hold up a mirror

Wei Ying’s already got his feet tucked beneath him by the time Lan Zhan brings him his usual cup of tea. This is Lan Zhan’s way. Wei Ying barges into his home and Lan Zhan immediately springs into action to make him feel welcome. It’s nice. Too nice. Sometimes Wei Ying fears his heart will shatter from the niceness of it. The only reason it doesn’t is because Lan Zhan would feel obligated to pick up the pieces and that’s not something Wei Ying wants to put on him.

That doesn’t stop him from taking shameless advantage of this though.

“Thanks, Lan Zhan,” he says as Lan Zhan slips the mug between his palms. Their hands brush and the second or two of contact stretch out to forever as Wei Ying savors the scrape of Lan Zhan’s blunt fingernails across his palm. It’s gone far too soon, but he doesn’t ask for more.

“It was no trouble.” Lan Zhan returns to the chair he favors. In the seat, he’d left behind a pile of knitting. The yarn is pale gray and looks soft as a cloud. This, too, is a source of comfort to Wei Ying. If Lan Zhan is knitting, then he’s relaxing and Wei Ying enjoys nothing more than watching Lan Zhan relax. It’s a habit he picked up during a particularly stressful stretch of months at work and one in which Wei Ying takes vicarious pride because Wei Ying is the one who started it.

Knowing Lan Zhan occasionally likes to try new tactile, creative hobbies—the exact opposite of the work they do throughout the day, endless stretches of hours in front of computers manipulating pixels—Wei Ying had picked up a few balls of yarn, some needles, and a list of websites with instructions. He’d dumped the lot in Lan Zhan’s lap and told him to sit and think about anything other than work for five minutes.

The hobby stuck and now here they are.

“You always say that.”

“Perhaps because you always thank me like we’re strangers.” Lan Zhan settles the knitting over his lap and fusses until the stitches are more evenly distributed. It’s large, whatever it is, spreads itself across almost the entire length of the plastic loop that connects the pair of needles. “It’s only tea.”

Wei Ying refuses to dignify Lan Zhan’s insistence that it’s “only” anything with even the smallest acknowledgement of the formless melancholy now tugging at the hem of his mood. For Lan Zhan, it might mean nothing. That’s fine. Wei Ying can’t control that. All he can do is control how he responds. If he is grateful for the kindness, that’s his business. If he wants Lan Zhan to know he is appreciated, that’s his business, too.

Even Lan Zhan can’t take that from him.

Wei Ying burrows back into the plush cushions of the couch and sighs, recklessly and stubbornly appreciative. Being here allays something within Wei Ying. The fact that he has it at all feels like a victory and a gift horse. Holding it too loosely might invite it to dissolve in his palm like so much cotton-candy ephemera.

This is, he knows, irrational. If Lan Zhan hasn’t tired of him yet, it doesn’t seem likely he’ll tire of him at all, but he spent his youth taking Lan Zhan for granted, taunting him harshly rather than teasing him gently. Eventually, Lan Zhan had snapped back and on that day, Wei Ying knew he’d never do anything to jeopardize their relationship again if he can help it. It mattered to him too much. He wanted Lan Zhan to like him.

Now that Lan Zhan’s got his knitting all sorted out, because his fingers move quickly and elegantly. The needles click lightly against one another. The room is quiet, peaceful, until Lan Zhan speaks again. “Is everything all right, Wei Ying?”

“Huh?” Scrambling, he smiles guilelessly. “What could be wrong?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks to the back of the couch. “You can use the blanket if you’re cold.”

“I’m not—” But when he looks down at himself, tries to see himself how Lan Zhan would, folded in, dressed only in jeans and a t-shirt and goose-pimpled forearms, he can see how Lan Zhan might think so. Still, the offer is tantalizing. “I can’t use your blanket, Lan Zhan. You made it.” It took forever, too, weeks and weeks of visits to Lan Zhan’s apartment as it grew before Wei Ying’s eyes. It’s a pretty cream color that Wei Ying’s always feared damaging or getting dirty. Even sitting with his back against it feels like he’s risking something.

“It’s there to be used,” Lan Zhan says. He pauses, mouth slightly parted. If he intends to say anything else, though, he refrains, returning his attention to the project in his lap. His mouth snaps closed.

It’s all that he can think about now that Lan Zhan’s brought it up. He waits until he finishes his tea and has returned the mug to the kitchen before he considers it. As he passes around the back of the couch, however, he does carefully pick the blanket up and wrap it around his shoulders. The wool is softer against his skin than he expects; he can’t help rubbing his cheek against it while he thinks about how Lan Zhan had touched this thing for hours, day after day, pouring so much time and effort into it.

It’s maybe the best blanket Wei Ying’s ever snuggled under, feels as though it’s been imbued with Lan Zhan especially to make it all the more comforting. Sitting onto the couch again, he pulls his legs up and tucks the blanket around them, too. It’s the coziest he’s felt in a long time.

He refuses to acknowledge that it feels a little bit like a hug.

When he looks at Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan’s gaze is resolutely focused on the knitting in his lap.

“What are you working on this time, Lan Zhan?”

“Another blanket.” He shrugs, fussing again with the stitches. “I like to make them.”

“Who can blame you? They’re nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” The tips of his ears go a little pink. He’s never been very good at accepting praise for anything that’s not a part of his work. Even then he writes it off as him just doing his job. Forget about complimenting him on anything else.

After a short time, he thinks he’s able to tell Lan Zhan what’s wrong, though he has no idea how Lan Zhan’s noticed. It’s not that he feels like Lan Zhan’s over there trying to pressure him, but his curiosity is an all-encompassing thing. Now that Wei Ying’s set it off by acting weird, Lan Zhan is unlikely to forget about it. Into the permeating silence around them, he says, “Jiang Cheng keeps trying to set me up on dates.”

In and of itself, this isn’t a world-shattering revelation. He’s complained plenty over the years about Jiang Cheng’s well-intentioned scoldings about how he’s going to die old and alone. Even though that’s patently absurd—Wei Ying’s got Lan Zhan, hasn’t he? He won’t have to hire people to mourn at his funeral. God, he’s not going to be alone—he’s unfortunately finally internalized Jiang Cheng’s hyperbolic point this time.

Lan Zhan stops what he’s doing, but he doesn’t look up.

And that point is: “I think I’m lonely, Lan Zhan.”

Now that the words are out there, Wei Ying feels too big for his skin, too exposed. Even perching his chin against his knees doesn’t help and Lan Zhan still won’t look at him. It is what he’s feeling, though he hasn’t let himself express it in speech before. It’s what drives him over here night after night, sometimes on consecutive nights, to bother Lan Zhan. He is giving away a piece of himself by admitting it aloud, but he can’t think of anyone’s care into which he’d prefer to put that piece than Lan Zhan.

The thing is there’s no reason for it, his loneliness. He has friends. He has Jiang Cheng and jiejie. He has Lan Zhan. He even hooks up with people sometimes and that’s nice. Makes it easy to ignore the ache he sometimes feels when he thinks about how this is all there is.

It would be okay as long as he could just spend all of his time here. Here, except for right this moment, he never feels that ache. It might as well not even exist in this miraculous apartment of Lan Zhan’s. But that’s not fair to Lan Zhan. He has his own life and enjoys his solitude. Wei Ying already takes too much.

“I’m not sure what else to do about it,” Wei Ying adds when Lan Zhan has nothing to say, “other than try, I guess.”

“Mn. That sounds reasonable.” Lan Zhan’s voice remains even. His fingers keep working. Each stitch moves smoothly through his hands.

“What would you do if Huan-ge meddled in your life like that?”

“He has tried,” Lan Zhan answers, slow, “once or twice.”

“And?”

“He had no reason to do so and I told him as much. He’s respected that so far,” is all Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying takes it to mean he’s not lonely and Wei Ying’s not above coveting that peace of mind. And then Lan Zhan finally lifts his head. “I think you should. If you’re not content with your current circumstances, you should do whatever it takes to be happy.”

The problem, Wei Ying thinks, is he is content right here, but doing whatever it takes to be happy, well. As aware of himself as he is, too loud, too opinionated, too arrogant, too demanding, he doesn’t know how to be anything else except by removing himself from the situation entirely. That can’t be terribly conducive to happiness.

But maybe Lan Zhan is right. Wei Ying can’t rely on Lan Zhan’s kindness forever after all. Trying is the least of what he owes Lan Zhan.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says again, “for listening.”

Lan Zhan makes a small, impatient sound. “You can’t thank me for that.”

Wei Ying will say this for Jiang Cheng: his absolute unwillingness to budge on a person’s quality means he’s sitting across from a beautiful, fascinating, funny young woman who manages to think he’s charming and interesting rather than too much even while he flirts the way he always does—so grandiose it borders on insincere—and sometimes starts rambling about nothing at all.

He thinks, at the end of it, to invite her back to his place, but of all the words that have fallen from his mouth tonight, the only ones that don’t are spend the night with me.

If she’s disappointed when he holds her taxi’s door open for her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I had a nice time.” She doesn’t offer her contact information, which maybe answers that question.

Cold relief washes over him.

She’d chosen a restaurant that’s close to Lan Zhan’s place—one of those awful coincidences in life, it seems—and as he walks down the street lined in high rises and clubs and shopping centers, a truly concrete forest, if not a jungle, he turns over a whim in his mind. Only one block away, Lan Zhan has carved out a respite for himself.

Sometimes, it’s a respite for Wei Ying, too.

When Lan Zhan answers the door, his gaze immediately falls to Wei Ying’s cheek. A cheek that’s—shit—covered in waxy lipstick residue. His palm and fingertips come away a peachy pink color and he winces. Yeah, bad idea to come here tonight. But though Lan Zhan’s features give nothing away, he steps back. “There’s soap in the bathroom.”

Lan Zhan’s words carry no judgment within them, though they feel pointed in their obviousness. Of course there’s soap in the bathroom. Wei Ying knows that bathroom better than he knows his own. That cold relief from before freezes over and cracks within him. Each shard pierces him with shame. He shouldn’t have come by, but he’s already here now. It would be too embarrassing to leave.

He takes Lan Zhan’s suggestion and retreats to the bathroom, finds the soap right where it always is: in plain fucking sight.

The smear of lipstick condemns him from his reflection. His skin goes pink and raw from how hard he scrubs it. When he’s done, he feels guilty about the stain on the washcloth he’s used and tries to scrub it clean with the same soap.

When he returns to the living room, Lan Zhan’s already seated. His knitting has grown by a centimeter or two since the last time he was here. At some point, it will be large enough that he won’t be able to tell anymore. For reasons beyond his comprehension, it makes him sad to think about being incapable of tracking its progress one day soon.

Lan Zhan works quickly after all. One blink and Wei Ying’s missed something. He loses himself in the creaking forest of that realization.

“How did it go?” Lan Zhan asks finally.

“It was nice,” he admits, because it feels important to be truthful. The click of Lan Zhan’s needles fade and he looks up again. “I liked her, but I won’t be seeing her again.”

“Why not?”

Wei Ying shrugs and laughs lightly and throws himself back against the couch. With his hands behind his head, he feels the blanket against his forearms.

This is much better than going on dates. If he could just hang out here with Lan Zhan all the time, he wouldn’t have a problem. Though he shouldn’t—Lan Zhan hasn’t offered it—he pulls the blanket down around him. There. That’s even better. Bringing it to his nose, he inhales. The light scent of eucalyptus greets him, faint, comforting.

When he looks at Lan Zhan again, Lan Zhan’s still looking at him. “What?”

Lan Zhan’s attention falls to the knitting. “Nothing.” Then, he sighs. “Wei Ying, I thought you intended to try.”

That would make sense, of course. It’s the reasonable thing to do. “I am trying.”

“Are you?”

The silence that follows the question sits thick and ugly between them. It makes him feel small and alone.

At the time, it had definitely felt like he was trying. He’d had to stare at himself in the mirror in his bathroom as he washed his face and brushed his teeth, as he decided whether what he was wearing would be appropriate for the restaurant, as he ran the odds on whether he’d come across as annoying or charming.

The truth is he’s just not very good at it: dating. He likes people well enough, but he can’t ever get past that initial hump. When you’re looking for love, liking people ‘well enough’ is a death sentence. If not for Jiang Cheng’s interference, he might never go on dates at all and probably wouldn’t feel significantly worse for it. The loneliness doesn’t go away even when he is on a date though, so that might just be one of those things he has to deal with, the natural state of him. Maybe he’s just meant for this feeling.

“If you were going to go on a date with me,” Wei Ying asks, mouth getting away from him, “what would you want to do?” His brain catches up to him only belatedly, which is a shitty time for it to catch up at all. “As a thought exercise! Not—I mean… I wouldn’t force you to sit through a date with me. It’d be awful. I’m terrible at it and you deserve better than a bad date. I’m just curious.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Actually, forget I said anything. I don’t want to know. Just—you sit there and be lovely and quiet like you always are.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s got that tone in his voice, the one Wei Ying can’t beat.

Wei Ying swallows and sucks it up. He’s the one who opened his mouth after all. He should face the consequences of such a terrible inquiry head on. “Yeah?”

“Anyone would be lucky to date you,” Lan Zhan says, so certain that Wei Ying nearly chokes up at the insistent note in his voice. Lan Zhan’s been his biggest hype man for years now, always so supportive. At any other time, he might feel invincible to hear Lan Zhan say such a thing. Now it just feels sad. “And you deserve to be happy.”

“Well, then. Maybe I’ll just remain snugly curled up here with this fancy blanket of yours, Lan Zhan.” He pulls it more securely around himself in demonstration. “You’ll never be rid of me. I’ll just become one with this couch.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve always been content to sit in my little corner here. It’s my favorite place to be.” Maybe it’s weird, but he sniffs the blanket again. Definitely the scent of joy in wooly blanket form. “Maybe this is what happiness means to me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan opens his mouth to say something else, but nothing comes out except a little, “Hngh,” of displeasure. Wei Ying takes this to mean he’s won, especially since he doesn’t kick Wei Ying out even when it closes in on his bedtime, doesn’t even cue him, lets Wei Ying linger until he feels too guilty to remain.

It’s the nicest end to a good-bad date night Wei Ying could possibly think of.

Jiang Cheng arranges another date for him. It is, very coincidentally, also near Lan Zhan’s apartment. Apparently this is just where all the good restaurants are. Wei Ying’s not complaining.

When she leans in to kiss him at the end of the evening, he steps out of the way entirely and offers a handshake instead, an it was very nice to meet you goodbye, enough money transferred to her to take care of the fare home.

His cheek is not smeared with lipstick and his path to Lan Zhan’s apartment is clear.

Lan Zhan answers the door promptly, like he’s been expecting Wei Ying. That doesn’t make sense obviously. For one thing, Wei Ying hadn’t mentioned going on the date and for another, even if he did, why would Lan Zhan be waiting for him? Still, the mere possibility warms something within Wei Ying far more than the mug of tea he presses into Wei Ying’s hand not ten minutes later.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Hm?”

“How come you don’t date?” Though he longs to grab the blanket from across the back of the couch, he chooses not to, not while he’s got hot tea in his hands. He can’t get that comfortable with it yet, would never forgive himself if he spilled anything on it. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned dating anyone before.”

Lan Zhan’s silence is devastating. His answer is even more so. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

If the answer is not meant to invite more questions, it does a bad job of doing otherwise. Leaning forward, Wei Ying studies Lan Zhan’s face and perfect, pristine posture. Though Wei Ying is prying, he can’t not ask. “Why not?”

Lan Zhan says nothing. His features twitch, crumpling slightly like he’s going through a mental argument.

“There is already someone in my heart.” He shakes his head slightly. “How can I try to care for someone else instead?”

Of all the replies Wei Ying might have expected, this one strikes him the hardest, shoves its fingers deep into his chest to squeeze around his heart. His hands tighten around his mug; he’s glad he has it to occupy him, because he’s sure they would be shaking if they held nothing. “Lan Zhan, who is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t feel the same.”

“Wouldn’t?”

“Doesn’t. He doesn’t feel the same.”

“But—” Who does Lan Zhan care this much for? Shouldn’t I know? Why didn’t Lan Zhan tell me? “Have you told him?”

“I don’t need to. I know already.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying bites his lip. It doesn’t come up often, the fact that Lan Zhan’s gay, and it’s never seemed like a stumbling block before now, but this has to be why, right? Lan Zhan wouldn’t be so certain otherwise. “Is he straight?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze hones in on the opposite wall, well away from Wei Ying’s. “Yes.”

“Oh.” His brain kicks into overdrive. What would being loved by Lan Zhan even feel like? It would have to be incredible, right? Anyone would make an exception, wouldn’t they? Sexuality is a fluid concept, after all, and Lan Zhan’s a handsome man. “Are you sure?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks over. He levels a glare at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying raises his hands in surrender. “I’m serious. You should tell him. For all you know, he’s been pining away this whole time thinking you’re unattainable or something.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Lan Zhan scoffs. “That’s not how it works.”

He’s pretty sure even if that’s true, it’s not as cut and dry as Lan Zhan thinks it is. “Well, it should. You deserve to be happy and well-loved.”

Lan Zhan’s glare softens, though it remains pointed. “As do you.”

Though this should be the end of the conversation, Wei Ying keeps worrying over it in his mind. There has to be something he can do to help Lan Zhan. Even if it’s not getting him together with the man he loves—really, Huan-ge should be more proactive. If Lan Zhan had an annoying little shit of a barely younger brother, this wouldn’t be an issue—he should at least move on and find even greater happiness with someone who’s worthy of him.

That’s the only reason he opens his mouth a little while later, his problem and Lan Zhan’s problem syncing together in his mind. A path forward showed itself, brilliant in one way, terrifying in another, a wide, vertiginous vista opening before him. “Lan Zhan, date me.”

“What?”

The more he thinks about it, the better it sounds. “Well, fake date me anyway. It’ll get my brother off my back for a while and we can make the tasteless object of your affection jealous. It’s genius.”

Lan Zhan shrinks back into his chair. “No.”

“Lan Zhan, come on! I’ll pay. I’ll take you everywhere you like going. Think of all the free shit you’d get out of it? And, god, I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever. Just you wait. Whoever this guy is will be so mad he missed his chance.” As he says this, he realizes that these probably aren’t actually selling points. Lan Zhan knows Wei Ying after all. He’ll probably be a mediocre fake boyfriend for Lan Zhan, too chaotic and not thoughtful enough. Why else can’t he successfully date? There’s something fundamentally wrong with him in the romance department.

“No.”

“Lan Zhaaaaan. Let me help you get your man. Then at least one of us can be happy. As long as I can keep this couch cushion, I’ll be fine. He’s not a jealous person, is he? He’ll still let us be friends when you’re together, right?” It would be bad if they couldn’t stay friends. “I won’t lose you?”

Lan Zhan’s hands grip his knitting tight, pulling at the fabric. That’s not good at all. He should be more careful with his work. “No,” Lan Zhan says. “He’s not jealous in the slightest. You won’t ever lose me to someone else.”

“Okay, good. So what do you say? I can rub it in Jiang Cheng’s face that I don’t need his interference any longer and you’ll get to hang out with me more and we’ll show this guy what he’s missing.” He laughs. “Such a prize as I am anyway.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replies, even, droll. “A prize.”

“I mean, you could just tell him and then we wouldn’t have to do this…” Wei Ying has no reason to be so invested in seeing Lan Zhan paired off with someone, but it hurts him to think of Lan Zhan being alone if he doesn’t want to be.

“We don’t have to do this at all.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees. They don’t, but Wei Ying’s invested now and not only because he wants Jiang Cheng off his back. The possibility of helping Lan Zhan get what he wants is too tantalizing. In the meantime, it would give him an excuse to do nice things for Lan Zhan. That would be ideal. “But, you know, we also could. Might be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, that thing you sometimes like to do. Like, oh, when you’re knitting. That’s fun, right? Or when you hang out at the park to scope out the baby bunnies. You’re not doing that because you’re forced into it. It’s fun. This can be fun. It’ll be like what we normally do except more.”

“I see.”

“Come on. I’ll do whatever you ask of me if you’ll do this for me. Please.”

“Wei Ying…”

“I’ll be gentle, promise.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” He chugs the last of the very good tea that he should have savored instead and places the mug on the table before throwing himself across the length of the couch. “Lan Zhan, be my fake boyfriend. I’ll only take you to the nicest places. We’ll eat all the food you like and go to museums and watch the baby bunnies and—”

“Fine.” Lan Zhan’s face flushes down to his neck. “If you insist. We can… date.”

In all his life, Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s ever heard better words. They are magical. Wei Ying’s probably not felt this glad about anything since he got to hold Jin Ling for the first time. He probably shouldn’t jump around on Lan Zhan’s couch though, so he tries to settle back down with the blanket even though he’s vibrating about all the possibilities before him. They’ll get to spend even more time together. “Lan Zhan, let’s start now.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen slightly before his features relax again, like he’s succumbing to the inevitable. “Now?”

Wei Ying nods. “Yeah, why not?”

“I suppose,” Lan Zhan allows, “there’s nothing stopping us.”

Nothing really changes from one moment to the next. It’s still nice. Wei Ying stays in his corner and Lan Zhan remains in his chair and all the while, Wei Ying watches Lan Zhan work, eyes studiously focused only on the knitting as it slides competently through his fingers.

Wei Ying’s chin finds his knee as he happily drinks in the image. “Lan Zhan, do you think your mystery man likes knitting?”

“It’s possible.”

“Would you make something for him?”

Lan Zhan’s hands still only momentarily, a blip, barely even a pause. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“No real reason.” Then he frowns, rueful. Dry, he adds, “Superstition.”

“Since when are you superstitious?”

“It seems pointless to court needless disaster by… investing in something like that.”

“You don’t think he’d like knowing you care that much about him? Lan Zhan, if you knitted something for me, I’d probably cry.” He blinks rapidly at the very thought of it while his heart does something very, very funny and probably worrying. “Are you sure this guy is worth mooning after? He sounds like a jerk.”

“He’s not,” Lan Zhan insists. “He’s very kind-hearted.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.” Wei Ying feels very strongly about this. If Lan Zhan loves someone…

Well, they’re lucky. That’s all Wei Ying can say about it and Wei Ying wants nothing more than to make sure they pay for making Lan Zhan feel this way instead of reciprocating like any rational person would.

In Wei Ying’s view, this guy needs to suffer in order to deserve Lan Zhan’s attention now that he’s put Lan Zhan through the emotional wringer. Nothing less than proving himself will be good enough.

“Who is he?” Wei Ying asks. “Someone I know?” His mind is already clicking through the circle of their mutual acquaintances, narrowing it down to likely suspects. If Lan Zhan says no, he’s screwed, but if he’s not…

There are a few men it could be and Wei Ying’s developing a sudden and entirely unexpected hatred of all of them.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says after a deliberate pause. “You know him.”

Well, shit. That’s just great. All this time and Lan Zhan’s been pining after a mutual acquaintance and Wei Ying never even noticed? What a great friend he is. “Who?”

“It’s not important.”

It is important. It’s the most important thing going on in Wei Ying’s life right at this moment and he will die if he doesn’t find out who it is so he can shake the living daylights out of him. But it’d take an idiot to not see how uncomfortable Lan Zhan is, his entire focus narrowed to the knitting in his lap, his body held so stiffly it’s a wonder he doesn’t break into a million tiny pieces. No matter how strongly Wei Ying feels, he can’t push for more. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You don’t have to tell me.”

He tries—very valiantly, he might add—to not feel guilty that he’s, one, not privy to this information and, two, made Lan Zhan feel bad with all of his prodding. It can’t feel good to get poked in your vulnerable bits about your love life. Wei Ying would know; he’s got Jiang Cheng doing that to him twenty-four hours a day.

Though Wei Ying tries a couple of times to swing the conversation in better directions, it’s a fruitless effort. His heart just isn’t in it and Lan Zhan’s isn’t either and that’s fine. They can sit here in silence until Wei Ying finally finds the strength to lick his wounds in peace.

It takes a lot longer than Wei Ying might like. In all that time, Lan Zhan never once suggests his presence is unwelcome.

Wei Ying stares at the ceiling of his bedroom and refuses, absolutely refuses, to check the time. Without even trying, he’s sure it’s at the most aggravating possible moment of the night: too early to get a start to the day, but too late to fall back asleep and wake up rested. This hasn’t happened to him in years, not really, but he’s been roused by a dream he doesn’t really remember. There’s nothing left for him to do but waste away in bed. Beyond the image of a familiar hand wrapped around another hand that, within the dream’s logic, clearly belonged to Lan Zhan’s mystery man, he’s got nothing.

Wei Ying hates it when he’s got nothing. It means he’s missing something and that’s the worst feeling. Instead of chasing sleep like he should so he can pretend, when he rolls into work rumpled and yawning, that he tried, he chases the answer. What the fuck, he thinks, was I even dreaming about?

The longer he’s at it, a mental clock counting down to you’re-going-to-hate-yourself-in-the-morning o’clock, the closer he gets. The images and feelings, still clinging in the back of his mind, are just out of reach. Right there. If he stretches a little more…

Oh, fuck.

Flailing upright, his dream logic melds with real life logic and his brain connects the dots. It coughs up the answer in a snap, obvious in retrospect. Why didn’t he get it right away? Lan Zhan is pining for Nie Huaisang.

Who else could it be? Everyone else they both know is even less impressive than Wei Ying or they’re Lan Zhan’s brother or a woman. Nie Huaisang, though… he’s grown articulate and elegant. Where he used to be a fragile, flighty boy, he’s now, you know, cool and has thoughtful opinions about everything and he’s funny and a little bit scary sometimes in a really understated way. Lan Zhan would probably like that in a relationship, just a hint of danger to keep things interesting.

Nie Huaisang is also one of the two cryptids in the world who went off to university—Lan Zhan is, of course, the other—and actually learned how to be an interesting person by the end of it. Where everyone else burned out and ended their studies eager to shut their brains off for good, Nie Huaisang’s the kind of guy who goes to upscale restaurants and gallery openings and, like, actually manages to look like he belongs without being an entire snob about it. Sort of like Lan Zhan in truth. Sadly, Lan Zhan hasn’t escaped the burnout, though he does his best and so far, Wei Ying’s been pretty good at helping him stave it off.

Honestly, he could probably learn a thing or two from Nie Huaisang, things Wei Ying can’t teach him because, ha, him and burnout are very good friends by now.

Lan Zhan’s wrong though. If there was anyone in the world besides Wei Ying who’s guaranteed to appreciate a gift knitted by Lan Zhan’s hands, it’s Nie Huaisang.

To make matters worse, he got startlingly pretty between that gawky stage in high school and five years later when Wei Ying ran into him in a coffee shop and became friends with him again. That’s not Wei Ying’s thing, but he can see how others might think so.

So yeah.

It has to be Nie Huaisang. There’s nobody else who matches Lan Zhan’s standards.

Nie Huaisang, Wei Ying also knows, took a long time to warm back up to Lan Zhan once they all reconnected simply because he’d always thought Lan Zhan was intimidating back in the day. This is the only baggage from Before University that got carried into The After Times, but even that’s resolved thanks to a mutual appreciation for art and now they’re closer than Wei Ying could ever have known.

It’s entirely possible that, despite Nie Huaisang’s many and varied attempts to ensure Lan Zhan never finds out about this lingering hang-up from school, Lan Zhan’s caught on subconsciously and decided that means Nie Huaisang’s off-limits.

He doesn’t know Nie Huaisang’s sexuality. The guy talks about a lot of things, but he hasn’t really shared anything like that with Wei Ying. There’s no reason he can’t be straight.

Because Wei Ying’s never going back to sleep now, he scrolls through Nie Huaisang’s Oasis account and stews over all the interesting shit he does and posts about. The last time Wei Ying posted, it was six months ago with a poorly framed shot of Lan Zhan in profile while they walked down the street and Wei Ying had just pilfered Lan Zhan’s iced tea. He’d captioned it with “this is the face of a man who’s been betrayed” followed by as many tea emoji as would fit in the box.

Only jiejie and Huan-ge had liked it. Even Lan Zhan hadn’t seen fit to interact with the post.

Nie Huaisang, on the other hand, has very recently visited a tea garden in Lu’an for a private tour and a private cupping session with the owner. Possibly, he’d brought along a professional photographer with him because the shots are artistic and stunning, but Wei Ying’s not above thinking he probably did that himself, too.

Lan Zhan would have enjoyed going on this trip. In fact, he’d commented on the post not ten minutes after it went up, expressing his appreciation of the images and asking about the quality of the tea.

Nie Huaisang had, in turn, promised to bring him some when he came back. A string of heart emojis trail the words, something Nie Huaisang hadn’t done in his replies to anyone else’s comments.

A stab of physical pain actually slashes across his stomach as he stares at the exchange. Wei Ying has to do something, but he can’t, not at 4:12 in the morning, his eyes gritty, mind running away from him as he imagines the romantic bliss Lan Zhan’s bound to experience when they both get it together.

They are so dumb and in love.

It hurts a little to think about it too much, so he chooses not to. Now that he has the answer, maybe he can catch a couple more hours of rest before he has to get up properly and face reality.

He does not, in fact, rest properly. He feels neither betrayal nor surprise as he tosses and turns and hangs in there until five. Which is so great and serendipitous because Lan Zhan wakes up at five like the loveliest insane person on the planet. So he can just call him up and say, without waiting for a hello, “Lan Zhan, let me take you out today.”

Lan Zhan hesitates because of course he does. Why wouldn’t he when Wei Ying’s ordering him around first thing in the morning? And then he yawns loudly enough that it’s audible over the phone and says, “Can I call you back?”

Well, that takes the wind out of his sails. “Uh… sure?”

Wei Ying’s left to wait, jittery and sleep deprived, until Lan Zhan calls back. Because he’s only a liar about the most important things apparently, Wei Ying’s not at all surprised when Lan Zhan actually follows through on this. “Sorry,” he explains. “I needed tea.”

Too bad it’s not Nie Huaisang’s tea. Not yet anyway.

“Isn’t this all a little sudden?” Lan Zhan asks, dubious.

“Didn’t we agree to start already? How can it be sudden then?”

“Wei Ying, the last time you were awake this early, it was our second year of university and you learned time management skills just to avoid ever doing so again,” Lan Zhan replies, ignoring Wei Ying. “Why are you up? Have you even slept?”

“Yes, I slept. I slept so well I woke refreshed and ready to go.”

“Clearly.” On Lan Zhan’s side of the call, porcelain clatters lightly against wood. He must be sitting in his chair.

“Yeah, you know… I thought we could hit the ground running on this.” Except now that he’s on the phone with Lan Zhan, knowing who it is he’s supposed to make jealous, it’s… laughable. Lan Zhan’s concerned tone hasn’t helped and now he’s just nervous. Would Nie Huaisang do something this ridiculous this early in the morning? Probably not.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan says. “What would you like to do?”

Besides sweep you away on some romantic getaway just to prove I’m as good as Nie Huaisang at being boyfriend material? “Ahaha, um…” Fuck. This is what he gets for being awake at this time of the morning. He doesn’t actually have a plan yet. “Let me get back to you on that.”

“Mn,” he says, like it’s not some great imposition even though it really is and he’s kind of only realizing that now.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For—interrupting your morning. And not having anything in place. I know you don’t like surprises. We don’t have to do this today.” Or at all. Maybe it would be for the best if we didn’t. I’m just being stupid and impulsive. “Lan Zhan…”

“It’s fine. I would like to.” Yeah, now Lan Zhan’s just being nice. It’s dumb, but Wei Ying’s weak and Lan Zhan sounds genuine and now Wei Ying has to make good just so it’s worthwhile. This is for Lan Zhan’s benefit after all. He will. He’ll find something nice for them to do today. He’s got, you know, fourteen or so hours to figure it out. It’s fine.

If Wei Ying spends the work day ducking his brother and Lan Zhan at work while fruitlessly scouring the internet for ideas, that’s his own business. Desperation sets in so deeply that he even thinks about asking some of his other coworkers for ideas before remembering that they’re all even more boring than he is and would probably just recommend a restaurant, which. That’s not necessary. That’s the easiest part of this whole thing. A restaurant isn’t good enough.

Nearly ready to pull his hair out, he finally stumbles across what he’s looking for. It’s not a getaway, but it is up Lan Zhan’s alley and cultured. Wei Ying would never think to do it on his own. It’s tonight at seven—totally respectable time of night, especially on a Friday—and there are still tickets available.

Wei Ying snags two, messages Lan Zhan because he’s too shy to go talk to him in person, and then grabs a reservation at Lan Zhan’s favorite restaurant for good measure. It’s not even so very far from the small performance art center he never would have known existed if not for fate taking pity on him.

As he slumps against his desk, he doesn’t allow himself to feel more than a brief flare of satisfaction. Anything more seems like overkill for a fake date.

The nice thing about fake dating where the only important target is an entire province from home is the fact that they don’t actually have to pretend to date for an audience. Dinner is rather surprisingly like all the other times they’ve gone out to eat in the past, complete with whining about work on Wei Ying’s side and the occasional devastating and sly commentary he’s come to expect from Lan Zhan’s. All in all, it’s nice.

It’s nice until he forgets there’s supposed to be proof of this date somewhere out there where Nie Huaisang (and Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying supposes) can see it. As he scans the half-demolished plates they’ve shared, the nearly empty bowls of rice, even the drained cups of tea, he pouts. This will not make for an impressive picture, not at all.

“What’s wrong?”

“We should have ordered dessert.” It’s not the only answer to their problem here, but it’s the most immediate. Nie Huaisang loves pictures of food and sweet things.

“There’s nothing stopping you.”

Yeah, nothing except the fact that Lan Zhan doesn’t even like dessert all that much and they’d have to wait for it to be sent out even though they should have ordered it with dinner and frankly—

Lan Zhan’s already calling for a waiter despite the inconvenience. Before Wei Ying can complain, he’s ordering candied sweet potatoes with such single-minded focus that Wei Ying would be forgiven for thinking Lan Zhan likes it, too, when Wei Ying knows already that he doesn’t.

While they wait, Wei Ying pulls at a steamed bun or plucks up a green bean or chews on his lip because he’s not really hungry anymore, he’s just nervous. When it arrives, Wei Ying pushes the baskets and plates and bowls out of the way and takes a picture, careful to ensure Lan Zhan’s hand is in the frame. The threads of gleaming sugar do look rather pretty against the carefully cubed sweet potato, even if it isn’t in and of itself a terribly interesting photo.

He stares down at the image after he’s taken it, heart doing something funny in his chest, like it’s reaching out for something, but it’s not sure what. His thumb brushes over the portion of the shot that includes Lan Zhan’s hand. It is, he already knows, a very lovely hand and looks very good in the background.

“Wei Ying?”

“Hm?” He lifts his head. Lan Zhan’s looking at him, concerned. “Oh, um… what do you think? Should I post it?” Giving his phone over, he pokes at the small mound of potatoes. Taking a bite, he waits for Lan Zhan’s verdict. Right now, they can still pretend this is just them going out to dinner as friends. It is a fragile thing, this plan, and it can be scrapped. Nie Huaisang will never know it happened if Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to.

This, Wei Ying thinks, is what he’s really asking: are we doing this? For real?

“It’s good.” Lan Zhan returns his phone. Pulling out his own, he quickly grabs Wei Ying’s hand and wraps his fingers around it and his chopsticks. Before Wei Ying can ask what Lan Zhan’s doing, he’s taking a picture. His heart thrums in his chest at the unexpected contact and trills at the fake shutter sound.

“What about this?”

‘This’ is a shot of their hands intertwined over the dessert and Wei Ying… half of Wei Ying’s face is caught in it. His mouth has spread itself in a soft smile that he’s never seen on his own face before, one that somehow conveys surprise and inevitability, like he was always meant to be this happy.

It’s a good picture. Worthy even of Nie Huaisang’s appreciation.

He searches for the feeling that might have instigated the smile, but whatever it is, it’s fleeting, gone now that Lan Zhan’s hand is gone; he doesn’t know what it was. He can’t replicate the smile either.

Of course Lan Zhan would get it right. “Better.” He clears his throat. Heat climb his neck to flood his face. “We should—you should use that one. Or I can. Or… I don’t know. How do you want to do it?”

A complicated expression flits across Lan Zhan’s face. “I’ll post it.”

Given the sorry state of Wei Ying’s own social media presence, that’s probably for the best. Lan Zhan doesn’t post often, but when he does, it gets engagement.

Even now that it’s been decided, Lan Zhan hesitates, finger poised over the screen. “Are you sure?”

“Are you sure?”

“I would like it if your brother stopped harassing you,” Lan Zhan says. “This will alleviate that.”

And I want to make Nie Huaisang mad with jealousy. This will maybe do that. “Okay.” Then, “Wait, wait. Let me turn off notifications first. And, uh, silence my phone or dump it in a garbage bin somewhere…”

A wry smile pulls at the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth, half-amused, half-determined. “Not a bad idea.” He does the same with his own and nods.

Within a moment it’s done. As they finish eating the sweet potatoes—Lan Zhan actually seems to be enjoying it, too, for once, digging in with more alacrity than he’s ever shown dessert before—Wei Ying doesn’t think about how nice this all really is.

Though Wei Ying’s attended orchestra performances before, though only reluctantly, Wei Ying’s never attended with Lan Zhan, which makes a whole world of difference to Wei Ying’s enjoyment of such an event.

It’s not a large orchestra and the performers are crowded really close together to give them all space on the stage, but they make up for it by being very good.

He and Lan Zhan are stuffed into a pair of the fold-out seats toward the back and even that is okay, at least for a while. They’re so small that his and Lan Zhan’s elbows keep jostling on the armrest and the thin velvet upholstery is hell on Wei Ying’s ass. It might as well be paradise for Lan Zhan because he doesn’t even seem to notice, barely tears his eyes away except to share little asides with Wei Ying. Hell, he’s sitting forward in his seat, eyes glued to the plucked string section like a kid, excitable by Lan Zhan’s standards, though to anyone else his appreciation would seem subdued.

He’s especially fond of the musician playing the pipa, tells Wei Ying again and again how spectacular she is.

Every time he leans over, Wei Ying can’t quite suppress a shiver. It’s already warm in here, stuffy from the heat of so many bodies with little air circulation. Lan Zhan’s breath against Wei Ying’s ear only magnifies it.

Lan Zhan takes another picture during intermission and posts it. From a quick flicking glance toward his phone, Wei Ying sees a truly staggering number of notifications on the screen, gone again with a swipe, lost as the screen goes black and the phone gets tucked into Lan Zhan’s pocket.

Another hour passes. Lan Zhan’s knee somehow winds up touching Wei Ying’s and it’s the only thing he can focus on. Wei Ying’s whole left side is tingling by the end of the hour, his awareness reduced to one bony knee knocking against Wei Ying’s. He’s not used to this degree of touch, not from Lan Zhan. Not from anyone really.

That’s a thought he shoves aside to contemplate, oh, never.

“What’s the verdict?” Wei Ying asks as they’re leaving. He still hasn’t looked at his own phone.

Once they’re outside the venue, he gulps down the cool evening air.

Though there’s plenty of room to spread out even with the other attendees spilling out around them onto the sidewalk, his elbow brushes Lan Zhan’s arm. The contact catches him by surprise, sends a throb of awareness through him that radiates down his arm to pool in his fingertips.

In the years since they started being friends, Wei Ying stopped touching him, not a hug nor a handshake nor even a casual slap on the shoulder, a deliberate bid to respect Lan Zhan’s space. Before, he’d invaded it all the time. It was one of the first things he stopped doing once he knew he liked Lan Zhan and didn’t just want to make him mad for the thrill of it. Though he prefers to be tactile, he values Lan Zhan’s boundaries more.

He’d been too shocked in the restaurant to pay much attention, but after an entire evening spent sitting so close, it’s all he can think about.

An ache rips through him as he realizes how much he’s missed it. Now it feels like he’s lost a limb when he puts a more appropriate amount of distance between them so he doesn’t accidentally jostle Lan Zhan again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lan Zhan says, barely acknowledging Wei Ying’s sidestep. “People will think what they want.”

They’ll think we’re dating. Suddenly it doesn’t seem like such a great idea. Like, yeah. Jiang Cheng’s annoying and Nie Huaisang needs to see the light, but also: lying feels bad. And he’s dragged Lan Zhan into the lie, too. Scuffing his shoes on the pavement, he follows Lan Zhan down the street toward the metro station that will take them back to Lan Zhan’s part of town. “Lan Zhan…”

“Hm?” The full weight of Lan Zhan’s attention bears down on him.

It would have been a nice night, he thinks, if not for all the guilt pressing down on him, but they’ve committed to this now. Wei Ying has to see it through.

“Let’s make sure we have fun,” he says, cavalier, all braggadocio, “since we’re doing this, okay?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze goes soft. “Mn, let’s.”

Wei Ying is saved from reprisal for all of twelve hours for that picture of Lan Zhan’s and frankly he’s a little surprised he’s given that much of a reprieve.

The fact that he’s startled out of bed by a storm pounding on his door isn’t the way he’d have liked to confront reality, but it’s the only option given to him. He can’t even really yell at his judge, jury, and probable executioner because it’s the middle of the day and Wei Ying’s just a garbage fire about sleeping on the weekends. Again, his dream clings to him, but this time, he doesn’t have the luxury to follow the finer details down to their source. It dissipates with every banging knock.

“Wei Ying!” Jiang Cheng calls through the door. “Open up.”

“Coming!” Wei Ying yells back, no doubt earning him the ire of his next door neighbors. Instead, he wanders, stretching, into the kitchen to start the electric kettle. Jiang Cheng must know he’s doing this to be passive aggressive, because once the door is opened for him, he shoves his way inside and punches Wei Ying in the arm.

“Ow!” Wei Ying cries, grabbing his bicep. It doesn’t hurt, but that’s no reason to not be dramatic about it.

“That’s for making me wait out there.” This time, he flicks Wei Ying’s ear before he can duck out of the way of such a brutal onslaught. “That’s for not telling me.” Then, while Wei Ying tries to escape, screeching about how unfair and cruel Jiang Cheng is, he kicks at Wei Ying’s ankle. “And that’s for getting yourself caught up in some deep fucking shit. Dating Lan Zhan? Are you fucking serious?”

No, obviously it’s not serious, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t need to know that. That’s the point, but especially not after he beat down Wei Ying’s door for the answer.

“Yes!” Wei Ying says, overzealous and stubborn. “He’s my soulmate! I’m in love with him!” It’s difficult not to cackle as Jiang Cheng’s face reddens at these overwrought declarations. The thing is, they’re not so very far off the truth: Lan Zhan is his soulmate and Wei Ying loves him a lot.

Just. Not in the way Lan Zhan deserves.

Jiang Cheng stomps after him. “Wei Ying!”

“Would you like some tea, didi?”

“I’d like to kick your ass.” Jiang Cheng crosses his arms, crowds Wei Ying into the kitchen. It’s barely big enough for Wei Ying alone, but with Jiang Cheng there to take up so much space and oxygen, it’s even more claustrophobic. It’s hard to catch his breath, hard to move away. “What is he thinking?”

“What?”

“You—you’ve been pretending to make eyes at him for years and all of a sudden he posts a picture of you two being intimate? What’s his angle? What the hell happened? It took forever to convince you to go out with anyone and now this? You never mentioned anything.”

“I’ve never done that!” Heat flares across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I don’t make eyes. We aren’t intimate.”

“You flirt all the time! It’s meaningless.” Jiang Cheng’s disdain is a palpable, multi-faceted thing, its own organism taking the out Wei Ying needs in order to get some distance from this bizarro world conversation. “I don’t think I’ve ever once seen Lan Zhan touch another human being and his hand was all over yours. It was practically pornographic by his standards.”

“Oh, my god. My baby brother’s such a prude.” Wei Ying’s not above wailing and he does so now. The best defense is a good offense. Jiang Cheng’s made him uncomfortable with his very wrong analysis of what Wei Ying’s eyes are doing? Well, Wei Ying’s gonna make him uncomfortable right back. “When a man loves another man, they entwine their fingers sometimes, Jiang Cheng. It’s not pornographic. His dick on the other hand…”

Ha. On the other hand. Nice. Jiang Cheng’s gonna love that mental image of Wei Ying giving Lan Zhan a hand job.

“I don’t want to hear about Lan Zhan’s dick.”

Frankly, Wei Ying’s very interested in hearing about it, but since he doesn’t actually know anything, he drops it. “Yeah, well. I don’t want to hear about my eyes either, but here we are.” He goes for a lie that’s close to the truth. Easier to keep track of anyway. “I literally just asked him out, okay? And he said yes and we went on a date. It was nice. You should be happy. Now you don’t have to worry about me in my dotage.”

“You think you and he are gonna last until then?” Jiang Cheng scoffs again. “He’s going to murder you inside of a week.”

In the years he’s known and loved Jiang Cheng, he’s never taken it to heart what Jiang Cheng says. It’s all knee-jerk nonsense. Meaningless. His words are honed to wound, but they’re usually not really based in anything real so they can’t really gain purchase. It’s just whatever can get thrown around will get thrown around. And usually it’s because they’re actually fighting, not whatever this is. Wei Ying always lets it slide because they’re just words. They can’t hurt him.

Normally they can’t hurt him.

He reaches for the electric kettle, suddenly angry, angry at Jiang Cheng for saying them and angry for himself for—

For knowing in his heart that they’re true. Not the part where Lan Zhan’s going to murder him obviously because they’ve known each other way longer than a week and he’s long given up on even the emptiest of threats like the ones he used to throw around, but the rest of it? Yeah, he’s sort of…

He’s always accepted that Lan Zhan would eventually get tired of the bullshit Wei Ying invites into his life just by existing. That doesn’t mean he wants to hear about it from Jiang Cheng.

“Wei Ying?”

“Shut up,” he answers, because he knows. He knows. He doesn’t need Jiang Cheng rubbing it in like this. Like, sure. Jiang Cheng doesn’t really know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t make it untrue.

“Wei—”

Spinning around, Wei Ying leans against the counter, slamming his palms against it as the kettle rattles on its base. “Jiang Cheng! I don’t want to hear about it and I don’t care about your opinion on this. I’ll date Lan Zhan for as long as I’m able to and hope I’m old and gray before he gets tired of me. You can keep your mouth shut. If I’m meant to die at his hands because I’m just that fucking annoying, fine!” There are worse ways to go. “So be it, but until then, let me be happy about it for, oh, five minutes? Give or take? Can you do that?”

For a relationship that’s entirely fake and circumscribed by a pair of photographs on Lan Zhan’s Oasis profile, Wei Ying puts up a pretty good showing. Even Jiang Cheng’s staring at him like he knows Wei Ying’s serious.

Turning and yanking open the cupboard, he pulls out a canister of tea, a fancy loose leaf variety Lan Zhan got for him, probably Nie Huaisang approved, and shoves it back in, going for the box of crappy tea bags he keeps for emergencies. Jiang Cheng doesn’t deserve better.

Jiang Cheng’s gaze creeps across the back of his neck, an almost palpable presence. When he turns back, ready to unleash more hell on him, he’s stopped short by the pained grimace on Jiang Cheng’s lips, the regret in his eyes. “What the…?”

“I—” Jiang Cheng turns his head sharply. Color catches on his cheeks and his jaw clenches. “I don’t want him to hurt you is, uh, all. That’s what I—” His throat bobs once, twice. “That’s all I meant.”

Suddenly, Wei Ying is so very tired and sad. “Lan Zhan won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Oh, what do you call all this pining then?”

“There was no pining. I’ve never thought—it just happened. There was no premeditation on anyone’s part.” Okay, that’s a big fucking lie, but Jiang Cheng can’t ever know what part of it was premeditated. Besides, is it really premeditated when the idea only occurred to him two days ago?

Honestly, if anyone’s going to hurt anybody’s feelings, it’ll be the reverse. Or, you know, Wei Ying will manage to hurt himself. The only person here he does trust is Lan Zhan. Well, sadly not here here, but. In general. It would be nice if Lan Zhan was here though.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, sniffing. “Good fucking luck.” He scowls. Now that he’s discovered his histrionics are unnecessary, he gets awkward, won’t meet Wei Ying’s eyes. “Jie’s happy for you. You’d better not let her down.”

Great. In all of this, he hadn’t thought about how she might feel. Just a little bit more and he really will be the worst sort of person. But all he can do now is his best. It’ll be worth it once he manages to help Lan Zhan land his man. That’ll—that’ll be good. “I won’t.”

“She told me to invite you to dinner.” Jiang Cheng adds, pointedly slow, “And him.”

“I’ll see when Lan Zhan’s free.” Lies, lies, lies. He needs to get this locked down for Lan Zhan as quickly as possible. It’s one thing to fake a relationship on social media and probably out in public at some point; it’s another to start dragging family dinners into it. “We’ll do our best.”

“You’ll come if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you done threatening me now?”

Jiang Cheng grumbles, but nods with as much equanimity as he can muster. It’s not much, but Wei Ying appreciates the thought. The rest of their conversation is a dance as they drink their tea until Jiang Cheng very carefully says, “If you were into men, you could’ve said. I know, you know, a few who aren’t…”

“It’s fine.”

“But is that why it keeps not working out with the women I’ve set you up with?”

This is the last thing on the planet I want to think about right now. “I just didn’t feel a connection with them, Jiang Cheng. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m… with Lan Zhan now. Women are great. You did good.”

Though Jiang Cheng sniffs unhappily, he settles down, hands wrapped tight around his mug as they stare at one another, still standing in the kitchen. Wei Ying should probably invite him to sit down, but then he’ll never be rid of him and he’d like some time to himself.

In truth, he’d like to go over to Lan Zhan’s apartment and complain about this, but that seems counterproductive and pointless and might just make Lan Zhan feel bad.

When Jiang Cheng decides to leave of his own accord, Wei Ying very carefully doesn’t breathe out too deeply in relief where Jiang Cheng can hear it. And he doesn’t roll his eyes when Jiang Cheng says, “Don’t forget dinner with A-jie,” from the doorway.

Like he ever could. The last thing he wants in this life is to disappoint her.

Too bad he’s already getting the very real feeling that he’ll be disappointing someone in all of this. He only hopes that it’s himself and not the people he cares about instead.

After Jiang Cheng’s gone and Wei Ying’s left at loose ends, he finally decides to check his own social media accounts. There’s no reason he should be fearful, of course, but as he sits down, he’s perhaps a little concerned about what he’ll find. With Jiang Cheng’s assumptions in mind—pining, what in the very fuck—he feels like he can’t trust what anyone else has to say about him and Lan Zhan.

Using the excuse of needing more tea only gets him so far, but as he’s sitting on his couch, fresh mug in hand, embarrassment lodged in his throat, he finally checks.

There are a good thirty of them and though it’s perhaps less overwhelming than it could be, it’s still more than expects. He doesn’t even regularly interact with thirty people, let alone that many who are that interested in his life.

He navigates over to Lan Zhan’s page out of morbid curiosity. The picture he’d posted is still the most recent post and it has—

The phone falls into Wei Ying’s lap.

That can’t be right.

Scooping it back up, he looks again. No, that’s definitely… over a hundred likes. And quite a few of that number have even commented. Sick to his stomach and suddenly very in need of answers and assurances, he starts at the top and begins reading through them.

Where he might have expected people to express their disappointment, they’re all just… happy. For Lan Zhan. Congratulating him, wondering who the lucky man is if they don’t already know Wei Ying and there are a lot of them who don’t. But those who do know him? They’re all very kind about it, too. Not a single one of them suggest Lan Zhan’s slumming it—though he is, very much so—or act as though he could do better.

A warm, complicated bubble fills the spaces in his chest, uncomfortable, but not exactly unpleasant. Of course Lan Zhan knows nice, conscientious people. Of course they’d want him to be happy and trust him to pursue that happiness with care.

It’s too bad Lan Zhan can’t find his happiness with Wei Ying. Wei Ying wants it for him, wouldn’t mind being the one to give it to him. He’s not sure about the sex or romance part. How would it even work when Wei Ying’s not into men like that? That seems like a recipe waiting for a disaster to befall it. But… but if he could, he would. If it was at all possible, he’d give everything to Lan Zhan.

Only it’s not. Of course it’s not.

As Wei Ying combs through the responses, not a single one is from Nie Huaisang.

Has he just not seen it? Or is he off somewhere seething with jealousy and unhappiness? A quick swap to Nie Huaisang’s page gives no further information, though he’s been online since then if his comment history is anything to go by. Maybe he is jealous and unhappy and can’t bring himself to express joy at the thought of Lan Zhan and Wei Ying together.

Good.

“Get your shit together, Huaisang,” he says, though his apartment is empty around him.

It’s weird is the thing that gets him, the way he feels about Lan Zhan’s friends’ reaction to their news. It’s really fucking weird. Wei Ying’s used to being dismissed and ignored and generally just thought of as a grudgingly loved nuisance by Jiang Cheng. He is cherished by his jiejie and tolerated amiably by Lan Zhan. He’ll liven up a party for maybe twenty minutes, the center of attention, and then disappear off to a balcony or skulk in the kitchen with nobody to notice he’s gone. He’ll charm a person when they’re in his presence, but find himself forgotten as soon as he’s out of their sight.

It’s the way he wants it generally. He likes the quality of his world. As long as he has Jiang Cheng and jiejie and Lan Zhan, he’s fine. He has as many friends as he really needs in Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning and Wen Qing.

Well, he’s lonely, but he’s fine. He’s admitted that much. But on the whole, he’s lucky to have them and he’s grateful to them. Whether other people care about him or despise him is their choice and outside of his control. He’s learned not to let it bother him.

But. Well. It’s weird. That’s the… that’s the thing. It’s weird to be thought well of even in such a small, sliced scope as a single picture. It’s weird enough that even Lan Zhan notices because he’s still ruminating on it when they see one another again.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan waves his hand in Wei Ying’s face as he tries to hand over one of the cups of tea in his hand. “Is everything all right?”

“You’ve been asking me that a lot lately, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn.” He sits in his own chair, drinks pointedly. “I’ve wondered about it a lot lately.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan. I’m fine.” Thinking I should never have come up with this idea, but it’s not like I can make that mistake again. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well.”

“I saw…” Does he want to admit to this? His tea, a lovely pale amber, steams pleasantly beneath his nose. The only thing he can tell about it is it’s some variety of white. “I saw the reaction to your post.”

Lan Zhan takes a long, slow sip of his own tea before pinning Wei Ying with a look. “Mn.”

“How do you feel about it?” Wei Ying isn’t above picking at the fuzz on his jeans, fuzz that shouldn’t be there. He doesn’t even know where it might have come from and now he’s bringing fuzz into Lan Zhan’s home.

“I have no feelings on the matter,” Lan Zhan answers. “Posting to social media necessitates a response from your… peers on social media. That is the nature of the thing.”

“Peers? You mean your friends?”

“I suppose some of them are.”

Like Nie Huaisang? “Lan Zhan, you’re too cold. Anyone should feel warmed by the good wishes of others.”

Lan Zhan looks away, brow furrowing slightly before smoothing again. “The response is what I expected it to be. It’s easy to say nice things when the news is so happy.”

“It’s even easier to say mean things.”

Lan Zhan’s attention swivels back, settles grimly on Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying had better get used to life as a butterfly on display, because Lan Zhan’s not letting him up. His eyes would pin him to the fucking couch if they could. “Did you expect people to say mean things?”

At the concern in his voice, Wei Ying can’t help but laugh. “Of course not. I’m delightful. It’s like you said. Anyone would be lucky to date me.” The words taste like acid, thick like bile. After he’s said such a ridiculous thing, the laugh is harder to force, but he manages.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, adamant, “she will be.”

Passing his hand over his eyes, Wei Ying shakes his head. How does he get himself into these messes? Who thought this was a good idea and why did Lan Zhan let him indulge? The last thing Wei Ying’s interested in talking about is some hypothetical woman who’s going to love him. “Yeah, well. You’re the only one who’s caught me. Congratulations.”

Lan Zhan finally lowers his eyes. “Mn.”

This time, it’s Wei Ying who watches him. His hands twitch in his lap. His knitting is nowhere in evidence. “Where’s the blanket you’re working on?”

“Hm?” Those hands of his go still. “Oh, I’ve… I’ve had a little more free time lately. There’s a twinge in my wrist. I thought I’d rest. Perhaps I’ve overdone it.”

Frowning, Wei Ying stretches slightly, as though that’ll give him a better view of the damage. “Ah, Lan Zhan. You should take better care of yourself. Come over here.”

“What?”

“Come over here. Let me take a look.” Wei Ying pats the couch cushion and wonders exactly what brand of fool he is to be doing this to Lan Zhan, too. Lan Zhan seems to agree, because he stays put, acts like a deer startled in the middle of the road, unable to accommodate a reality where Wei Ying asks him to sit next to him.

But before Wei Ying can rescind the request, Lan Zhan’s climbing to his feet, lumbering over in a way that’s so out of character that Wei Ying’s honestly wondering if he’s somehow overstepped. It didn’t used to be like this, right? Wei Ying took all sorts of advantage of Lan Zhan’s space once upon a time and he never acted like it was this much of an imposition before. Even though Wei Ying’s learned how to behave better, it was never this difficult, right? “Lan Zhan?”

But Lan Zhan’s already sitting. He misses the center of the cushion and winds up with his thigh pressed against Wei Ying’s. The proximity sends a thrill of sensation up Wei Ying’s side, a tingling pleasure that Wei Ying’s not felt in years. Before he can spill, he places his mug on the coffee table, careful to avoid taking too much advantage of the closeness.

He’s always liked touching Lan Zhan.

Squirming, Wei Ying shifts until he’s cross-legged on his own cushion. Now, it’s only his knee that touches. That’s a little better even though Lan Zhan’s very close and sitting very, very still. His hands are carefully arranged on his knees, elbows held straight. Nobody on the planet has ever looked so uncomfortable with the thought of Wei Ying touching him.

“Never mind,” he says, because he’s not willing to subject Lan Zhan to something so abhorrent. Maybe when this is done, he’ll show Nie Huaisang a few tips that might help Lan Zhan. Surely his touch will be welcome. “Never mind, it was a stupid idea…”

“What was?”

“I just…” Oh, hell. “Jiejie’s developed every repetitive stress injury in the book at one time or another. Working as a chef is hard, you know? Especially on the hands. I used to go with her to doctor’s appointments sometimes and I asked about…” God, boring. Lan Zhan won’t care, not even though he’s pretending, his attention entirely on Wei Ying as he speaks. “I took a class. On massage. To, uh, help. With strains.”

Saying it out loud like that, it’s dumb. Who’d take a class on something like that? They could just watch videos or, like, fake their way through it. Not Wei Ying, no. He’d actually found someone who gave classes and spent a good six weeks learning techniques to help with hand pain especially. “I wouldn’t be able to get certified or anything, but…” Rolling his shoulders in defeat, he tries to push himself into the armrest, needs space. “But yeah. I could. If it’s not uncomfortable for you.”

Though he’s prepared himself for Lan Zhan’s hesitance, it still hurts a little bit. Unreasonable though it is, it’s not terribly complimentary to Wei Ying. And then he gives over his hand, holding out his arm for Wei Ying to take. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, eyes downcast.

Wei Ying scoots closer again, slow and hesitant, as though approaching a skittish creature. He cups Lan Zhan’s wrist in his hand, catalogues the smoothness of his skin beneath his thumb. “Have you ever been diagnosed with a strain before?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“No, you take good care of yourself. Just a twinge then?”

“Mn.”

“I bet you do all the recommended exercises and take breaks and drink water.”

“Not always.”

It’s easier to focus on Lan Zhan’s words than on the fact he has permission to touch Lan Zhan. “Not always,” he repeats. “Bad boy, Lan Zhan. Very bad boy indeed.” How can one man’s hand be so soft? And big? How has he never noticed it before? His thumbs dig into Lan Zhan’s palm, radiate down toward his fingers. Sitting like this, he’s got Lan Zhan’s elbow balanced on his thigh and it’s great, wonderful, perfect. He’d happily soak up Lan Zhan’s warmth. He’d sit like this forever if he could, just the two of them, while Wei Ying does nice things for Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan breathes deeply, evenly, so soothing that Wei Ying could probably fall asleep just like this. Which is not the point! It’s Lan Zhan who’s supposed to wind up so relaxed he wants to sleep. It happens with jiejie sometimes. By the end, he’ll be slumped against his shoulder, snoozing away as he works out the tension. It’s the best feeling in the world and he wants that for Lan Zhan, too.

He’s determined to give it to him.

There’s not a lot in his life he can be patient about, but he’s learned how to be still and calm and centered for this. Lan Zhan deserves nothing less than his best effort.

Wei Ying rubs lightly over Lan Zhan’s thumb, down between his fingers, pulling lightly before returning to working circles over every centimeter of Lan Zhan’s hand. He even turns it over, delicately massages Lan Zhan’s knuckles, smoothing lightly across the tendons as he works his way back toward Lan Zhan’s wrist.

Though it’s unnecessary, he swirls his thumb over the bony protrusion on the outside of his wrist. “I used to know all the names of the bones and muscles,” he muses. “I went a little overboard, I guess. I was curious. You know me, always diving deep on something and then forgetting most of it once I’ve moved on.” He keeps at it, though, likes sweeping his thumb over it. “They’re prominences or processes or something, I think, in anatomical terms. Anyway.”

Lan Zhan’s breathing remains steady, but he doesn’t seem all that interested in answering. Makes sense. It’s a boring conversation. He goes back to what he’s actually trying to accomplish, turns Lan Zhan’s hand again and laces their fingers together as he uses the other hand to rub even more circles into the inside of Lan Zhan’s wrist. There’s no reason for him to do the former, he supposes, but it’s nice, too, and Lan Zhan doesn’t argue.

“So,” Wei Ying says to distract himself from the fact that it is so nice. “What else have all these people been saying anyway? I could barely look at my notifications before I had to close the app.”

“Mostly congratulations,” Lan Zhan offers. His voice is energetic in a way Wei Ying’s never noticed before. When he looks over, Lan Zhan’s ear is red. His thumb, when it presses to Lan Zhan’s pulse point, thunders against Wei Ying’s touch. It makes sense once Lan Zhan speaks again. “Nie Huaisang wants us to go out with him when he’s back.”

Oh, Lan Zhan.

In all honesty—and this is entirely Wei Ying’s bad—Wei Ying hadn’t actually thought about the possibility that others would want to see them. Together. As a couple. That’s—that’s not something he considered until Jiang Cheng brought up going to dinner at jiejie’s. In truth, he hadn’t taken much time to concoct this plan beyond ‘make Nie Huaisang jealous via social media post.’

At some point, he should have considered the real world consequences.

Of course they’d be expected to be seen together. Even though they’re both homebodies in their own way—Lan Zhan’s naturally private, though outgoing enough when necessary, and Wei Ying’s just a mess who doesn’t like most people beyond the superficial—they do have, like, friends. Mutual friends even. Case in point: Nie Huaisang.

Fuck.

They’ll have to… “What did you tell him?”

“I haven’t responded yet. It wouldn’t be fair to spring it on you without talking to you first.”

“Okay, but what do you think about it?” Though Wei Ying’s not terrible at multitasking, he finds he can’t touch Lan Zhan and talk about this at the same time. It sucks, because there’s some tension in Lan Zhan’s forearm that needs work and who knows what’s going on with his other hand. Wei Ying’s not given it any love at all yet. Surely it deserves it, too. Instead, he holds Lan Zhan’s hand, not quite willing to let it go either. He’s not sure what he’ll do once he won’t have the right to take any care of Lan Zhan at all. Better to appreciate it now, right?

“It seems like a natural consequence of this course of action,” Lan Zhan says, noncommittal. “I am not surprised.”

“Lan Zhan, you’re being difficult on purpose. What do you think?”

“Wei Ying, you’re the one who wanted to do this. Your opinion is the one that matters.”

Oh, great. Put this all on him. Right where it belongs. Wonderful. Exactly what he deserves, but the last thing he wants. Sighing, he considers this seriously. Bringing it into the realm of the real. That’s a lot. There would be actual consequences if anyone found out. On the other hand, Wei Ying would have a great chance of actually pushing Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang together if they were all in the same space at the same time.

Wei Ying bites his lip, resumes the massage. Lan Zhan flinches as he presses too hard into his skin and squirms a little. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be more careful.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Quiet, he adds, “It’ll get Jiang Cheng off your back if we do this.”

“He’s already off my back. Any chance your crush will be there?” The question is a formality, but at least… at least Lan Zhan would know why Wei Ying’s willing to keep this up.

“Yes,” he answers, all the confirmation Wei Ying needs that he’s on the right track.

“Do you… should we? We’ll need to be physically intimate, right?” Wei Ying swallows. That means stuff like kissing and cuddling, right? Stuff Lan Zhan doesn’t like… or at least wouldn’t want from Wei Ying. For all Wei Ying knows, Lan Zhan would enjoy it with Nie Huaisang. “We should practice that?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, staring at the wall opposite the couch. He lifts their joined hand. “Is this not enough?”

“Oh.” This doesn’t feel… it just feels good, normal. It hadn’t seemed like anything special. But now… now it does feel a little intrusively intimate. He lets go of Lan Zhan’s hand, laughs, pats his knee and pushes himself away. There’s very little room for him, but he gives Lan Zhan back as much space as he can. “Ha. I guess you’re right, Lan Zhan. We’re—that’s enough, I bet.” Clearing his throat, he tries to ignore the way his hands are tingling at the loss. He doesn’t want to impose even more than he already has. He should have thought of that before. “Yeah.”

Lan Zhan’s hand twitches toward his, but he carefully curls it back into a fist in his lap. “Wei Ying?”

“How soon until he’s back?”

“Next week. He’d like to meet up on Friday. There’s a bar he wants to check out.”

“He always has a bar he wants to check out. He’s Nie Huaisang.”

“Mn.”

“Well, I guess we can make our debut there, right?” Debut and, hopefully, the end of the relationship as well. If he plays this right, Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang will be well on their way to romantic bliss by then.

The bar is, of course, classy as fuck and exclusive as hell. It’s the sort of place with a line at the door and a special VIP list and the only reason Wei Ying doesn’t feel entirely out of place is because Lan Zhan had told him he’d probably want to change—which, now that he’s here, he’s absolutely glad he did, snaking clothes from Lan Zhan’s closet—because everyone here is way, way more impressive people than he is, glitzy and cool.

“Wow,” Wei Ying says as they step into the bar. His immediate instinct is to cling to Lan Zhan’s arm. Ever since The Hand Massage, Wei Ying’s instincts have turned to touching Lan Zhan again. At every moment, he’s had to stop himself. But right now, with so many people around, spread across a cool, sleekly elegant bar space that’s big enough to accommodate a whole entire dance floor and a second level and a lot of pretty, sparkling people, it’s especially hard. He wants what is familiar to him.

And what is familiar to him is Lan Zhan and the sort of bars he and Nie Huaisang frequented back in the day. Unfortunately Lan Zhan’s the only one anywhere in his vicinity that pings as familiar because this isn’t remotely like the sort of bar Wei Ying prefers. Even if he walked right out the door, every other bar on this street is going to be the same sort of effortlessly chic that Wei Ying will never, ever reach.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, but before he can respond, Lan Zhan’s slipping their hands together and then he’s pulling him toward the alcohol and the line of bartenders expertly handling said alcohol. Nestled in the back, it’s brightly lit. Bottles line the shelves in so many colors, glittering against the mirrored wall behind them.

Oh. It’s nice to be pulled through the crowd by Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan’s hand is warm in his and makes him feel a little less out of his depth. Lan Zhan orders a drink for him and suddenly he’s got his arms full of Nie Huaisang saying, “Ah, Wei Ying. It’s been far too long,” in that sly way he has, coming out of nowhere to slide into Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s little bubble like he’s been waiting for them.

No doubt he was able to dress himself for tonight without assistance from Lan Zhan. And he looks good, too. His hair is pulled into a braided ponytail and the green shirt he’s wearing brings out his eyes. He’s studying Wei Ying, eyes dragging up and down his body, before settling on Wei Ying’s face with an approving nod. “You look good in Lan Zhan’s clothes.”

Lan Zhan’s pressing a glass into his hand, stopping Wei Ying from making a mess of things. “Nie Huaisang,” he says in greeting, far less than his future husband deserves out of him after so much time spent apart. Maybe Wei Ying can escape and find—

Wei Ying takes a step, but Lan Zhan’s hand finds his, wraps itself around his wrist, pulls him close without Lan Zhan ever actually looking at him. How does he always know what Wei Ying’s up to? It’s not fair. “I thought I saw Jiang Cheng,” he explains, because apparently this needs an explanation.

“Jiang Cheng’s not here yet,” Nie Huaisang replies. Of course he knows that. Nie Huaisang knows everything. It’s just Wei Ying who’s always the fool. “But it’s really good to see you. Time gets away from us, huh? What have you been up to?”

And oh, how Wei Ying hates this question. Because Nie Huaisang’s interesting and there’s something about Wei Ying that makes other people think he’s interesting, too. It’s the thin veneer of fun that sheens his interactions with everyone. Wei Ying is bright and smiles a lot and flirts and knows how to drink and have a good time. People often mistake that as being interesting when he’s… honestly? He’s not. He doesn’t do anything cool and he’d much rather hang out with Lan Zhan or his siblings than gallivant around.

Sometimes, he’ll joke about running away to start a farm in some village somewhere and people laugh and laugh at the incongruity of the image. Sometimes, he doesn’t think he’s joking at all.

Nobody asks Lan Zhan this question even though he genuinely does do interesting things. He’s super cultured, travels often, knows everything. Sure, he’s in bed by nine most nights, but he also leaves his house at five in the morning to beat everyone’s asses to the most coveted street food vendor stalls and hits the wet market and generally lives the life that people consider The Ideal Cool. Lan Zhan takes classes for fun on every possible thing that strikes his fancy and comes out of them enriched.

Lan Zhan has hobbies; Wei Ying… just sort of hangs out?

One time, he made a mug for Wei Ying while he was learning how to do pottery all because he’d heard it was relaxing. Turns out: it is. And Lan Zhan’s good at it. That’s cool. Also, the mug is awesome and when Wei Ying’s not haunting Lan Zhan’s house like a particularly clingy ghost, he uses it.

“Oh, you know,” Wei Ying says, laughing awkwardly. “This and that.” Truly, a scintillating answer. “Hey, did you hear about Lan Zhan’s latest thing? He’s taken up knitting. He’s really good at it.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says.

“I suppose ‘latest’ isn’t really right. He’s been at it for a while now. You probably—”

“I have,” Nie Huaisang answers, saving Wei Ying from his own awkwardness. “He posts about it sometimes. I keep telling him I’d buy something from him, but he won’t sell. Such is life.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, seeing the opening for what it is. Sure, Lan Zhan says he doesn’t want to give anyone his work, but clearly if Nie Huaisang’s willing to pay, making it a gift is even better? “Lan Zhan, that’s too cruel.” He briefly pats Nie Huaisang on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe how amazing it is. He’s got this blanket in his apartment that is just—it’s soft as hell. I want to sleep with it, I swear. I’d steal it if I was the sort to purloin shit from my fr—” Wait. They’re still pretending. Right. Not just friends for the moment. They’re dating. “My boyfriend.” He beams. Just saying it makes something nice bubble up within him, fizzy and joyful. Helping Lan Zhan find true love really is a nice feeling. “Because we’re boyfriends.”

“You are!” Nie Huaisang says, super sweet, which isn’t the reaction Wei Ying expects at all. Shouldn’t Nie Huaisang be bitter and sad that his chances with Lan Zhan have been dashed? Why’s he slapping Wei Ying’s shoulder? “And that deserves another drink. You’re too slow, Wei Ying. Gotta keep up.” Before Wei Ying can stop him, he’s tapping his knuckles against the bar and telling the bartender that they’re gonna need a few shots and another cocktail or three, whatever’s interesting. “Here,” he says, pushing the first shot glass into Wei Ying’s hands. “You look very happy with one another.”

“Eh?”

“Drink up! Come on. We’ll do one together. Lan Zhan, you want in on this?”

“No,” Lan Zhan answers. “I’d like to be able to drive my… boyfriend home. Please enjoy.”

“Lan Zhan, if you’d like to, I’d be happy to drive instead,” Wei Ying says.

“No need.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan.” And here at least Nie Huaisang’s sounding as fond as Lan Zhan deserves. That’s a good sign. “Come on, Wei Ying. Let’s show him how it’s done.” He wags his finger in Lan Zhan’s face. “One day I’ll get you to properly drink with me though.”

And on that note, Wei Ying downs his shot, considers taking Nie Huaisang’s and downing it as well. He’s already been got, you stupid bastard. Take pity. It’s a good thing Nie Huaisang’s also quick. His is gone almost as fast as Wei Ying’s. He’s clapping Wei Ying on the arm before Wei Ying’s ready, then does the same to Lan Zhan, and says, “Ah, I’ll catch up with you both later, okay? Don’t leave before we get to have a proper chat.”

“Wait!” Wei Ying says, instinctive. Nie Huaisang turns, curious, and now Wei Ying feels dumb because Lan Zhan’s looking at him, too, also curious. “Don’t you think Lan Zhan looks handsome and elegant tonight?”

Nie Huaisang’s gaze settles on Lan Zhan’s face, dips to his chest, sweeps down his legs. “Wei Ying, don’t do a disservice to Lan Zhan. He’s the most handsome and elegant man every night.” Winking at Lan Zhan, he says, “Isn’t that so?”

This is what you wanted, Wei Ying thinks as his stomach churns. Nie Huaisang is so shameless. He’s shameless, but not wrong. Lan Zhan is always handsome and elegant and he deserves to know it, but suddenly hearing it out of Nie Huaisang’s mouth as he melts into the crowd is too much. Lan Zhan deserves the praise, but Wei Ying wants to be the one praising him.

Nie Huaisang must know everyone here, because it takes him forever to disappear into the crowd entirely. For every group and gaggle of people he infiltrates, he becomes the shining center of attention. When Wei Ying looks over at Lan Zhan, however, he’s not looking at Nie Huaisang.

“What?” Wei Ying asks. “Is there something on my face?” He scrubs at his mouth and over his jaw. Lan Zhan’s eyes follow the action. The urge to hide from the intensity of Lan Zhan’s gaze almost overwhelms him. Wei Ying ignores the sensation. “Wanna find somewhere to sit?”

“Mn.”

Booths dot the room, some more secluded than others. These latter, he avoids. They’re here to be seen after all. His stride is so purposeful that he forgets Lan Zhan’s presence entirely for a handful of seconds as he pushes through throngs of people. It’s Lan Zhan who reminds him of their purpose here. His hand, soft, soft and comforting and wonderful, slides into Wei Ying’s. Such a simple touch, but it threatens to undo Wei Ying’s resolve. Does Nie Huaisang truly deserve this if he won’t go after it himself? How could he walk away like that? Shouldn’t he be eager to fight Lan Zhan’s fake boyfriend for him? Doesn’t Lan Zhan deserve someone who’d fight for him?

He wishes they could talk about it honestly, but it’s clear Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to know for certain it’s Nie Huaisang. Though Wei Ying’s always pushing boundaries, he’d like to allow Lan Zhan to keep this one if he needs it. Surely it has to hurt to know the one you love is capable of leaving like that.

Maybe Wei Ying’s not doing a good enough job of making Nie Huaisang jealous.

Maybe he needs another drink.

Maybe, he realizes as the music switches from something upbeat to something slow and sleek and sexy, maybe he and Lan Zhan should dance. Nie Huaisang likes dancing—he is also very good at it, better than Wei Ying, though Wei Ying’s not bad exactly—and surely he’ll be jealous if Lan Zhan’s dancing with anyone except for him. That’s how everyone should feel. “Lan Zhan, would you like to dance?”

Lan Zhan goes still, feet planted as though in cement. His hand is pulled along by Wei Ying until his arm fully stretches and Wei Ying stops, too. Neither of them let go. Instead, Wei Ying reels himself back.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Do you want to dance?”

“Who doesn’t want to dance?”

“But—why would you want to dance with me?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Wei Ying replies. Duh.

Lan Zhan levels a flat glance Wei Ying’s way. Leaning close so no one can overhear, he says, “You’re straight.”

Wei Ying’s lips thin as he pulls Lan Zhan toward the wall so they’re not debating Wei Ying’s sexuality right in the middle of the floor. “Funny, I didn’t realize two men dancing together made me not straight all of a sudden. I’m pro-dancing with everybody, Lan Zhan. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, that’s another thing entirely, but if you want to, then I want to, too.”

“But why?”

“To make your mystery man jealous? Because it’s fun? There’s no way in hell you’re not a good dancer. Why wouldn’t I want to get in on that if I got the chance?”

“Hn.” And there it is: that’s definitely Lan Zhan’s huff of ultimate judgment. He only trots it out on special occasions or when Wei Ying’s being especially dense about something, which is patently unfair because Lan Zhan won’t talk to him. It’s not like Wei Ying’s trying to be stupid on purpose. He just wants to help! This should help, right? He has as many facts as are required to reach the conclusion that the two of them dancing together will look sexy as fuck and Nie Huaisang won’t be able to stand it.

But Lan Zhan’s not buying it, so.

“Fine,” he says, because it’s not going to work if Lan Zhan won’t let it and Lan Zhan will have deigned to fake date him only for Wei Ying’s benefit and that’s not fair. If Lan Zhan’s not going to get his man this way, then Wei Ying should sure as fuck have to deal with Jiang Cheng’s annoying ass. This only works if they’re both getting something out of it. “Let’s just hang out then. That’s okay, too. Whatever you want. We could fake break-up now if you’d like since this is clearly—” Useless.

But when Wei Ying tries to do the right thing and starts walking toward the nearest booth where they can just chill, okay, Lan Zhan yanks him back again and drags him over to the dance floor where the treacly-sexy music is still playing, all low, lovely beats and sinuous rhythms. Wei Ying trips over his feet, but Lan Zhan’s there to catch him.

“Lan Zhan!”

And then Lan Zhan’s doing things that nobody’s ever done to him. Not like, sex stuff, obviously because they’re in public. Maybe sex-adjacent because it’s very… hm. Something? Yeah, something, to have Lan Zhan this close—did you know he smells really good, because he really fucking does, Wei Ying’s head is swimming with it, whatever it is, he doesn’t know shit about cologne—and his hands are… His hands are pressed to Wei Ying’s jaw. They feel so big and—and they’re steady. His fingernails scrape pleasantly behind his ears as his fingers scratch lightly at his hairline. Lan Zhan’s looking at him like he’s someone special and cherished and desired, because Wei Ying doesn’t feel like he’s just Lan Zhan’s very platonic friend who happens to be pressed chest to chest and thigh to thigh against him. He feels like someone Lan Zhan might like to take home and make love to.

And then his hips do something else? It’s… Wei Ying’s not sure because one of Lan Zhan’s hands drifts over his neck, down his chest to press against his sternum. The other settles on his waist and then snakes around to settle low on his back to dip beneath the waistband a little and that alone distracts him for an entire glacial age. And Lan Zhan keeps fucking looking at him, gaze keen, hungry. He’s too fucking good at pretending. It sucks. It’s awful. This is the worst. “Is this okay?” Lan Zhan asks.

“I’m good,” Wei Ying replies, small, probably hard to hear over the music. If you get any closer, you might discover the truth behind spontaneous human combustion though. It’s not even—seriously, Wei Ying’s not interested in men as a general rule, the aesthetics are there, he’s seen some handsome men in his time, he is best friends with the most heartbreakingly handsome of them all, but there’s never any spark to go along with it and though it’s possible he could picture himself settling down with, you know, a guy (Lan Zhan) in a nonsexual partnership or whatever (for sure, Lan Zhan, he’d grow old with him in a heartbeat), he’s pretty certain the whole ‘only wants to have sex with women thing’ makes him straight—it’s not even that, you know, it’s a warm body grinding against a very sensitive part of his anatomy. He’s lonely, not celibate, not desperate in this particular way.

It’s the fact that it’s Lan Zhan holding him, looking at him like this, touching him in that way.

Within the circle of Lan Zhan’s arms, he actually feels special, cherished, desired.

Nie Huaisang’s out of his fucking mind if he doesn’t jump this man immediately. The headiness of it is… a lot.

Nobody, not even the women he’s dated seriously—if a few dates and maybe a night spent together counts as serious—have made him feel this particular twinge of longing before. If Lan Zhan could feel that for him… he would be lucky. Hell, he’d probably…

He’d probably…

“Wei Ying?”

Fuck.

It’s a little like seeing his life flash before his eyes, this sudden burst of understanding within him. It slots into place, shifts everything within him. A millimeter of slippage beneath the tectonic plates of his heart will destroy the rest of him in a tsunami. Give it a minute, an hour, a day.

Give it a single fucking second, because that’s all he needs to drown in understanding.

He would—he wants to sleep with Lan Zhan. He wants to be desired by Lan Zhan, wants to be touched and loved by Lan Zhan in any way, every way. One moment, he is straight and doesn’t desire this from Lan Zhan. The next, he’s not and it’s the only thing in life he’s ever really wanted. And Lan Zhan’s perceptions of him haven’t shifted even the slightest bit. He is still holding Wei Ying, still looking at him with concern. Though he’s put a few centimeters of distance between them to survey Wei Ying’s face, his hands still touch Wei Ying’s body. He doesn’t know how Wei Ying’s feelings have transformed.

Lan Zhan would not want to know.

He loves Lan Zhan, who loves another man, and nothing has changed except for how everything has changed.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he does the only thing he can imagine himself doing in this moment. Pulling Lan Zhan close, he clings to him, buries his face against Lan Zhan’s neck, breathes him in and memorizes every bit of Lan Zhan that he touches, because one day very soon he won’t be allowed to have this at all. They’ll go back to the way things were. Wei Ying might be allowed to camp out on his favorite couch cushion in Lan Zhan’s apartment and Lan Zhan will sit in his chair on the other side of the room and never the twain shall meet again.

“Wei Ying, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Wei Ying says, laughing bitterly, because this is ridiculous. He’s probably been in love with Lan Zhan this whole time and just never even knew it. He’d wasted all of this time—well, it sounds like it might have been a waste anyway, since Lan Zhan surely loves the same way he does everything else, with care and devotion and a breathtaking single-mindedness. There’s no room for Wei Ying in that. “Nothing’s wrong, Lan Zhan.”

I’m a fool. I’m a fool. I’m a fool.

The music spins down. The others who were slowly moving against one another return to more raucous, provocative moves, scream and laugh and grind ridiculously against one another, drunk and having the time of their lives.

Wei Ying’s head swims.

“Would you like to sit down?” Wei Ying asks finally when he realizes that he’s taking something that isn’t his, that he shouldn’t have. If he doesn’t stop himself from reaching for more now, it will only be all the harder later. “Let’s sit down. I’ll go get you some water or something. Do you want water? I want water.”

He only lets himself hold Lan Zhan’s hand because they’re still—they’re still pretending. (Wei Ying is not pretending. He’s very much… he’s smart, okay, when he’s not being completely stupid. He already knows what he wants, can see a whole happy life stretching out before him, beneath him, above him, Lan Zhan filling every corner of it. It feels so right that it almost seems like they are already boyfriends, lovers, partners, that it’s not pretend and never has been.)

“Wei Ying—”

Wei Ying shoves Lan Zhan into the booth he’d scorned earlier. “Be right back, Lan Zhan!”

At the bar, he considers ordering another shot or three or ten, but decides against it. The onslaught of revelation, arousal, fear are already too intoxicating. He doesn’t need more. He doesn’t need to get messy. “Water, please,” he calls, lifting his fingers. “One tepid, no ice. The other…” Wei Ying’s feeling feverish. “All the ice.”

The bartender nods and returns with two bottles of water and two glasses. Into one, he dumps enough ice to fill it to the rim. The ice clatters as it settles and the bartender puts the scoop away and scans Wei Ying’s phone for payment. “Thanks!” Wei Ying manages to squeak out.

Juggling two glasses and two bottles of water while his hands are shaking are no easy feat, but he manages to cross the crowded bar and reach the booth no worse for wear. At first, he heads for the opposite side before remembering they’re not-actually-dating-but-fuck-Wei-Ying-wants-to and swerving back to crowd against Lan Zhan. From arm to knee he feels enervated, on edge, overheated and when their fingers brush as Wei Ying hands over Lan Zhan’s bottle and glass, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

To say he’s on edge is probably an understatement.

Lan Zhan’s hand covers his on the table, stilling the jittery clicking of his nails. “Wei Ying, are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Lan Zhan.”

“Was that…? If I made you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t,” Wei Ying replies, lightning quick. “You could never. Lan Zhan—”

And then Nie Huaisang’s throwing himself into the bench across the table and he’s smiling at them both and it’s a good smile, beautiful and coy and fun and Wei Ying—

Wei Ying really needs to get out of here.

But not before doing Lan Zhan one last favor after he’s acted like a complete whack job. “Huaisang, keep Lan Zhan company for me, will you? I need to… I need to go.”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth forms a beautiful moue of concern. “Is everything—”

“Everything’s fine! Just really fucking fine, Huaisang. I’ll be back.”

(That’s a lie. He doesn’t intend to come back. He intends to text Lan Zhan in about twenty minutes to tell him he’s not feeling well and is already heading home, nothing to worry about, stay and have a good time, sorry to abandon you, tell Huaisang it was good to see him, etc. etc. etc.)

(Lan Zhan will stop by on his way home, knock quietly on the door a few times, and leave when Wei Ying doesn’t answer. He’ll send a text a few minutes later asking Wei Ying to rest well. Wei Ying, like an asshole, will just stare at the closed door of his apartment from his perch on the couch, legs pulled up with his arms wrapped around his knees. He won’t reply to the message. In the morning, he’ll pretend he was sleeping and that he’s feeling much better today, Lan Zhan, thank you for your concern, I’ll see you later, okay?)

(Though he’s an asshole, he’s not that much of an asshole. As much as he’d love to avoid Lan Zhan forever or at least until his wounds scab over, he won’t stay away for long. Lan Zhan is still his best friend and always will be.)

(He just needs a tiny bit of time is all.)

Wei Ying’s hand hovers over Lan Zhan’s door, knuckles mere centimeters from giving him away, point of no return style. Every time he brings his hand back to rap against it, he fails at the last minute.

It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Come on,” he tells himself. “Come on, come on, come on. It’s just a knock. It’ll be easy after that. You just have to—”

Deep breath. Hand pulled, poised again to announce his presence. At the very last second, he fails again, splays his hand somehow, like his limbs have minds of their own now, and accidentally slams his palm against it instead. His gasp is strangled by the thorn-riddled vines of his nervousness as it wraps and wraps again around his ribs.

Fuck. Fuck, Lan Zhan knows he’s here and he’s already used up his asshole quota for at least a month so he can’t just go. He can’t run. He can’t—

The door opens promptly. Lan Zhan is there, eyes wide, expression somehow both shuttered and open. “Wei Ying.”

—he can’t, but leaving was never an option.

“Hi.” He curls his still upraised hand into a fist, nudges Lan Zhan’s shoulder lightly with the flat of it. “Hi, Lan Zhan. Can I come in?”

Lan Zhan nods, steps back. Wei Ying pretends everything is fine, normal, all good. A day, less than twenty-four hours, was definitely enough time to get his head on—ha fucking ha—straight.

Wei Ying’s… adjusting to reality anyway. Sort of. He’s here anyway.

“Should we go on one more date?” Wei Ying asks once he’s situated in his usual spot. Has it always been so fucking far away from Lan Zhan or is Wei Ying only noticed now? Has his requisite mug of tea always been this scalding, this bitter? And Lan Zhan’s just—sitting over there. In his usual spot, too. Calm and composed and cooler even than before they’d gone to the bar yesterday. Is this also new? Or is it another thing Wei Ying’s only just noticing now, like maybe it is annoying to Lan Zhan that he comes here?

The only conclusion he’s reached since yesterday is he can’t trust himself or his perspective on this situation, maybe any situation. Maybe this whole time he’s just been wrong. About all sorts of things.

Yeah. Wei Ying’s definitely adjusting.

Tonight, Lan Zhan’s hands must not be hurting, because he’s knitting so quickly that Wei Ying can’t keep up with the elegant, smooth motion of hands that Wei Ying longs to hold again. “You still want to?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We haven’t gotten you your man yet, right?”

“Wei Ying—”

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine.” Because why would he? Wei Ying’s got feelings now. That’s a fucking complication Lan Zhan can’t possibly want. If he’s figured it out, of course he’d want to give this up. It’s probably written all over Wei Ying’s face. He’s never had an easy time keeping his emotions in check. They spill from within him at every moment of every day. He doesn’t know how to be anything else. “Of course, it’s fine.” Wei Ying can’t even fake date properly. What’s the point when he can’t even help Lan Zhan find his happiness? “But I’m still in this if you are.”

A muscle in Lan Zhan’s jaw twitches, his throat bobs once. He stares at nothing and says nothing and does nothing for so long, Wei Ying’s sure he’s going to bolt or scold Wei Ying. Any second, it’s going to be too much. And then: “Wei Ying, I feel like I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Oh. He’s definitely used up his asshole quota. For, like, a whole year. Not just this month. “Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.” Oh, good. There’s that stubborn note in his voice. That means he’s never going to let this go. He’s going to think it’s his fault. Of course he would.

Luckily, Wei Ying’s got a stubborn note, too, and it’s a pretty good one. “Lan Zhan! If you think getting close to you is enough to make me uncomfortable, you’re sorely mistaken. Remember when I used to throw myself at you? Did that make you uncomfortable?” God, he misses those days, way back. All that touching he did. A veritable feast of skin contact. His younger self didn’t even understand what he held in his hands.

“No,” Lan Zhan answers. “No, it was fine.”

What? What?! His memory is pretty shit. He knows it, but he didn’t fabricate his entire university experience. It wasn’t fine.

What a liar. He’s such a liar. Wei Ying was there, too. He remembers every single time Lan Zhan froze when Wei Ying got too close. He should argue. He should fight to the death, but he’s not going to because Lan Zhan has rather miraculously walked himself into Wei Ying’s point and he’d rather win than argue.

“See? I didn’t make you uncomfortable. You don’t make me uncomfortable. A little dancing can’t affect me.” Wei Ying, you are, he sings, despondently, in the part of his mind that is wholly devoted to being a morose motherfucker, the biggest fucking liar on the planet. Even bigger than Lan Zhan. “I’m one-hundred percent comfortable with the slow, sexy glide of your body against mine. Lan Zhan, you’re the best dancer there is. I’m in awe of your prowess. It is staggering just how fun it is to dance with you. Let’s go again now. I’ll show you how not uncomfortable I am.”

He thinks perhaps this isn’t the right way to convince Lan Zhan. In fact, it suddenly feels like he might be compensating for something.

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow. “Then why are you behaving so strangely about it?”

And yep, of course Lan Zhan’s gotta pick up on it.

Because I’m desperate to make slow, sexy, gliding love to you and want to date you for real and I think Nie Huaisang’s an idiot. Keep up, Lan Zhan. Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answer to. “I told you,” he says. “I wasn’t feeling very well at the bar. I think the drink hit me weird. I hadn’t eaten much.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m serious. Lan Zhan, be reasonable. Even I have weird limits. Maybe it was just my blood sugar. In any case, I’m feeling just fine today. Ready to once again make your man jealous if that’s what you want to do since my showing yesterday was not so great.”

“Your showing was fine.”

That perks Wei Ying up. “Oh? Really? Is he jealous finally?” What would jealous Nie Huaisang even look like? Is it hot? Maybe it’s hot? It would be interesting to see anyway. “Maybe all you need to do is put the moves on him.”

Someone should give Wei Ying a Golden Rooster for the effort he’s putting into this acting gig.

Lan Zhan sighs. “Wei Ying, I think this is a bad idea. It’s never going to work.”

“It will work. You just have to let it work.” You could also just tell him and put me out of my misery. “Come on, I’ve failed you as a fake boyfriend. Let me make it up to you.”

“Wei Ying…”

“Er-gege.” He bats his eyelashes and pouts. This is way over the top. He knows it. Feels it in his bones. But the only way out is through and if he exaggerates this, he doesn’t have to feel anything real about it. It’s just performance art or… or a comedy. It can’t hurt if it’s little better than caricature. “Let me help, please.”

Lan Zhan clenches his jaw again. If he’s any harder on his molars, he’s going to need a dentist. “Do you want to get dinner again then?”

Wei Ying thinks about it, shakes his head. In retrospect, tonight is too soon. He has to plan something good. “Let’s just order takeout tonight,” he says, because he’s greedy and it’ll give him time to think. Lan Zhan acquiesces even though he’ll often insist on making dinner if Wei Ying says takeout.

As they eat, he dredges up every conversation they’ve had of late from the depths of his memory for inspiration.

And just like that: he knows. Lan Zhan had mentioned it a week or so before this nightmare rollercoaster began. “We can go to that museum exhibit you’ve mentioned.”

Lan Zhan’s eyebrow twitches up. “I believe tickets are sold out for another month.”

Well, shit. How big of a deal is this thing? He chews his lower lip as he furiously thinks it through, tries to find something else. Wait. Wait. Ha, wait. “Details. I’ll figure it out, Lan Zhan.” Oh, he’s already got it figured out. Good job, Wei Ying. Sometimes, you’re okay. “You just make sure you’re free to go see this thing.”

“If you insist,” Lan Zhan replies, dubious.

“I really do.” He’s… he wouldn’t say he’s excited, but he’s always a little gratified when his solutions solve multiple problems. Here, he gets to give something to Lan Zhan that he wants and he gets to rub it in Nie Huaisang’s face. It’s perfect.

When he’s not being a complete moron about his own feelings, he really is a genius.

The great thing about Nie Huaisang—and, honestly, why Wei Ying isn’t one-hundred percent down on Lan Zhan getting with him—is he really is a bro when it comes down to it. There aren’t a lot of people out there in the world who, if messaged at ten-thirty at night for a pretty egregious and petty favor, would come back at ten-thirty four to say, done on one condition: coffee tomorrow.

Which is how he finds himself sitting across from Nie Huaisang, condition fully met.

They are both drinking cold brew from a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop that Wei Ying’s never seen before despite having lived here for years. It is, Wei Ying thinks, perfectly acceptable as far as coffee goes, but Nie Huaisang sniffs and sighs wistfully as he mournfully shakes his head. Wei Ying doesn’t ask about it because he’s sure there’s a story there and Wei Ying doesn’t want to hear it. Mostly because he’s waiting for the ax to fall and he doesn’t want to fill his head with yet more clutter about how Nie Huaisang’s taste in coffee is too refined for the losers around him.

A canary-catching cat smile crouches on Nie Huaisang’s mouth as he curls his fist under his chin and leans forward. “So, you’re not usually a patron of the arts, Wei Ying.” Nie Huaisang taps his fingers lightly against the edge of their table, playful, distracting. “Does this have something to do with our dear Lan Zhan?”

Our Lan Zhan. Huh. That is… sure something to hear.

How will it feel when Nie Huaisang’s over there calling him ‘my dear Lan Zhan?’ What then? You have to get used to it.

There are things his heart has done to him over the years to cause him pain and unhappiness, but it’s never betrayed him quite as badly as this, sitting here, knowing what it is that Nie Huaisang unwittingly carries with him.

But he has to persevere. This is for Lan Zhan and Lan Zhan’s happiness means more to Wei Ying than his own. If he has to stand on the sidelines at their wedding one day, so be it.

“It might,” Wei Ying admits, uncertain how to play this now that he’s here. “He’s mentioned wanting to go to this exhibit. I thought I’d take him. I didn’t realize it was, uh… so popular.”

Nie Huaisang nods along happily enough. As Wei Ying searches his face for signs of anything at all beyond general contentment, he begins to see what Lan Zhan means: not a single hint of jealousy. “It’s a good exhibit. I’ve been wondering if he’d be interested. I could’ve gotten him tickets sooner, but he’s always so tight-lipped about everything. I’m sure you know.” A sly expression crosses his face. “Or perhaps not anymore.”

Does he want to know what Nie Huaisang means by that? Perhaps not.

“Anyway, it’s later in the evening if that’s okay. I know Lan Zhan likes to sleep early, but he’ll make exceptions from time to time,” Nie Huaisang continues, blithe. “There’s a restaurant nearby you should take him to. I’ve been meaning to invite him now that I’m back, but I keep forgetting.” How can one person be so genial about his competition? “I think he’d like it.”

“Maybe you should hang onto it,” Wei Ying suggests, a sour feeling settling in his stomach. “Take him there when you get the chance. I’m sure he’d be happy to go with you.”

“Ah, ah, ah. I give this to you. Consider it my congratulations to you both. I’m glad for you. I almost couldn’t believe how happy he looked the other night until you worried him by running off that way. Why would he want to go to dinner with little ol’ me instead? Please, Wei Ying. Don’t be dumb. I know you’re not.”

“I’m not being dumb. I just think—”

“And I think I’ll catch up with him another time. Have a good date. I hope tonight is okay? Tell me all about it, etcetera.”

Wei Ying’s mouth drops open. This guy is really, really something, isn’t he? He can just go about his life letting Lan Zhan get scooped up by an inferior guy? Maybe Lan Zhan’s right and he is straight. Wei Ying frowns down at the thick layer of foam sitting on the surface of the coffee. Nie Huaisang had mentioned it was nitrogenated when they ordered and it’s fine, he supposes, but if he wanted to drink a stout, he would have. At least then there’d be alcohol in his system for this conversation.

He sort of misses thinking he’s straight. It was way less complicated than realizing he’s interested in men and has been pining stupidly for Lan Zhan in particular. Being oblivious has served him well for a very long time. It’s probably some kind of coping mechanism, the only kindness he could do for himself under the circumstances. All this time, he’d protected himself so well with it.

At least now there’s a wide new pool of people he can suck at dating once this is all over. That’s a fairly substantial upside in all of this.

“Or,” Nie Huaisang says, sipping the coffee delicately, “perhaps I’ll ask him about it.”

“Perhaps you should.”

In any case, Nie Huaisang does forward the tickets to him and he sits and stares at the QR code for a long, long time. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, Wei Ying, Wei Ying. Just having you ask was more than enough payment. Besides, I didn’t have to buy them. I’m not going to make you pay for them.”

“No, come on. I have to do something for these.”

“You really, really don’t. Seriously. A friend owed me a favor anyway. It’s my treat.”

Though he grumbles about it, he lets it slide for now. Considering the work he’s trying to do to make true love happen for Nie Huaisang, he’s probably going to end up in debt to Wei Ying by the end of it. “I guess I’ll owe you one then. Thanks.”

“So what’s it like,” Nie Huaisang asks, “dating Lan Zhan?”

Good question, Nie Huaisang, and I’d love to know the answer to it, too. “He’s thoughtful and warm and great. The best. I’ve never been so lucky in my life.” Surely there’s more he could say about how he likes spending time with Lan Zhan in the evenings, how even just thinking about Lan Zhan makes the day a little better. He would love to proclaim Lan Zhan the greatest kisser on the planet, but he doesn’t know that for sure and never will. “Even just holding hands with him is amazing. It’s unreal.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile grows fond, which is a good sign, right? “It sounds nice.”

There’s a lump in his throat that doesn’t want to dislodge itself. It’s terribly inconvenient. “It really is.”

And then Nie Huaisang is gathering his things while Wei Ying’s brain circles the drain over just how nice it is. He claps Wei Ying on the shoulder, squeezes lightly. “It’s good to see you happy, too, you know?”

“I’ve always been happy.” He shoves at Nie Huaisang’s shoulder. “You’re so fucking weird, Huaisang.”

“Have you?” Nie Huaisang makes a thoughtful sound. “Am I?” His mouth draws up in a coy smile. “I’m sure you’d know!”

And then he’s wandering out the door, bag thunking against his hip as he walks. Wei Ying’s eyes follow him all the way to the door, but he only turns and waves in farewell, unaffected in the extreme. Has Wei Ying not sold it well enough? He stole Nie Huaisang’s man! Lan Zhan even! The best man out there!

But not a single indication that Nie Huaisang cares.

“Really?” Wei Ying whispers, vehement. “Really?”

How could Nie Huaisang be so cold? Is he made of ice? His man is out there going on a date with another man and he’s not seething inside? What else does he have to do to make Nie Huaisang realize how precarious this all is for him? Suck face with Lan Zhan publicly?

No, no. He couldn’t possibly do that. That’s shameless even for him. And honestly, it would probably be some kind of point of no return if he did. But there’s gotta be something else he can do.

Maybe he’ll find inspiration tonight.

The restaurant is, predictably, good. Wei Ying’s not going to feel jealous about that fact, no. It’s so good that this time when Lan Zhan’s quiet, it’s because he’s marveling over the dishes in front of him and not at all because that’s what’s been ingrained in his head since childhood.

Wei Ying hates with every fiber of his being that he can tell the difference between Lan Zhan’s ‘quiet for the sake of quiet’ face and his ‘too fucking happy with the food he’s eating’ face. It’s all in the gentle quirk of his eyebrow, the hint of surprise sparking in his eye, the way even when he chews, there’s a subtle, pleasant slant at the corner of his mouth. When Wei Ying offers him more of this, that, or the other, he tilts his bowl toward Wei Ying with more alacrity than usual. It’s the sweetest thing Wei Ying’s ever seen.

Wei Ying would never have found such a place on his own.

This is another thing he owes Nie Huaisang. It’s a privilege to see Lan Zhan take joy from something like this.

And he’s forgotten yet again that they’re supposed to rub it in everyone’s faces that they’re going out together.

He wonders if it even matters. But even so, he’s committed and so he pulls out his phone and holds it up, broadcasting exactly what he plans to do. Lan Zhan looks startled briefly, cheeks puffed up slightly with a mouthful of food and he holds up his chopsticks and turns his head, as though that’s enough to hide his delight from the camera.

Ugh. He’s so beautiful. How can one man be this beautiful? He stares down at the picture and wants to hoard it for himself. But that’s not what this is about. “Lan Zhan, can I post?”

Lan Zhan stares at him openly for a moment and then slowly nods. “Mn.”

Before he can stomach the thought of putting it out there for the world to see, he covers it in doodles, hiding away the adorable curve of his cheek with a drawn-on lipstick kiss, the upturned corner of his mouth with a scribbled heart. It’s not enough to make him feel generous, but it allows him to share it instead of hoarding it like a boundary-crossing dragon.

Within seconds, there are already comments rolling in. Wei Ying doesn’t dare look at them. They feel a little bit too much like touching a pepper with a healing paper cut, aggravatingly sharp. With that done, he is no longer hungry even though the food is delicious enough even for him.

“Wei Ying?” This time, it’s Lan Zhan holding out his chopsticks and placing a thin strip of duck meat into his bowl.

“I’m good, Lan Zhan.” He holds up his hand to stop him and then sighs, taking up his chopsticks again and swiping the meat out from beneath Lan Zhan’s to pop into his mouth. After he swallows, he nods, hums at the flavor. It suddenly tastes reminiscent of ash, of char. “Really.”

Lan Zhan stares back at him. His eyebrow sweeps up in a dubious arc.

“You should have more though,” Wei Ying insists.

“No,” Lan Zhan replies. “I’ve had enough as well.”

After he lets Wei Ying pay, Lan Zhan ushers him outside, holding the door like a perfect gentleman. This late in the evening, the air is crisp and cools Wei Ying’s overheated skin. Though it’s dark, his eyes find the best path toward the museum’s entrance. “Huh.”

Because the museum is just across the way and it’s… very deserted. Like, closed for the night deserted. Well, not quite that bad—there are a few people milling around and even a few going inside and it’s brightly lit—but it’s, like, a very intimate scale of activity.

Wei Ying pulls up his phone and stares down at the whole ticket, not just the QR code. And then he yelps. Private after-hours viewing is plastered across the top.

Private. Viewing. How does that—do museums even do such things? The answer is obvious, though. They clearly do. At least this one does.

“Lan Zhan, ah! I think Nie Huaisang must like you.”

There, progress. On the whole. Uh. Getting them together mission. Yeah. Yeah! Well done, Wei Ying.

“Why is that?”

“I might have asked him for help getting tickets for tonight,” Wei Ying says. He holds up the phone screen so Lan Zhan can see. “Look what he dredged up for you.”

Lan Zhan’s mouth falls open just enough that Wei Ying wants to push it shut with his fingertip, too cute for words. Too cute and not for him.

“Wei Ying…”

“No really. Nie Huaisang’s great. He literally, like, did that. Last night. All for the cost of a cup of coffee today. He’s the guy to date clearly.” Wei Ying glances his way, searches his features for any sign of recognition, but Lan Zhan’s too cool, too. Wei Ying senses nothing from him. They truly are made for one another. “Look at this. It’s amazing.”

“You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Are you listening to me? Nie Huaisang did this.” How much harder does he have to work to make sure Lan Zhan gets it? Shouldn’t he already get it anyway? He’s the one who likes Nie Huaisang. “He didn’t do it for me.”

Lan Zhan sniffs, utterly undignified. Pinching the sleeve of Wei Ying’s jacket, he pulls Wei Ying toward the entrance. If he’s moved by Nie Huaisang’s gesture, he’s sure faking the opposite perfectly. It’s almost impressive. No, it is impressive. It lets Wei Ying cut himself some slack anyway. After all, how could he possibly have known Lan Zhan’s feelings when he plays things so close to the vest like this? “Lan Zhan, seriously? You’re not at all moved by his gesture?”

“I’m sure someone owed him a favor,” Lan Zhan says, dismissive in his certainty. “And now you owe him a favor.”

“Heh, funny story,” Wei Ying replies. There’s an usher or a docent or something at the door ready to scan Wei Ying’s phone and welcome them inside. Lan Zhan’s watching him closely, waiting for the reveal. It’s not so very much. Once they’re inside, he shrugs. “He doesn’t want anything from me.”

Having never been in a museum after hours, he glances around the lobby. They’re really fucking big when there aren’t hoards of people flowing into and out of them. And kind of soothing? Who knew? Certainly not Wei Ying, who doesn’t go to enough museums even in the daytime.

Lan Zhan probably knows.

Nie Huaisang probably knows, too. Of course he does. Why else would he do this instead of getting him tickets for a normal time of day? Or doing the reasonable thing and saying he can’t manage it on such short notice, sorry, better luck next date.

“Well, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, cheerful, verbally sweeping the last conversation to the side, a sandcastle brushed away by a gangly child too bored to continue. “Lead the way. I am but your humble…” Humble what? Boyfriend? Pfft. “Person.”

Lan Zhan drags him—yes, drags him—to the exhibit hall. And not only that: he’s walking very fast, chewing through the distance with those long, long legs of his. He is, like, actually rushing toward the wing of the museum indicated for them. And then he’s lost to Wei Ying, off in his own world as he studies the works on display.

Wei Ying tries to keep up with the app-bound map and brochure, but as he pinches and swipes, he’s no closer to understanding. Unlike dinner, this is actually pretty exciting in the development of their fake relationship, and he begins taking pictures, careful to observe the posted rules about it. Having something to focus on is the only thing keeping him from losing his entire mind at how excited Lan Zhan looks. Every so often, he tosses one onto Oasis and ignores the notifications.

He sneaks another, perfect on the first try, of Lan Zhan in profile as he stares at a painting, and sets it as his wallpaper. This is the true art in this museum tonight and it doesn’t belong to Lan Zhan’s friends online.

Though he pretends to read the very nice explanatory placards, too, he’s having a much nicer time watching Lan Zhan read the very nice explanatory placards instead.

He looks away finally, because he’s afraid he’ll plaster himself to Lan Zhan’s body and demand that he explain the art to him and that’s just… not a thing he can consider too closely.

The ceiling is an excellent distraction now that he’s reached this sorry state.

“Let me know when you get bored,” Lan Zhan says, pulling him from the daze of his thoughts. The words fall like ice water dumped down the back of his shirt and the dubious set of his mouth suggests to Wei Ying that no matter what he says now, he’s not going to believe that Wei Ying isn’t bored. Fuck.

Bored is the last thing he’s feeling right now. Pathetic, yearning, sad in that very specific way where you’re also heartbreakingly happy, too, and you’re not sure what to do with the twin sensations in your chest. All of those things, yes. Bored? No. I’ll never be bored of you, he thinks, willing Lan Zhan to understand. Instead, he clings to the ticket, pulls it up again and taps the screen. “You’ve only got an hour here before they’re going to tear you away from it. I can manage that long.”

It’s not the right thing to say, because Lan Zhan gets that stubborn look on his face instead of acquiescing.

“Lan Zhan! You won’t believe me if I say I’m not going to get bored. So just take comfort in the fact that there’s a time limit on this and maybe try to accept that I contain multitudes. Besides, we’re alone. I can’t embarrass you in front of other people even if I do start misbehaving.” He waggles his eyebrows, tries to shoo away the discomfort of feeling like he might be an embarrassment to Lan Zhan under any circumstance. “But I’m not bored. I’m not planning on being bored. Even if I do get bored, I want to be here with you.” Lan Zhan’s still looking at him like he’s a liar, which he is, but not in the way Lan Zhan thinks. So, uh, maybe a bit of the truth wouldn’t hurt? Just a little bit of it. “I would want to be here even if it wasn’t technically because we’re fake dating, okay? It’s nice to see you happy.”

Suspicion is a good look for Lan Zhan. That’s for sure. But it doesn’t do anything to make Wei Ying feel better about accidentally alerting Lan Zhan to something he doesn’t want to share yet, not ever, because it’s not fair to Lan Zhan. Maybe if he ever talks to Nie Huaisang about his feelings, maybe if they don’t work out even though they should, maybe then he won’t experience the crushing weight of guilt of confessing his newly unearthed feelings.

No matter what, they deserve their chance before Wei Ying even considers confessing.

“Come on. Don’t you trust me? What will make you trust me?” He does the exact thing he shouldn’t, which is lope over and wrap his arm around Lan Zhan’s, a last-ditch effort to wrestle control back. “Tell me about the art.” Fuck, that’s not going to help. “Make me understand.”

Though Lan Zhan’s still glaring, the expression softens.

This is the worst idea of all time because wow. Lan Zhan sure tells him. He tells him a lot of things about a lot of things, historical details, techniques used, themes expressed and represented, what it all means to Lan Zhan, why he cares, the feelings they evoke in him—love, desire, regret, hope—and how much he appreciates that Wei Ying did this for him, perhaps the worst thing he’s ever said to Wei Ying because it chokes him up a little and he’s kind of overwhelmed by it all? Lan Zhan feels so much and he’s so warm against Wei Ying’s side and his arm is really fit with Wei Ying’s curled around it like this and it’s just. So bad.

Too bad.

Lan Zhan looks at him, to gauge Wei Ying’s interest maybe, fuck if Wei Ying knows, and he’s sure suddenly that everything is written on his face. Before he can rearrange it, he’s… he leans in, holds tighter to Lan Zhan’s arm, almost, almost burdens Lan Zhan with the truth.

Between one moment and the next, Lan Zhan’s somehow caught fake dating related insanity and is turning them toward the far corner of the exhibition room, near the bathrooms, and pushes him into the wall and—and…

And his hands are bracketing Wei Ying’s face while his gaze goes from lost to found in an instant. His expression is hard, unrelenting, as he studies Wei Ying’s face. Surely, surely Lan Zhan’s figured it out. They’re plastered to one another from the waist down and Wei Ying can—he’s hardening already and Lan Zhan’s, Lan Zhan’s packing heat behind the fly of his trousers because Wei Ying feels him, too, and this isn’t something they can do except for how it’s the only thing Wei Ying wants to do.

For five glorious seconds, long enough that Lan Zhan’s leaning in, somehow dragged into this whole morass with Wei Ying, it’s amazing. Wei Ying’s going to let this happen. He’ll know what it’s like to kiss Lan Zhan and it’ll be fan-fucking-tastic. If he’s lucky, he’ll discover the shape of Lan Zhan’s dick through his pants and maybe get to second base.

Or he can—

Those hands are still braced on either side of Wei Ying’s head, all of Lan Zhan’s weight resting on them. That makes it easy for Wei Ying to duck under his arm and slip free. “Lan Zhan—” He laughs, bitter, brutal, self-effacing, self-defeating as he backs away. “—Lan Zhan, there are cameras. Nie Huaisang—”

“What about Nie Huaisang?”

His shoulders slump. The last thing he wants is to talk about Nie Huaisang. The adrenaline from knowing what it’s like to be manhandled by Lan Zhan, to almost be kissed by him…

It wears off, leaving him feeling wrung out and jittery.

So stupid. It’s not like Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang are dating now. There’s nothing stopping him from letting himself be a stepping stone. Even just once with Lan Zhan would…

But no. No. The stupid thing would be to do that. The smart thing is to extricate himself as quickly as possible with as much of his friendship with Lan Zhan left intact as he can get it. Because he’s not willing to kill this friendship, not for anything. He’ll confess every feeling he has if he must—he does not want to, because he knows Lan Zhan will have feelings about it that he doesn’t need to bear, but he will if it comes down to it—he’ll make every promise he has to so that this won’t affect anything, but only if he has to.

He would ideally avoid burdening Lan Zhan with this at all.

And then at some point in the future, Wei Ying will get to be happy about Lan Zhan’s relationship status and he’ll move on and it’ll be great.

“Wei Ying—”

“Lan Zhan. It’s not—I can’t…” He gestures expansively. “You have, like, half of this exhibition to look at still. I know I’m irresistible, but—” A laugh strangles itself in the back of his throat. “—you were having the time of your life a minute ago.”

Nothing, nothing. No reaction from Lan Zhan. Just blank-faced nothing. Even his mouth is slack. And then he clams up and it’s even worse.

“Okay,” Lan Zhan says as though he’s crawling over glass just to say it, voice ragged and torn. “I’m sorry. I don’t know—”

“Your guy is out there. You don’t want to waste your time with me, right? There’s no apologies necessary.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen and his ears go red and it’s not cute at all even though it’s normally so delightful to see Lan Zhan blush. This time, it’s terrible.

His features fall and he turns away. Though it’s rather cold standing against the wall without Lan Zhan’s body next to him, he remains there while Lan Zhan reads and looks and walks with a desultory slowness around the room.

By the time he’s ready to go, Wei Ying’s able to elbow him in the side and pretend. Sort of. His voice isn’t a perfectly composed facsimile of his usual easy tone, but it’s close. “Sorry, Lan Zhan. I hope I didn’t…”

“You didn’t. It was my fault.”

He lets it drop.

Outside, it’s even colder, full dark. Now would be the perfect time to cling to Lan Zhan, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he drags their conversation before up from the bottom of the garbage bin where it should have stayed. “No, I was… I know I’m taking advantage. That was unfair of me. I know you don’t…”

“I don’t?”

“Like touching.”

“Oh.”

“And I mean… I don’t know. I’m not actually irresistible, so I’m not sure…”

“You’re not sure?”

“Why you…?” Wei Ying’s hand waved in front of his own face, right at mouth level. “With me.”

Lan Zhan’s not usually given to physical outbursts, so it’s a little surprising when he scuffs his shoe so violently across the sidewalk. “I should think it would be obvious why anyone would want to kiss another person.”

“Yeah, but…” Lan Zhan wanting to kiss Wei Ying is absurd. “I thought you were waiting for your mystery crush to come around? The best part about fake dating—” It is, in fact, the absolute worst part, but that’s neither here nor there. “—is you don’t have to actually do anything except post dumb shit online and maybe go out with friends and let them fill in most of the blanks for you. You don’t really have to pretend the whole time.”

Sighing, he scrubs his hand over his elbow, not something he normally does either. “Wei Ying, it’s not pretending. That wasn’t me pretending.”

Ha. Yeah. Because Lan Zhan’s the type to settle. Right.

Wei Ying jogs ahead a few steps, turns, plants his hand in the middle of Lan Zhan’s chest. “So… you’re giving up on your mystery crush? Just like that?”

“I never thought there was a chance of it working,” Lan Zhan says, stubborn, cold, pointed.

“So you decided to kiss me about it?”

“That was—”

He can’t let himself hear that he was a mistake. It would be too much. Time to push on. Remind Lan Zhan what this is about. “If you never intended to try, then why do it at all? Why put yourself through this?”

“Because you wanted a break from your brother.”

Ah.

Of course.

Of course, of course. Of course Lan Zhan would be so good as to do this entirely for Wei Ying’s benefit. Because he’s perfect and self-sacrificing and long-suffering. Why would he ever try to do anything for himself? If he did, he wouldn’t have opened himself up to needing to fake date Wei Ying to make a third party jealous. He’d have taken his chance with Nie Huaisang instead of letting Wei Ying hobble his social life in this way.

Fuck him. Fuck him for letting Wei Ying fight harder for his happiness than he’s ever done.

“Lan Zhan, you’re a coward.” The words fall unbidden from his mouth, but maybe they need to be said because they keep spilling forth anyway, heedless of Wei Ying’s wishes. “So what if he’s straight? Maybe he’s not that straight and just doesn’t know what he wants or maybe he hasn’t thought about it and he needs to. Do you think he’d like to know he’s causing you this much trouble? Do you think you’re not worth taking a chance on? Maybe he is that straight and you have no chance, but at least you’d know that for sure. Fuck, I wouldn’t even have brought it up if—well. You don’t have to worry about me and my stupid brother’s interference anymore.” His anger drains from him with the same violent intensity it showed when it arrived. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I won’t drag you into my bullshit like this again.”

He spins around before Lan Zhan can make some important counterpoint about how Wei Ying can’t possibly understand what he’s going through. That might have been true before, but he’s exquisitely, painfully aware now and he does understand. Very, very well. This sort of shit sucks. It does. It’s not easy to bare your heart to someone. Even Wei Ying can’t do it, so how can he scold Lan Zhan like this? He should go back and apologize.

His feet don’t agree with him.

In truth, his mind doesn’t either.

If Lan Zhan won’t help himself, Wei Ying will do it for him. He might not thank Wei Ying for it at the end of the day, but he’s never needed or wanted Lan Zhan’s gratitude before, so it’s fine.

It’ll be fine. Wei Ying will fix this for Lan Zhan.

The nice thing about Nie Huaisang—when he’s not on some whirlwind travel schedule where anything might go anyway—is that he’s a creature of habit. Those habits tend to be short-lived, sure, just waiting for a new discovery to replace them, but Wei Ying’s fairly certain he knows where he is today. Based on Nie Huaisang’s answer that he’s ‘getting coffee’ when Wei Ying had messaged him about twenty minutes ago, it’s obvious. He’s at the coffee shop from yesterday.

In fact, he’s at the same table.

“Wei Ying, how was the—”

And he’s drinking the same nitro-drafted bullshit, too. He has a dumb, happy, beautiful smile on his dumb, beautiful mouth and Wei Ying wants to wipe it away as Nie Huaisang stands to greet him. And it is beautiful, Wei Ying recognizes it now. It’s attractive, because he’s not straight and maybe if he’d fucking figured it out sooner, he wouldn’t be the one who lost what he—what he might have been able to fight for if he’d known sooner what it all meant.

Everything he’s ever done to, for, because of, and as a result of Lan Zhan comes down to one thing: love. He loves Lan Zhan. Probably has since they first met. All that pigtail pulling way back when? Love. All the restraint he’s shown since? Love. All this misery now? Love, love, stupid, fucking love.

“Huaisang,” he says, pushing Nie Huaisang back into his seat. “We need to talk.”

“Oh?” Nie Huaisang swipes up the glass, sips his coffee, upper lip wrapped delicately around the rim, knowing. Bubbles curve toward the foamy surface as he puts it down again. “Are you not going to order anything first? Or ask me how my day’s going? Or—”

“No time.” It feels like every moment Wei Ying’s ever had has gone to waste and now there are no more left to him. They’ve slipped between his fingers, so much useless sand spilling from a broken hourglass. “Huaisang, we really need to talk about Lan Zhan.”

Nie Huaisang wriggles slightly and leans forward on his elbows, hands tucking themselves demurely under his chin. “Oh? Did it go well?”

It could have. “No.” He shakes his head and blows out a breath and figures he’s come this far, he can go the rest of the way. “You need to make an exception for him.”

“An exception?”

“Yeah, like… I need you to give him a chance.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes narrow and then widen and then he scoots back, sitting properly. “A chance at what?”

“At dating you! Don’t be stupid. I know it’s difficult when you’re used to dating women, trust me, but like… it’s really good, okay? With Lan Zhan. I can attest to it. He’s very…”

“Wait, wait, wait. Since when do I—when have I ever dated a woman?”

Wei Ying sputters. “You post pictures with women all the time. You’re telling me you haven’t dated any of them?” Lan Zhan’s the one who said it anyway. Why is he being made to feel dumb about it? He hadn’t been the one making assumptions. He’d never even thought about Nie Huaisang’s sexuality before Lan Zhan brought it up first.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he answers, still confused. “I post pictures with all sorts of people all the time, too. I post a lot of pictures in general. That’s sort of my thing. I’m not dating my camera either.”

A lot of things tumble down around Wei Ying, namely his understanding of the universe and also dawning horror and maybe a crashing wave of embarrassment. “So you’re… not straight.”

“I’ll be honest? Not a huge fan of labeling myself.” He grins. “I just like to take pictures. Metaphorically speaking.”

“I… see.” He doesn’t, not at all, but it’s not his business to pry. Also: bigger fish. Which is Lan Zhan’s been adamant that the man in question is straight. Lan Zhan’s too precise. He wouldn’t use that language to describe Nie Huaisang if he doesn’t use it himself. Unless he’s assuming, too. But no. That doesn’t seem right. Hmm.

“So, you know, I’m not really interested in dating anyone? Not even Lan Zhan, beautiful and elegant and refined though he is. If I were interested, he’d be right at the top of the list.” Nie Huaisang opens his hands. “Alas, he is all yours.”

“No, no. That’s the thing. He’s not mine.” He’s yours. Maybe Lan Zhan’s misinformed?

“I’m pretty sure he is. That’s the whole point of you two dating, right?” Pointedly, he lifts his glass, eyebrows raised.

Wei Ying doesn’t drum his fingers on the table, but it’s a very near thing. “No, he told me he’s into a straight guy.”

Nie Huaisang sets down the glass, laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them. “Oh, trust me. I already knew this. Please continue.”

“You—” Flushing in embarrassment, Wei Ying crosses his arms on the table and barely refrains from knocking his head against it, too. “We’re not really dating. It’s a lie.” He groans, deciding that, you know, the table really would be a good place to rest his forehead after all. “We’re doing it to get a straight guy jealous. He wouldn’t tell me who it is. Also, it was supposed to get Jiang Cheng off my back, which is why he even let himself get talked into it. Before you ask. Because obviously Lan Zhan wouldn’t do anything this dumb unless it was for someone else’s benefit, right?”

After a long stretch of silence, Wei Ying looks up, though he retains the right to sprawl across the table.

“Right.” Nie Huaisang blinks and blinks again. It’s a good thing Nie Huaisang is Nie Huaisang though. He refuses to struggle through Wei Ying’s leap in logic and simply accepts what he’s told and keeps right on going. “And as we’ve just established, I am not.” Arch, he adds, “Frankly, you probably have more experience in that misadventure in labeling than I do.”

Misadventure. In being labeled straight. Wei Ying’s not touching that right now. Just as it isn’t fair to confess anything to Lan Zhan, he can’t dump it on Nie Huaisang’s shoulders either. He’s pretty sure it’s not other people’s labeling of him that’s the problem here. Any misadventure is self-directed.

Anyway. Again: bigger fucking fish.

“Yeah, but Lan Zhan wouldn’t know that, would he? That you’re not interested in that way?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. He’s perfectly aware. We’ve talked about it before.”

Stomach plummeting, Wei Ying pushes himself upright. “No, but—you’re you. You’re like. You and Lan Zhan would be perfect together. Who else could it possibly be?”

Nie Huaisang is looking at him with so much sympathy in his eyes that Wei Ying flinches first, stares down at his hands instead. It’s disgusting, awful. Nie Huaisang can go back to mocking him whenever he wants. Pity is the last thing Wei Ying needs. “Wei Ying, this is…”

“No, seriously.” Ugh. His eyes are watering. This is really unfortunate and embarrassing. “You can’t tell me it’s not you because if it isn’t you then there’s some other guy out there who’s missing out on the best person in the world and I can’t—it was already hard enough when it was someone I thought might be good enough for him. But there’s no one else.”

“There’s you.” Nie Huaisang’s voice is too fucking soft. Who let it be that soft? It’s such bullshit. This is bullshit. “He thinks you’re straight, right?”

Yes, Wei Ying thinks. Probably.

Wei Ying chokes on a laugh that feels a little bit like swallowing knives instead. It’s not funny at all. “Oh, please. I’m sure as hell not good enough for him.”

“So you lied about dating Lan Zhan because you’re trying to help get him together with the love of his life who isn’t you and you clearly really, really want it to be you. You thought it was me and you’re actually upset it’s not because you think I’d be good for Lan Zhan and somehow you think you’re the one who’s not good enough?” Fuck, why is Nie Huaisang being so kind?

“Um…” Wei Ying’s throat dries. It makes it really difficult to swallow. That’s the problem here. “I didn’t say anything about wanting to be the love of his life.”

“Wei Ying, it’s obvious.”

Anger is good. Anger keeps the urge to cry at bay. Because he doesn’t cry. That’s not who he is. “No, it isn’t.” If it’s so obvious to others, then Wei Ying’s even less worthy of Lan Zhan’s affections than he already is, because if he can’t recognize it, how can he reciprocate it as well as Lan Zhan deserves?

“Okay, it isn’t.” Pressing his hand briefly to the back of his neck, Nie Huaisang leans back and looks heavenward. “Wei Ying, I can’t help you then. I’m not the guy you’re looking for and I have no idea what other straight man in Lan Zhan’s life could possibly fit your requirements. It’s not like there are many.”

“I… yeah, I’m getting that.” Though he tries to make his voice lively, he fails utterly at it. It all rings so hollow. Wei Ying is hollow. “Uh, sorry for… unloading on you. Like that. I was just…”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head and purses his lips. His fingers turn the glass before him endlessly. “You don’t have to apologize, Wei Ying. We’re friends, too. I’m happy to listen to you when it comes to things like this. Or anything really.”

“You really don’t know who it might be? I can—I’d like to help him. If I can.”

Nie Huaisang’s mouth twitches like he wants to say something, but he refrains at the last moment. Mostly. “I really don’t know what to tell you, Wei Ying. I hope you figure it out though. I’m sure Lan Zhan will be very happy when you do.”

“And you really won’t go out with Lan Zhan?”

The laugh Wei Ying earns for that question is less disdainful than it could be. “No.”

Wei Ying’s shoulders slump. “And you won’t tell anyone? About this conversation maybe? There’s only so much dignity I can lose before I have none left, you know.”

“I really don’t know anything about this conversation at all,” Nie Huaisang says, agreeable. “In fact, I don’t even know for sure if you were even here. This was certainly bizarre enough to be a really vivid dream.”

Wei Ying breathes out in shaky relief. “Thanks, Huaisang. I, uh, gotta go figure out something else to do now.” Maybe if he pretends it’s okay, it will be. “You know how it is.”

“I don’t, but I’m sure I’m rooting for you anyway.” Before Wei Ying makes it more than a few steps, Nie Huaisang calls after him. “Wei Ying, whatever else you’re thinking, he’d be lucky to have you. Don’t get too hung up on this, okay? Shoot your shot, maybe?”

He clings to Nie Huaisang’s kindness more than he should, a dangerous proposition given how unsteady he feels in the face of it. Perhaps he will one day.

Wei Ying isn’t the sort of person who mopes. Life throws—and sometimes lands—a lot of punches. Big deal. Everyone’s life is a unique tragedy. This isn’t even the worst of what he’s gone through in his life, but in this moment, nothing feels like it compares. As he listlessly wanders around his apartment, he wonders how Lan Zhan is doing, wishing he could check on him and not feel like the world’s biggest fool. If nothing else, he owes Lan Zhan an apology for the way he’d lashed out. It had been reactive and not worthy of their friendship.

It’s not Lan Zhan’s fault. None of this is Lan Zhan’s fault. Wei Ying’s the one who started it and Lan Zhan only did it for him and it’s—it’s Wei Ying’s mess to clean up.

He puts aside any thought of bothering Lan Zhan now. Once he’s come up with a solution, he’ll apologize and make it worth his time. Besides, Lan Zhan might not want to talk to him right now. Better to wait.

Is it really better, a part of himself that he wants to ignore says, to be the coward you called Lan Zhan?

He still can’t go five minutes without thinking about his conversation with Nie Huaisang. He’s clearly not ready.

He showers, sits in front of the television, stares at the black screen for a while without bothering to turn it on because it’s not like he’ll be able to pay attention anyway. So it goes for another few hours, thoughts churning endlessly in a search for a solution.

He thinks he’s okay though, because he’s no longer feeling that prickly sensation behind his eyes and because his brain’s not turning everything he’s ever done wrong in his relationship with Lan Zhan over like his neurons exist on a little hamster wheel in his skull. He thinks he’s okay because when jiejie calls, he sounds cheerful even to his own ears. Their conversation goes so well for so long that Wei Ying feels almost normal toward the end of it.

He feels almost normal until he doesn’t.

“A-Ying, why don’t you invite Lan Zhan over for dinner? I haven’t seen you in forever and it would be nice to see him again.”

He’d thought the coffee shop or the museum was where it had all tumbled down around him, his understanding of himself and Lan Zhan crumbling around him, but this, this is the real truth: it’s not until right now that it hits him just how fucked he is.

He’s caught his jiejie up in this lie. It was supposed to be resolved by now.

He’s scum and he can’t even choke out a response that’ll put her at ease. He’s awful, the worst.

The words won’t come.

“A-Ying?”

He draws in a deep breath. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s a stupid prank gone wrong. He’s going to assuage her. He really will.

But he can’t lie again. That’s not—it would be easy to say they’ve broken up, conceal this whole mess by that method. Lan Zhan might prefer it that way instead of having him air out this embarrassing mess even to jiejie, even though she won’t betray their confidences. But he can’t. And he can’t say they’ll come, because they won’t.

“Jiejie, Lan Zhan and I never dated,” he says. As soon as he starts, something inside of him releases. It all falls from his lips. “It was a ruse. We were just… messing around.” He tells her everything. “I lo—like him.” Sniffing, he scrubs the back of his wrist across his nose and mouth. “I like him so much.”

The phone goes so quiet that Wei Ying can hear the quiet sussuration of the connection, thin, between them. “A-Ying, are you certain?”

“That I like him?” He laughs. “Jiejie—”

“No, are you certain that you were only messing around?”

Now it’s Wei Ying’s turn to delay answering. Yes, he’s fairly certain this is a mess and it definitely exists around Wei Ying.

“Because I don’t know that it is.”

Wei Ying pulls his legs up onto his couch. It’s not the same as when he does it at Lan Zhan’s place, but it’s still comforting enough despite there being no soft, warm blanket to wrap around him, nor Lan Zhan’s steady presence in his favorite chair nearby. “Jiejie, I think I’d know.”

“Lan Zhan’s not the type to play such games.” This is true, but he has an answer for this, too.

“He did it for me. Because—Jiang Cheng’s been trying to match me with so many women lately. I wanted a break and… a dumb idea came to mind. He’d do anything for me, even something stupid like this. Anyway, even if it wasn’t true, I kind of… I told him… I can’t bring him over for dinner.”

I’ll be old and alone and never find someone.

And it’s not just because he has a hard time connecting to people. It’s because someone won’t suffice now, will they?

“I can’t bring anyone over for dinner now. I only love him.”

“You can bring yourself, A-Ying,” she scolds, but gently, like chewing out a kitten who has been just a little bit naughty. It’s far less and more than Wei Ying deserves. “You’re more than enough for me.”

“Ugh, jiejie. You can’t be nice to me like this.” He brushes at his cheeks. Luckily they’re not actually wet. “What will you do with me if I blubber all over you?”

“I’ll pat your head and tell you it’ll be okay,” she replies, laughing lightly. “And then I might pinch you for not giving Lan Zhan more credit.”

The trouble with giving Lan Zhan credit is the very thought of doing so terrifies him. It’s such a small thing, terror, but it squeezes into the spaces between his rib cage and cinches so tightly that he can’t breathe through it. It’s too big. The thing he wants from Lan Zhan… it can’t possibly belong to him. Because if it belongs to him… if it has always belonged to him…?

No. It’s impossible.

“A-Ying, I’m going to be serious now,” jiejie says and this isn’t her kitten-scolding voice, no. This is her ‘Wei Ying needs to listen to her because she’s going to say something important’ voice. “Whatever it is you’re fearing right now, Lan Zhan’s right there with you, okay? He is. The things you’re feeling? He’s feeling them, too.”

Wei Ying sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t want him to feel what you’re feeling, right? The uncertainty is the worst, isn’t it?”

Wei Ying exhales. Motherfuck, but she doesn’t pull her punches. The worst part is he knows what she’s doing. As much as she likes Lan Zhan, it’s not about him. It’s about her wanting Wei Ying to do the right thing for himself. But she’s apparently not above using his feelings about Lan Zhan against him to get him there. “Jiejie…”

“A-Ying,” she drawls right back, same whining note and everything.

“I can’t burden him that way.”

“Are you just going to hide what you feel forever? He’ll know you’re hiding something from him and it’ll hurt you both.”

“Who knew you could bully your Wei Ying so effectively?” God, the thought of Lan Zhan sitting in his apartment, unsure and alone? It aches. Maybe he’d talk to his brother, but how could he help? Only Wei Ying can fix this. “You’re so cruel to your little baby brother.”

“Oh, so little. I’ll remember that next time. Poor baby A-Ying.”

“Humph.” He crosses his arms and turns up his nose dramatically despite knowing she’s not able to see it. “I am.” And then he sighs. Because he is being pathetic and childish. How is he supposed to—what can he possibly say to Lan Zhan to make this better? “Jiejie, I was a jerk to him.”

“Then you know what it is you need to fix.”

It’s easy to be told that he needs to go fix something, but as soon as he gets off the phone—plan to go visit for the weekend firmly in place, dinner will be provided by jiejie, she’s really the best—actually doing it is hard.

Their apartment complexes aren’t so very far apart and yet, it feels like Wei Ying is a million kilometers away, unable to meet him.

It’s stupid. Jiejie will be disappointed. He’s disappointed in himself. If he’s made the decision, why not get it over with? All he has to do is share the truth and maybe ask for it from Lan Zhan in return. Then he can help and Lan Zhan will know he doesn’t intend to use his feelings to get in the way.

But he needs to—prepare himself. This thing feels delicate, precarious, dangerous and he’s already stepped into the middle of it without thinking it through. The last thing he needs to do is ruin it by rushing forward, heedless of the consequences.

It’s still difficult, still…

Still.

By the time he works up the courage, his palms are sweating and every possible bad outcome is bouncing around on knife points in his mind. Every time he tries to raise his hand to knock on Lan Zhan’s door—since when does he knock, really, when he has always just been able to barge in—his heart beats just a little bit harder and he feels a little breathless and it’s probably dramatic, but maybe he should go see a doctor instead? This feels like a medical emergency in progress.

But then he remembers thinking about Lan Zhan being all alone and uncertain, too, and even if it’ll hurt and Nie Huaisang is wrong (which, obviously he is and Wei Ying has prepared for that), it’ll be better without any more uncertainties between them just like jiejie said.

That’s what finally allows him to deliver a resounding knock. Gathering his breath, he bounces on his toes and tells himself very firmly that even if Lan Zhan rejects him, he won’t reject him. They’ll stay friends regardless. Wei Ying will get over himself.

There’s no answer even when Wei Ying knocks a second time.

Is he not home? Does he just not want to answer? He’s always said he knows Wei Ying’s knocks. Did he recognize it and want Wei Ying to go away?

No, Wei Ying, that’s just the lack of brain cells talking. If he didn’t want to talk to you, he’d let you know. He’s not like you. Mostly.

“Lan Zhan!” He keeps his voice low, only a little bit raised, not enough to be disruptive or embarrassing. “Lan Zhan, if you’re home, there’s… well.” He knocks one more time, pressed close to speak through the door. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The door clicks, but before Wei Ying can take his own weight back, it’s pulled open and he topples forward into Lan Zhan’s arms. His very wet, very exposed arms.

“Woah!”

Wei Ying catches an eyeful of Lan Zhan’s chest through the thin cotton shirt clinging to his chest. His hand, outstretched toward the door for balance, drags it back. It shuts with a resounding thump. “Oh.” Scrambling backwards, he rams his spine right into the doorknob. “Fuck, ow. Uh. Lan Zhan! Hi! You’re wet.” If he dips his eyes, he can see that, uh, some really thin sweats are covering his legs and, uh, other… things.

There can’t be underwear underneath them. Wei Ying will—he’s not wearing a hat, but—he’ll eat his fucking hat. And he hates that for himself.

The shadow of an outline of what might be Lan Zhan’s dick will be seared into his memory forever more.

Wei Ying brings his wretched gaze right the fuck back up to respectful eye level. Holy shit.

Except respectful eye level is a fresh hell because Lan Zhan’s hair is all drippy. Like, really drippy. Like rivulets of water wandering down his face and neck and, uh, collar bone drippy. There are suds on his earlobe. His eyes are so wide and his expression is a little frantic and oh—

“You were taking a shower.” Without thinking, because as has been established, Wei Ying’s not a thinker when it comes to Lan Zhan, he wipes the bubbles away with his thumb.

Lan Zhan’s hand catches his wrist in a tight, almost painful, really, really sexy grip. “Wei Ying.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll…” Great going. Well fucking done. “It can wait. Finish your shower. I’ll just… sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” But even when he wrenches his arm, Lan Zhan’s hold remains firm. His eyes threaten to bore holes in Wei Ying’s head or his heart or his filthy fucking tongue when it darts out to wet his lip. All it wants to do is find its way into Lan Zhan’s mouth or maybe inside those wet, clingy sweats. “Did I mention it can wait?”

“Can it?”

Wei Ying whines a little in the back of his throat. “Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying.”

“Ach! Fine. Fine.” This time, he does manage to free himself and takes to twisting away like a top in order to build some distance between them so he can actually say what needs to be said. “Lan Zhan.” Shit, where does he even start? His hands are sweating. Why are they—? He rubs them on his jeans and grimaces. Gross. “Lan Zhan, I’m not straight.”

There. That’s a good place to begin. Right to the point. It fucking stings though.

It also startles Lan Zhan so much that his eyes actually widen even more in surprise.

“I never really thought about it to be honest. I like women, but…” If he turns away, he can ignore that there’s a perfect example standing in front of him of why not being straight is the most awesome thing he could be. “But I don’t just like women.”

A handful of steps brings Lan Zhan closer to him. “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying puts more distance between them in recompense. He can’t get too close to Lan Zhan right now, can’t even look at him. He’ll no doubt do something foolish before he’s got his ducks all lined up and… spoken into existence. Where they can then scatter and make a mess of Wei Ying’s life and this isn’t helping at all, is it, this metaphor? It kind of sucks. He doesn’t want the ducks to scatter. “And I, uh… figured it out. While we were… while we were…”

Sympathy, awful, kind sympathy, softens Lan Zhan’s tone. “Dating?”

“I mean, yeah, but… specifically when we were…” His face is on fire like that time he ate way, way too many peppers because Jiang Cheng dared him to and he almost had to go to the hospital. Even he has his limits, it turns out. He turns around, has to see Lan Zhan’s face for this. “Dancing.”

“I see.” He looks down at himself, mouth contorted. “I’m going to… change. If that’s okay?”

“God, please do!” He winces. Fuck, that sounds uncomplimentary. “I mean… only if you want to. I mean… Lan Zhan!” This is miserable. Who ever said telling the truth feels good? It sucks. There is no lightening of Wei Ying’s burdens in this. In fact, he feels more weighed down. “Lan Zhan, you’re fine. Just as you are. But if you want… you should always do what you want.”

Lan Zhan snorts, derisive, but retreats slowly to his bedroom, shoulders a little hunched. Though it can’t take more than a few minutes, it’s agony. Even with the additional reprieve, he doesn’t have any better words for Lan Zhan when he returns in jeans and a sweater. In the meantime, Wei Ying’s worn a hole in his floor.

It’s like he’s had to put on armor to come back.

But okay. One thing down. Next item: “Lan Zhan, do you like Nie Huaisang?” Though he’s heard it from Nie Huaisang himself, he has to know.

Though Lan Zhan’s brows furrow in question, he answers. Thank fuck. Thank fuck, he doesn’t try to talk around it. “I would consider him a friend, but…”

“But?”

“But I don’t like him. Wei Ying, if—”

Wei Ying’s hand flaps in the air, a violent flutter of fingers and palm. “Ah, ah, ah. I’ve already heard it all. I just needed to make sure, okay?”

“Okay.” Lan Zhan’s lips thin. His hands fold themselves behind his back. “You talked to Nie Huaisang?”

Item three? So soon? “Lan Zhan, I thought it was him, okay? I didn’t know—well, apparently I don’t know much. It’s a wonder I’ve managed to retain the knowledge that you’re gay all this time. This shit just doesn’t live in my brain.” People are people. They deserve to love who they love and that’s what matters to Wei Ying. In retrospect, he should have paid more attention, thought about it more. His friends have deserved better and so has he.

“You thought what was him?”

“Your crush. Your—your mystery man. Whatever.”

“Why would you—?”

He really doesn’t want to do this again, so he rudely slashes his hand in the air. “Why wouldn’t I? Nie Huaisang likes to travel and he’s artistic, too. He’s smart and engaging and interesting. You and he swap teas when you find them. You’re always on one another’s pages—”

“Because we’re friends.”

“I know that now. But past me is a moron who thought, ‘Wow, Lan Zhan is beautiful and elegant and everything good in the world. He should date someone who is also beautiful and elegant and shares his interests. Lan Zhan told me I know him and that he’s not the sort to get jealous. Oh, who do I know that fits those descriptions?’ And then once I got there, I couldn’t reasonably assume it was anyone else. You two are… you’re…”

Lan Zhan’s lower lip finds itself bitten between his teeth, which is not fair to Wei Ying in particular. How is he allowed to do this to Wei Ying without even trying? It’s cruel. That lip is so very bitable. Wei Ying wants to be the one biting it.

“I can… see your line of reasoning,” Lan Zhan concedes, which is big of him, “based on the information and assumptions you were working with.”

“Yeah! So, there. I’m reasonable.” Okay, that’s absolutely a lie, but he’s allowed to fib a little bit in the midst of saying something soul-shrinkingly frightening in its place.

“You’re not. Your conclusion was sloppy and biased.”

It’s a very good thing he loves this man because he’d be within his rights to deck him in the name of not being a pedant. “Lan Zhan, can you not beat a man while he’s down? I know that, but you made it really hard to figure out who it might be and I still don’t even know, but I’m trying to confess here so we can move past this because I can’t go around calling you a coward when I can’t even…”

Confess. He hadn’t—he’d been planning on easing into this.

But—shit. He’d said it, hadn’t he? The thing. That would shut anyone up, but not necessarily in a good way. Shit. “I mean…”

“Wei Ying?”

This time, when Lan Zhan takes a step forward, Wei Ying doesn’t have it in him to take a step back. He’s used up his store of common sense.

“Okay, okay. So… so confession time.” Deep breaths. He can do this. “Sorry it’s not going to be more romantic. You deserve romantic, but I’m entirely sure if I don’t say this now I’m going to launch myself into outer space before you ever see me again, so: I’m not straight. And I’m in love with you. Lan Zhan, I’ve always been in love with you. I just… I didn’t know it. And that sounds stupid as fuck, I know, but I thought my life was one way and it wasn’t and then I… I loved you. But you’re in love with someone else and tried to kiss me and…” He slumps, wishes he’d maybe thought to migrate to the couch before making this admission. “And yeah, I’m sorry. For acting like a dick at the museum. And for the fake dating bullshit. That probably was really cruel to you, but I don’t want you to—you should absolutely pursue whomever you wish. I can’t—my feelings don’t matter here. You just deserve to understand why I shouted at you.”

Another step forward. This time, Wei Ying flinches, but he can’t step away. He can’t look at Lan Zhan either. He can barely hear Lan Zhan over the relentless thump thump thump of his heart giving out. “Wei Ying, I’m not.”

“You’re not what?” He tries to look at Lan Zhan. Still can’t do it. Manages chest level before he stops.

“I’m not in love with anyone else.” Why does he have to keep walking toward Wei Ying like he’s some kind of cat on the prowl? It’s distracting. His hips are so… so. So. Wei Ying’s thoroughly distracted. And—and it’s not fair even though Lan Zhan’s all buttoned up now. It just makes Wei Ying want to do things, like rip his stupid sweater away and tear into his jeans to reveal all the promises beneath them. “I only ever loved you.”

Oh, ha. That’s funny. Good one. A tear catches itself on the back of Wei Ying’s hand. “That doesn’t—Lan Zhan, be serious. You can’t love me back.”

“Why not?”

“Why would you? I’m your annoying friend who camps out on your couch all evening and watches you knit blankets and shit. I say words like shit. I spent my entire adult life up until now thinking what I felt for you wasn’t love. I’d have to clean up my act before I could even be seen with you, let alone be loved by you. Come on.”

“Wei Ying, look at me.” Two more steps toward Wei Ying, like it’s easy for him to bridge the gap. And his face is all—it’s stupidly soft and fond and Wei Ying’s skin is going to peel off from the heat of the flush that accompanies Lan Zhan’s arrival right in front of him. “Wei Ying, I would have you do more than camp in my living room if you would have me.”

“Lan Zhan,” and god, does he love the sound of Lan Zhan’s name in his own mouth. He just loves to say it. It’s so great. It’s always, always been great. “Lan Zhan, you don’t lie to me. You said that…” He can’t mean what he’s saying now. It has to be some kind of joke or… but no, Lan Zhan wouldn’t joke with him, but it still doesn’t make sense. “You don’t have to like me because I like you.”

“I don’t.”

“But you didn’t… we talked about this. You led me to believe it was someone I knew.”

“I did.” Though Lan Zhan’s so close now that Wei Ying could reach out and touch him, he doesn’t. The moment feels too fragile. There is too much hope within it to weigh it down with more. If he is not careful, he fears it will shatter and he’ll wake up from whatever dreamscape he’s been transported into that’s allowed Lan Zhan to tell him he loves him back. It can’t be real, but he wants nothing more for it to be so. “You were right. It was cowardice that drove me. If one of us was cruel here, it was me. I took advantage. I… let you come to the conclusion that was easiest for you to reach on your own. I enjoyed the way you cared for me and I let it get away from me. Wei Ying, you’ve said so often that you’d be a terrible boyfriend, but you’re not. You think you’re not irresistible, but that’s not true either. I’ve let you believe that I don’t enjoy being touched by you, but I enjoy it far too much. All this time, you deserved to know and I couldn’t say it. That’s on me.”

His hands shake when he brushes them over Wei Ying’s cheeks. His fingers sweep in unsteady tracks down his face to settle against his jaw.

“You told me my plan would never work.”

“I did and I’m so sorry.” And there’s so much remorse in his expression. Wei Ying could drown in it if he wanted to. Dive in right there alongside Lan Zhan.

But oh, he can see the life preserver that will protect them. It was in his own hands all along.

Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan’s already told him, shown him.

“You said… you told me you weren’t pretending.”

“The truth devoid of context isn’t the truth at all.” He looks away, swallows. “You felt something in the museum. I saw it. That’s why I—why I took the chance. I’ve wondered what you thought I meant. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I said it. What were you thinking of?”

He doesn’t want to say, but Lan Zhan’s right maybe. Truth without context… Lan Zhan’s been giving exactly that to him and it’s done neither of them any good. “I was considering letting myself be your consolation prize.”

Lan Zhan’s hand passes over his eyes and he chokes on a sound, swallows it back as he draws in a shaky breath. Wei Ying never wants to hear it again, but Lan Zhan’s right.

“I…” A high-pitched sound escape his mouth. It might be a laugh. “I thought you were settling.”

His fingers tighten against Wei Ying’s face. Eight points of pressure along his jaw and twin, soothing sweeps over his throat and chin. “Do you see?”

Wei Ying breathes, closes his eyes, tries to understand. His worldview has shifted so many times… It’s hard—it’s really fucking hard—to accommodate more.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, sharp. “I’m as much at fault as you. More so even. I should have—everything you’re going through now, I already went through. I should have recognized that fear and helped you.”

This is impossible. It can’t be real. “But Lan Zhan, how can you mean it?”

“I mean it. Of course, I mean it. Wei Ying, I…”

This time, it’s Wei Ying who bridges the distance between them. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, buries his face against his throat, tastes the beating pulse of his heart, too quick against his lips. Oh, Lan Zhan. Wei Ying presses his hand to Lan Zhan’s chest, worries that heart will punch right through his sternum and land itself in Wei Ying’s waiting palm. “Lan Zhan, I’m serious. You could never… I can’t imagine my life without you. Even before this. You’re—I think I always knew you were it for me. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry that you were ever scared. Lan Zhan, I want…”

Lan Zhan’s hands come up to cradle the back of Wei Ying’s head. His fingers slide through Wei Ying’s hair and it’s the best thing Wei Ying’s ever felt, gentle and wonderful and so overwhelming. “Anything,” Lan Zhan says, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. “It’s yours.”

“Then maybe…” He fiddles with the collar of Lan Zhan’s sweater. “Show me.”

Lan Zhan kisses the crown of Wei Ying’s head and nods while his lips are still pressed to his hair. “I will,” he insists. “I promise.”

Despite years of acquaintance, Wei Ying’s only been in Lan Zhan’s room a handful of times. Finding himself pushed into it now is… “Wow.”

Lan Zhan’s hands dig into his hips as he walks Wei Ying across the threshold. His lips nibble at the back of Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying shivers at the warm contact, content for a moment to lean back against Lan Zhan, who bears his weight beautifully. “Wei Ying, you wanted the bed,” he murmurs, perhaps sensing Wei Ying’s hesitance. Does he really have a place here? “I want the bed.”

Before Wei Ying can complain—though really, what can there be to complain about? Lan Zhan wants him—Lan Zhan frog marches him to it.

“Are you sure you want to mess it up?” The room is almost too pristine for words. It steals Wei Ying’s breath to think of bringing chaos into it. “We could put down towels or…?”

“I don’t care.” He huffs into Wei Ying’s hair. Right against the back of Wei Ying’s neck. His breath brushes past Wei Ying’s ear. Amusement. By Lan Zhan’s standards, a laugh. It’s unreal. The number of times Wei Ying’s actually made Lan Zhan laugh can be counted on one hand. Is this the start of something? Will he laugh more often for Wei Ying now? Wei Ying desperately hopes so. “It really doesn’t matter.”

Wei Ying turns beneath Lan Zhan’s touch and swats his chest. I can do this now, he thinks in wonder. Though the first tap is light, the second lingers. He splays his fingers against Lan Zhan’s chest. I can touch him. Lan Zhan’s hand covers his. He’s touching me.

“Lan Zhan, you brute. I’m trying to respect your space and you’re out here laughing in my face about it. That’s cruelty. It’s an injustice.” He looks up at Lan Zhan and has to duck his head again, suddenly shy. What he sees there is so much. It’s everything. How could he have let himself miss it this whole time? “Oh,” he mumbles at Lan Zhan’s chest. “We’re really doing this.”

“If you wish,” Lan Zhan agrees, taking Wei Ying’s chin between his fingers, “and only if you want to.” It’s very clear from the dark smolder of his eyes that he very much wants to.

“I want to. I really, really do. I just—I can’t really believe we can.”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounds slightly aggrieved and Wei Ying hears what he hasn’t and probably won’t say: we could have done this all along. “Whatever you want, I will give it to you. Anything you would like to give, I will take. As long as it’s with you, it doesn’t matter what it is. I will want it and want you to have it.”

It’s so much. In truth, Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do with so many options. If it’s left up to him, they’ll never get anywhere. They’ll just stand in the doorway and stare at the bed until the end of time while Wei Ying wrings his hands about the linens. “What do you like?”

“Any—”

“No, I mean…” Wei Ying’s never liked admitting when he doesn’t know something, but it’s true. He knows nothing. “I’m not experienced here, Lan Zhan. I don’t… there’s so much we could do.” Ugh, talking. It’s the worst. Haven’t they done enough? “It would help me if you picked something.”

“Wei Ying, I don’t think it’s really that different…”

“I know.” Actually… “Okay, I don’t, not yet, but… I want it to be good for you. You know you better than I know you. I’d like you to show me. That’s what I want most right now.”

Lan Zhan shudders against him and nods. “Okay. Let’s…” He takes Wei Ying by the shoulder and turns him toward the bed, pushing him gently toward it. “You’ll tell me if you don’t like what we’re doing?”

He glances down at tented fabric of his jeans. So far, his arousal is a pleasant, low level hum of anticipation. Yeah, he doesn’t think that’s going to be a problem. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Okay, okay. Yes. On the off-chance I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.” Before Lan Zhan can declare victory, Wei Ying adds, “But only if we can do something else instead.”

Lan Zhan huffs—not in amusement this time—but nods, urging Wei Ying to sit. “May I?” he asks, arch.

Wei Ying doesn’t know if Lan Zhan’s teasing him on purpose—if he is, Wei Ying’s grateful, because it settles his nerves better than anything else he might do—but he’ll cherish the brightness in Lan Zhan’s eyes regardless.

“By all means,” Wei Ying says, boundlessly gregarious in turn. The thing is though: Wei Ying talks a big game. That’s who he is. Big game talker. So in truth, when he’s faced with the reality of Lan Zhan taking hold of his shirt, gently pulling it over his head, setting it aside, looking at Wei Ying so reverently? Wei Ying finds himself going hot all the way down to his chest. They haven’t even kissed yet, but Wei Ying can barely breathe through what he’s already been given.

Lan Zhan wants him. Him.

“Wei Ying?” Concern spills from his words, conveys itself through the gentle brush of Lan Zhan’s hand over his cheek.

“Lan Zhan, hi.” He smiles up at him, gathering his courage. “Get naked, too, huh? I want to see this beautiful body of yours.”

Lan Zhan’s answering smile, only a tiny quirk of his lips, but incandescent all the same, is all Wei Ying needs to feel better. He’s slow to move though, taking his time as he grabs the hem of his sweater, like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of Wei Ying for even a moment. Waiting to see what happens is more fascinating to Wei Ying than even the most exciting drama on television, but his nerves, impatient, begin to prickle quickly.

“Are you teasing me, Lan Zhan?” he asks when Lan Zhan still hasn’t moved.

Lan Zhan startles. “No.” Shaking his head, he quickly pulls his sweater off and tosses it aside.

Oh, but he is beautiful. And still covered in a thin undershirt. Though at least now he can see more of Lan Zhan, nipples pebbling, pale brown shadows against all that white cotton. The fabric clings to his abdomen, too, teasing possibilities.

“Lan Zhan! You wore layers?!”

“I didn’t know…” He rids himself of, too, of the shirt.

This isn’t like—it’s not like Wei Ying’s never seen Lan Zhan’s naked torso before. But. It’s different now. Wei Ying wants. So much. It hurts. It hurts to think that he’s spent so long not knowing himself, not knowing that this was a possibility.

It can’t stand. If he thinks about it… he wants good memories with Lan Zhan. This first time, he wants only happiness and none of the regret.

“Lan Zhan, you’re dragging this out to torture me. Show me what you’re made of. Show me what I’m made of. Come on, Lan Zhaaaan.” He pouts and, wonder of wonders, it works. Lan Zhan’s a little quicker as he pulls his jeans down.

His dick is prominent and highly visible through his underwear.

He’s searching Wei Ying’s face when Wei Ying looks up. Vulnerable probably isn’t quite the right word for what Wei Ying sees in return, but it’s not far off.

Wei Ying wants to touch, wants to taste. The thrill of discovery courses through him and the urge to explore is undeniable. “Lan Zhan, you’re…” Though Lan Zhan tilts his head, curious, he doesn’t have time to respond before Wei Ying reels him in by the band of his sexy, sexy boxer-briefs, the perfect size to suit him and his… “You really like me?”

Lan Zhan’s hand rifles through Wei Ying’s hair. “I really do.”

“Huh.” Clearing his throat, he swipes his thumbs up and down Lan Zhan’s side. His skin is so warm and soft. His muscle definition would make angels weep. And he’s here with Wei Ying, who knows fuck all what to do with Lan Zhan’s dick beyond what he might have done to himself. Which, you know, is fine, but he’d like it to be better than fine, better than what Wei Ying would do to himself. “So, uh.” Though he doesn’t want to let go of Lan Zhan, his palms are getting kind of sweaty and that’s a little bit gross. He rubs them on his pants and focuses… focuses on nothing. There is no safe place to look that isn’t a one-hundred percent, true turn on here. “What would you like?”

Lan Zhan kneels, which is not the first thing Wei Ying would have expected him to do and wow. It’s quite the compelling angle? Honestly, Wei Ying is uh. Not prepared. For what this does to him.

By the time Lan Zhan’s got him out of his jeans and his underwear, Wei Ying’s already very hard, painfully hard, so ready for Lan Zhan and whatever magic he’s going to pull out of his hat. Though he’s probably been this aroused before—he vaguely remembers being a hormonal teen for which a slight breeze could be a death sentence for propriety—he doesn’t remember it. It certainly hasn’t been any time in recent memory.

And yet, all Lan Zhan does is look.

“Lan Zhan?”

“I’m going to put my mouth on you.” Though he’s often elegantly plainspoken, this still manages to land such an exacting punch that Wei Ying’s left breathless. From Lan Zhan’s position on the floor, it’s clear what exactly he means by this.

“Oh. Oh, um. That is… I would—” He swallows. It’s suddenly very hot. Good thing he’s shirtless and pants-less and, oh, this is actually real, isn’t it? “I would like that very much,” he manages in a rush. It doesn’t even really sound like words, just a blur of sound. But Lan Zhan looks up at him through lowered lashes, a little coquettish. Which is a good look for him that Wei Ying would never have expected to see. Who would believe Lan Zhan and coquettish would go together?

Oh, god. He’s gonna put his mouth. On Wei Ying.

“Be gentle, Lan Zhan,” he mutters, only half a joke. He’s not sure how he’ll survive. Because Lan Zhan is touching him. Touching him and there’s not a single hint of hesitance in the sweep of his palm over Wei Ying’s skin.

Lan Zhan’s hands curve over Wei Ying’s knees, pushes them apart, skim up his thighs. He follows the trail with his mouth, pressing kiss after kiss after up his leg, endlessly thorough kisses, enough alone to undo him if he keeps this up.

This is… this has to be a dream, because Lan Zhan’s lips are so plush as to be unbelievable, soft—Wei Ying still doesn’t know what they feel like against his own; this is its own cruelty—and such a lovely shade of pink whenever Lan Zhan lifts his head to look at Wei Ying, as though he can’t get enough of seeing Wei Ying.

Wei Ying supposes that’s fair. He rather enjoys being seen.

“Ah, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps as Lan Zhan mouths suddenly at Wei Ying’s length, pulling Wei Ying from his thoughts. It fills beneath each light touch of his lips along the shaft, beneath the barely there kisses before Lan Zhan draws him in, tongue flat and wet and hot along the underside. “Fuck.” Fuck, it’s so good. Lan Zhan is so good, gentle, with just the slightest hint of teeth as he works to melt every single one of Wei Ying’s bones with the wet, hot slide of his mouth.

Briefly, he pulls off, turns his head to kiss and bite at the inside of Wei Ying’s thighs, the juncture of hip, returning only every so often to his dick. Something within Wei Ying expands as he watches, fills places within him that he hadn’t even known were empty before. It’s… it should be funny, shouldn’t it? Who would think to kiss him so lightly down there? With such a look of—

Wei Ying grapples at Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Up, up, get up here, you stupid…” Wriggling back onto the bed, he pulls at Lan Zhan’s arm, yanks him down on top of him. The bed creaks under the pressure, the sudden weight throwing itself around on top of it, but it holds up admirably as Wei Ying drags Lan Zhan into a kiss.

As far as kisses go, it’s…

…the most incredible kiss he’s ever had. The first touch of their lips is flint striking against steel, a whip cracked precisely against his awareness. Each moment he is pressed into the bed like this by Lan Zhan’s body, he is singed by sparks. Within Lan Zhan’s embrace, he would burn if that is what’s required of him.

It’s a small price to pay for feeling so treasured.

Though they have to part for air on occasion, neither seem able to move very far. Lan Zhan’s every exhalation brushes against Wei Ying’s bruised and aching mouth. “Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan, can we…? Like this?” His thumb strokes over Lan Zhan’s mouth. Lan Zhan turns his head into the touch, nips and licks at the pad. “I want to keep kissing you.”

Now that he’s had a taste, he’s not sure he’ll ever want anything else. Every moment he’s not kissing Lan Zhan is a moment wasted.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen, but he nods down at Wei Ying, breathes his agreement against Wei Ying’s cheek.

Wei Ying’s hips roll experimentally against his. The cool drag of Lan Zhan’s underwear against Wei Ying’s dick feels incredible, but it’s Lan Zhan’s hardness beneath that is truly the best part about it. And then Lan Zhan’s kissing him again and he’s surging up into Lan Zhan’s embrace, riding out the sensations as Lan Zhan thrusts rhythmically against him.

Hooking his legs around the back of Lan Zhan’s, he pulls Lan Zhan even closer.

It won’t be until later that he realizes how ridiculous this must look, Lan Zhan still in his underwear while Wei Ying’s entirely unclothed, but right now it doesn’t matter. The only concern he has involves winding his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair while his tongue curls behind Lan Zhan’s teeth, touches and tangles with Lan Zhan’s.

All the while, Lan Zhan grinds against him. Each thrust is more brutal than the last and drags such simple, overwhelming pleasure from Wei Ying’s body. He would swoon if he wasn’t too busy hanging on and moaning into Lan Zhan’s mouth. Lan Zhan greedily swallows each sound, takes it as his own, proving that he will happily accept whatever Wei Ying gives.

“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry it took me so long,” he says between ragged breaths. His head’s a little fuzzy and his lungs burn and still he chases after the taste of Lan Zhan’s lips when Lan Zhan pulls back for a moment, only a moment, too long, but it needs to be said even if Wei Ying wants him closer again already. “I’m sorry. If I knew—”

“I know,” Lan Zhan agrees, cupping Wei Ying’s face with one large, warm, beautifully soft palm. “We’re here now.”

“That’s okay?”

“Mn. It’s okay.” His mouth pulls in a smile, so small that it’s almost unnoticeable. Wei Ying, though, Wei Ying doesn’t intend to let anything Lan Zhan does go unnoticed any longer. “You were always here regardless.”

Oh. Lan Zhan really is the best. Just—too good, too wonderful. In a hundred lifetimes, Wei Ying couldn’t earn enough virtue to be worthy of this, but he’ll still do his best to pay it back. Every day, he’ll do everything he can to make sure of it. This, he promises Lan Zhan and himself. The world has shifted so fast and to such an impossible degree that Wei Ying’s not sure he’ll ever find his old equilibrium again.

“Lan Zhan?”

Pressing himself close, Lan Zhan nods and hums in answer, listening, waiting.

“Will you touch me now?”

He nods, nose mashed against Wei Ying’s temple, and slides his hand between them. After a moment’s fumbling, he’s freed from his underwear.

His hand easily wraps around both of them and somehow that’s a pleasure all on its own. His grip is perfect, steady, draws out the pleasure with each firm stroke. His breathing, already harsh, only grows harsher, a pant in Wei Ying’s ear that serve as a perfect counterpoint to Wei Ying’s own groans.

Lan Zhan hasn’t been especially gentle with his strokes, but he feels cherished with every twist of Lan Zhan’s wrist around them. It is precious to him, the feel of Lan Zhan tensing above him, the heat of Lan Zhan’s body against him.

As he comes against his own stomach, Lan Zhan’s release mingling, he decides that equilibrium is overrated.

Once they’ve cleaned up—rather, once Lan Zhan has cleaned him up, taking so long and doing so thorough a job that Wei Ying’s pretty sure he’s going to become one with this bed, sated and happy and utterly spent. Once they’ve actually slept, curled in one another’s arms, and woken again in the dead of night, hungry, starved, ravenous for kisses, for sex, for—Wei Ying’s stomach grumbles—actual food… once all of that that has happened, Wei Ying makes his way to his spot on the couch, pats the cushion fondly and sweeps his hand affectionately over the blanket draped across the back before plopping down and twisting around.

“I didn’t think this spot could be even better than it already was,” Wei Ying calls as Lan Zhan warms a few dumplings on the stove for them. “But it’s kind of great.”

“Only kind of?” Lan Zhan replies. Wei Ying’s got his chin hooked over the back of the couch so he can watch Lan Zhan. The blanket—Wei Ying’s blanket, it feels like now—is as soft as always under his cheek, against his arms. Though Lan Zhan’s voice is a little hard to hear with how quiet he’s speaking, Wei Ying is determined to always listen, even if he has to strain a bit.

“Yes. Only kind of.”

“How was it before?”

“Very good, though I do have a complaint.”

“Oh?”

Wei Ying waits until Lan Zhan returns with their snack, waits until he’s placed the plate on the coffee table, waits until he takes one step away from him, waits long enough to grab Lan Zhan by the wrist and pull him back. Then Wei Ying grabs him by the waist and pulls him down so he can plaster himself to Lan Zhan’s side, thinking all the while, I can’t believe I can do this now. “You were always too far away for my liking. Your chair’s not very friendly, Lan Zhan. I’m not sure it’ll fit us both. What will we do about that?”

“Mn. That is quite the problem indeed.” Leaning into Wei Ying’s space, he allows Wei Ying to take his weight. Ah, what a wonderful feeling indeed it is to hold Lan Zhan like this. “I’m not sure it can be solved without careful thought.”

Wei Ying bites back a smile. “Such a tragedy.”

“I suppose,” Lan Zhan says, “if I am to sit over there, you will just have to fit yourself on my lap. I’m very sorry, Wei Ying. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

Wei Ying laughs into Lan Zhan’s neck, nips lightly along the delectable stretch of skin that covers the elegantly sculpted muscles and tendons of his throat. “But I like this spot, Lan Zhan. However shall we reconcile ourselves?”

The few clothes Lan Zhan’s managed to put back on, a thin t-shirt, a thinner pair of shorts in lieu of fresh underwear, rustle as he twists and shifts, straddling Wei Ying’s legs. From this vantage, Wei Ying has to tilt his head back to see Lan Zhan’s face, but that is entirely okay with him as Lan Zhan descends upon him, says against his mouth, “I suppose I shall heroically make use of your lap an entirely fair fifty-percent of the time.”

“Oh, such a hero. What a monumental effort that will be. Good thing my lap was made to be sat in. Look at these thighs, Lan Zhan. They’re exquisite.”

His hand, just as Wei Ying might have hoped, squeezes Wei Ying’s leg. “Your thighs are quite spectacular, I will agree.”

Wei Ying’s going to burn away to cinder if he remains this joyful. Can one person die of too much happiness? “What if I offer a gift in return for all this heroism?”

“What would you offer?”

Wei Ying darts up, plants a light, springing kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips. “That.”

“I’m not sure. I barely felt it. Maybe if you try again?”

“Oh, I see. I don’t kiss you well enough already, huh?” Pouting, he pulls Lan Zhan down again. If he never gets tired of this, it’ll be too soon. “Already, I’m not enough for you? I can’t believe—”

Lan Zhan kisses him deeply, slides his hand around the back of his neck, slips his fingers into Wei Ying’s hair. They are breathless again before they part. “You’re enough,” Lan Zhan replies, sincere, taking Wei Ying’s breath from him in another way entirely because he wasn’t really fishing, doesn’t really feel like he’s not enough right now, a miracle in its own right, but. It’s nice to hear.

Lan Zhan’s too much. Wei Ying really will perish if he’s not careful. Who could know Lan Zhan’s such a sap?

They trade kisses until they fall asleep just like this: Wei Ying’s hands slipping just a little beneath the waistband of Lan Zhan’s shorts, Lan Zhan’s forehead pressed against the side of Wei Ying’s head and a little against the back of the couch.

It’s worth it even though Wei Ying wakes up with a wicked muscle strain in his neck and even Lan Zhan’s puttering around a little stiffly, rubbing his lower back and knee when he thinks Wei Ying’s not looking, his elegant face imprinted with marks from the blanket. The dumplings are cold, but Wei Ying eats them anyway and swears they taste better than anything he’s ever had before.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” he asks between ravenous bites as Lan Zhan makes tea in the kitchen. “How do you feel about going to jiejie’s for dinner?”

Lan Zhan brings him his usual mug, answers thoughtfully as always. “I feel good about it.”

When Lan Zhan’s fingers graze Wei Ying’s palm, Wei Ying brings his other hand up to hold Lan Zhan in place long enough that the warmth of the tea becomes almost unbearably hot. Only then does Wei Ying let go, but not before he leans forward to kiss the ridges of Lan Zhan’s knuckles.

When they arrive at jiejie’s, she pulls Wei Ying into the tightest hug he’s experienced in a lifetime. “Ah, look at you, A-Ying.” Her grin is so blinding that Wei Ying has to look away to catch his breath, only seeing out of his peripheral vision that she’s turned her attention to Lan Zhan. He’d called and told her that Lan Zhan was coming along so she wouldn’t be surprised, but he’s still a little nervous.

They haven’t even gone on a date yet. Not a real one anyway.

But standing here in jiejie’s doorway. It really is real, isn’t it? Their relationship doesn’t just exist inside the boundaries of Lan Zhan’s apartment. They’re an actual couple. And though Lan Zhan and jiejie have spent time together before, it’s never been like this.

“Lan Zhan.” She reaches for him. For one horrifying moment, Wei Ying thinks she’s going to try hugging him, too. Surely it wouldn’t be such a bad experience for Lan Zhan, but still. And then she takes hold of his hand and squeezes. “It’s good to see you.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze trails down to their joined hands. A soft expression settles on his face—it’s all in the eyes, Wei Ying’s learned—and instead of carefully extricating himself, he squeezes back and even covers her hand in turn, enveloping hers between both of his. “Likewise,” he says, which should sound like nothing, but manages to contain so much emotion that Wei Ying feels a sympathetic lump lodge in his throat.

All his favorite people together. It’s kind of amazing that he can have this, too.

Wei Ying steps past jiejie and into the room at large. Only Jiang Cheng is present, staring belligerently at Lan Zhan from the kitchen as he stirs a pot for jiejie. The peacock is nowhere in evidence and that’s just too bad. Wei Ying is definitely heartbroken to miss out on his awkward presence.

With a smile, Wei Ying waves and strides into the kitchen. “Jiang Cheng! Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what?” Jiang Cheng snaps. His gaze flicks again over Wei Ying’s shoulder. “I just want to make sure someone doesn’t intend to hurt you.”

“Aiya.” Wei Ying slaps at Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “None of that. Lan Zhan’s fine.” Wei Ying turns and smiles, confirms that Lan Zhan is, indeed, very fine. “Don’t listen to him.”

But Lan Zhan looks grave as he considers Jiang Cheng. “I don’t intend to.” His voice is cool, if not frigid and he and Jiang Cheng have the world’s longest stare-off, but at the end of it, Jiang Cheng turns away, huffing. Wei Ying can’t quite be sure what Lan Zhan intends: to not hurt him or not listen to Jiang Cheng.

“Guess I don’t have to worry about you anymore, huh?” Jiang Cheng asks instead.

Wei Ying smiles at Lan Zhan and then at Jiang Cheng. It’s easy now to see the ways in which Jiang Cheng was trying to help even if it sometimes felt like the opposite and so Wei Ying can choose to only remember the good feelings. “You didn’t have to worry about me at all.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Maybe I didn’t,” he admits, which is far, far more than he really expects. Gruff, he turns his head and coughs into his shoulder. “Sorry.”

Wei Ying throws his arms around Jiang Cheng’s waist and squeezes. “No sorries,” he says. Taking the spoon from Jiang Cheng’s hand, he shoves him out of the way. Too much emotion too quickly is bad for digestion. Wei Ying doesn’t want to ruin jiejie’s food with an excess of feelings. “Let me help.”

Jiang Cheng tries to wrestle the utensil back. “You’ll ruin it!”

“I won’t!” Wei Ying cries, dramatic. “Let me! Lan Zhan can supervise. He’d never let jiejie’s soup get ruined.”

With a groan, Jiang Cheng raises his hands, steps back. “Fine. I’m going to go get destroyed playing Mario Kart then.”

The kitchen seems bigger without Jiang Cheng there, but the warmth lingers. As Jiang Cheng gruffly tells jiejie to set up the Switch from the other room, Wei Ying’s chest fills to bursting with fondness for the people around him.

He’d been right all along, he thinks, even if he hadn’t really believed it: he’s not alone. He’s never really been alone and he wouldn’t have been even if he and Lan Zhan hadn’t seen sense.

But.

When Wei Ying looks up at Lan Zhan, there’s a funny little expression on his face that Wei Ying can’t quite identify, soft and considering, but before Wei Ying can ask what it means, Lan Zhan’s leaning in and pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Once Lan Zhan pulls away, Wei Ying lifts his hand, covers the spot Lan Zhan had kissed with his thumb. His cheeks warm from the simple display of affection. “What was that for?”

“No reason.” His hand wraps around Wei Ying’s, gently pulls the spoon from Wei Ying’s hand. “I wanted to.”

But.

Wei Ying’s hands slip around Lan Zhan’s waist and Lan Zhan’s arm curves around the back of Wei Ying’s neck.

But.

Though he might have been right—these people belonged to him all along and he to them—it’s even better this way.

Wei Ying is, maybe, possibly, glaring. At Lan Zhan. Just a little bit.

Wei Ying is maybe, possibly, just a little bit jealous of the knitting now. For one thing, it’s a tease, having Lan Zhan so close and yet so far away and what if Wei Ying wants to occupy his lap? Except that it’s already full with the blanket Lan Zhan’s been working on for ages, so he can’t. He’s exiled to his spot. He could at least be closer to Lan Zhan’s lap, his new favorite spot, if he moves.

But no. He likes it here. This is his spot, the second-best place in the room. Best view of the TV when he actually bothers turning it on and it manages just barely to avoid the evil of direct sunlight in the summer. If he can’t have Lan Zhan’s lap, this is where he wants to be even if the other side of the couch is looking a little more inviting than usual.

He is, maybe, stubborn and likes having an excuse to pitifully demand attention.

He pulls his legs up and whines. “Lan Zhan, when will you be done?”

“Soon.” Now that Wei Ying’s looking, he is doing something at least a little different. Most of it is off the needles now anyway. If he’s almost done, that means… free lap space.

As long as he pays attention when it happens, he can slide in there and take what’s rightfully his. Lan Zhan won’t mind at all. Hell, he wouldn’t really mind now, but Wei Ying likes to be conscientious sometimes.

Usually when Lan Zhan’s finished, he puts his things away in a bag that lives by the chair. This time, he stands up, holds it out. It strains a little under the weight of it and even though Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan still has to weave in the ends, wash it and do whatever stretchy thing to it that makes it bigger and less bumpy, it’s beautiful. The pale gray color is really nice and it looks super soft and warm and—

Lan Zhan’s bringing it over and pulling Wei Ying to his feet and wrapping it around his shoulders. He pulls it a little tighter and looks, considering, at it around Wei Ying’s body. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Lan Zhan. Your work is always beautiful.” Wei Ying smooths his hand over it, takes the squishy, soft yarn between his fingers. It’ll be so warm. “I’m already planning to steal it on those cold, cold nights when you’re cruel and won’t hold onto me.”

Lan Zhan snorts. They both know what a ridiculous possibility it is now that he’d deny Wei Ying. “There’s no need to steal it,” he says. “It’s for you.”

Wei Ying freezes while Lan Zhan tugs it more securely around him as though he can’t help himself. His fingers skim over Wei Ying’s neck, also like he can’t help himself. “Lan Zhan, you said…”

You said you wouldn’t make something for anybody else.

“I know what I said.” He swallows, throat clicking audibly. “It was never true. I’ve made many things that were meant for you. I was always too afraid to give them to you or tell you. I realize now that I never needed to be afraid.”

Wei Ying’s eyes prickle and he blinks furiously to stop what he knows is coming. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d cry. It’s so much work to just give to Wei Ying. “Lan Zhan…”

“I’ve always enjoyed looking at you when you’ve wrapped yourself up in something I’ve made,” he admits, ears going pink. “I hope you’ll continue to do so.”

Wei Ying brings the blanket to his nose and inhales. It smells like Lan Zhan. It’s amazing. Of course he’s never going to stop wandering around with this thing. He hates that he has to give it back so Lan Zhan can finish with it. “I hope you know you’re creating a monster here.”

“Good.”

“I’ll be so spoiled.”

“That’s my intention.” He pulls it from around Wei Ying’s shoulders, doesn’t give in even when Wei Ying pouts. It’s his and now Lan Zhan’s taking it from him? Already? Mean.

“Lan Zhan.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“But—”

“It’s not quite finished,” Lan Zhan says. Even though it looks perfectly fine to Wei Ying, Lan Zhan continues folding it and setting it aside. His hand wraps around Wei Ying’s wrist, tugs him toward the bedroom. Wei Ying follows happily, still thrills at the feel of Lan Zhan’s hands on his body no matter the form it takes, innocent or less than innocent.

To Lan Zhan’s credit, he does make it up to Wei Ying. Repeatedly. Thoroughly. Until Wei Ying forgets his own name and no longer has any reason to feel jealous of the time that blanket spent in Lan Zhan’s lap, he makes it up to Wei Ying.

Much, much later, when the blanket is finished, properly finished, Wei Ying wraps himself and Lan Zhan up in it as they sprawl on the couch and doesn’t think even once about how he might ruin it with his touch.