missed so much being so far away.

He reached up and wound his fingers around one tendril.

“What do you mean?” Wei Ying asked, capturing Lan Zhan’s hand in his, curling his fingers around Lan Zhan’s.

“If you like it here…” It wouldn’t be so difficult to move if he wanted to be a part of this on a permanent basis, somehow like Burial Mounds and unlike it at the same time. “We can make those arrangements, Wei Ying. If that is what you want.”

After blinking a few times, Wei Ying let out a guffaw and tucked Lan Zhan’s head back beneath his chin, resting their joined hands on his chest. “Lan Zhan, please. That’s probably the last thing on the planet I want! What I want is home. With you, about five-hundred kilometers from here. The condo is home. The people there are—”

“What about my uncle? Staying here permanently would solve the problem.”

“What about him? He’s, you know, determined to hate me. If he decides he needs to hate me where I can see it… I think I can make peace with that. It’s not like I don’t have the required skillset. Lan Zhan, that’s been my home for over ten years now. Your uncle can’t spoil it. This was just—a lot. All at once. I’ll be better once we’re back. I know I made a snap decision doing this, but… I’m feeling more clear-headed. He can’t hurt me by being what he always has been.”

“But—”

“Lan Zhan, it’s okay. You were right. I should just be relieved he doesn’t make a bigger deal about the fact we’re together. I was acting petulant and dramatic. Between him and Madam Yu… but that’s okay. It’s going to be what it is.”

“He shouldn’t hate you,” Lan Zhan said. What he wanted to say was he didn’t think his uncle hated him, but Wei Ying and Wei Ying’s feelings about his work could be… very entangled when it was the wrong person disliking his work. And anyway, Lan Zhan wasn’t actually sure that his uncle hated all of Wei Ying’s work. “You shouldn’t have to feel this way about family.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Most people have complicated relationships with their families.”

“But if we’re going to marry—”

“Then it will be just as complicated, but I get the added value of calling you husband and lording it over everyone else that you and I belong to one another. That’s worth more than whatever issues your uncle takes with my velvet paintings.”

Lan Zhan froze. “How did you know he…?”

“Oh, please. I’d die of shock if he didn’t hate them.”

“He shouldn’t,” Lan Zhan insisted, stubborn, because they’d brought so much joy and did raise questions among some of the writers who’d completed articles about it. There was value to be had in them, even if his uncle didn’t appreciate the aesthetics.

“Lan Zhan, it’s fine. Everyone is allowed to have their opinion. It’s probably a good thing I stepped away for a bit, but… I think I’ll live.”

Lan Zhan’s frown deepened, but what Wei Ying was saying… it was true.

“When did you get so wise?” Lan Zhan asked, pleased when Wei Ying punched him in the shoulder, pleased that for once something didn’t have to be heavy and tainted and sad.

“Lan Zhan, I made you cry. I never… I never, ever wanted to do that to you. All because I—I couldn’t take five minutes to collect myself when he showed up. I think I needed to do this, but it was still fucked up. So, I figured out that he’ll be who he is. I am who I am. You decided to be with me anyway even having ten years of knowing that about us. Who am I to question you and my good fortune?”

“You say that while you’re here,” Lan Zhan said, careful, gentle, fearful, “but what about back home? He’ll be nearer and he’ll expect us to come to dinner. He’ll probably come over without asking. It’ll be…”

“Lan Zhan, I…” Sighing, he pressed a kiss into Lan Zhan’s hair. “I picked that theme for a reason. I think I understand him better now. I want to go home. If it somehow gets to be too much, we can deal with it then, okay? Together this time. Don’t write off your mural just yet. Don’t give up on me.”

Lan Zhan would never do that and in truth, Wei Ying did seem different, like he’d resolved something in himself while Lan Zhan wasn’t here to witness it. It was easy to believe him even though everything he knew about their lives of late told him he shouldn’t. When he lifted his head again to check on Wei Ying, his gaze was clear, certain. It raised hopes within Lan Zhan.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, willing to embrace the trust he felt. And then, because gratitude needed to be shared: “I’m also fortunate.”

He’d stand up to his uncle when necessary, but…

Maybe he didn’t have to fear that one wrong move from his uncle would shatter Wei Ying’s belief in himself or his trust in Lan Zhan.

2020

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan was saying, voice raised. He was over at Lan Zhan’s for one of their semi-regular dinners, something that had kind of been sidelined while Lan Zhan was…

Well, given his last encounter with Wei Ying, it wasn’t going to be an issue having Lan Huan over for the foreseeable future.

“Hm?” He was pretty focused on washing the dishes from their meal and maybe couldn’t hear his brother over the sound of running water, especially when Lan Huan was sitting at the dining table so far away, drinking tea, and maybe Lan Zhan wasn’t interested in hearing him if he was going to sound like that. Even so, he couldn’t ignore his older brother indefinitely. “You said something?” He turned around and caught Lan Huan standing near the cardboard box still leaning against the wall by the door. “Oh.”

No wonder it was easy to pretend not to hear him.

Lan Huan returned to the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the space and leaned against it. “You haven’t spoken with Wei Ying again, have you?”

“No,” he answered, because he wasn’t willing to lie, no matter how easy it would have been.

“I have,” Lan Huan said, innocent, casual, more casual than he usually was. It set Lan Zhan’s teeth on edge. “He said I should talk to you.”

“I don’t find that necessary.”

“Lan Zhan, he is absolutely distraught about something. You’re both distraught. I don’t know what happened between Luo Qingyang’s performance and now, but… you’re both throwing ten years of friendship away for something you both clearly regret. One of you has to step up and I don’t think it’s going to be him this time.”

No, Lan Zhan rather gathered that on his own. “It’s not that simple.” He refused to ask what they specifically discussed. It wasn’t his business any longer.

“Is there anything that is simple?”

“Our friendship,” Lan Zhan said, churlish, childish in a way he rarely was.

“Oh, no,” Lan Huan said, coming around the counter to lean against it from the inside, legs and arms crossing. The look he gave Lan Zhan was indescribable: disappointed and pitying and sad and annoyed all at once. “No, your friendship was easy, not simple. There’s never been anything simple about anything that’s happening between you. Whatever is happening, I think you’re making a mistake. He seems to believe you don’t want to see him anymore? I can’t imagine any scenario where that’s plausible, no matter what you or he or the both of you did.”

He was entirely sure he was only imagining the weight Lan Huan gave to the word both there.

“A-Zhan, is he at fault here? Did he hurt you somehow? Don’t deflect this time. I won’t push you if…”

Yes, he thought, and no. “I was mistaken in my assumptions. I’m the one at fault.”

Lan Huan made a dubious sound, but moved on from that line of interrogation… to an even worse one. “Why haven’t you opened that box? I assume it’s from Wei Ying?”

“I can’t.” Either those paintings were completed before and spoke to something not yet broken—and Lan Zhan didn’t want to remember how things were before right now—or they spoke to the already broken thing between them, broken since Wei Ying left—and Lan Zhan didn’t particularly want to look at that either.

“This isn’t like you.”

Lan Zhan, who’d been avoiding Lan Huan’s gaze this whole time, finally made eye contact. “I’m allowed to be unreasonable about one thing in my life.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Lan Zhan said, thinking that would be the end of it, because it always had been in the past.

“He intends to cut ties with Hanshi entirely,” Lan Huan said after a long pause.

Though it was expected, inevitable, it still threatened to punch a hole through him. The thought of Wei Ying going to another art dealer… it seemed impossible.

“That is his right.”

“Lan Zhan, I think you’re going to regret this,” Lan Huan said. Surprise and further disappointment twined around his words. He gestured toward the box. “At least listen to what he has left to say to you.”

“I will think about it,” Lan Zhan offered, the only thing he could.

The only liquor Lan Zhan kept in the house was generally for Wei Ying or the dinners he was forced to throw from time to time, but as he stared at the box, he contemplated opening one of the bottles.

Contemplation turned into action soon enough. Every time he tried to open the box otherwise, he couldn’t.

He didn’t pour more than a single shot into one of the smallest cups he owned, an elegant thing Wei Ying had picked up for him way, way back for whenever he was stuck hosting in his brother’s stead. Lan Zhan had been whining—he would have pretended that wasn’t what he was doing at the time, but it really was—and Wei Ying had said, “Lan Zhan, you need nice cups for the wine,” which Lan Zhan had scoffed at because no, he didn’t, because he wasn’t ever going to do this again.

“Uh huh,” Wei Ying had said. And then they’d parted ways for the day, Wei Ying back to Burial Mounds purportedly and Lan Zhan to Hanshi. Only Wei Ying had shown up at Hanshi a few hours later with a set of the most beautiful glazed ceramic cups Lan Zhan had ever seen in his life and a shy smile and said, “Here, congratulations, Lan Zhan. You’re a grown up art dealer now. Go forth and schmooze unembarrassed.”

As he considered the liquor which, now that he thought about it, was specifically for Wei Ying as well, he realized that this maybe was a bad idea all around.

He still didn’t know exactly what Wei Ying did to afford them. Back then, he’d sunk every spare dollar he made into Burial Mounds, both the building and the small community of people housed within it. There wasn’t money or time for something like this, but Wei Ying had done it anyway.

He sipped from the cup. Memory upon memory tugged and tore at his resistance as he stood in front of the box, feeling very much like the protagonist in a prosaic literary novel, the sort of person who didn’t know how to connect with their feelings and so pushed everyone else away until they learned too late the value of human connection via a convenient, relevant symbol.

It was just a box.

And it wasn’t just a box.

The worst, he felt, already should have happened. Wei Ying running away. Lan Zhan’s cruel cutting of ties, like Wei Ying, who was clinging so hard to the thought of friendship with Lan Zhan, didn’t matter: that should have been the worst.

And yet somehow it filled him with more dread to think of opening this box than just about anything else could have.

He was full up with dread, sick of it.

Draining the last of the alcohol, he waited for his face to grow warm, for the fear to loosen its hold on his heart, padded by the very slight numbing effects of the liquor.

The box itself wasn’t so very large, though it was thick. When he opened it one-handed, heart caught in the back of his mouth, thudding against his soft palate, he was both annoyed that everything inside was shrouded in bubble wrap and protective packaging—like he should already have known it would be—and relieved that he still had a chance to turn away.

Foolish. Even a child wouldn’t be this scared.

Placing the cup on the ground next to him, he carefully pulled the canvases free and carefully placed them on the floor next to him. The packaging squeaked a little in protest.

His hand didn’t shake as he peeled the bubble wrap aside, carefully taped. It pulled and tore at the plastic a bit, fighting him, until finally the back side of the first was exposed.

Stomach twisting, he held it delicately between his fingers, flipping the canvas slowly by its frame.

His first impressions of it weren’t much. It showed Wei Ying’s usual mastery of movement across the surface of his chosen workspace, whichever space it wound up being, each stroke weighty and textured. Disappointed wasn’t the right word for it, but it was—

It was not what Lan Zhan expected nor what he feared. It was so inwardly focused that he couldn’t tell what was meant by it, only that it made him feel very, very sad that he, in all of his years of experience, couldn’t analyze in words or thoughts.

It wasn’t even the colors, which were a bit drab by Wei Ying’s standards, warm grays shot though with surprising bursts of brightness peeking through from where he’d taken a palette knife to it, pale, shimmering whites and rich-hued blues, stark against the muddled foreground, so few in number that it looked like they were fighting a losing battle against the blandness surrounding them.

It was graceful and beautiful in its way, but it lacked so much of what Lan Zhan loved about Wei Ying.

He didn’t know what to do with it and so he set it aside.

The second was clearly a companion of the first. Similar colors, similar air of melancholia, but somehow even more chaotic and… grief-stricken. The streaks of blue cut across the surface of the canvas like wounds.

How could strokes of a palette knife convey grief like this?

Why was it that Lan Zhan could identify it so clearly here in comparison to the first? What did Wei Ying grieve so deeply?

He wished suddenly that he’d thought to bring the bottle of wine over with him, because as he sat heavily before the paintings, he realized he’d desperately love to forget what he was looking at and how lonely it felt to look at them.

And yet, he could do nothing less than honor them, place them exactly where he’d intended to put them back when he thought he knew what to expect, when he believed these would be a gift rather than an albatross. He took poor pictures of them, barely bothering to color correct at all. That wasn’t the point here.

His brother was right, though.

He did need to speak with Wei Ying.

If he didn’t know how to do that anymore, that was his business.

There was time.

There wasn’t time.

He heard the name Su She and meeting and what the fuck is he thinking as he wandered toward Hanshi’s main floor. The former was murmured, quiet for a quiet place, but the latter was definitely Mo Xuanyu, who’d be loud in a monastery if he felt roused to raise his voice.

As soon as he rounded the wall that hid the back offices from sight, he saw Mo Xuanyu, no surprise, and Wen Qing, slightly more surprising.

More importantly, she saw him, too. Then Mo Xuanyu turned and narrowed his eyes at him. “I think I should be somewhere else right now,” he said, but Wen Qing grabbed his arm and dug in until his forearm was white from the pressure of her fingertips.

Mo Xuanyu made the most obvious and terrible attempt at a friendly smile that Lan Zhan had ever seen. It looked a lot more like a grimace, maybe even a baring of teeth. “He’s not usually here around this time. You promised.”

“Shh,” Wen Qing replied. “You can’t just ignore Lan Zhan.”

“We’re here to meet with Jingyi, not Lan Zhan,” he answered, petulant. He nodded at Lan Zhan, a rough acknowledgment of him. “I’m not sure I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Though she attempted to frown at Mo Xuanyu, Lan Zhan got the very distinct feeling that the frown was for him, too.

He opened his mouth, closed it again. He was about to ask how Wei Ying was doing and realized it probably wasn’t his business and they probably wouldn’t think it was his business either.

“Jingyi is finishing up with a client about ten minutes away,” he answered. Checking his watch, he added, “He should be here soon.”

“We did arrive a little early,” Wen Qing said.

That was true, but if he said anything about that, then he’d have to berate himself as well. He often arrived early to meetings. Less so of late, but: extenuating circumstances.

“Would you like me to take you back to his…” He never knew how to describe it. It wasn’t an office exactly, but he hated referring to it as a cubicle even though it really was. “Work space?”

“That’s not necessary,” she replied.

“Can I get you some tea while you wait?”

“Oh, Lan Zhan is very solicitous today,” Mo Xuanyu replied, taking to Wei Ying’s habits of talking about him in the third person while he was right here. With Wei Ying it was charming, teasing, lighthearted and fun. Flirtatious. Lan Zhan felt eviscerated when Mo Xuanyu did it. “Has he considered showing so much concern for Wei Ying, I wonder?”

“Mo Xuanyu!” Wen Qing said. An awl might have punctured a less precise hole than Wen Qing’s tone did, but Lan Zhan did his very best to feel as though he wasn’t the one getting stabbed. “Lan Zhan, we’re fine.” Though she was defending him, he couldn’t deny the note of disregard in her voice; she wasn’t much more pleased with him than Mo Xuanyu was.

Mo Xuanyu’s eyes narrowed even further, his disdain clear.

Despite the venom being spit at him, he persevered. “I overheard you mentioning Su She a moment ago?”

It was professional… curiosity. That was all. Su She was a thorn in his side, a constant, low-level aggravation. He tried to swipe clients, both on the artist side and on the consumer’s side, and it worked. Very rarely.

He’d already tried to use Wei Ying against Lan Zhan once and Lan Zhan had massively embarrassed him for it. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. He still needed confirmation and when and where they were meeting.

Infuriated didn’t begin to cover what Lan Zhan felt.

“No, you didn’t,” Mo Xuanyu said. “And frankly, it’s none of your business.”

Snappish, he demanded, “Is Wei Ying meeting with Su She?”

“Like I’d te—” Mo Xuanyu started.

“Yes,” Wen Qing answered, jaw set. “He is.”

“I thought we weren’t going to interfere!” Mo Xuanyu said, harsh.

“There’s not interfering and there’s not interfering,” Wen Qing answered. “He’s not hearing anything he wouldn’t already know if he happened to walk down the street to the tea shop a few blocks away from here. It’s definitely not our fault he overheard Su She’s name and connected his own dots.”

He owed Wen Qing. His interests weren’t generally in moving sculptures, but he’d do his best for her the next time the opportunity arose. It was the least he could do.

Mo Xuanyu threw his hands in the air and scoffed, walking a wide circle before coming back around to stab Lan Zhan in the chest with one finger. “Don’t toy with him, okay? When you let him down, just be blunt. I know you know how.”

“Mo Xuanyu!” Wen Qing said again, like a broken record.

Let him down, Lan Zhan thought, mind blanking entirely except for that single thought. He would—that was always the very last thing in the world he wanted.

“I have to go,” he said.

He would never in his life not be grateful for the fact that he kept multiple spare sets of clothing at Hanshi, because he didn’t dare take the time to go home first. And, even better, he had clothing for every occasion kept in a small, portable wardrobe, little more than a tall, thin box with a rack inside which held: a full suit, sweater and trousers, paint-stained jean, a tattered, ancient cardigan that he usually wore if he knew he was going to be going somewhere where he might end up getting dirty. As chaotic as Wei Ying could be, canvases stacked upon canvases in his studio space, he was generally otherwise very neat. Some people, well, with some people, it seemed like you ran the very real risk of getting paint all over you somehow when you stepped into their studios. It wasn’t pleasant in the slightest.

He pulled off his dress shirt, leaving only the thin cotton undershirt and yanked the cardigan over it to ensure he didn’t look too inappropriately attired. Grabbing his bag, he rolled the sweater up and placed it inside.

Su She enjoyed causing drama. It wouldn’t be the first time he flung a drink in someone’s face. Lan Zhan had to be prepared. If he—if he screwed this up, he didn’t want to do so while wet and sticky.

Squaring his shoulders, he followed the directions Wen Qing didn’t give to him.

Taking the seat next to Wei Ying, he understood Jiang Cheng a little better than before. It was very, very hard to withstand to the urge to throw a punch at your nemesis.

“No. Not you and not Wei Ying. Go.”

Turned out he was right about the drink.

Well. Shit.

Lan Zhan hadn’t come while Wei Ying was meeting with Su She to harass Wei Ying about the paintings or embarrass him or do any of the things it felt like he might have been doing as he’d sat down, first next to Wei Ying while he was across from Su She and then across from him after he’d cleaned up and Su She had stormed out of here. In truth, he hadn’t… hadn’t actually expected he’d have a chance. And then for a moment… for a moment, he thought he might.

The only thing you need to know about those paintings, Wei Ying had spat out when pushed, pushed past the breaking point apparently, pushed to reveal the truth, far braver than Lan Zhan had ever been, is that I’ve always been in love with you.

And then he’d shoved himself out of his chair, yanked his bag’s strap over his head and—

And too many seconds after that, Lan Zhan was still sitting here, wrapping his head around the very idea. How impossible it seemed. Wei Ying? In love with him? Surely he would have known that.

A dark streak drew his attention through the window, Wei Ying out on the sidewalk nearly bumping into another couple passing.

“Fuck,” Lan Zhan said. Halfway to the door, he stalled, fear gripping him by the throat, fear and anger. If this was… if it was true—and it had to be true, Wei Ying wasn’t generally given to lying outright when push came to shove, though he sometimes conveniently forgot to say something—then…

Then how much time had they wasted? How often had they hurt one another unintentionally?

How often could—could Lan Zhan have shown Wei Ying how he felt?

He tried not to dwell. If he did, he’d never be able to move again.

Making his way out the door, he watched as Wei Ying seemed to… curl into himself as he walked. His stride was so quick and purposeful, Lan Zhan had to work a little to catch up. And then he tried to break Lan Zhan’s hold when he did, like fleeing from Lan Zhan was his only goal in life and—and Lan Zhan would let him go if he had to. If saying he loved Lan Zhan changed nothing, he would let him go, but he had to know, apparently had to break through Wei Ying’s glassy-eyed look for the whole truth. He couldn’t do this out on the sidewalk, not like this, but he spotted a cramped little alley around the corner and—

He just had to know for certain.

“Lan Zhan, I’m so—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Lan Zhan was tired of apologies. “Did you mean it?”

“I meant it. God, Lan Zhan. Of course, I meant it. Why would I say that now when you can’t even stand the thought of being friends with me? What’s the point if I didn’t? I knew I could be in love with you or I could be your friend. I tried to choose the latter and imploded that possibility. I know it. It’s my problem to deal with. I promise I won’t cause you any trouble.”

Wei Ying spoke fiercely, tried to escape, and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan almost couldn’t hear around the sounds of—

It was a little bit like discovering Wei Ying’s work all over again. Though it had been cruder at the time, it still showed so much thought and understanding, so much interest and intrigue. Vistas had opened before him when he saw it, just like Wei Ying opened vistas now. At the time, he didn’t understand, not until he spoke with Wei Ying for the first time some months after he spotted Wei Ying’s work in the halls of their university. This time, it took no time at all to realize what he was feeling.

Wei Ying meant it.

He meant it.

It wasn’t just Lan Zhan stuck in this alone. Lan Zhan hadn’t just been a convenient lay. He still didn’t understand entirely, but there was time. They hadn’t irrevocably ruined their relationship. If Wei Ying loved him, then why did he leave? If Wei Ying loved him, why was he so fearful of losing Lan Zhan’s friendship?

They’d have to talk, even if the very thought pushed more acidic dread through him.

For now, he just wanted to—

He needed to show Wei Ying how he felt about him, no words, just… them.

In Lan Zhan’s estimate, it was where their words failed that they had all their problems. The physical, well, he’d never once felt anything except cherished when Wei Ying put his hands on him.

That was what he needed to do in reverse. For Wei Ying. Except with words this time. He couldn’t let himself fail even though he didn’t know how to speak of this.

“I want you to cause me trouble and I want how you feel to be my problem.” He hadn’t been able to look at Wei Ying before. He did now. Saw the same devotion in his eyes that cascaded down the wall of his bedroom. “I want you to mean it.” He took hold, gently, as gentle as he could manage, Wei Ying’s chin, aligned their mouths. Kissed him, soft. “Wei Ying, I’ve loved you almost as long as I’ve known you. I only want you.”

They made love for what felt, maybe, like the first time.

They talked for what felt, maybe, like the first time, too.

It was hard, maybe the hardest thing he’d ever done, exposing himself with the truth, asking Wei Ying questions, hearing the answers, being asked in turn, but...

Lan Zhan had never felt lighter by the end of any conversation in his lifetime. Terrified as all get-out that he’d mess it up, too, but… light. Light for the time being. Lighter than he deserved.

Lighter even than that, every day, until the novelty of it wore off and this was just his life: happy and warm and filled with Wei Ying in every corner of it, Wei Ying giving over Burial Mounds to be with him, Wei Ying joined with him whenever either of them wished it.

And then Wei Ying asked where he’d rate on a sex spreadsheet and Lan Zhan, mortified, explained even that to him, waiting the whole time for Wei Ying to laugh at him or pity him or walk away forever because it was one thing to learn what Lan Zhan had done to cope, it was another to discover the full pathetic truth of how he’d figured it out. The documentation hadn’t long outlasted Liu Zihao—by then he had enough data points to recognize a trend and a desire for another body in his bed, temporary though their presence may have been—but Lan Zhan couldn’t guess which of his partners might have first suggested it and ignited such a rumor. Maybe in the end, it had nothing to do with him and he just seemed like the sort of man who kept spreadsheets for everything.

But even in this Wei Ying surprised him, twisting it into yet one more thing to love about Lan Zhan; he embraced Lan Zhan’s vulnerabilities and flaws, cared for them, smoothed them away with the effervescent sparkle of his affection. It never dimmed and it felt, as Wei Ying took him back to bed, as though it never would.

2012

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying waved to him from the opposite side of the yard area behind Burial Mounds as Lan Zhan picked his way around the bags of soil, various shovels and wheelbarrows, and plants that seemed to have appeared entirely overnight. The ground was soft, but pale and dotted with a lot of rocks and pebbles, churned up by the work Wei Ying and some of the others had done to pull up the concrete. Already the front was done, turning the property into a strange juxtaposition of quaint and industrial that somehow didn’t clash too terribly.

Lan Zhan wasn’t certain what Wei Ying intended to do back here. It didn’t seem like the kind of ground that would support much, but his skin gleamed and a healthy glow suffused his cheeks and he looked so happy as he worked—even alone at the moment, awake earlier than most of his cohort, though far later than Lan Zhan himself awoke—that Lan Zhan was sure it didn’t matter even if nothing grew.

It made for such a stark change from the way Wei Ying had been before that Lan Zhan couldn’t ever regret agreeing to act as guarantor on the loan Wei Ying had taken out. Even if it all crumbled to dust tomorrow and Lan Zhan was left holding the bag on the financials, it would be worth it for this. If his uncle ever found out, he’d be infuriated, but that couldn’t come into the calculation at all when this was the result.

Every time he visited, Wei Ying seemed a little happier.

It was the right decision.

“Are you here to help?” Wei Ying asked, teasing as he eyed Lan Zhan up and down. The pale slacks and white shirt would not fare well compared to the scrubby jeans and t-shirt Wei Ying was wearing. There was something different about the way he looked at Lan Zhan today, softer. Lan Zhan liked it.

“I’m supposed to meet my brother for lunch in an hour,” he replied, finally close enough that he could have touched Wei Ying if he wanted to.

“Ha, Lan Zhan. This is quite a bit out of your way, isn’t it?”

It was, but given how much Lan Zhan wanted to see Wei Ying and this would be his only chance today, he was willing to carve the time out of his schedule to do so.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan! What are you doing?” Wei Ying asked as Lan Zhan knelt beside him. He grabbed for Lan Zhan’s arm, but too late, Lan Zhan’s knees were already striking the dirt. “Oh, you idiot. I could at least have gotten you a towel or something.” Hissing and then tsking a few times, Wei Ying shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I have a bit of time,” Lan Zhan said, uncaring. It was an informal lunch anyway and Lan Huan wouldn’t care. If anyone looked at him with disapproval, it wouldn’t matter either, not when Wei Ying was boggling at him, delight brightening the gray of his eyes.

After a few years having known Wei Ying, he understood that this was the most he could hope to have with Wei Ying, these moments in which he surprised Wei Ying. They were worth more than anything he shared with others and Lan Zhan would never, if he had his way, ever fail to take the chance to do this to him if he could help it.

Wei Ying reached out. “Let me—” Then he drew back, looked down at his grimy palms. Something like regret passed over his features. “Roll up your sleeves at least. I’ll dig the holes. Maybe you can put the plants in?” He gestured toward the row of plastic pots inside of which stood a fair number of different shrubs, still rather small, though established. Lan Zhan knew little enough about it and couldn’t really identify the species, but they were a lovely green and seemed to make Wei Ying happy as he brushed his hands lightly over the leaves and branches.

“I didn’t know you gardened,” Lan Zhan said, happy to tuck this new bit of information into his ever widening understanding of Wei Ying’s character.

“I… don’t. Not really.” Wei Ying’s hand left behind a streak of dirt on the back of his neck as he scrubbed at his hairline, damp with perspiration. Lan Zhan wanted to brush it away. “But I did raise hell in the yard while jiejie worked in the garden, so I kind of picked up some things from her.” He picked up a claw-shaped tool and pried free a rock from the bed he was working on. “It’s a fond memory of mine. I figured since this place has the space, I’d at least give it a try, you know? There’s not a lot of places around here that can boast the same. Might as well take advantage.”

“How are you and Wen Qing getting along?”

“Good! She, Wen Ning, and I are managing pretty well. Have you seen their work at all? It’s incredible what Wen-jie can do with a scalpel and some clay. And Wen Ning’s a genius with the prints he does. I’m half-tempted to ask him to teach me, but he’s got so much on his plate that it doesn’t feel right to try taking more of his time.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know much about either of the Wen siblings’ work as yet, even though they’d gone to school together, but he had met them on a number of occasions, actually quite frequently of late, and could see the way Wen Ning doted on Wei Ying. In the past, it might have bothered him deeply—had, in fact, bothered him before he knew there was no good point in feeling jealous over phantoms—but now, he just wanted Wei Ying to have what he wished with whomever he wished to share it.

“I think he’d enjoy it,” Lan Zhan offered, tentative, “if you were the one asking.”

Wei Ying laughed, brows furrowing as he dug at the dirt. “What are you talking about?”

Lan Zhan’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. He’d never asked Wei Ying about his feelings for anyone else, but—

“You have to see how he looks at you,” Lan Zhan replied, voice cool in contrast to his hot, bleeding heart. “He’d do anything for you.”

“Ahaha, Lan Zhan. Don’t be weird,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s not like that. We—” Sighing, he turned to look at Lan Zhan. More serious, he wiped his hands along his thighs. “I know. It’s… come up before. We’ve discussed it already. That’s why I… he’s got his own thing going on. I don’t want to interfere too much, you know? Or take advantage. He’s the sweetest, but…”

But that just wasn’t what Wei Ying was interested in. Lan Zhan knew it already. It wasn’t as much of a disappointment to have it confirmed yet again when he’d been the one to bring it up to begin with. In fact, it made him feel a little bit better. He and Wen Ning would probably never be friends—they were both far too reluctant to reach out to other people to make natural confidants—but he felt for him.

“What about you?” Wei Ying asked suddenly, the quiet around them disrupted by the question.

“What about me?”

“I’ve never seen you show any interest in anyone,” Wei Ying said, more somber than Lan Zhan had ever heard him be before. His scrutiny was very nearly overbearing. What was he searching for with this question? Did he know what Lan Zhan did sometimes? “There are a lot of people who admire you.”

It didn’t feel like it; it wasn’t even similar to the way Wen Ning felt about Wei Ying. It was all so… distant. If they admired him, it was the way a piece might be admired in a museum. Not the way he wanted to be with someone.

At least the men he took to bed brought him back into the realm of humanity, skin to skin, muscle moving against muscle. Real. It helped. It was nice. It wasn’t everything he wanted, but he knew enough now to successfully assuage the basest of what he felt in a way that left no one unsatisfied.

How he got to be with Wei Ying, it felt natural and good. That was the only way he wanted to be with anyone. Even if it never consisted of the physical or sexual elements he craved, those pieces that felt as necessary to him as oxygen, he wouldn’t trade doing this with Wei Ying for anything and he would protect it for as long as possible. He kept Wei Ying away from the worst of Lan Zhan’s impulses because he was sure Wei Ying would try to push Lan Zhan to find companionship in one of these partners of his, seek happiness with them that could never be theirs.

What he did worked. It didn’t need to be anything more than that.

“Well,” Wei Ying said eventually, too chipper. “We can be bachelors together, huh?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan murmured in agreement, dropping one of the small shrubs into the hole Wei Ying pointed out. Then, unbidden: “I could think of worse things.”

Wei Ying favored him with a sweet smile, the sort that crinkled his eyes and made it seem like Wei Ying couldn’t be happier than right at this moment. Lan Zhan hoarded those smiles, wished he was capable of replicating them on paper or knew when to expect them so he could take a picture and savor it.

Perhaps one day he’d be ready for it and maybe then he’d manage it.

“So, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying asked as they continued to work, “what’s your plan for today?”

“Luo Qingyang is performing tonight. I thought I might attend.”

“Ah, give her my love. And Jiang Cheng if you see him. He’s really into her work. Maybe tell him to call me, too. I haven’t heard from that ungrateful younger brother of mine in almost a month.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know.” With a shrug, he dug another hole. More dirt than he intended was flung from his little shovel. “Normal Jiang family bullshit.”

Lan Zhan didn’t start his day intending to get into a fight with Jiang Cheng, but he was perfectly happy to end it that way if needs must.

And, apparently, needs must.

“You!” Jiang Cheng was saying, waving his finger around as though it was some sort of weapon. “What the fuck?”

The parking lot at an abandoned warehouse was not where he imagined something like this would have happened, but at least he wasn’t likely to deal with police interference. The artists and guests still milling around following Luo Qingyang’s performance… didn’t seem to be paying much mind to them beyond mild interest or feigned and fake disinterest. It wouldn’t result in anyone getting arrested at least.

It was, perhaps, a good thing that Wei Ying wasn’t here tonight.

Lan Zhan ignored the vitriol and walked toward his car. They’d only met a few times in the past and had never been terribly fond of one another for similar reasons maybe. Jiang Cheng didn’t like that Lan Zhan was an interloper, believed that he stole Wei Ying’s attention away, and Lan Zhan—irrationally, he knew—felt the same with the added belief that Jiang Cheng didn’t deserve the amount of regard Wei Ying showed him.

Nobody in his family did except Jiang Yanli and she was too far away so much of the time. As for the rest of them, Lan Zhan was of the opinion that they should have been here for him all this time, the way he was there for them. Perhaps if they had, he might not have felt the need to drop out of school and, if they had, he wouldn’t have had to believe Lan Zhan was the only person who cared about him.

As flattered as he was, as good as it was to know he was that important to Wei Ying, it wasn’t right.

“‘What the fuck’ what?” Lan Zhan asked, cool, as they approached his car, Jiang Cheng’s steps a storm behind him. If Jiang Cheng wanted to be discourteous and coarse, then Lan Zhan would happily meet him there. Turning, he crossed his arms.

“What the fuck are you and Wei Ying doing?” And now he was close enough that he could use that waving finger of his to actually prod Lan Zhan in the shoulder. “Someone in there asked me if I’ve been to Burial Mounds yet? What the fuck is Burial Mounds?”

“Perhaps if you spoke to Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, surprised to discover Jiang Cheng knew nothing at all about it. It was telling though. “You would have your answer.”

“I speak to Wei Ying,” Jiang Cheng insisted, fierce, features pulling in a scowl. If he got any more in Lan Zhan’s face, he was going to have to do something about it. The portable field lights that dotted the parking lot, too white and harsh in the dark, cast creepy shadows across Jiang Cheng’s face. “We talk all the time.”

“Wei Ying mentioned that he hadn’t heard from you in three weeks.”

Jiang Cheng’s face went through an agonizing number of expressions, all of which seemed to clamor for Lan Zhan’s death. That was fine. He wasn’t saying anything he wouldn’t stand behind to the fullest extent he was able to. “That was—he was the one who told me to—!” He cut himself off with a disgusted scoff. “What business is it of yours anyway? You’re just going to swan in and act like you’re the only person who gives a damn? What’s your angle?”

“There is no angle,” Lan Zhan replied. “I’m simply here and you are not.”

It was not the most gracious thing that Lan Zhan could have said and if he realized quite how hair-trigger Jiang Cheng was, he might have not purposefully provoked him. But that was neither here nor there. Because suddenly Jiang Cheng’s fist was connecting with his jaw, snapping his head to the side, and grazing his lip as a burst of pain bloomed across the side of his face.

One of his teeth cut the inside of his cheek, flooding his mouth with the rusty tang of blood. Heat pulsed in time with his heartbeat. As the pain subsided, it was replaced with a sudden, aching warmth.

Lan Zhan cast a glance at the bystanders, relaxing only when he noticed that they still didn’t seem terribly interested. He returned his attention to Jiang Cheng, who probably felt he’d earned it by this point.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jiang Cheng shouted. “What are you to him? Are you really—it’s fucking weird that he would come to you for help. And it’s even weirder that you would give it.”

Anger, bright and pure and, Lan Zhan was willing to bet, more terrifying than anything Jiang Cheng could throw at him, blazed within him. “That is not how it happened,” Lan Zhan answered, cold. “Wei Ying asked me for nothing except to talk him out of his plans. I’m not sure how you discovered that part, but—”

“Everyone fucking knows! That’s how I found out! Some asshole I don’t even recognize came up to tell me about how cool it was that he’s just—doing this and how jealous he is that a bona fide Lan showed an interest in bankrolling it. Like that’s a normal thing that a person does.”

“It is,” Lan Zhan said, “in some cases.” If Jiang Cheng wanted a list, he could offer the names of many other collectives and colonies, large and small. It was a lot of work and some weren’t suited to it, but it was as normal as anything else Wei Ying might have done, a little more ambitious than most would attempt, but well within the realm of the possible.

Jiang Cheng’s imagination was small and bitterly clouded. There was no point discussing this with him, but he would defend Wei Ying to the end. “I made the offer to act as guarantor on the loan.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Jiang Cheng spun away, drew his arm back again, hand forming a fist until he relaxed it again. “That’s even fucking worse!”

“Then take your anger out on me and leave Wei Ying out of it.”

“You’re going to trap him into something! That’s—he’s an idiot for letting you get entangled in this. What do you want out of him?”

Everything. “Nothing that he does not wish to give.” Lan Zhan turned away, opened the door to his car, made as though to sit and found his arm yanked back. “If you touch me again, I will alert the authorities.”

He wouldn’t, but Jiang Cheng didn’t need to know that.

As soon as he was safely within his vehicle, he let down his window and sneered a little. It was not his finest moment, but neither, he thought, was Jiang Cheng at his if the paleness in his features was any indication.

“My assistance to Wei Ying is given with no strings and matches the regard I have for him. It is… admirable perhaps that you are worried for him, but maybe you should ask yourself why he might accept help from me instead of you.”

“Wei Ying doesn’t accept help,” Jiang Cheng said. His voice was now back in a normal register, but it was so layered in frustration that Lan Zhan couldn’t help but sympathize to a small degree. He’d often felt that way when it came to Wei Ying. “That’s his whole thing.”

“Apparently it’s not. You ought to reflect on that.”

Jiang Cheng stomped away in a huff, throwing one last deprecating remark over his shoulder, and Lan Zhan could breathe again.

He was lucky.

He was so very lucky to have what he and Wei Ying shared.

2026

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying had told him on the last phone call they’d have to share before Wei Ying arrived at the train station. “Lan Zhan, will you bring our household registrations with you when you pick me up?”

It hadn’t been the most romantic of declarations, but Lan Zhan’s hands had shaken as he’d taken them from the fire-resistant box in which they and their other important documents were stored. His hands still shook when he opened his bag and touched the little red booklets while he waited in the lounge area. He rifled through the handful of other documents they might need.

He didn’t check the time or search the crowd or touch his phone as he waited, knowing Wei Ying wouldn’t be able to help himself from shouting his arrival, hoping to surprise Lan Zhan the way he always surprised Lan Zhan.

It was nearly impossible to restrain himself when his heart was fluttering in his chest and he had all of this energy building inside of him, enough of it that he occasionally had to press his hand to his knee to stop himself from jiggling it. Wei Ying was coming home for good and he’d asked Lan Zhan to bring their registrations. There was only one thing he could want to do.

A young woman sitting nearby smiled indulgently and asked, “Waiting for a loved one?” A small child gurgled and laughed in her arms as she bounced them on her lap.

“Something like that,” he answered, shy, ears heating.

“It’s sweet,” she said. “You seem sweet.” Her eyes briefly flicked over his shoulders and then—

“You’ve seen right through him.” Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Arriving from the opposite direction as the one he’d expected. Had he circled around? Probably he did, just because he wanted to do this to him. “He is the sweetest.” Wei Ying’s hand wrapped itself around Lan Zhan’s chest from behind, warm, a gentle, affectionate press. Then, grabbing him by the elbow, he hauled him upright and turned him. Lan Zhan’s knee caught on the armrest. Though a streak of pain radiated up down his shin, it was forgotten within a moment. With Wei Ying kneeling on the plastic chair that abutted Lan Zhan’s, Lan Zhan could forget everything else. “Civil Affairs Bureau,” he said, quietly, for Lan Zhan alone. “Now, please.”

What was there to say to that? Nothing except yes. Yes, in whatever way Wei Ying would have him, yes. In all ways, especially this way, the one that mattered the most to Lan Zhan.

Yes.

In the car, Lan Zhan asked, “Won’t we need to file the application first?”

Wei Ying, with a pleased, smug smile replied, “Lan Zhan, I did that a month ago.”

Oh. “What if the train was delayed?”

“Then I would have cried very prettily for a later appointment.”

Registering their partnership was easy, easier than Lan Zhan expected for how much fear choked him as they filed the paperwork, like somehow there would be something wrong and this would all crumble around them. Like Madam Yu or his uncle might pop up out of nowhere and make Wei Ying realize he was making a mistake or there might be a problem with the computers or an act of the heavens might stop them.

Wei Ying handled it all as Lan Zhan stood there, boggling.

The thought that they could try another day didn’t enter his mind. For months now, their lives together were plagued by interference. If they were delayed yet again, what might happen?

Lan Zhan couldn’t bear the thought of yet one more thing wedging itself between them before they had this, this one thing they’d been working toward for almost sixteen years now.

At the end of the day, it was little more than a document and a change in status with the government, less than an hour to go from one state to another, but it mattered. It mattered when, afterward, wide-eyed and stunned, Wei Ying said, as they were walking out the door into the bright, late morning sunlight, “Let’s—let me buy you lunch.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, phone raised to find an appropriate restaurant, when Wei Ying stopped in the middle of the sidewalk after making the suggestion. He’d been the one to carry himself with grace throughout the conversation with the registrar. And now he was looking a little pale, so very different from before, breathing a little shallowly. A tendril of fear tried to take root in Lan Zhan’s heart, but it couldn’t find any room there, not now.

“I just need a minute,” Wei Ying said, sounding a little lost. His cheeks flushed rather suddenly. Then his gaze focused on Lan Zhan, taking his breath away with how much love he saw there. Wei Ying inhaled, too, and then smiled so widely, so indulgently that Lan Zhan realized what was happening just in time. “Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying’s eyes crinkled. He smiled that singular smile of his.

And Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan’s phone was in his hand, still lit with nearby restaurant options and—

And he managed to open the camera app quickly, snapping a shot that would never, ever be considered one of his best: composition sloppy, lens improperly set, a little grainy from where Lan Zhan accidentally zoomed in a bit in his haste. The only good thing about it was the quality of the light and Wei Ying.

In front of him, Wei Ying’s smile faltered and fell, replaced with confusion, amused and bubbling, not hurt confusion, but it was no longer the smile that Lan Zhan had finally gotten to capture on camera. “Lan Zhan?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to sound together and polished and not at all like his heart was going to crack a hole in his chest. “It’s nothing. I just—”

“You just?”

“I like your smile.” After everything, this is what made him feel shy, this admission.

Wei Ying launched himself at Lan Zhan, grabbing Lan Zhan by the shoulders and rounding behind him to pull himself onto Lan Zhan’s back, arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. “I like you,” he said, pressing a kiss to the spot just behind Lan Zhan’s ear. “Give me your phone.”

After handing it over, Lan Zhan hiked Wei Ying a little higher up and hooked his arms under Wei Ying’s thighs, securing him as Wei Ying fiddled, one-handed, with the camera app.

“If you get my smile, I get yours, Lan Zhan,” he said, angling the phone until they were both in frame.

Lan Zhan thought the first smile Wei Ying gave was better, but he liked this one, too, and didn’t mind that his own paled in comparison no matter how much Wei Ying fawned over it, cooing about how handsome Lan Zhan was, how stunning even his teeth were, oh, to be a camera that could capture such things.

“Your uncle is going to flip,” Wei Ying said, careful, as Lan Zhan walked them to the car.

“He might.” Lan Zhan rather hoped not.

“Madam Yu will lose her shit.”

“Yes.” There was nothing Lan Zhan could do to change that.

“Lan Zhan, you really don’t care, do you?” He said this like it was something wonderful, a surprise, instead of the deepest truth in his heart, like he was finally realizing exactly what it meant.

Not ever. “Do you?”

He expected Wei Ying to say yes, but… Yes, but I don’t care anymore. Yes, but it’s okay. Yes, but, but, but… Instead: “Not really,” he said, easy, like it was true. “I care about making us happy. I’m tired of worrying so much about everyone else being happy with me instead. As long as I’m making you happy, that’s what I care about.” Before Lan Zhan could speak, a little disappointed in Wei Ying’s answer, Wei Ying drew in a breath. “And I want to make myself happy. You make me happy. Knowing you are with me makes me happy. I would like it if they didn’t disapprove of me, but… even if it’s hard, I don’t think I need their acceptance to be happy.” He kissed Lan Zhan again, this time on the tip of his ear, where he’d surely be able to feel the heat emanating. “I just need your approval.”

“You’ve always had it.”

“I know.” He slid down Lan Zhan’s back and stepped around him toward the passenger’s side door. “Come on, I’m starving. The food on the train this morning sucked.”

It was quite possibly the slowest lunch of Lan Zhan’s life, when all he wanted to do was bring Wei Ying home again. Lan Zhan could have made lunch for him.

It was also the very best for the very same reason, anticipation creeping up his spine in slow, maddening increments throughout their meal. Every brush of their fingers as they reached for the same dish, every look across the table, every laugh Wei Ying shared only solidified the truth between them.

Nobody could take from them this thing that they’d taken for themselves. Madam Yu could yell. His uncle could cast a cold chill across the entire city. None of it could undo what they’ve done together.

“Where are my babies?” Wei Ying asked as soon as they stepped through the door, making a beeline toward Turpentine and Cannon Ball’s hutch, crouching down in front of it with shoulders hunched forward, spine curved. He would not find them there, but Lan Zhan hoped he could make it up to him in other ways.

“I’ll be picking them up from my brother’s this evening,” Lan Zhan answered when Wei Ying turned around, a little betrayed around the eyes. “From what I hear, Meng Yao and Nie Huaisang fought over who got to spoil them more while I was with you in Yicheng. They’ve been wanting a rematch. I thought…”

Wei Ying crossed his legs and pouted, elbows on his knees. “You thought?”

“I thought a few hours to ourselves might be nice.” Without risk of one or the other of them getting into mischief. Unsurprisingly, Cannon Ball was typically the instigating miscreant. Lan Zhan loved her dearly, as Turpentine did, but she could be a handful when she wanted to be; he still didn’t like closing doors on her for fear that she’d get into trouble while he wasn’t looking.

He very much intended to spend the next few hours not looking for a rabbit if he could help it.

“So you basically hired a babysitter,” Wei Ying replied, bland for effect. It was impossible to miss the scalding delight in his eyes, “For the rabbits?”

“When you put it like that,” Lan Zhan answered, feigning annoyance as he walked over and offered his hand, “it makes us sound so weird and boring.”

“Oh, I’m rather sure that’s the opposite of what I intended, my very sincere apologies to you, good sir,” Wei Ying said, taking Lan Zhan’s hand and pulling himself upright. “What’s the plan here?”

Lan Zhan’s fingers slid through the wind-swept tangles of Wei Ying’s hair, mussed still from the ride on the train despite the way Wei Ying had, again and again, pulled his hair back. Removing the hairband, he shoved it into his pocket and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. “Shower,” he said, “and then I’d very much like to make you cry.”

“Ah, so forward!” Wei Ying laughed and allowed himself to be pulled toward the bedroom. “Just how do you intend to do that?”

Images, ideas swirled within his mind, each a bit more graphic than the last. “I’ll show you.”

“And if I want to make you cry?”

Lan Zhan was already feeling a little… wobbly, stunned, overwhelmed, loved and known by Wei Ying in turn to be loving. It probably wouldn’t take much honestly. A kind word might be enough. He didn’t have to say it outright though. Wei Ying probably already knew anyway. “Then you’ll show me.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, dreamy, as Lan Zhan dropped him onto the bed, warm and pliant from the shower, warmer still from where he’d insisted on drying Wei Ying’s hair for him while he’d sat on the edge of the sink, fingers working through the strands as he used the blow dryer on him, eyes closed as he tipped his head according to Lan Zhan’s wishes. There was no real reason for Lan Zhan to have done so beyond wanting to prolong this contact and because he enjoyed playing with Wei Ying’s hair and they were married now, so why not? Why not be as indulgent as they could? Every little thing felt possible now.

Wei Ying liked it, too. If Lan Zhan looked down, he could see the evidence of it if he wished.

But if he looked down too quickly, it might be over too soon.

Maybe that was okay.

“I missed my hooks,” Wei Ying continued, stretching toward the corners of the bed. Every centimeter of his skin was on display as he flexed his body. He’d spent more time outdoors in Yicheng, soaking up the sun in that backyard he so liked, and it showed in the planes of his muscles and on his face.

He hadn’t noticed until now. Video calls could only do so much. And Wei Ying had only been gone a month or so when Lan Zhan visited.

As much as he’d missed Wei Ying’s presence here, too, that wasn’t what he wanted today, not unless Wei Ying truly demanded it of him. “I want you to touch me.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying’s eyes glittered. Incandescent joy shone from behind them. “Oh, Lan Zhan. I want that, too.”

He perhaps could have said something sappy, too, like let me make love to you or I love you so much I don’t always know what to do with it. He could have done a million things, but the only thing he really wanted was to be pressed into the bed by Wei Ying, kissed senseless by him, until it was Lan Zhan who felt all those sappy things being thought about him instead.

Wei Ying’s weight settled across his lap and Wei Ying swallowed every gasp he let out, tasted every bit of Lan Zhan he could reach, fresh clean skin marked and marked again until Lan Zhan was panting and cursing, uncharacteristically loud and unrepentant for it.

“Lan Zhan, I thought you were going to make me cry,” Wei Ying said, clutching hard at Lan Zhan’s side to keep him from moving. His lips were shiny with saliva, mouth red from sucking a bruise into Lan Zhan’s hip. Though Lan Zhan was hard, Wei Ying had been ignoring it.

“There’s still time,” Lan Zhan replied, courteously ignoring the way Wei Ying’s voice was only a shade less shaky than Lan Zhan’s own. The expression on Wei Ying’s face surely matched his, too, until it faded, replacing itself with dismay.

“Oh, shit.” Wei Ying shot upright, threw himself toward the edge of the bed. “Shit, Lan Zhan. I forgot—”

Lan Zhan grappled for his arm and tried to pull him back so he could finish what he started. Whatever it was, it could—

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying scrambled off anyway and all but launching himself across the room to where his bags were not-so-carefully stowed by the closet door. Later, they’d put his things away, but this had seemed more important at the time.

Apparently not.

As though cold water had been doused on him, Lan Zhan shifted until he was sitting on the end of the bed, watching curiously, a little irritated and too aroused by half. His body ached from every debauching bite, every mark Wei Ying put on him. The sudden turn toward this left his head spinning.

“I know it’s… kind of dumb maybe,” Wei Ying was saying, voice slightly muffled by the sound of him rifling through his things. “But it’s an elegant enough signifier, isn’t it?”

Sometimes, it was a little odd trying to follow the shape of Wei Ying’s thoughts as he put them into words, but Lan Zhan trusted he’d figure it out if he had enough patience. Or Wei Ying would get around to showing him. And then maybe they could get back to what they were doing.

“You don’t have to wear it, of course,” Wei Ying continued, rambling. “I won’t be mad or sad if you don’t want to. I don’t think you won’t want to, but…”

He returned with a smallish box in his hand, velvet with a silver clasp to keep it shut. It was far too large to be a ring. At least Wei Ying knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t reject him over it. Whatever it was, Lan Zhan would happily wear it.

“Xiao Xingchen specializes in metalwork, did you know?” Wei Ying asked. Lan Zhan knew vaguely. “I commissioned, well…” He shoved the box into Lan Zhan’s hand. “You’ll see!”

Throat dry, Lan Zhan took hold of the box with trembling fingers. It was weightier than Lan Zhan expected and when he opened it, he couldn’t stop his heart from squeezing desperately in his chest.

It was a band approximately the width of his finger, silver, shining, and curved, just large enough that it would fit around his wrist. On it was delicately etched the same motif as…

Lan Zhan looked up at the wall. Looked down again. Recognized the shape of a crane’s beak toward one side, the wing on the other, like many of them were flying across the bracelet all at once.

“May I?” Wei Ying asked, tone a little thick to match the lump rising in Lan Zhan’s throat, hand held out to take the band from between Lan Zhan’s hands.

Lan Zhan held out his left hand, feeling every sort of ridiculous, and nodded. It fit perfectly, of course, was both snug and comfortable despite the coolness that he was sure would shortly warm against his skin.

Wei Ying had drawn these cranes, he was certain, and they were beautiful.

“I knew this would look so lovely on my husband’s wrist.”

Husbands. Husbands. They were married.

When he blinked, one tear managed to escape, brushed quickly from his cheek by Wei Ying’s waiting thumb. More followed. These ones, Wei Ying kissed away. “Ah, Lan Zhan, this isn’t how I wanted to get those tears. Come on. It’s not that much.”

“Shut up,” Lan Zhan said. It was that much. They were here now. Of course it was that much. It was everything. “You’re not faring much better.”

“Yeah, well, because we both suck, I guess.” He laughed wetly and swiped at his own cheeks. Then he took hold of Lan Zhan’s wrist again, thumb smoothing back and forth over the band and Lan Zhan’s skin. “Ugh. Mood ruined, sorry. You can’t get rid of me now though.”

What Lan Zhan heard instead was: I’m not going to run away from you.

Tugging Wei Ying onto his lap, he tasted the salt on Wei Ying’s lips, reveled in the heat of their thighs pressing together, relaxed entirely into Wei Ying’s embrace as his arms curved around the back of Lan Zhan’s neck.

This was the promise they’d made to one another. To get it right, they could try again as many times as they needed to.

Frankly, Lan Zhan didn’t think that was necessary.

This felt pretty right just as it was.

2020

Lan Zhan didn’t often feel like Wei Ying was being weird, but—

“Why are you looking at me?” Lan Zhan asked, minding his own business as they sat on the couch together. He’d felt Wei Ying’s stare, his awareness tingling, for going on twenty minutes now as he tried to reply to the work emails he couldn’t foist off on Jingyi while passing his foot back and forth over Turpentine’s favorite chewed up cardboard roll. She pawed and pounced after it again and again.

“I can’t look at you?” Wei Ying asked, drumming his fingers on his shins, chin tucked over his knee as he took up a small portion of the other corner of the couch.

“You can,” Lan Zhan said, refusing to admit he felt a little flustered at the intensity of it. “But you normally don’t.”

Wei Ying snorted at that. “No wonder it took us so long. With observational skills like yours, it’s a wonder we got here at all.”

“Mmhmm,” Lan Zhan answered, unimpressed. He supposed he could explain what he meant: that Wei Ying was looking at him differently today and he was curious. And nervous.

But he kind of liked the excitement of not knowing for sure what Wei Ying had planned, too.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan is too clever for me. He notices far too much now.” Sighing, Wei Ying stretched one leg out and pressed his socked foot against Lan Zhan’s side. Lan Zhan grabbed hold of it and squeezed gently, waiting patiently for Wei Ying to get where he was going. It was a very simple question that followed and one that had a very simple answer.

“Hey, so can I try drawing you? For real this time?”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan answered easily.

He couldn’t have anticipated an entire gallery show springing to life from such a small concession.

He couldn’t have anticipated the other thing that wound up happening either.

He couldn’t regret it though.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Wei Ying asked, whispering low directly into Lan Zhan’s ear as they stood in the middle of the opening of Wei Ying’s show, a show that Wei Ying found so disastrously saccharine that he’d spent all night complaining about it so far. Lan Zhan found the whining incomprehensibly charming. Though he could see where Wei Ying would think his work seemed so, it was nowhere in evidence for any of the other viewers. Not that Wei Ying was noticing any of it, too lost in his own thoughts.

Even Lan Zhan could only see the graceful lines of a person at peace and happy in the work Wei Ying exhibited tonight. That calm confidence infused the audience here to celebrate the opening as well. He’d heard multiple variations of “this work is so mature,” and “I didn’t know Wei Ying was capable of expressing such a settled spirit as this. Look at how graceful it all is,” as he’d wandered around Hanshi’s main floor while Wei Ying was busy conversing with others. Given how delicately warm the subject matter was and how often people equated violent or negative imagery with mature or worthwhile works, it was quite a stunning reception.

Obviously, Wei Ying couldn’t see it that way, but he’d committed anyway and he’d done it and the proof was here.

One day, he hoped Wei Ying would understand.

In the meantime, Lan Zhan would be pleased; Wei Ying’s art showed exactly what they were to one another and Lan Zhan—Lan Zhan was enamored, couldn’t entirely take his eyes off of the portrait of himself created in ink, perfect in every particular.

If he ever needed proof of Wei Ying’s feelings for him, it was in that portrait.

“Lan Zhan, listen to me,” Wei Ying whispered. His body heat radiated down Lan Zhan’s side where he was tucked against him. “If you really like being my subject, what if… what if we did a few figure studies?”

“I will let my brother know,” Lan Zhan replied, ears warming at the implication. Wei Ying had suffered enough tonight.

“Naked figure studies,” Wei Ying added helpfully as though it wasn’t already clear from context.

“I will let my brother know.”

It was probably the biggest cliché in the book, doing something like this, the kind of thing slick artists pulled on the people who admired their work or the sort of thing slick people who admired an artist’s work pulled on unsuspecting artists. It depended on the artist certainly and their audience.

But by the time they were home and Lan Zhan was situated, he was thinking that someone had the right idea as he watched Wei Ying watching him as he sat on the little stool he’d dragged into the bedroom.

“This is amazing, Lan Zhan, you have no idea,” Wei Ying was saying as Lan Zhan adjusted himself on the bed, sure that his body was already flushed all over. “Do you know how embarrassing this shit is when you’re in class? It’s awful!” He laughed. “Well, it was probably awful for a lot of the people I was in class with. Your Wei Ying was impervious beyond feeling a little bit like, ‘Wow, that’s a lot of naked flesh on display,’ you know?”

Lan Zhan, who only knew secondhand, said, “Yes.”

He sketched for a few minutes and hummed in apparent satisfaction. “But with you? It’s like, ‘Wow, that’s a lot of naked flesh on display!’ And it’s actually distractingly hot.” Wei Ying looked up at him over the top of his sketchbook, lashes lowered, coy. “What if you touched yourself a little bit?”

Lan Zhan’s stomach swooped and flipped. His dick, already far too interested in the proceedings, hardened further, a heavy weight against his thigh. “What?”

HIs throat was very dry all of a sudden.

“I need to practice hands, yeah? Always so fiddly. Touch yourself, Lan Zhan. For me.”

After hesitating for far longer than was truly necessary, Lan Zhan wrapped his hand around himself, too loose to—yeah, apparently not too loose, even just the slightest brush of his palm sent an inconvenient thrill of pleasure through him.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. You can do better than this. I know how firm your grip can be.”

Narrowing his eyes did little good except to earn him a beatific smile out of Wei Ying. Which was just. Unfair. His hold tightened almost of its own accord. Pleasure lanced through him in response despite the careful touch of his fingers.

“Are you going to draw?” Lan Zhan asked, faking wryness to gain control of the situation, when Wei Ying only stared at him, slack-jawed and beautiful. Maybe Wei Ying was on to something here.

“Actually, I’m disrespecting you in my mind.” Wei Ying adjusted his hold on his sketchbook which was, Lan Zhan noted, resting on his lap. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. You’re just eye candy to me.”

A smile—and Lan Zhan wouldn’t have called it smug, not in the slightest—tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He spread his legs a little. Just to keep the spirit of the thing.

Wei Ying’s pencil clattered to the floor. Cursing, he scrambled to pick it back up. “Just for that, I am going to draw you again. I thought I had enough, but no. I need to convey my admiration of your form via very horny pencil sketch. Wanna arch your back a little for me?”

Lan Zhan did so, but Wei Ying hopped down from the stool to approach the bed anyway. His hand was scalding on Lan Zhan’s shoulder as he shifted it a bit and then as he tilted Lan Zhan’s chin up. From this angle, their faces almost touched and Wei Ying smiled as he pecked Lan Zhan’s mouth lightly before moving on.

He touched Lan Zhan’s knee, slid his palm up Lan Zhan’s thigh, pressing, pressing until Lan Zhan’s pose was more to his liking.

His hand, for one brief, glorious moment, covered Lan Zhan’s around his cock. Interlacing their fingers, he stroked Lan Zhan once, his hips bucking up, undoing all of Wei Ying’s hard work. Fluid began to gather at the tip. Wei Ying didn’t scold him, though Lan Zhan wouldn’t have minded if he did. Wei Ying merely began putting him back in order.

His heart raced as he tried to count Wei Ying’s eyelashes, a new, better way to distract himself.

“Let’s get you back to rights,” he said, adjusting the pose a second time, politely ignoring each one of the shuddering breaths Lan Zhan could no longer hold back. Wei Ying smiled again. “You’re so good to me, Lan Zhan.”

Returning to the stool, Wei Ying did at least look at him a little more seriously and somehow that was hot, too, that look of concentration, all on Lan Zhan and the sketchbook, but mostly on Lan Zhan.

“Open your mouth a little?”

Lan Zhan swallowed around a bit of saliva that had gathered on his tongue and promptly choked.

“Pretty please?”

“Wei Ying!”

“Give me your o-face, Lan Zhan,” he whined, petulant and utterly lacking in the concept of shame. “I want to memorialize it.”

This should have absolutely been the least sexy thing that had ever happened in Lan Zhan’s life and yet. “I don’t have an o-face.”

Wei Ying actually guffawed in response to that, full on disbelieving laughter that almost toppled him from his stool. “Oh, Lan Zhan, you’re too precious. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed.

He very stubbornly opened his mouth. Just a little. Like Wei Ying asked. Not because he had an o-face, but simply because he wanted Wei Ying to have this.

Wei Ying fumbled his pencil again out. This time, he managed to keep hold of it, though he swore vehemently about it. Conspicuously aware of the definitely not-an-o-face he was producing, he refrained from smiling.

“You’re so hot,” Wei Ying muttered in a breathy little singsong. “How did I even bag you? It’s criminal. I’m a criminal.” He kept this up as he sketched. The whole while, Lan Zhan’s focus lingered on his own hand, especially once Wei Ying settled down and got to staring at it, studying it. And then his pencil moved and somehow this was the thing that got to him when none of the other poses did, not even the one where he was kneeling on the bed and feeling ridiculous about it. At least then he wasn’t hard, but it had felt like the most… vulnerable.

Until now.

But vulnerable wasn’t necessarily bad, especially not with Wei Ying, not when he hadn’t been so aware of his body before. Every centimeter of it clamored for attention and Wei Ying gave it with every sweeping glance he offered.

If he wanted to, he could have jerked off with the precome leaking down over his fingers, not a whole lot admittedly, but adequate. What would Wei Ying do if he did? Lan Zhan bit back another smile, elated by Wei Ying and every thought Wei Ying inspired within him.

But Wei Ying was looking at him, so of course he saw Lan Zhan’s change in expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” Lan Zhan said, sure he was going to lose it if Wei Ying didn’t finish this ridiculous ‘masterpiece’ of his. His words, muttered under his breath yet again. Lan Zhan loved this man so much he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with it. “Wei Ying.” He had patience. He could wait. “Wei Ying, come over here and ride me already.” So maybe he couldn’t wait. “Or I’ll get started without you.”

The pencil snapped.

Wei Ying tossed the sketchbook aside, heedless of the pages bending under their own weight on the floor beside the bed. Even Lan Zhan didn’t see any reason to tell him he might want to pick it up.

There were more important things happening in his lap right at the moment.

2019

Bodies crowded the bar around Lan Zhan, too many people in too loud a space to be anything other than uncomfortable and unpleasant. He checked his watch and sighed. It had only been ten minutes since the last time he checked. It felt like an entire glacial age had passed.

He hadn’t wanted to be here to begin with, but there were duties to Hanshi that needed to be discharged and sometimes rubbing elbows with artists in other cities was one of them. This duty fell to him despite his general disinterest because, for a very long time, having an excuse to head out of town was a useful one.

Sometimes, all it meant was a few hours spent at a gallery. Sometimes, it meant that plus an after party, a lot of opportunities to find a date for the night, and too much pent-up energy crackling down Lan Zhan’s spine. This was one of the latter nights, but even though he needed to do something—or, as was often the case, someone—there was nothing to be done. It wasn’t even a Wednesday and he needed to be heading home sometime tonight anyway.

He felt like any touch might pull him apart at the seams and leave him a wreck on the floor. Jerking off hadn’t worked, not even when he’d allowed himself to think about Wei Ying as he’d rubbed an unsatisfactory orgasm out in his shower just before driving to the train station back home. Already tension was building again and his thoughts never strayed far from Wei Ying, who was a better artist than anyone here and far, far more beloved.

Approaching the bar itself, he squeezed into the corner. For this trouble, he was forced to overhear discussions so serious sounding that the participants could have been discussing how to solve world hunger when instead they were debating the merits of Dogme 95 versus D-generation filmmaking.

For a moment, he considered ordering a drink, but when he flagged down the bartender, he kept to mineral water and ice. A lot of ice. It was stuffy in here. And not just because of the men taking up oxygen next to him, their self-important and wrong opinions about cinema crowding out Lan Zhan’s thoughts with how overzealous they were.

Retreating with the glass, cool enough in his hand to distract him from the hum of discomfort within him, he found his place against the wall was still empty.

Though a few people glanced his way, perhaps in interest, perhaps simply because they recognized him, nobody approached him. Despite an undesired thrum of disappointment, that was the way he wanted it. Then he could leave and tell his brother that he had made an attempt and—

“Excuse me.” The young man speaking to him slipped past the pair of film connoisseurs. His smile was incandescently beautiful and Lan Zhan’s heart tripped in his chest because if not for the voice, Lan Zhan might have mistaken him for Wei Ying from out of the corner of his eye. Foolish, of course. This man was taller than Wei Ying, his features carved by a more severe sculptor and so far too composed for Lan Zhan’s liking. There was a settled, unearned confidence in him that Wei Ying could never display because Wei Ying earned everything in his life.

He was Wei Ying’s inferior in every particular and yet Lan Zhan’s body responded to him in a way it rarely responded to anyone these days.

For weeks now, months maybe, he’d been on edge and it was coming back to punish him now. Every other day found him with too much work and too little time. Whenever Wednesday rolled around, he was either too tired or still too busy to justify taking time out to deal with the particulars. Finding a partner, making small talk over dinner, considering breakfast options in the morning. It was exhausting. He was exhausted, sick at the thought of picking someone up and then letting him go again, sick of being at the mercy of his own nature and desires when his nature and desire had ultimately picked one and one person as an acceptable option.

“Lan Zhan, right?” the man said. Despite smiling politely and earnestly, Lan Zhan almost mistook it for the professional avarice he was used to getting at these events. Oh, Lan Zhan, with his connections back in Suzhou and elsewhere, you could do worse than grab his attention. People asking him if he was who he was, it was a frequent opening gambit.

“Mn.”

“Hey, so listen,” his interloper said, doing himself no favors because Lan Zhan didn’t want to listen. The person he actually wanted to listen to was back home. “This bar is garbage when it comes to wine. You probably already knew that from looking at the menu and deciding against it.” He gestured first at Lan Zhan’s drink and then at the rest of the room, where most people were holding glasses of wine. “The beer’s okay, but I can vouch for the cider.” He raised his glass in demonstration. It was a warm, deep amber color and bubbles rose toward the surface in thin, trickling little lines. “It’s probably better than the mineral water you settled on. Can I get you one?”

Lan Zhan blinked. That was a little different than usual, even he had to admit it. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but…

“You mistake me,” Lan Zhan replied. “I don’t drink.”

That wasn’t entirely the truth, but it was the best way to make people go away at places like this. One of two things would happen now: the individual in question would awkwardly wind down the conversation and disappear or they’d pester Lan Zhan until he gave them a firmer, more unpleasant response. This happened regardless of whether the other person in question merely wanted his professional assistance or more intimate attentions.

No doubt this was one of the former. He’d gotten pretty good at identifying these moments and possibilities. It had been many years since someone had approached Lan Zhan first for a hookup. He was too intimidating, he’d been told, or came across as a cold fish. As nice as it might have been to feel desired, to know he wasn’t potentially scaring a person off just by existing, he didn’t ever rest his hopes on it.

The man laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Wow, you really are impressive, I’ll give you that. What’s your secret? You can’t tell me bozos one and two over there insisting they’d be the next Ying Liang if only they, too, borrowed a camera don’t get on your nerves.”

Ah, he must’ve been standing on the other side of that conversation. “You have my condolences.”

To his utter surprise, the man laughed and that—that laugh was almost indistinguishable from Wei Ying’s. People who were not Wei Ying didn’t laugh at anything he said and they didn’t look anywhere near as beautiful when they laughed as Wei Ying did.

This was uncomfortable. Not that he was as beautiful as Wei Ying—who in this world could be—but he was as close as Lan Zhan had ever seen. He even wore his hair in a similar fashion, pulled back haphazardly in a way that was both neat and chaotic. The eyes at least were all wrong. That was possibly the only thing that saved him. Draining the last of the water, he prayed a little bit for a hole to open up beneath him.

He needed to be saved from himself.

“If you won’t take a drink, at least let me get you some more water, huh?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lan Zhan replied, a shade cooler than entirely warranted, but the man seemed undeterred. Not unlike Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s traitorous mind unhelpfully supplied, who also didn’t mind the more abrasive edges of Lan Zhan’s personality.

The man just nodded like this was acceptable to him. And then he said, “I’m just going to be entirely honest with you if that’s all right?”

It was not all right, but that wouldn’t stop him. “Can I get your name first?”

The man laughed again. “Li Wenfang. Nice to meet you.”

Lan Zhan said nothing. It seemed best.

“Anyway,” Li Wenfang said. “You are far and away the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve seen some of the work Hanshi hosts when I come through and visit friends and your taste is clearly very good. You’re funny. I’d like to take you out to dinner.” He checked his phone. “It’s not very late yet.”

Lan Zhan couldn’t even begin to imagine what his face must have looked like because Li Wenfang’s mouth pulled in a wry little smile. “Maybe not then,” Li Wenfang said. “No hard feelings, huh? I’ll still get you that water and happily be on my way. Or I’ll stop trying to get in your pants and you can tell me about some of the artists you rep. You’ve got a cool thing going out that way, I wish I had more excuses to visit.”

“I…” In the back of his mind, warning bells rang out and yet he didn’t heed a single one of them. He did not want to talk about his artists with this man. On the other hand, he possibly wouldn’t mind having him in his pants. “Unfortunately I can’t do dinner tonight.” Thank goodness he hadn’t decided to stay overnight. “But if you want an excuse to stop through again, I’m free on Wednesday evenings. Generally speaking.”

This was not the smartest idea Lan Zhan had ever had, but that wasn’t going to stop him now that the words were out. He’d just… make sure it was worth it in the end. That was perhaps all he could do under the circumstances because the brightness of that smile was enchanting; Lan Zhan was weak and Li Wenfang approached him first and laughed at what he had to say.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Lan Zhan did hazard, because he wasn’t a complete fool. This part, at least, was easy.

“Fine by me,” Li Wenfang answered, easy as anything, palms raised in surrender to the inevitable, like he wasn’t at all surprised.

“I will quite probably invite you home for the night,” he continued, showing not a hint of the shame that curled in his gut for speaking so brazenly where others could see. This conversation was usually conducted more privately and didn’t typically take place days in advance.

Li Wenfang’s eyes darkened and his gaze flicked up and down, cooling and heating something within Lan Zhan all at once. Knowing he had a release, even if it was days away yet, eased some of the tension he was carrying. “I’ll make sure I have a bag packed.” He winked and leaned in close. “Just in case.”

Equally quiet, Lan Zhan said, “I don’t bottom.”

Li Wenfang’s eyes twinkled. “It just so happens I’m quite flexible on that particular front.”

Lan Zhan breathed out and nodded. Offering his contact information, he finished, “I will not trouble you with messages unless it pertains to our… date.” Though it sounded so callous to speak this way, it was best to ensure everyone was on the same page.

Li Wenfang nodded back at him. “I’ll be happy to show you the same courtesy.”

Relief coursed through him. That was… easier than expected.

But now he wanted to be alone. There was little point in sticking around any longer. The chances of anything else of value occurring were slim and his brother wouldn’t fault him for taking one break, especially when he hadn’t seen anything worth pursuing professionally anyway.

He returned his glass to the bar, Li Wenfang watching him the whole while. As soon as they passed one another again, Lan Zhan did stop long enough to say, “Thank you. I’m looking forward to Wednesday.”

It was nice to have been approached for once and Li Wenfang probably deserved to hear that it was appreciated, too.

“Seriously, how are you real?” Li Wenfang asked as soon as the door to Lan Zhan’s condo closed. He was already pulling at Lan Zhan’s clothes, yanking his own scarf from around his neck when he realized he needed to take care of his own clothing first. In different circumstances, Lan Zhan might have complained, would likely have called a halt entirely, but he’d been hard since halfway through their meal, frustrated by everything that had led up to Lan Zhan even saying yes and everything that had happened since, everything being Wei Ying. Of course. Because everything was about Wei Ying.

Monday, Tuesday, even today, it felt like Wei Ying was everywhere and acting as obnoxiously lovable as he always was. He got needy when he was nearing the end of a deadline and that mostly meant that Lan Zhan was forced—forced, as though he wasn’t perfectly happy, what a fucking liar he was—to coddle him every time he stepped through the door to find Wei Ying on his balcony or hanging out with Turpentine or eating his food and complaining about how he never had any spice around even though all he would have had to do was open a fucking cupboard to see at least three different jars of chili oil because he’d not yet figured out which Wei Ying preferred and didn’t dare ask.

If Lan Zhan wasn’t half out of his mind with need, he might have answered Li Wenfang’s inane question. When two people love one another very much, he could have lied, because his mother and father weren’t in love or not any kind of love Lan Zhan recognized and because it seemed like the kind of dumb joke Li Wenfang would enjoyed. Instead, he pulled at Li Wenfang’s shirt, nearly ripping a button off as he grabbed it in his fists.

“Fuck,” Li Wenfang said. “Fuck, you’re—”

“Shut up,” he said, because he wanted to forget about the fact that it was Li Wenfang who was here and not the person he really wanted. It must have been the right thing to say, because he whimpered and when Lan Zhan shoved him back against the door and forced him to ride Lan Zhan’s thigh, he was hard and hot even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Holy shit,” Li Wenfang said, with something approaching reverence in his voice.

It was patently obvious that Li Wenfang was perfectly happy with hard and fast and Lan Zhan wanted to give that to him. It wouldn’t be difficult, but then he’d have to deal with the fact that he was stuck with Li Wenfang for the rest of the night and he wasn’t sure—

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he worked this feeling out of his system too quickly and had to face what he was doing without the haze of need surrounding him.

Stepping back, he pressed his hand to Li Wenfang’s chest, lowered his gaze to keep from having to look him in the eye, and then yanked him toward the bedroom by the thin tank top he’d worn beneath his shirt, finger hooked in the collar.

Once there, he was able to slow down a little, put the desire to wreck this man aside in favor of longer-term gains. It wasn’t, after all, Li Wenfang’s fault that he looked a lot like Wei Ying and that Lan Zhan was feeling his ultimate wish a little more deeply today than usual. If he dragged this out, it would be for the best. He’d exhaust Li Wenfang and himself and then he’d be fine for as long as it took to need to work this out of his system again.

Whether that was next week or a few weeks or maybe a blessed month from now remained to be seen.

He always lived in hope that one day, he’d be free of it entirely.

“On the bed,” he requested, pointing as he rifled around in his bed stand. Lube, condoms, tissues. “Disrobe first.”

Li Wenfang grinned, sly. “What about you?”

Placing the items on top of the bed stand, he straightened up and pulled his sweater over his head. Then he removed his pants. He draped both over a hanger and abandoned it in the closet, glanced down at the chest tucked neatly against the wall. Sometimes he needed the distance of what was in there or needed something extra to make it worthwhile for himself. Sometimes he wanted to share something of himself, a genuine piece, with another person if he particularly liked them.

Unfortunately, he liked Li Wenfang too much for reasons that weren’t flattering to him specifically and he was too keyed up for distance and didn’t particularly require anything extra if his own reactions were anything to go by.

He therefore discarded any thoughts of tying Li Wenfang up or using any toys on him. There really was no good point in doing so.

He returned and nudged Li Wenfang’s knees apart with his own. Without fanfare, he’d done as Lan Zhan asked, abandoning his clothes in a pile by the foot of the bed.

When they were done—Lan Zhan: sated, if not fulfilled, loose, if not relaxed, Li Wenfang: all of those things as he sprawled across the bed—Lan Zhan encouraged Li Wenfang to use the shower, listening to him laughing about how his bones were made of gelatin as he pushed himself upright. “How am I supposed to move,” he said, and, “Who the fuck are you, Lan Zhan? Are you even human down there?”

“Very much so,” Lan Zhan answered, pulling on his underwear from earlier until he had a chance to properly clean up, though he could see why anyone would make that mistake. Sometimes, this didn’t feel humane, not even to himself. Wrapping the condom in several tissues, he took it out to the trashcan in the kitchen while Li Wenfang showered. In the quiet, Turpentine rustled of the bedding in her hutch.

He replaced the sheets mechanically, relying solely on muscle memory to do so because his brain was more occupied with dissatisfaction than pleasure.

He stared at the very blank walls of his room, lifeless, empty, and realized that he couldn’t do this again, not like this. He’d known Wei Ying for almost ten years now. He’d done this for nearly as long. Enough was enough.

This wall damned him, gloated at him, showed him what he was.

Between one beat of his heart and the next, he knew himself to be done. He’d fill his Wednesday nights with something else. It couldn’t be this.

These thing he did, they often felt good, often got him through. Most of the time, it really was stress relief, no other motives, desires, fears, hurts attached. It was fun a lot of the time, not terribly memorable, but good, nice to form connections that could be severed with no pain on either side. He probably had more than his fair share of embarrassing first-time stories. But.

He didn’t want this to be all he was.

Li Wenfang stepped into the doorway, leaned against the frame. All that clean, glistening skin on display stirred Lan Zhan’s interest again. That desire went ignored and dissipated itself easily enough, nothing at all in it to be feared now. “I probably sounded like an asshole before,” he said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t mean it like… you’re an interesting guy, right? You’ve got a fantastic fucking eye for art and a mean sense of humor under all that propriety. But, uh, you’re more than just your dick.” He smiled a little and elbowed Lan Zhan in the side. “I mean, it’s an incredible dick, but that was still kind of crass even for me.”

“It’s fine,” Lan Zhan said, though he wasn’t sure it was. “I know what you meant.”

“Uh huh. Well. All I’m trying to say is… thanks. For being, ah, more than your dick.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth twitched. What would it be like to be so comfortable in his skin? To go through life unceasingly enjoying everything? He was lucky. He seemed like the type who’d get to go home and happily go about his business, turning Lan Zhan into a good story to tell his friends. Whoo, man, he’d get to say, did I get laid last night.

This room, surrounded by these white, empty wall, this was Lan Zhan’s home. There would be no good story to tell for him. He would not crow to anyone about his conquest. This wasn’t a conquest at all.

Conquest wasn’t the thing for which Lan Zhan ached.

He wanted the blank walls of his life to be filled with color and life and—

And Wei Ying. Only Wei Ying. Always, always Wei Ying.

2026

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying was saying, pressed against Lan Zhan’s back as he attempted to finish meal preparation. His hands wouldn’t settle anywhere, first wrapping around his shoulders, then his biceps, down his side, over his hips. Everywhere all at once. They were warm and gentle, but insistent, clutching finally at his t-shirt in tense fistfuls. The tremble in his voice spoke to his nerves and fears and Lan Zhan couldn’t blame him. Lan Zhan was nervous, too. “Lan Zhan, let’s call it off.”

“They’ll find out eventually,” Lan Zhan said. In the past, he might have tried to school his voice, but he didn’t swallow back the tremor that threaded through it so Wei Ying knew he wasn’t alone. “They can’t take this from us either.”

“It might be even more embarrassing to them if they tried,” Wei Ying agreed. “But even so! Lan Zhan, I… I don’t want your uncle to give you a hard time.”

Lan Zhan put aside the pan he was using, setting it on one of the elements he hadn’t been using to cook with, and switched off the one he was. He turned in Wei Ying’s grasp and said, “If you’d rather keep it secret…”

Frankly, it didn’t matter to Lan Zhan if it bothered Wei Ying this much. They could reveal the truth whenever they felt like it, but they couldn’t take that knowledge back once it was given. Their relationship was no different now than it was before in every way that might matter outside of themselves.

Still, he’d thought them past this.

What if they never were? Even if Wei Ying accepted that he wouldn’t be embraced, what if he kept hold of this anxiety?

“Ugh, I don’t want that either. I want to be an annoying shit about the fact that I got you.”

“It’s only been a day,” Lan Zhan said, the best day of his life so far, but there was plenty of time. Wei Ying was right that they were likely to catch a hard time for eloping, but not saying anything immediately wouldn’t make it easier. This isn’t like you, his uncle would probably say, even though he hadn’t ever really known Lan Zhan. You never would have done this if not for him. “We can play it by ear.”

“You,” Wei Ying said, disbelieving, “want to play it by ear?”

“You haven’t seen my uncle since before you left for Yicheng. Things could be different now.” He hoped they might be different. His uncle no longer offered the worst of his opinions unsolicited whenever he came by for tea. He didn’t find reasons to complain about Wei Ying at all. Lan Zhan was choosing to see that as a good sign. Because he hadn’t managed any further concessions in the interim.

It didn’t mean it was a good sign, but Lan Zhan was choosing to live in hope. After all, he hadn’t thought it was possible to save the mess of his relationship with Wei Ying once upon a time and here he was now, married to the only man he’d ever loved as a result of that mess.

“Wei Ying, I want to tell him,” Lan Zhan admitted, “and have done with the stress of it.”

“I…” Wei Ying looked away, looked back, nodded. “Then we’ll—”

Wei Ying’s phone buzzed and chirped out the heinously awful ringtone that Wei Ying had chosen to signal that Jiang Cheng was the one calling him. “We’ll tell him,” Wei Ying said quickly, stepping out of Lan Zhan’s embrace. “Jiang Cheng, what do you want?”

Though Lan Zhan couldn’t hear Jiang Cheng’s end of the conversation, he could see the various stages of grief Wei Ying’s face went through while he talked. It was odd, though. Usually when he caused problems for Wei Ying, he was louder. Was he trying to remain quiet on purpose?

“You’re kidding,” Wei Ying said in that bleak way his voice sometimes got when something legitimately bad happened. “No, they can’t—there’s no way you can come for dinner tonight, Jiang Cheng. It’s already a full house and I only just came back. You had to—what did you even tell them now for? You knew they were never—Jiang Cheng. I swear, I can’t deal with this right now. Why did they even come? You know what? I don’t actually want to know that either.”

There was silence again as Wei Ying’s face went pale. Lan Zhan tried to turn away and focus on the rest of dinner preparation. It was… difficult with Wei Ying hissing and swearing and pacing around behind him.

“Jiang Cheng…” Wei Ying groaned into his hand, muffled. “Give the phone to Madam Yu for me please and don’t say I never did anything for you.” Still holding the phone to his ear, he covered the bottom half with his palm. “Uh, sorry, Lan Zhan. You’re probably going to get the stink eye from Madam Yu for the next—ah, Madam Yu, it’s so lovely to hear your voice.” This time, Lan Zhan could discern the sound of the voice on the other end at least. It was deeply, deeply unhappy. He covered the phone again as Madam Yu yelled at him. “I’m telling her. Apparently—yes, yes, I’m listening.”

Straining now, Lan Zhan managed to catch Wen Qing and—

Ah.

Even before Wei Ying spoke, Lan Zhan knew what he was going to do.

Once she quieted down, Wei Ying said, “Yes, I knew about Wen-jie and Mianmian and I’m happy for them. They’re good people and if you want to be mad at someone, it should probably be me. I’m the one who introduced them.” He paused as Madam Yu spoke again, nodding along. When she finally stopped, he added, “By the way, Lan Zhan and I eloped. Yes, without talking to you. No, there won’t be a proper wedding.” This, at least, they’d discussed already. Neither of them wanted anything like that. “Yes, apparently I am that ungrateful and impertinent.”

Madam Yu continued to yell and Wei Ying merely rolled his eyes. She said something else, maybe about Jin Zixuan. Lan Zhan couldn’t quite tell.

The call ended and then Wei Ying tossed his phone at the counter. “She’s always got to get a dig in about Jin Zixuan, I swear.” Scrubbing his hand through his hair, he bit his lip. “Well, the chances of your uncle finding out even before we tell him just went up a thousand fold, so, hah, that’s out of my hands, but I’m going to hope that Jiang Cheng—”

The phone rang again.

Jiang Cheng’s ringtone, of course.

Wei Ying took the call. Of course.

Lan Zhan heard, loud and clear, shouted by Jiang Cheng. “You’re married?!”

Fumbling the phone, Wei Ying accidentally-on-purpose hung up on him, grimaced deeply.

“They’ll… definitely figure it out,” Wei Ying said weakly. “Maybe.”

“Do you need to…?” Usually whenever Madam Yu was invoked, Wei Ying dropped everything to better smooth the way. Do you need to go over there was what Lan Zhan was going to try asking, but the words dried in his throat.

In truth, he feared the answer, feared what would happen because Wei Ying yet again dropped the threads of his own life to pick up his aunt’s, his brother’s. It wasn’t unexpected and Lan Zhan understood, but…

Sighing, Lan Zhan prepared himself for an evening spent alone, waiting yet another day to get the words out that needed to be said. They could prepare dinner another night. Maybe Madam Yu wouldn’t reach out to his uncle to discuss this and they’d therefore have a decent chance of getting through this without imploding every familial tie they both had.

“What are you doing?” Wei Ying asked him as he wiped his hands on a towel and prepared to put aside the still warm food.

Lan Zhan turned. “Hm?”

“Are you finished?” Wei Ying jerked his head toward the stove. “I didn’t think it was quite done yet.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed. “About?”

“Having your uncle over? Dinner?”

“You—aren’t going over to Jiang Cheng’s?”

“Of course not,” Wei Ying replied. “He’s gotta deal with his own shit. He’s the one who spilled without thinking it through. He might never let me live this down, but it’s fine.” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the counter. “What’s going on, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan stared down at his hands, uncertain how to proceed now that he felt like he was missing something very, very big. “You… normally drop everything,” he said, feeling a little small and a lot ridiculous, “when it’s her.”

“I—” He was going to deny it. Lan Zhan could tell that much, but at the last moment, he shook his head. “You’re right. I… have done that, haven’t I?”

Lan Zhan didn’t nod to confirm it, but he didn’t have to. They both knew it was true.

“Well,” Wei Ying said through a cheerful grimace, “not this time. This time we’ll… do this instead.”

Though Lan Zhan might have preferred to have his brother here along with him for this, he’d felt, when he made the decision to only invite his uncle, that it was better if fewer people were involved in it. Lan Huan will be the easiest to tell and won’t hold anything against either of them for waiting.

He didn’t want his uncle to feel like he was being attacked and he didn’t want Wei Ying to feel like he was under a lot of scrutiny, but now, with both of them staring at one another from across the table, Lan Zhan was rethinking that decision.

He cleared his throat, stared down at the table, cleared his throat again.

“No talking while eating,” his uncle said just as Lan Zhan opened his mouth to say the words. Just—get them out there. Uncle, Wei Ying and I are married. If it had to be between bites of rice, so be it.

“You know, telling someone not to talk while eating is talking while eating,” Wei Ying pointed out, kneejerk and jocular and clearly he’d forgotten who he was talking to. And then he blanched and buried his face in his hand while his uncle stared, flummoxed. It was just nerves. That was all, but his uncle wouldn’t see it that way once he regained the power of speech.

Fuck. Fuck.

At least Wei Ying’s mouth wasn’t actually full when he said that, but the sudden redness in his uncle’s cheeks was going to be a problem. His chopsticks clicked firmly together as his hand formed a fist around them and his lips thinned unhappily and he opened his mouth again to somehow keep the peace and—

“Wei Ying and I are married,” he said, voice raised, shutting both of them down as they turned to stare at him.

Oh. Fuck.

Wei Ying scrambled upright, spine angled so unnaturally that even Lan Zhan wanted to wince. And then, “Yeah,” he agreed, nodding way too vigorously. “What he said.”

Lan Zhan couldn’t tell if it was a good thing or not that his uncle didn’t seem any more upset after what he said than before, but as they all sat there, staring at the table except for Lan Zhan, who snuck glances at Wei Ying and his uncle and hoped that something would give and that this time it would be his uncle.

“Un—”

His uncle lifted his hand, shot a glare at him, and continued to say nothing as he devoted his entire focus to Wei Ying. It was disconcerting to watch him push his bowl aside and to watch Wei Ying do the same, like they both realized at once that dinner was over and now it was time to deal with this after all.

Lan Zhan sensed, without really knowing why, that this was a fight between his uncle and Wei Ying and his interference would… not be suitable or wanted, if Wei Ying’s quick nod toward him was any indication.

“I find your aesthetics to be rigid and forced,” Wei Ying said, “and your determination to shit on anything happening now to be ingrained and pedagogical with no basis in reality.”

“We—” Lan Zhan stuffed his growing sense of horror down into his stomach where it belonged.

Wei Ying shook his head, his hand sliced through the air, cutting Lan Zhan off. “You are also one of the most knowledgeable men I’ve ever met and it intimidates me that you know so much about your field.” He blinked, flinched, and looked away. “I know with the work I do I’ll never gain your approval, but… I do want you to know that no matter how much I disagree with you, I’ve… grown to accept your thoughts and criticisms over the years. From afar mostly, but… well. That doesn’t seem possible any longer obviously. I’m sometimes not very good about not taking things personally. I’m sorry that I’ve been more combative than I ought to have been. I know you care so much about art and that’s the important thing in my opinion. I hope you can at least forgive Lan Zhan for what we’ve done. I’m sorry for not better living up to your standards and I’m grateful that you’ve always put up with me despite your distaste for me.”

This time, it was his uncle who coughed and cleared his throat, echoing Lan Zhan’s discomfort. He wasn’t used to experiencing Wei Ying at his most sincere. It could be a lot. It still might not be enough. But hope. Lan Zhan was learning it could be a resilient thing.

“Lan Zhan sent me a link to the talk you had in Yicheng,” Lan Qiren said carefully as though he was swallowing rocks instead of spitting out words. “You have matured. I sometimes think of you as that child who used nine canvases to make Fuck Yourself, Jin Zixuan for a class project. You aren’t, even if I still question your—” His attention flicked briefly to the wall where the velvet paintings still hung. “—unwillingness to choose a discipline and master it. You’re an accomplished artist in your own right regardless of my opinion on the matter.”

Wei Ying’s mouth fell open from the first words of his uncle’s reply and only widened further as his uncle continued to speak. “You knew about Fuck Yourself, Jin Zixuan ?” He shook his head and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You just said fuck yourself in my presence because of my work.” He drew in a deep breath. “No wonder you hate me.”

“You will never hear it again,” his uncle replied, deadly calm and collected. “And Wei Ying? Everyone found out about those paintings.”

“Even Jin Guangshan?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, weak. “That… that explains some things.”

“Quite. You’re lucky Jin Zixuan has better sense than you gave him credit for,” his uncle said. “Incidentally, I don’t hate you. That is a very strong word.”

“What?”

“I think you are undisciplined and not as serious as you ought to be, but that is not hatred. That is me expecting more out of you.”

Wei Ying blinked, mouth parting.

“That is me expecting work as conscientious that guqin you designed. That is me expecting the thoughtful critiques I now know you’re capable of. That is me expecting you to care for my nephew as diligently as he has always cared for you.”

“I… of course. I would—I will.” Wei Ying’s gaze flicked Lan Zhan’s way, darted away, returned. “I just—what?”

“You’ve heard what I said. I will not repeat myself.”

Lan Zhan lowered his eyes, poked fastidiously at his bowl to avoid doing something embarrassing, like cry or thank his uncle or pull Wei Ying into a hug.

“Wow. That is… this is… does this mean… are we’re actually family now?”

“You did marry my nephew without asking anyone.” He clenched his jaw at that, but Lan Zhan saw what Wei Ying couldn’t. His uncle might always long to complain about Wei Ying’s work. They might never see eye to eye. But despite Wei Ying’s and his impertinence, his uncle was going to give them his blessing. “What’s stopping you from finally thinking so?”

Wei Ying laughed a little awkwardly in response, elbows winding up on the table as he scrubbed his hand through his hair and breathed out.

“Wow. Uncle, I see now where Lan Zhan’s sense of humor comes from.”

“Mn.”

“And, uh. Thank you. For not skinning me alive when Lan Zhan… said, uh, what he said. I take the blame entirely for the lapse. I’m a terrible influence.”

“I’ve had a few years to reconcile myself to the inevitable,” his uncle said, a little snappish, which earned him a laugh so delightful that even he seemed stunned by Wei Ying’s reaction. Lan Zhan couldn’t blame him. He got to experience it every day and it still caught him by surprise.

It wasn’t ever going to be perfect. It probably wouldn’t be even part of the time, but Lan Zhan thought… he could bring himself to hope they’d, well. Maybe he wouldn’t have to somehow cut the walls out of their bedroom just to keep his mural.

Later, once his uncle had returned to his own apartment, Wei Ying and he tangled up together in bed, Wei Ying said, “One out of two isn’t bad,” as he traced swirls on Lan Zhan’s chest. “I’m glad it was yours that went… well.”

Lan Zhan’s hold on Wei Ying tightened. “Neither of us are dead yet. We can try again with Madam Yu.”

“Morbid, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replied, a laugh in his voice. “Morbid and… inspirational. We’ll get on that… some other time. In the future. Far enough away that I don’t have to think about it now.”

As long as Wei Ying kept laughing, he could take as long as he wanted.

Jiang Cheng texted once while they embraced and though Wei Ying checked it and spent a long time reading it, he just laughed again and left it on read. “Well, Lan Zhan, congratulate me.”

“Congratulations,” Lan Zhan offered. “What’s the occasion?”

“I scandalized Madam Yu so badly that she’s basically forgotten Jiang Cheng’s existence and he thanked me for it. I’m gonna have to write this on a calendar somewhere. It’ll never happen again. Oh, and he said he’s maybe sorry about punching you. If he’d known you were his future brother-in-law, he might have pulled it a bit.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying pushed himself up onto his hands, one braced on either side of Lan Zhan’s head as he looked down at him. “Hey, Lan Zhan.” He leaned close. “Congratulate me again.”

“Congratulations.” His mouth twitched in a tiny smile. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s my one-day anniversary.” His lips grazed Lan Zhan’s. “Would you care to celebrate it with me?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whined as Lan Zhan pulled him out of bed. It was well past the time when Wei Ying normally woke up and perhaps Lan Zhan couldn’t blame him—who could know that one-day anniversary sex could be so intense—but sometimes, there were more important things than burrowing in the blankets. Still sleep mussed, he went easily enough after that initial bout of resistance, yawning and palming his jaw as he went. “Lan Zhan, this better be good.”

“It will be,” Lan Zhan assured him, marching him toward the balcony, already open to a crisp, lovely late morning. It wasn’t yet warm enough to sit with only a t-shirt on, so Lan Zhan grabbed the blanket he’d thrown across the sloped wooden chair that Wei Ying preferred and wrapped it around Wei Ying’s shoulders as he pushed Wei Ying into it. Then he handed him a still hot cup of tea and pointed in the direction of Turpentine’s patch of grass. “Look.”

“What am I…” But he noticed rustling immediately amongst the plants on the back side. Turpentine was easy enough to see with her pale golden fur, but Cannon Ball, smaller and darker, she was a wily little thing, and was only really noticeable when she started chasing after Turpentine. “Oh. Oh, they’re playing in there.”

Wei Ying moved as though he intended to rush over and get right in the middle of it, but Lan Zhan pressed him back into the chair.

“Relax. There’s something else I want to show you.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” Wei Ying’s softness sharpened with gentle curiosity, but he did as Lan Zhan asked, wriggling a bit before sipping from the cup.

This was… a little more difficult, but he figured if ever there was a time to share, it was now. Wei Ying hadn’t seemed yet to notice that the guqin was tucked into the corner near enough to the chair that it would have been obvious if the rabbits hadn’t acted as a distraction. It was, admittedly, a bit of a tight squeeze, but Lan Zhan had already made sure it would work before he did this.

As soon as he sat down at the small table, he was caught.

“What’s this?” Wei Ying asked, contorting himself on the chair, bemused.

“I started taking lessons,” Lan Zhan said, “while you were away.”

“Ah? Lan Zhan, really?” Wei Ying’s eyes widened, shimmering a little, or perhaps that was only due to the way the sun was shining. Lan Zhan couldn’t say, because he had to look away before even more emotion welled inside of him.

“Mn,” he replied, hands pressed lightly to the strings, already beloved beneath his fingers. He wished he’d listened to Wei Ying sooner about this, but he was glad to have found his way here now. “I’m not very good yet, but—”

“Will you play for me?”

A smile pulled at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “That is my intention.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you’re too good. Are you enjoying it? How could you keep this surprise from me for so long? Is the—do you like the design?”

“Yes. Because I wanted it to be a surprise. And yes. It’s beautiful.” He was finally able to look back up again. “Thank you, Wei Ying.”

“Aiya. You can’t thank me, Lan Zhan. I’ll blush and then what will you do with me?”

“Kiss you perhaps. Make love to you certainly,” Lan Zhan answered as he tested the strings, which let out resonant sounds that perfectly suited this moment, this day, this life he and Wei Ying had built with one another against all the odds. “Play music for you.” He wasn’t skilled yet, of course, though he’d studied diligently, particularly when he’d missed Wei Ying so much that he couldn’t breathe, worried that this would be the day he broke down and told Wei Ying again to come back. The guqin kept him steady through it and he wanted to share that fact with Wei Ying. Even though he and it weren’t perfect, they were enough. Right now. Now. Today. Always. He lowered his gaze again. “Be with you.”

Wei Ying drew in a sharp breath, drawing Lan Zhan’s eyes back up. “All of those things?”

“Of course.”

“Then…”

“Then?” Though he ought to have kept his eyes on the strings as he played, he found he couldn’t look away from Wei Ying. At least he knew this piece fairly well, by heart almost. Wei Ying didn’t look away either.

“Then I’ll have to blush for you often, Lan Zhan!”

As Lan Zhan played, Wei Ying in raptures no matter how many false notes slipped through his fingers, the rabbits rolling around in the grass, the morning fully theirs, he felt truly, entirely at peace, whole and perfect and at home, fulfilled in every way. He couldn’t articulate it in words. The enormity of his feelings, the staggering weight and breadth of them? Words wouldn’t suffice. Maybe songs played on mornings like this could.

“There is one other thing,” Lan Zhan said, well after the last notes of the song faded and they’d both composed themselves again.

“Oh?” Wei Ying leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“I believe you mentioned wanting to carry me off at one point,” he said. “I feel I’ve earned the right to be carried off by you.”

If it wasn’t so very different from the way Lan Zhan intended for them to spend their anniversary last year at its heart, that was just fate’s way of working out for them.

The first thing Wei Ying did as soon as Lan Zhan opened the door to the villa was throw his luggage onto the wide bed. The second thing, of course, was to throw himself on it, landing on his stomach before wriggling around on the fluffy duvet. Lan Zhan approached at a more sedate pace, content to watch Wei Ying hum and groan, pillowing his head on his crossed arms. Once he was close enough, he saw that Wei Ying’s eyes were closed.

Big mistake.

Smiling just a little bit, Lan Zhan smacked him on the ass, earning a ridiculously high-pitched yelp for his trouble. “Lan Zhan, you rogue!” Wei Ying cried, while Lan Zhan said, “No luggage on the bed,” feigning indifference to Wei Ying’s plight because Wei Ying enjoyed the chance to feel spurned when he wasn’t actually feeling spurned.

Stepping past him and the bed, Lan Zhan approached the other side of the room. The large window there, covered by two sets of drapes, one gauzy, one an appealing, natural beige, rustic and soothing, was surrounded by a wide wooden frame. Square pillows sat in each corner and a mat filled the bottom, allowing one to sit and look out at the vertiginous view of the trees that dotted the surrounding mountainside. The leaves were already turning a golden yellow, dappled with a few in blazing red-orange despite how early in September it was. Steam rose from the hot spring for which this resort was known, visible between the trees. In a few weeks, maybe a month, it might be even more impressive, more gold, a little more red, possibly light snowfalls to provide further interest, but it was important to Lan Zhan that they come here now, not weeks from now, not a month from now, but now.

It was their anniversary after all, or it would be in a few days, the one they hadn’t gotten to celebrate properly last year, the one they’d definitely celebrate this year. Two whole weeks without interruptions. They’d even decided to leave their phones at home and picked up a prepaid phone with a number that only Lan Huan and Jiang Yanli knew with the promise that they’d only use it if something was genuinely wrong back home and, in Lan Huan’s case, to send updates on Turpentine and Cannon Ball.

Wei Ying finally scrambled up, rustling the duvet even more, and came up behind Lan Zhan. He snaked his arms around Lan Zhan’s midsection and squeezed tight as his chin settled on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Is this what you’d planned last year?”

“Not exactly,” Lan Zhan answered, not quite evasive. This year, it was a little amusing. Last year, not so much.

“What was the plan?”

“Fogo Island.” It was perhaps not the most usual of destinations, but at the time, cool, calm, and isolated sounded good. He’d thought Wei Ying might enjoy visiting the artist retreat there. The inn had looked incredibly beautiful when he’d researched options. The room he’d chosen overlooked the choppy water of the Atlantic, so different from the bright, crystalline Pacific they wound up visiting instead.

“Fogo Island? I don’t even know—where is that?”

“Newfoundland and Labrador.”

“Why didn’t you—” It didn’t register at first and then when it did, he laughed. “Ah, Lan Zhan. Not a fan of islands anymore?”

“Maybe not.” If he’d chosen Bipenggou—almost the exact opposite of an island that he could think of without searching out an actual cave for them to hide in—and wanted to surround them both in mountains and brisk air, that was his business. As long as they were together and away, that was what mattered. If, when he was trying to choose destinations, he avoided anything involving a beach or tropical weather or any flavor of artist residency or retreat, that was also his business. Perhaps another year, he’ll take Wei Ying. “Would you have preferred Fogo Island?”

Wei Ying huffed against Lan Zhan’s ear, pressed a kiss to the lobe, bit gently up the shell until Lan Zhan shuddered under the touch. “And give up the chance to huddle for warmth? Do I look like a fool to you, Lan Zhan? Of course I prefer this!” Less teasing, he added, “It’s beautiful, Lan Zhan. Thank you for thinking of it.”

“It was no hardship.”

Doing these things for Wei Ying and for himself, they could never be troublesome.

As he nibbled again at Lan Zhan’s ear, Wei Ying’s hand drifted down to ease at the hem of his shirt. “So, you wanna…?”

Lan Zhan covered Wei Ying’s hand, pulled it from where it was slipping beneath his waistband, and pressed a kiss to Wei Ying’s palm. They had time. It wasn’t so very urgent, the low-level hum of desire within him. “You said something about huddling for warmth.” He turned, nudged Wei Ying toward the window, urged him to sit. There was an electric kettle and a basket of tea bags and a pair of mugs on one of the tables butted up against the wall, along with a few bottles of water. He made tea quickly, returned with both mugs after only a few moments.

Though Wei Ying had pulled both his legs up while he waited, lowered the one and took both the mugs, setting them on the other side of him, next to the window. There wasn’t much room, but what room there was sufficed. Patting the space opened between his legs, he said, “Get on in this, Lan Zhan. It’s nice.”

Sitting carefully, Lan Zhan adjusted his positioning until he was sure it would be comfortable enough for Wei Ying when he leaned back. The window was wide enough that he didn’t even have to bend his legs if he didn’t want to. Wei Ying handed him back his mug and took up his own. Lan Zhan rested his arm on Wei Ying’s leg, hand curving over Wei Ying’s knee as he held the mug close with the other. The warmth of it seeped into his chest, a perfect companion to the warmth suffusing his back courtesy of Wei Ying.

“Wei Ying?”

“Mm?” Wei Ying asked, sleepy and relaxed.

“Did you ever think we’d make it here?” Where the question came from, Lan Zhan couldn’t say. He wasn’t even sure what he meant, just that he needed an answer.

“‘Here’ in a cozy mountain villa or ‘here’ philosophically?”

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying hummed in amusement, stretched a little and settled again against the window’s wide frame. “Do you remember that time you asked me about Wen Ning’s feelings toward me?”

“I do.” It seemed so distant now, that conversation. To think of it again caused a pleasant sort of ache to spread in Lan Zhan’s chest. It had been a nice day, the start of many nice days that followed.

“We made a pact on that day as well.”

“We did. As bachelors.” To be together. That was the pact.

“An insignificant error.” Wei Ying’s lips pressed, soft and warm, against the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. “Your question though? I never had to think about it.”

Lan Zhan shivered. “Why not?”

“Because—” Wei Ying nosed along Lan Zhan’s hairline. His breath was warm and gentle against Lan Zhan’s skin. “—having my arms around you now is the same to me as meeting you and dancing with you in Nie Huaisang’s bedroom and marrying you and everything else we’ve ever done together. Lan Zhan, we’ve been here with one another like this the whole time. Even when I didn’t always see it, I… yeah. I think I always knew.”

“Just like this?”

“Yes, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying’s mouth formed a smile against his neck. “Exactly like this.”

Wei Ying’s free hand settled over Lan Zhan’s and his thumb brushed back and forth across the bracelet he never removed except to shower. Each sweep matched the beating of Lan Zhan’s heart and Wei Ying’s easy inhalations and exhalations. Though it was a little chilly this close to the window, there was nowhere he would rather be and nothing, in truth, he’d rather be doing.

Lan Zhan took hold of Wei Ying’s mug, put it aside, and reached for Wei Ying’s arms, pulling them tighter around him, and basked in the sensation, not dissimilar to the feeling he experienced when he sat with Turpentine and Cannon Ball on the balcony on sunny, summer days, all gentle sun and soft fur and the wafting scent of fresh grass and flowers carried on the breeze.

As he thought about what Wei Ying said, he unearthed its twin within himself and carefully dusted it free of the fears he’d always harbored. After turning it over in his mind and inspecting every facet for flaws—of which he found none—he knew exactly what he was looking at, recognized it now in every moment they shared, stretching all the way back to the first time Lan Zhan saw one of Wei Ying’s paintings, the remembrance of which remained epiphany-sharp even today.

It was a perfect match to the certainty Wei Ying carried within him.

They really had been here. All along, they’d been together.