Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sizhui is unusually silent as they sit down to lunch. It takes Ouyang Zizhen a few minutes to notice; Sizhui is probably the quietest of their group on a normal day, mostly because Jin Ling and Jingyi could make anyone look quiet.

“Hey,” he says, bumping their elbows together. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Sizhui says, staring down into his green beans. He looks bereft enough that even Jingyi gives up on trying to drop potato chips down Jin Ling’s shirt. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Jingyi feels everything very strongly, and concern is no exception. 

“Um,” Sizhui says, scratching his nose uncomfortably. “I just found out that my -- my dads aren’t in love.”

Jingyi’s mouth drops open. “ What ?”

Jin Ling frowns deeply. “They’re -- what?”

Zizhen’s heart breaks for him. His parents are divorced, but they have been since Zizhen was six; he doesn’t even remember being sat down and told that they were separating. He thinks one of his sisters probably just told him to get in the car, they were visiting Dad’s new apartment. “Oh, Sizhui,” he says. “I’m really sorry. Which one of them is moving out?”

“Have they been fighting?” Jin Ling demands. “You didn’t say anything! I was there on Sunday and they seemed so normal!”

“No one is moving out,” Sizhui says. “They’re not -- they’re not getting divorced, that’s not the problem --”

“They’re staying married but they’re not in love?” Jingyi asks. “That’s even sadder.”

“It’s not--” Sizhui says, and sighs. “They’re not together, apparently. A-Die said this morning that they never have been.” He pushes his green beans around in the container. “They got married as friends so they could adopt me, and they’ve never been anything more than that.”

“You’re sure this isn’t a prank?” Zizhen asks doubtfully. It seems like the kind of thing Senior Wei would do, although this lie is obvious even for him.

Sizhui shakes his head. “Baba concurred,” he says sadly. 

Jingyi slumps back in his seat. “Lan-laoshi wouldn’t lie,” he says, visibly devastated. “But I don’t understand, your dads are twice as sappy as my moms are.”

“Wait, does this make Lan-laoshi not my real uncle?” Jin Ling asks. Which is so not the point. 

Jingyi should be taking notes in his art history class. Instead, he writes an incomplete list of Things Sizhui’s Dads Do That People In Love Do. Both of his mothers are lawyers, and he thinks they could make a pretty decent family practice. 

• Senior Wei calls Lan-laoshi his husband/his soulmate/the missus constantly.
• Wear couples costumes every single Halloween. 
• Raised Sizhui together. 
• Went to Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing’s wedding as a couple.
• (unless there is a secret third bedroom in the Wei-Lan-Wen household) Share a bed. 
• Help each other put their coats on.
• Senior Wei sits on the arm of Lan-laoshi’s chair and sometimes in his lap.
• Kiss each other’s cheeks?

Jin Ling is still disgruntled when they get in the car to go home. Jiujiu’s car is fancy enough that he isn’t allowed to eat or drink inside it, after an ice cream incident (when he was two!), so he chugs the last of his soda and jams the empty can into his backpack before sliding into the passenger’s seat. Sizhui is a year older, but Jin Ling is two centimeters taller, so he claims shotgun rights. 

“Jiujiu, Sizhui says his dads are faking being married,” he announces. In the back seat, Sizhui sighs.

Jiujiu grunts. “Buckle up,” he says. He looks into the rearview mirror to make eye contact with Sizhui. “You okay, kid?”

“Fine,” Sizhui says. 

“Is it true?” Jin Ling demands. 

“They are legally married,” Jiujiu says, “and idiots. Are you buckled?”

“Yes,” they chorus.

“They never dated, if that’s what you mean,” Jiujiu says, shifting aggressively into first gear like he’s about to start a car chase rather than pull out of a high school parking lot. “Frankly, their relationship has never made sense to me.” He leans on the horn when a soccer mom tries to cut him off, startling her just long enough to pull out onto the street ahead of her. Sizhui winces; Jin Ling is unfazed. “It wouldn’t bother me so much if they hadn’t been in love with each other for fifteen goddamn years.”

“But they said--” Sizhui says, looking terribly confused.

“Adults lie,” Jiujiu says bluntly. “To themselves and to each other. Sorry you had to find out this way.”

“Are you sure?” Jin Ling urges.

“Idiot Number 1 is my brother,” Jiujiu says, not that they would understand the trials of siblinghood. He’s complained about his nephews’ status as only children multiple times, only to be met with, You try giving birth this time, A-Cheng, and Do you know how fucked the adoption process is? “Of course I’m sure.”

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying had met at the tender age of eighteen when living in consecutive stories of a student dorm. Lan Zhan, in a fit of late teenage angst about his brother once again insisting he have “the college experience”, had enacted what he imagined to be a bold rebellion against his family values: he neglected to do his guqin practice for the first time in twelve years. It was a streak unbroken by international travel (he played in the airport), a sprained wrist (he played one-handed), and the few other arguments he’d had with his brother (no, calculus was not “basically spicy trigonometry”!).

Wei Ying had trotted down the fire escape at a quarter to seven, fifteen minutes after Lan Zhan usually started practicing. He seemed unbothered by the rickety metal staircase, the seven floors between him and the ground, and the wind whipping his hair around his face. “Hey,” he’d said, knocking on the window with a knuckle.

“Are you a burglar?” Lan Zhan asked warily. His uncle had impressed on him the importance of distrusting absolutely everyone in the city, where moral degeneracy ran rampant. It was probably one of the things preventing him from having “the college experience”. 

“What?” Wei Ying said. “No, I’ve just been listening to you play at the same time every day for the past three months, even through midterms. I assumed if you stopped playing, you had, like, a death in the family.”

Lan Zhan shook his head. “No,” he said, and then, because if he was murdered by a (handsome) burglar in his dorm room, it would probably show his brother, he added, “Do you want to come in?”

This is what they would later describe as their meet-cute. But it was not when they got together.

They were each other’s first kisses too, but only for practice. Wei Ying was adamant that his first kiss be with someone he trusted to tell him if he was a bad kisser. And he said this with a hand on Lan Zhan’s knee. They were sophomores, recently declared as computer science and musicology majors respectively, watching movies on VHS tapes in the basement of Wei Ying’s dorm. Wei Ying had insisted that Lan Zhan had to see Clueless, and then talked through nearly all of it. Which was fine; Lan Zhan was there for Wei Ying, not for Cher. But now Wei Ying was holding onto his knee and talking about kissing. 

“What if I’m terrible at it?” Wei Ying lamented. 

In Lan Zhan’s numerous fantasies about such a situation, Wei Ying was usually the more experienced of the two of them. How could he not be, charming as he was? He would press Lan Zhan down to the bed and tell him how to make him feel good. His face burned at the thought. Wei Ying’s hand felt impossibly warm through the fabric of his pants. 

“I am sure Wei Ying is a natural talent,” he managed.  

Wei Ying turned wide, earnest eyes on him. “Do you really think so?” he asked. 

“I would not lie,” Lan Zhan said, and in a move so bold he could scarcely believe it was his own action, he covered Wei Ying’s hand with his own. 

“That’s right,” Wei Ying said, blinking. “You’ll give me an honest performance review, won’t you, Lan Zhan? Would you do that for me?”

“For Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan agreed, and kissed him before he could lose his nerve. 

It was... wetter than he was expecting. 

“Again,” Wei Ying insisted. This time their teeth clacked together. Wei Ying sighed. 

Lan Zhan lifted his hand, wiped it surreptitiously on his hip, and then put it on Wei Ying’s shoulder. No, that wasn’t quite right. He slid it up the back of his neck, and Wei Ying shivered. Lan Zhan could feel it all over his body in the places they were touching. 

“Slower,” Lan Zhan said, with a confidence he didn’t feel. Wei Ying nodded and leaned in again. 

All told, it took around forty-five minutes before they deemed themselves sufficient kissers. At some point in the middle, Wei Ying had climbed into Lan Zhan’s lap -- an unexpected delight. Lan Zhan, newly presented with access to Wei Ying’s neck and shoulder, bit down just above his collarbone in a fit of daring. Wei Ying made a sound like, “Ha!” which was somewhere between a laugh and a squeak.  

By the end of it, Lan Zhan felt flushed all over. It was not unlike the feeling he got in the ten seconds between sipping alcohol and blacking out. Wei Ying shifting awkwardly out of his lap, leaving him cold, felt like an unimaginable loss. 

“Haha,” Wei Ying said, and then laughed for real, his head thrown back against the couch. The anxiety in Lan Zhan’s chest eased; it was hard to think that anything could have been terribly wrong with Wei Ying laughing like that. Despite himself, he huffed. 

“Thank you,” Wei Ying said, grinning, extending a hand. Lan Zhan indulged him and shook it. It made Wei Ying laugh more. “What’s my kissing grade?”

Lan Zhan attempted to pull his thoughts back in order. “Wei Ying is a very fast learner,” he said honestly. “And a good teacher.”

“The same to you,” Wei Ying said, squeezing his arm. “Lan Zhan.” His gaze turned softer; for a moment, Lan Zhan’s breath caught in his throat. It would be a lie to say that he had no ulterior motive when he offered to kiss him; yet, he did not want to expect anything extra. He would take whatever was freely given, and no more. 

Wei Ying said, “You’re a really, really good friend.”

And that was fine, Lan Zhan thought, schooling his face so as not to show an ounce of disappointment. On screen, the main character realized she was in love with her former stepbrother. Lan Zhan wondered what key plot points he missed.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan lost their virginities on the same night of junior year, but not to each other. Wei Ying had been sitting on Nie Huaisang’s couch, discussing the act of pegging, when Luo “Mianmian” Qingyang threw her hands up in the air and said, “If it will make you shut up about pegging, I will peg you tonight.”

In fact, it made him shut up altogether. No one had ever seen Wei Ying that shade of pink.

“Do you mean that?” he asked, and instead of nodding, Mianmian opted to take action and simply pulled him upstairs. It was actually Nie Mingjue’s room, but she had brought her strap in a little backpack with hopes of getting with Wen Qing that night. Wei Ying was fascinated by the little backpack, and declared that if he could carry his dick around in a bag all day, he would.

“Are you going to kiss me?” Mianmian asked, prompting.

“Oh, right,” he said, and did. He was a better kisser than she was expecting; a pleasant surprise. 

Wei Ying pulled back to get a better look of his surroundings, Nie Mingjue’s dorm room was surprisingly spacious and far more decorated than he’d been expecting. Probably due to Nie Huaisang’s influence. 

“Huh,” Mianmian said, looking at the photo collage on the south wall. “Are those all of the same horse?”

There were roughly fifteen framed pictures arranged in a geometric pattern. Several of them were of Nie Huaisang and Lan Huan, but there were also five 50x70cm matte prints of a fearsome looking chestnut mare with a braided mane and the name “Baxia” scrawled in bold cursive in the lower right corners. 

“Honestly, she doesn't look as terrifying as Huaisang described,” Wei Ying squinted at the photos, realizing that he probably should follow up with the optometrist's office about needing contact lenses. “Aw, her nose must be so soft! Not as soft as Lan Zhan’s rabbits’s noses, of course, or his hair --” 

Mianmian tapped his shoulder lightly, sensing he was getting sidetracked. “Where do you want to actually do this? Usually I prefer a bed but that feels like crossing a line, you know?” 

Wei Ying looked over at Nie Mingjue’s bed, a non-university issued queen sized mattress, extra long to fit its occupant’s extra-tall frame. There was a pair of expensive looking white silk handcuffs sitting on the nightstand, along with what appeared to be white ankle cuffs affixed to the end posts of the bed. 

“Yeah, I’m with you,” he agreed. “I feel like I’m already learning too much about Lan Zhan’s brother.” 

They decided on the rug, new-looking and soft on the knees. Mianmian insisted they put a towel down just in case. 

“You’re really that confident in your ability to fuck my brains out?” Wei Ying asked, grinning. 

Mianmian reached into her little backpack and pulled out a medium sized dildo, gold with sparkly glitter, along with its harness.

“I’m really that confident!” She smiled good-naturedly. “Want to get undressed? The clasps on this thing always take me a minute.”

Wei Ying shimmied his worn t-shirt over his head, trying not to get his hair caught in the decorative zippers. “Do you have lube in that little sex backpack too?”

“Obviously. I'm not going to steal Nie Mingjue’s lube!” She shuddered at the thought. “And it’s not a ‘sex backpack.’”

“Obviously,” Wei Ying agreed. “Don’t want to cut into his supply -- Lan Huan probably needs it more than us anyway. I once saw Nie Mingjue’s dick in the gym locker room, it’s like. Enormous.” 

Mianmian snorted, still trying to get the last buckle in its proper niche. “Can we not talk about my rugby captain’s dick? I thought you wanted someone to-” She emphasised with heavy air quotes, “-peg you until you forgot that you're failing sociology.” 

Wei Ying flapped his free hand at her, the other busy twirling the glittery dildo like a baton. “And I do! It's not my fault that the humanities are so hard.” 

Mianmian snatched the dildo from his fingers and eased it into the o-ring of the harness. “Okay, sorry for the hold up -- wait.” She placed her hands on her hips, puzzled frown incongruent with her general state of nakedness, save for her pink sports bra and harness. “Since when do you go to the gym? You're not usually awake during the day and I’ve literally never seen you there.” Wei Ying looked slightly guilty, she noted with suspicion. 

“I go with Lan Zhan every Thursday morning!” he said, flopping back down on the rug to stare up at the popcorn ceiling tiles. “All the coaches say his form is perfect . Isn't that amazing? He's the best person I know.” He covered his face with his hands, sighing happily at the thought of his best friend. 

Mianmian knelt down beside Wei Ying, tossing away an errant sock off the towel. Wei Ying’s crush on Lan Zhan was obvious to everyone but himself and the object of his affections, apparently. “You're the stupidest person I’ve ever met,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, after thinking about that statement for a second longer, “Actually no--”

Wei Ying nodded sagely, as if they had both reached a universal truth while lying on an old towel in the middle of someone else’s dorm room, preparing to take Wei Ying’s virginity. “Jin Zixuan.”

“Jin Zixuan,” she agreed, then, brightening, “You can be second most stupid!” 

Wei Ying groaned. “You’re so mean to me!” 

Mianmian shrugged, rummaging through her tiny backpack for one of the bottles of lube she carried in it. “I don’t like you enough to be mean to you.” She looked over at Wei Ying, who was waggling his eyebrows flirtatiously. “Not that kind of mean!” 

“How hurtful, Mianmian! Surely you must hold some esteem for little old me?” He pouted comically. 

She tossed him the bottle of lube, having already slicked up the dildo generously. “One; you’re six feet tall. Two; you’re only twenty-one.” She sighed, putting on a show of theatrically rolling her eyes. “And three; of course you’re my friend. That’s why I’m sitting here with my strap-on ready to peg you as soon as you actually start putting in some work.” 

Wei Ying blinked at her twice, then caught on. “Eh? Oh! You want me to finger myself open?” 

She nodded, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I threw the lube at you, dumbass.” She then noted the slightly cowed look on his face, and softened her tone. “Have you done anything like this before? We don’t have to do this tonight, or at all, if you’re not feeling it.” 

Wei Ying flapped a hand at her again. “No, no, I still very much want to get pegged! I’ve just never had someone fuck me before, I don’t know the script for these sort of things.” He reached for the lube, uncapping it with a snap. “To answer your question, yes. But usually I just use my fingers.” He demonstrated, easing his index into himself without a flinch. “See? I’m very fuckable! It’s one of my better qualities.” 

Mianmian nodded, not completely believing Wei Ying, for all his bravado. Although he did appear to be adjusting to a second finger very fast. 

“Will this be too big? I do have smaller ones but this is my favorite,” she said, gesturing at the dildo where it bobbed, temporarily forgotten, in its harness. 

Wei Ying looked at it closely, considering. “I don't think so? Could you take a turn fingering me for a while? Just in case?” He looked up at her demurely, batting his eyelashes unnecessarily. “Can I have a kiss too?” 

Mianmian leaned down over him, careful not to drag the dildo on the towel, and kissed Wei Ying slowly while she began to finger him open. There was very little resistance, which struck her as odd. 

She pulled back from the kiss, ignoring Wei Ying’s tiny noise of protest. “When’s the last time you did anything like this?”

He tapped on this nose with his free hand, considering. “Uh, four -- no -- five hours ago.”

She stilled her fingers inside him. “Seriously?” 

Wei Ying blushed, looking away from her. “I was really stressed and I needed something to get my mind off all my assignments! Don't judge me!” 

Mianmian hummed, resuming the gentle movement of her fingers, three now. “I’m not!” Then, a mischievous tone entering her voice, “Didn't peg you for a horny slut, that's all.” 

Wei Ying snickered at the pun. “Heh, peg.” Then the last half of her sentence reached his brain. It was hard to look self righteous while flat on his back, bony knees spread wide as his partner fucked him open on her hand, but he tried. “Mianmian! You carry your strap-on around in its own little sex backpack!” he said with an air of self importance. “Besides, isn't it rude to make salacious comments on my promiscuity?”

Mianmian didn’t even bother not to roll her eyes. “I'm literally taking your virginity as we speak.” 

“That's a very conservative mindset,” he managed to grit out, breath coming faster. “Virgins can be sluts too.” 

She laughed, angling her fingers upwards until Wei Ying made a punched out sound. “All this complaining is making me think you don't actually want to be pegged." She pulled her fingers out and wiped them dry on the towel, ignoring the pitiful whine Wei Ying made. Predictably, he shook his head frantically. 

“No, no! Mianmian! I’ll shut up! Look how quiet I am!” Wei Ying was anything but quiet, panting hard and eyes more than a little desperate. “Come on! Fuck me!” 

Mianmian tapped at his hip. “It’s easier the first time if you’re on your stomach,”

Wei Ying obliged her, rising to his hands and knees with little grace. He looked back over his shoulder at her and smiled encouragingly. “Will this work?” He had a flat ass, but he made up for it with a handsome back. She slid her palm up his spine, feeling the flex of his lean muscles as he shifted. 

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Mianmian gave one last adjustment to the harness where it dug uncomfortably into her skin. “Alright, are you ready? I'm going to put it in now.” 

He took in a deep breath and nodded. “Can you give me a countdown?”

She rubbed his thigh comfortingly. “Of course.” Mianmian gave the dildo one last coating of lube. It made the glitter accents sparkle nicely. “Ready?” 

Wei Ying nodded, giving her a thumbs up. “Ready!”

“Three, two, one -- here we go.” Mianmian slid the dildo slowly inside Wei Ying, careful not to go too hard. “You okay?”

He gulped for air for a few seconds before laughing. “Yeah, yeah just give me a second. It's different when someone else is doing it, huh?” 

She gripped his hips, noting that he had good hip flexors. Not rugby worthy, sure, but he could at least try out for soccer. “Wouldn't know, I'm a top.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that from how you're fucking me.” He gave an experimental thrust backwards, moaning slightly. “Okay I'm good, you can start moving.” 

They managed to maintain a record of two minutes and thirty seconds of relative silence as Mianmian fucked him, punctuated by whoops from outside the building that filtered up through the windows and Wei Ying’s soft cries. Then--

“Why do you have your sex backpack with you tonight anyway?” 

Mianmian sighed. She had succeeded in her goal of pegging that night, but Wei Ying wasn’t her first choice. “I was hoping Wen Qing would be here, but she’s still in her lab.” 

Wei Ying’s head whipped around, the excited expression on his face having nothing to do with getting pegged. “Aww, Mianmian! Do you like Wen Qing? I can give you her phone number if you want!” He tried to reach for the address book in his bag, but couldn’t get it without slipping off the dildo, which was not an option. 

Mianmian sighed deeper. “It’s just that I don't even know if she’s into girls, and she’s always kinda distant whenever I talk to her -- oh, should I be fucking you harder?” She had slowed down her pace unconsciously as they talked. 

Wei Ying nodded. “Yep, yep, harder is good. But seriously Mianmian, she’s most definitely into girls. Like 100% lesbian, and she’s just like that, it's--” A well aimed thrust threatened to destabilize his knees. “--ghh-- it’s not personal.” 

Mianmian hummed thoughtfully. “Could you talk to her for me? Not like asking her out on my behalf but like… do some recon?” 

Wei Ying nodded and gave her a weak thumbs up, becoming less verbal as Mianmian grabbed his bony hips and proceeded to fuck him deeper. For some reason, Lan Zhan’s perfect, elegant hands kept appearing in his mind. Wei Ying thought that it really would be extremely nice to get fucked by someone with big, beautiful hands that could hold him. It didn’t take much longer for him to come. 

Mianmian pulled out when the last shudders of his orgasm passed. “And that’s why we put the towel down, so Nie Mingjue won’t make me do extra laps because you debauched his new rug.”

Wei Ying tipped forwards to place his head on his forearms, hips still raised. “I like how you’ve framed that as if you didn’t have a hand in all this,” he said, a smile audible in his tired voice. “Thank you for pegging me, Mianmian.” 

He reached a shaky hand out for a high five, and she obliged him. “Anytime.” 

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, was staring forlornly at the stairs. Nie Huaisang took pity on him and slid closer on the couch, into the space that Wei Ying had occupied.

“Hey,” he said. “I can distract you, if you want.” He accompanied it with a wink to indicate that if Lan Zhan wished to believe it was a joke, then it was a joke. Nie Huaisang had flirted with Lan Huan many times unsuccessfully, although he believed that his continual gentle rejections had to do with the fact that he was currently dating Nie Huaisang’s brother, and not any fundamental flaw on Nie Huaisang’s part. 

Lan Zhan was at least as beautiful as his older brother, but he did not seem to possess the same smile or the same sexually adventurous spirit. At least, not towards Nie Huaisang. 

“Okay,” Lan Zhan said.

“What?” Nie Huaisang said. He wasn’t expecting to get this far. “Uh, to clarify, I meant sexually.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “That is what I gathered.”

“Uh,” Nie Huaisang said, standing up. “Damn, okay, yeah. Let’s go to my room.” He thought about playfully pinching his ass as they walked, and then reconsidered; he would rather get out of this hookup with all ten fingers. 

“Do you want to kiss?” Nie Huaisang asked him, when Lan Zhan hovered by the door even after he’d closed it. He stepped closer and tilted his face up hopefully. 

“No, thank you,” Lan Zhan said, although he bent down to bite at his neck. He was a solid fifteen centimeters taller than Nie Huaisang, and strong enough to easily press him against the door. The vibe was more solemn than Nie Huaisang was used to from hookups, but he could make it work; Lan Zhan was objectively attractive, and at least Nie Huaisang would have hickies to show for it. He got a hand up Lan Zhan’s sweater and was greeted with a satisfying expanse of warm, smooth skin. When he tweaked Lan Zhan’s nipple, Lan Zhan bit down harder in surprise, and Nie Huaisang yelped. 

“Too much!” he cried. He didn’t mind dishing out a little pain while messing around, but he couldn’t take it himself.

Lan Zhan drew back in apology. “I am sorry,” he said, and then added, “I’m new to this,” as if that wasn’t obvious. 

“Suck, don’t bite down,” Nie Huaisang advised, tugging him back down by the collar. At least Lan Zhan took direction well. Nie Huaisang thumbed at his nipple again so Lan Zhan would know he wasn’t mad; Lan Zhan huffed against his neck and crept his hand into Nie Huaisang’s back pocket.

That suited Nie Huaisang just fine. There were worse ways to spend the evening than halfway into a bottle of hard cider, necking with a cute, tall boy. Even if said boy was kind of scary and definitely in love with one of Nie Huaisang’s best friends. That part was kind of a mood killer, if he was being honest, but not enough that he was going to protest when he felt Lan Zhan tugging at the buckle to his belt.

Watching Lan Zhan sink smoothly down to his knees was deeply hot. He was tall enough that he had to splay his knees a little to actually get to pelvis level. The suspicious look he gave Nie Huaisang’s dick was less hot.

“Okay, piece of advice,” Nie Huaisang said. “My dick isn’t a snake and it’s not going to bite you.” He remembered the forceful hickies and hastily added, “And don’t bite it either, please.”

Lan Zhan spared him a momentary glance before reaching out to run an elegant finger down Nie Huaisang’s cock, watching his reactions carefully as a scientist might an experiment. Which, Nie Huaisang would admit, wasn’t unattractive -- but it did remind him too much of the look on his chemistry professor’s face when Nie Huaisang had accidentally sampled from the wrong cell culture, resulting in his failing grade. That class would be the death of him, unless Lan Zhan turned out to be a dick-sucking god and Nie Huaisang died from it. Or from blood loss if Lan Zhan bit his dick off. Judging from how Lan Zhan had not moved on from slowly stroking Nie Huaisang, a pinched expression on his face, neither was likely. 

“Uh, I can give you some pointers if you want help?” 

The glare Lan Zhan sent his way reminded Nie Huaisang of his professors so much that he nearly apologized for not raising his hand. “Not that this isn’t nice,” He tried not to stammer. “It’s just a little dry? You could lick your hand?” 

Lan Zhan blinked twice in annoyance and exhaled hard through his nose, staring down at Nie Huaisang’s cock like it had personally insulted him. “No.” Then he leaned down and licked at the tip, a hand shooting out to still Nie Huaisang’s hips when he shrieked at the sudden sensation and flailed. 

“Ah, okay, yeah,” Nie Huaisang shook out. “Or you could do that,” 

Lan Zhan ignored him, attention focused on relaxing his tongue to take Nie Huaisang partially into his mouth, pretty full lips stretched around Nie Huaisang’s cock. He began to suck gently, hollowing his cheeks in the process, which Nie Huaisang faintly noted proved that Lan Zhan had clearly inherited some of the same otherworldly bone structure as his older brother.

Nie Huaisang poked Lan Zhan in the shoulder, regretting it when Lan Zhan’s mouth disappeared from his dick. 

“Can I hold on to your hair? I promise I won’t mess it up!” he asked timidly. 

Lan Zhan’s expression may have changed slightly, but Nie Huaisang couldn’t read him well. 

“Mm. That’s fine.” He leaned down again to suck Nie Huaisang’s dick with renewed vigor, bobbing his head slowly. Tentatively, Nie Huaisang slid his fingers into Lan Zhan’s loose french braid; Lan Zhan shivered slightly at the touch. 

Nie Huaisang was reminded, oddly enough, of going down to the stables with his brother and trying to feed Da-ge’s horse, Baxia, without getting any fingers bitten off. He’d read somewhere that a horse could chomp through a finger the same as a baby carrot, and Huaisang really liked having all his fingers. This was sort of like that; he had the sense that Lan Zhan was some majestic, beautiful beast, but also that if Nie Huaisang made any wrong moves and startled him, he was risking life and limb. Lan Zhan did look extremely good sucking his cock, although his face still had that scary unreadable expression, which was less hot. 

At least the pinched angry professor expression had disappeared, Nie Huaisang noticed with relief. He was really trying to enjoy the first blowjob he’d had since last semester and thinking about how he was most definitely going to fail his STEM requirement and probably flunk out of college was not sexy. Then again, maybe he could drop out and become a live-in artist for one of those eccentric millionaires with so much money that they would want to pay for all his paint brushes and acrylics and just fucking rail him on a pile of expensive silks every day. That could be a good plan b. But then Da-ge would be so disappointed if he didn’t finish college, and Nie Huaisang hated when his brother looked sad. But also he really, really didn’t want to go to class next week. Ugh. 

Nie Huaisang had absentmindedly started to stroke Lan Zhan’s hair, some part of his brain still focused on the passably okay blowjob he was receiving and not his drop-out watercolor-slut fantasies, and accidentally pulled at the long french braid he was holding onto. He wouldn’t have noticed either if Lan Zhan hadn’t responded positively to it, humming around Nie Huaisang’s cock and grinding his own hips down onto nothing, long legs splayed too wide to get any friction. 

The unexpected vibrations on his cock combined with being startled out of his thoughts meant Nie Huaisang came suddenly without enough time to properly warn Lan Zhan, who was similarly startled and choked on Nie Huaisang’s dick, reflexively biting down slightly, only to pull off of Nie Huaisang after his shriek at the intrusion of teeth in his otherwise pleasant orgasm. Nie Huaisang eventually opened his eyes and peeked out from between his fingers. 

Lan Zhan looked unhappy with the turn in events, glaring at Nie Huaisang and blinking rapidly. His lips had a pretty sheen to them that was undermined by the way they were pursed in annoyance. 

“This sweater was a gift from my brother,” Lan Zhan said hoarsely. Nie Huaisang was just as sad to see the fabric stained, and even sadder to realize he might have to physically go to the dry cleaners. 

“Sorry sorry! I meant to give you a warning!” He shook his head rapidly, “I’ll buy you a new one --!” 

Lan Zhan interrupted his ramble to simply take off his sweater, standing smoothly to select a replacement one from Nie Huaisang’s closet as if he wasn’t easily the prettiest half-naked boy Nie Huaisang had ever had in his room. Fuck, I wish we had more chemistry. Nie Huaisang thought miserably. 

“No need. I can wash it later,” Lan Zhan said quietly, voice still a little rough. He chose one of Nie Huaisang’s big cardigans and wrapped himself up in it before he sat down on the twin bed next to Nie Huaisang, an awkward silence falling between them. 

Nie Huaisang hated awkward silences. “Can I return the favor?” 

Lan Zhan looked curiously at him, eyes flickering down to Nie Huaisang’s lap before nodding. “Please,” he said finally, as neutrally as if Nie Huaisang had offered him a cup of tea, and stood to shed his trousers.

If Nie Huaisang thought Lan genetics were praiseworthy before, he wasn’t prepared for how good Lan Zhan looked wearing only a big cardigan and wool socks. Nie Huaisang briefly considered asking if he would like a job as a nude model for the art department, but they already had Lan Huan on retainer. 

Lan Zhan was still hard, interest not dissuaded by the unfortunate sweater mishap or the sheer awkwardness of the evening. He was surprised to learn that he liked having his hair pulled, but it would be better if it were someone else doing the pulling. Nie Huaisang knelt on the rug between Lan Zhan’s bare legs, trailing soft hands lightly along his inner thighs. Lan Zhan felt slightly dizzy from the sensation. He couldn’t stop the hitch in his breath as Nie Huaisang took him into his mouth. No one told him it could feel this good with a partner. 

Nie Huaisang moaned around his cock, hands wandering to stroke Lan Zhan’s thighs in a pale approximation of a lover’s caress. Lan Zhan desperately wished he was sharing this moment with someone he loved, someone beautiful and caring and far too self sacrificing and -- 

It became too much to think about, and Lan Zhan pushed at Nie Huaisang’s shoulder to pull him off. 

Nie Huaisang inhaled deeply, looking confused and slightly hurt. “What’s wrong? I’m usually really good at this.” 

Lan Zhan didn’t want to look Nie Huaisang in the eye and see that his irises weren’t the beautiful shade of gray that he was picturing. “Just your hand is fine.” He said quietly, staring at the sleeve of the borrowed cardigan.

Nie Huaisang frowned for a second before rallying. “Oh, okay!” He started stroking Lan Zhan, looking only slightly put out. 

Lan Zhan allowed himself the relief of closing his eyes and simply feeling. Without the pornographic sounds coming from Nie Huaisang he could let his mind wander. Unfortunately Nie Huaisang had other ideas.

“Is this good? Do you want it faster? You have to tell me if this isn’t good, we can do other stuff if you want--” 

Lan Zhan shook his head. “Please stop talking. It’s fine.” 

You don’t sound like him, his mind thought traitorously. Then, Wei Ying would look beautiful like this. 

It was a fantasy Lan Zhan rarely allowed himself to dwell on, Wei Ying beneath him with Lan Zhan sucking bruises on his neck, laughing in delight at the attention. Or riding Lan Zhan with his hair down, moaning out ‘I love you’. Or fucking Lan Zhan while whispering praises into his ear, their hands clasped together as Wei Ying kissed him. 

Lan Zhan came with the memory of Wei Ying’s lips on his own, just barely stopping himself from moaning out his name. That would be extremely embarrassing if Nie Huaisang were to hear. 

Nie Huaisang was still kneeling before him, looking smug that his sexual prowess had not been insulted by an aborted blowjob. “You can keep the cardigan if you like,” Lan Zhan could hear him saying, although with the blood pounding in his ears Nie Huaisang’s voice sounded like it came from the bottom of a well. “I really, really don’t want to go to the dry cleaners.”

Lan Zhan tried to say thank you, but could only manage a shaky nod. When he closed his eyes again, Wei Ying’s smiling face appeared before him, but he blinked it away; Wei Ying was somewhere upstairs getting fucked by someone who was not Lan Zhan and he would just have to be fine with it. 

Wei Ying stumbled down the stairs roughly an hour later and was disappointed to not see Lan Zhan there. He did, however, immediately make eye contact with his brother, who was gripping a beer can so hard that it was starting to crumple under his fingers. 

“Do not talk to me,” Jiang Cheng said at once, turning away. “Someone told me what you were doing and now I can never look at you again.”

“What, getting fucked?” Wei Ying said, with the nonchalant confidence of someone newly devirginized. 

“Eugh,” Jiang Cheng said, with feeling. 

“Where’s Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked, looking around. “Did he already go home?”

“Huaisang spirited him away,” Jiang Cheng said. “I’m also never going to look him in the eyes. From now on my social circle is just me and Jiejie.”

“Jiejie and the peacock are trying ,” Wei Ying protested. “She’s having more sex than anyone at this party!” Then his brain caught up to his mouth. “Oh, ew.”

He was saved from Jiang Cheng’s expression of pure disgust by Nie Huaisang carefully shepherding Lan Zhan out of his room. Was that a new sweater? Wei Ying wondered.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying exclaimed, all but swooning into his arms. It wasn’t an act; he was legitimately weak in the knees at the moment. If Wei Ying had been looking anywhere but Lan Zhan’s eyes, he would have seen the truly impressive collection of new hickeys on Nie Huaisang’s neck. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, staring down at him. “It’s getting late,” Wei Ying said. “Let’s walk back to campus, yeah?”

On the walk back, Lan Zhan walked in a straight line while Wei Ying wobbled all around him. This was a fairly common occurrence, but usually the unsteadiness was due to alcohol. 

“I hope that I am not keeping you from the party,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

“No,” Wei Ying said at once. “No, what? I’d much rather be with you than at some dumb party. Even one where I got pegged.”

“Mm,” Lan Zhan said weakly. 

“Was Nie Huaisang not nice to you?” Wei Ying asked. The night was cold against his flushed cheeks, even though he’d only had a few drinks. “I’ll beat him up, you know I will.”

“He was nice,” Lan Zhan said awkwardly. 

Wei Ying then recalled that he had seen Lan Zhan leaving Nie Huaisang’s room, presumably alone. “Lan Zhan,” he said, aiming for non-judgmental and ending up somewhere in ‘awestruck’. “Did you… do things with Nie Huaisang?”

“We,” Lan Zhan says delicately, “exchanged blowjobs.”

There was something about the way he said it, all calm and careful but saying that in his perfect, beautiful voice, that made Wei Ying feel hot and shivery all over, even in the night air. “Lan Zhan!” he shrieked. “I’m so proud of you!” He was, he really was. He was feeling a lot of things tonight, probably new special feelings reserved for non-virgins. 

Lan Zhan let out a breath. “Thank you,” he said. They reached his dorm, and Wei Ying accompanied him up to his room. 

“Um,” he said, when they got there. “Can I stay? Not to just invite myself into your space, Lan Zhan, I know you need your alone time, but walking isn’t the most comfortable right now.” Showing no mercy, he added an unnecessary explanation: “Because of, you know, getting pegged.”

Walking actually wasn’t so bad. Mianmian had been pretty nice to him. But the thought of going back out into the night without Lan Zhan at his side and curling up in bed alone made him want to die. 

“Wei Ying, of course,” Lan Zhan said, unlocking the door because he was the kind of responsible student who kept his room locked when he wasn’t there. Because he was the most considerate person in the world, he didn’t mention the many, many times that Wei Ying had simply invited himself in. He let Wei Ying borrow pajama pants and a long sleeve t-shirt. 

They had learned already in the many times that Wei Ying was too drunk to walk home that the only way for two grown people to sleep comfortably in an extra-long twin bed was to press up against each other in the middle of the bed so no one risked falling off. Wei Ying, always an eager cuddler, gladly wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s middle. Nie Huaisang didn’t get to do this, he thought, unusually smug, and then wondered where that had come from. 

Lan Zhan lifted a hand and absently stroked his hair. Wei Ying sighed into his chest. Mianmian had a nice chest, he reflected, but he wouldn’t be able to use it as a pillow. From his limited knowledge about boobs, that would probably get uncomfortable for her. But Lan Zhan had never stopped him. Really, the afterglow was much better here, in Lan Zhan’s arms.

“This is the best place in the world,” Wei Ying said, meaning ‘half on top of Lan Zhan with their legs tangled together’, and fell asleep before elaborating. 

The summer between junior and senior year of college, Wei Ying only went outside approximately four times. The rest of the time he spent holed up in his room writing what would later come to be known as the revolutionary programming language of the early aughts, Yiling. 

Wei Ying, who had skated through four years of high school and three years of college doing nearly everything at two in the morning the day before it was due, found himself so entranced by his own ideas that he spent three months straight doing nothing but furiously typing them out. 

Later, he was hardly even able to articulate why or how he’d done it. He had always been subject to mood and energy swings, but those three months were a higher high than he’d ever had, followed by a lower low. He’d always had his moments of brilliance, the ones that let him coast through school so easily that his brother threatened to strangle him, but it had never felt quite like this before. Like a wildfire rather than a lightning strike, the kind that raged for weeks and consumed whole forests at a time. 

When he stumbled out of his room in September, there were several things waiting for him:

• An angry brother.
• A worried sister.
• Several thousand dollars cash money upon releasing Yiling to the world. It would have been more if he’d patented, but Wei Ying was a big believer in free information. 
• A fair amount of unwanted media attention, since Yiling inadvertently made it obvious just how easy it could be to hack into corporate files. When Xue Yang bankrupted three different companies in a single week, several news outlets tried to imply it was the fault of the programmer whose invention he’d used. From Wei Ying’s perspective, he’d done them a favor -- shouldn’t they be glad to know that they needed to invest more in cybersecurity?
• Lan Zhan.
• Lan Zhan’s arms, which he promptly fainted into. 

At the following doctor’s appointment, during which he was informed that he had both anemia and a mild but rare case of scurvy, the doctor told him that perhaps it was in his best interests to talk to someone about why he found eating regularly such a chore, and why he might survive a week on three hours of sleep a night, and then crash for an entire weekend.

Wei Ying laughed. “Someone to talk to? Doc, I never shut up, just ask my friends.”

“I meant,” his doctor said delicately, “a medical professional. A psychiatrist.”

“The nerve of this guy!” Wei Ying said hours later, comfortably ensconced in pillows on Lan Zhan’s couch, drinking orange juice. He wasn’t normally a juice man, but Jiang Yanli had heard the words “vitamin C deficiency” and bought the grocery store’s entire supply of orange juice. “I’m fine, really. Telling me to go to therapy when there are real people who really need it, pff.”

Lan Zhan hesitated in the way that meant he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. It had taken Wei Ying two whole years to identify that pause, so he waited for him to say something. After several seconds of silence, he glanced over. Lan Zhan’s mouth was closed, and his eyes were wet.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said, astonished. “What’s wrong?”

“I was. Afraid,” Lan Zhan said stiltedly. “You closed yourself away. You rarely returned my calls. I thought perhaps I -- that I had done something wrong --”

Wei Ying had seen Lan Zhan teary exactly once: when they were watching a nature documentary and a father penguin had spent weeks sheltering a cracked egg. Wei Ying had never, ever imagined himself being the cause of it.

“No!” he cried. “No, I just -- I’m just like that, sometimes. It wasn’t you!” He cast his mind back to the blur of the past three months -- when he’d been able to tear his mind away from his projects to think about anything but code, he had never assumed once that he would truly be missed. Distantly, as if the thought was being shouted at him through a brick wall, it occurred to him that perhaps that was a problem. “It could never be you. You’re perfect. I just -- I wasn’t myself.”

“That is worse,” Lan Zhan said, looking down. 

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying said, still stunned. Even Jiejie hadn’t cried.

“Do not apologize,” Lan Zhan said, slightly choked. “I simply -- it worries me, when you do not take care of yourself or let others take care of you.” 

Wei Ying wriggled out from under the pillows to crouch in front of Lan Zhan’s arm chair, ignoring the way his vision blacked out for a second when he moved too quickly. The iron supplements were supposed to help with that. He reached up and wiped the tears off of Lan Zhan’s cheeks with a knuckle. 

“Let me be sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking about other people, and I should have.” Lan Zhan stared down at him. He was a beautiful crier, like a widow in a movie, tears clinging to his long eyelashes. “I neglected Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said mournfully, acknowledging a crime he hadn’t thought himself capable of committing. 

Lan Zhan shook his head. “Wei Ying needs to think more of himself,” he said, and added, “That is what therapy is for, if you want it.”

“I don’t know,” Wei Ying said. “It’s not that I -- I would never judge someone for needing help. It just doesn’t feel like I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it, which was probably an issue in and of itself. 

“Wei Ying deserves everything he needs,” Lan Zhan said fiercely. 

I need you, Wei Ying thought, and then, Oh fuck. He was in love with Lan Zhan. His initial instinct was to just leave that thought in some dusty corner of his brain and not acknowledge it, ever. Which might be why people kept saying he should talk to someone. 

So that was how Wei Ying ended up in therapy. 

On a Saturday in March of their senior year, Wei Ying called Lan Zhan around nine in the morning. This was surprising both because Wei Ying rarely got up before ten-thirty and because Wei Ying avoided talking on the phone as much as possible.

“My hands are too busy to page you!” he said brightly. “I’m giving A-Yuan a bath in the sink.”

Lan Zhan had heard about A-Yuan several times a week for the last few months, and seen plenty of photos, but had never actually met him. “Mm,” he said encouragingly. He could hear splashing in the background. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the park with us,” Wei Ying continued, then added, in a warm tone, “Yeah, the park! You want to go to the park?”

“Alright,” Lan Zhan said, somewhat bewildered.

“I was talking to A-Yuan,” Wei Ying said. “But if you do, great! Meet you at the southern entrance around ten? I still have to clean up from breakfast.” His voice turned warm and soft again. “A-Yuan helped me make pancakes, didn’t he? Didn’t he? And we only burned a couple of them!”

This time, Lan Zhan could hear a few giggles in the background. “Congratulations,” he says. “Yes, that works for me.”

“You’re so funny,” Wei Ying said. “Okay, see you then, mwah!” He must have kissed the phone receiver. The thought of it made Lan Zhan flush.

The morning blossomed into a sunny spring day. Lan Zhan observed the beginnings of new flowers poking up through the wet, dead grass on his short walk to the park despite the cool spring breeze. At the entrance to the park, Wei Ying waved enthusiastically. For the first time in their friendship, he must have been early. 

A-Yuan was strapped to his chest in some sort of sling contraption, and he openly stared at Lan Zhan. The sling had him facing out, and although Lan Zhan was not well versed in what was appropriate for almost two year olds, but he supposed that it was probably good for his development to be looking out at the world. It required research. 

“A-Yuan all but dragged me out the door,” he explained. “Someone was really excited about the park, huh?” He kissed the top of A-Yuan’s downy head. A-Yuan wiggled his arms and legs. It was, objectively, one of the cutest things Lan Zhan had ever seen. 

“Hello,” Lan Zhan told him. “I am Lan Zhan.”

“Zhan-gege,” Wei Ying interjected with a friendly wink. “A-Yuan has heard me talk about you before. A-Yuan, you remember?”

“Mm-hm,” A-Yuan said, demonstrating a brilliant level of understanding. Lan Zhan experienced an epiphany: A-Yuan was the most perfect baby in the world. He would later deduce that this was the same rush of chemicals experienced by fathers when they saw their newborns for the first time. A-Yuan tilted his face up to look at Wei Ying. “Gege, down?” he said. 

“Sure, buddy,” Wei Ying said, starting to unbuckle the contraption. “But you have to stay close to us, okay?”

They were not the only pair of people in their twenties with a toddler between them. Several young parents made eye contact with Lan Zhan and smiled knowingly at him. He wanted to correct them, but he also didn’t want to. They found a playground for A-Yuan to play on; he was too small for most of the structures, but he gleefully explored the parts he could reach. Wei Ying trailed after him, laughing. 

Lan Zhan sat on one of the benches and watched. Wei Ying was a natural, truly. It startled Lan Zhan when A-Yuan collided with his knees, laughing and gasping out some story about how Ying-gege was chasing him and Zhan-gege needed to hide him, fast, fast.

Automatically, Lan Zhan lifted him up by the armpits and put him in his lap, wrapping his open coat around him. A-Yuan was a small but dense weight on his lap, and he could feel his little breaths puffing against his shirt. 

Wei Ying emerged from one of the tunnels and unfolded himself, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Where did he go?” he wondered aloud. “A-Yuan was supposed to be my dinner!”

Wei Ying had grown healthier since last summer; the color was back in his cheeks and his bright eyes were alight with mischief. He crept closer to Lan Zhan. 

“I know my good friend Lan Zhan will help me!” he announced.

“I haven’t seen him,” Lan Zhan said, folding his arms around the toddler sized lump in his coat. A-Yuan giggled helplessly in his arms and urged him, shh, shh!

“In that case,” Wei Ying said, “I’ll just have to eat Lan Zhan for dinner instead!”

“No!” A-Yuan shrieked, muffled by Lan Zhan’s coat. 

“I don’t know how he got there,” Lan Zhan deadpanned, and Wei Ying broke character to burst into laughter.

“Don’t worry, A-Yuan, don’t worry,” he said. “Lan Zhan is in way too good shape to eat, too much muscle.” He put a hand on his stomach. “I actually am hungry. Lunch, anyone?”

Lan Zhan bought a sandwich from a nearby cafe and joined them on a bench. Wei Ying had packed A-Yuan a very well-balanced lunch, which made Lan Zhan fall slightly more in love with him. A-Yuan munched happily on baby carrots and sampled a corner of Lan Zhan’s sandwich. Lan Zhan’s hindbrain said, Yes, good, you are providing for your child. He forcibly reminded it that A-Yuan was not his.

Lan Zhan could not remember any days in his childhood spent like this: wandering a park with no purpose. He could conjure up the image in his head -- he thought his brother would have liked the monkey bars -- but it was pure fantasy. Any exercise they had was structured, and if he ever had the same flights of fancy that left A-Yuan babbling stories that Lan Zhan could barely keep up with, it was when he was too young to remember. 

Wei Ying looked as joyful as Lan Zhan could ever remember him looking. Something had settled in him in the past year, something to temper his restless energy, his messiness and perfectionism by turns. Therapy, perhaps. He thumbed jam off of A-Yuan’s plump cheek and Lan Zhan ached with how easily he could imagine a life like this for him. For both of them.

They explored similarly for the rest of the afternoon. “It’s good for him,” Wei Ying murmured as they watched A-Yuan skipping in circles. “I try to tire him out every time I babysit. Less trouble for Wen Ning and his granny to deal with when I bring him back.” Lan Zhan pretended that the reminder that A-Yuan would eventually be returned to his actual family didn’t make his heart sink. 

Eventually A-Yuan’s energy waned; he held his arms up wordlessly, and Wei Ying hoisted him back up into the sling without complaint. They had circled nearly the entire park; it was a short walk to return to Wen Ning’s small apartment. 

A-Yuan was half asleep already when Wei Ying lowered him from the sling into his own small bed. “Ying-gege?” he asked, blinking. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up from your nap,” Wei Ying promised. “Ning-gege will be back after dinner, okay?”

A-Yuan was asleep by the time Wei Ying finished speaking. There was something Lan Zhan didn’t recognize on Wei Ying’s face, something quiet and longing. 

“I’ll make tea,” he murmured, and slipped out of the room.

It was always hard, with Wei Ying, to categorize his wants into tidy boxes. Friendship was easy, comfortable, appropriate -- they’d been friends for nearly four years. He tried not to be greedy by wishing for romance too. Family seemed… absurd. Out of reach. This day, he reminded himself, was as sticky sweet and temporary as the jam on A-Yuan’s cheek. 

Wei Ying was in the living room when he emerged with two cups of tea. Herbal for himself, because it was three in the afternoon. Black for Wei Ying, because his caffeine tolerance was so shot that caffeinated tea often just made him sleepy anyway.

Wei Ying accepted his mug and then burst into tears. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, alarmed. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Wei Ying said wetly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m overtired, just like A-Yuan.” He sniffed. “I’ve always wanted kids, you know? Me and Jiejie, we always knew we wanted them. Jiang Cheng isn’t so sure. But there’s a big difference between wanting kids, like, as an idea , and wanting a specific kid in particular.”

“What exactly is A-Yuan’s parental situation?” Lan Zhan asked quietly. 

Wei Ying scrubbed his cheeks with the back of his hand. “His parents died in a car crash a few months ago,” he explained. “His grandmother has been looking after him since then, but she can’t get around as well as she used to, so Wen Ning has been doing a lot of taking care of both of them, but he’s still just a sophomore and Wen Qing is thinking of coming back from abroad to help--” His voice got smaller and smaller. “And A-Yuan’s just the best kid, you know?”

“He is,” Lan Zhan agreed fiercely, and then said perhaps the most impulsive thing he ever had in his life. “What if we adopted him?”

Wei Ying looked up at him. His cheeks were still ruddy from crying. His gray eyes were wide. “Really?” he breathed, and Lan Zhan gave up entirely on not being greedy. 

“I want children also,” he said. “And he is -- as you said -- clearly the best kid. And there is no one I would trust more to raise a child with me than Wei Ying.” It was, perhaps, skirting a little too close to the circumstances under which he had imagined that happening. He thought that if it ever did, there would be a lot of steps in between. Asking Wei Ying out, for a start. 

“You would be an amazing dad,” Wei Ying said, clasping their hands together. “Lan Zhan!” 

It was reductive, Lan Zhan thought, to compare his smile to the sunrise. Wei Ying’s smile was the tide coming in; he could die from it if he wasn’t careful. 

There were other conversations to be had too, and they had them over the coming months. Where would they live? Well, the two of them were already planning on moving in together. What about finances? Wei Ying, in a surprising show of responsibility, had tucked a tidy sum of his Yiling earnings away, and Lan Zhan was old money -- it wouldn’t be a problem. What about dating? It wasn’t like either of them had someone lined up -- they could just wait until A-Yuan was older, so that he wouldn’t be confused by extra adults in his life. No problem. 

“Are you sure?” Lan Huan asked. “You’d be committing to living with him until A-Yuan moves out.”

Lan Zhan could imagine nothing better.

“Are you sure?” Jiang Yanli asked. “What if you fall in love and want to have kids with someone else? What if he does?”

“Then A-Yuan will have siblings,” Wei Ying said confidently. He didn’t mention the part where he definitely wouldn’t be falling in love with someone else. His sister’s eyes softened, as if she understood anyway.

“Alright,” she said. “You’re an adult. As long as you’re sure.”

Wei Ying liked his therapist, but on occasion she raised inconvenient notions. Such as, perhaps it isn’t a good idea to adopt a baby with a man you’re secretly in love with. 

“Well, I can’t just stop being in love with him,” Wei Ying said. 

“You could tell him the truth,” Lan Yi said, not unkindly.

Wei Ying was a lot of things, but not a coward. After all, he thought to himself, what was the worst thing that could happen? Well, Lan Zhan could stop talking to him altogether. There was that. It was an unhelpful train of thought. 

But nonetheless, Wei Ying, who had spent ages nine to seventeen in a home environment where his adoptive parents clearly should have ironed some misunderstandings out before marriage, saw her point. 

This was the conversation he had with Lan Zhan:

“Lan Zhan,” he said, holding a sleeping A-Yuan in his lap. “I feel differently for you than I think you do for me. Do you still want to get married, knowing that? It’s okay if you don’t.”

And Lan Zhan, sweet, kind Lan Zhan, took it in stride. “I understand,” he said gently. “That is fine.”

It was about a year after Wei Ying had invented Yiling and changed the world with coding or numbers or whatever (Lan Zhan was regrettably not the kind of music genius who was also a math genius) and nearly sent Lan Zhan to an early grave with worry by getting scurvy, and about six months after Lan Zhan first met A-Yuan, that Wei Ying sat down with Lan Zhan and said, “Lan Zhan, I feel differently for you than I think you do for me. Do you still want to get married, knowing that? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Ah, Lan Zhan thought. He knew he had been obvious with his feelings, and he supposed he should be grateful for Wei Ying being tactful about it. “I understand,” he said. Really, he was glad that Wei Ying wasn’t making a big deal out of Lan Zhan being in love with him. He had never expected Wei Ying to feel the same, and in some ways it was a relief to realize he already knew. “That is fine.”

They got married in a courthouse in the fall, two weeks before Wei Ying’s twenty-third birthday. The event was simple, with only their siblings, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and A-Yuan as witnesses. The kiss to seal the deal was barely a peck: friendly and perfunctory. Lan Zhan’s heart still raced. 

The thing was, they already had an apartment lined up for after graduation, a two-bedroom downtown. But there were three of them now, a family unit, so they put the queen mattress in the second bedroom into storage and bought a twin for A-Yuan. He was still comically small in it. 

The thing was, it just made more sense for them to share a bed. Whenever A-Yuan got up in the night, he wouldn’t have to pick between them. This bed was also a queen, so there was plenty of room for two adults, even if a toddler wanted to squish between them. There was more room to spread out than there had ever been when they were huddled in Lan Zhan’s dorm room, and that hadn’t bothered either of them. 

It just makes sense, Lan Zhan thought, slipping out of bed at five and dressing quietly for his morning run. Sure, he had to be careful not to wake Wei Ying, but it wasn’t as though he’d been clattering around his old bedroom when he lived alone.

The apartment wasn’t huge, but there was a spacious kitchen, a cozy dining room, an office for Wei Ying. It could have, theoretically, been a third bedroom, but Lan Zhan was insistent that it was unhealthy to work in the same space one slept. They had their routines. On weekdays, Lan Zhan made breakfast and dropped A-Yuan off at pre-school; Wei Ying picked him up and made dinner. On weekends, they went to the park. The museum. The planetarium. 

Their neighbors assumed, understandably, that they were a couple, and Lan Zhan didn’t bother correcting them. They understood what they were, after all, which was some kind of cobbled together family. Three people who loved each other. 

A-Yuan turned three soon after they moved in, then four, and then they were thinking about schools even though it seemed like they had hardly adopted him yesterday. “Do we need to move to a better school district?” Wei Ying asked, dazed, and then they did, to a little house with a yard and everything, just in time for A-Yuan to start kindergarten. 

The thing was. Three bedroom houses were more expensive than two bedrooms. 

“It’s like, do we want to sleep separately or start a college fund for A-Yuan?” Wei Ying had pointed out.

“His education comes first,” Lan Zhan agreed. 

So they still shared a bed. Their new neighbors also thought they were a couple. In their defense, the first picture in their hallway was of their wedding, the two of them in the courthouse at twenty-three, their cheeks pressed up against A-Yuan’s, who was held up between them. And they both wore rings, because they’d gone to the trouble of getting them.

“Let me know if I ever make you uncomfortable,” Wei Ying had murmured, during that first week of sleeping in the same bed every night. A-Yuan was fussy from being in a new place and both of them were exhausted by the time they dropped into bed. “I know I can be kind of -- of cuddly, kind of flirty, and you need to tell me if I cross a line, okay?”

He meant: “I love you, and I don’t want my expression of that affection to make you uncomfortable, since you don’t feel the same.”

“Wei Ying doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” Lan Zhan said. Their knees bumped together under the blankets. “But I will say something if he does.”

He meant: “I love you, and I know you don’t want to lead me on. Don’t worry; I don’t think I could love you any more than I do.”

“Good,” Wei Ying said, impressed at their mutual communication skills. 

“Good,” Lan Zhan echoed, equally satisfied. 

They spent thirteen years in (there was no other word for it) domestic bliss. Lan Wangji got his doctorate in musicology; Wei Ying was free to mess around with his programs however he liked, and every so often one of them would turn out to be a real winner. Their son was happy and healthy and continued to be the best child in the entire world.

“As long as you’re happy,” Jiang Yanli said, sitting beside Wei Ying at a soccer tournament when their children were twelve and thirteen respectively. On the field, Jin Ling received his second yellow card of the game, this time for kicking another child in the shins. At the sideline, assistant coach Jiang Cheng cursed the referee’s incompetence. “He’s wearing shin guards, he’s fine!” he yelled. The ref did not listen. Sizhui waved at Wei Ying from the goal.

Wei Ying blew him a kiss back. “I am,” he told his sister. He was. 

Their husbands returned from the concession stand. Jin Zixuan presented his wife with a Kitkat -- her favorite. Wei Ying mentally added a few points to his husband tally, although he would never ever catch up with Lan Zhan, who had brought Wei Ying a stunning combination of Takis and sour Skittles. 

“Thank you, darling,” Jiang Yanli said, kissing Jin Zixuan on the cheek.

Wei Ying kissed Lan Zhan on the cheek too, so he wouldn’t feel left out. “Thank you,” he said, tearing open the Takis, and Lan Zhan offered him one of his tiny, pleased smiles. Sizhui blocked a goal and Jiang Yanli cheered. In one of his moments of overwhelming sentimentality, Wei Ying thought, quite smugly, that his life could not get any better. 

“In our defense,” Sizhui’s A-Die says at dinner, “I thought you knew. I call Lan Zhan my best friend all the time.”

Sizhui points his spoon at him accusatorially. “You also call him your husband,” he says. “I didn’t think the two were mutually exclusive.”

“They’re not!” A-Die says. “I call him my husband because he is my husband. Legally.”

“It is confusing,” Baba agrees. “We should have clarified better, earlier.” He bought ice cream that morning out of guilt, although it is hidden in the bottom of the freezer because A-Die is lactose intolerant and lacks impulse control. “We read all the parenting books about adoption. But I, at least, could not find any about raising a child with one’s best friend.”

“It’s okay if you’re mad,” A-Die says. “This one is on us.” He takes Baba’s hand; they read in the parenting books that it was good to present a united front.

Sizhui redirects his spoon at their joined hands. “That!” he says. “That is why I and all of my friends assumed that you were together.”

A-Die looks at their hands as though he hadn’t even realized what he was doing. “Huh,” he says. 

“I’m not mad,” Sizhui says. “I just -- I don’t know. It feels different. But it’s fine.” Shushu’s words play in his ear: It wouldn’t bother me so much if they hadn’t been in love with each other for fifteen goddamn years.

“You’re not mad, just disappointed?” A-Die guesses. He reaches across the table with his free hand to squeeze Sizhui’s. “In a way, you should be flattered. We loved you so much that we got married so we’d be allowed to have you.” He nudges Baba. “This guy basically proposed on the spot after meeting you once.”

Sizhui cracks a smile. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he says truthfully. He’s never had any reason to doubt his fathers’ love. “I just -- are you lonely? Or have you dated?”

“No, no,” A-Die says. “We made up our minds when we were adopting you that we wouldn’t date anyone when you were a kid because we wanted to just focus on our family.” He tilts his head, a wry smile on his face. “And so you wouldn’t be confused, but I don’t think that worked out very well.”

“And no,” Baba says. “I am not lonely. Wei Ying?”

“Oh, definitely not,” A-Die says. He beams at both of them. “What more could I want than this?”

Sizhui takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, getting used to the idea. “That’s okay, then. I just didn’t like the idea that you’d -- I don’t know. Given up something big just to raise me.”

“We didn’t give up anything,” A-Die promises. “A life with my A-Yuan and my Lan Zhan? What could be better than that?” The look he casts at Baba is nothing short of adoring. That’s another thing about A-Die: he flirts with Baba all the time. And Baba looks back like -- that .

Fifteen years, Sizhui thinks. Oh no. 

It’s Saturday, which means Lan Huan has invitations to at least four brunches. Usually he rotates through standing brunches so he doesn’t snub anyone, but his brother always gets brunch precedence. He climbs out over the foot of his bed so as not to wake either boyfriend -- Mingjue is too big to climb over gracefully, and A-Yao hates being jostled -- and slips into the walk-in closet to get dressed. 

Shuoyue has been fully charged overnight; he unplugs her and tucks the cord away. Mingjue, who is actually into motorcycles, thinks the idea of an electric one is faintly absurd. A-Yao, who dislikes any form of transportation less secure than a well-reviewed luxury car, tolerates Shuoyue’s presence in the garage but refuses to come along for a ride. Still, the wind is nice on his face even with the helmet that A-Zhan bought him for his birthday. It was rated 4.8 stars for safety, as opposed to Lan Huan’s former helmet: 4.6. 

Lan Huan savors the late spring morning, the gardens in full bloom, as he rides. His brother’s vegetable garden is one of the nicest in the neighborhood, thanks to hours spent tending to it alongside his husband. The same year that A-Zhan bought him this helmet, he’d gotten A-Zhan and Wei Ying matching wide-brimmed woven hemp floppy hats. 

It’s his brother-in-law who greets him at the door with a broad grin -- “Huan-ge, come in, come in!” The smell of A-Zhan’s house is familiar; they’ve lived here for almost a decade, and this house feels almost as much like home as his own by now. “Tea?” Wei Ying asks. “Lan Zhan is in the kitchen putting everything together.”

“Please,” Lan Huan says, shedding his protective jacket. Shuoyue can’t get up past around 70 kph, but road safety is still important. 

Sizhui sits at the table, and he too looks up with a smile when Lan Huan sits down. Lan Huan adores his nephew with the kind of uncomplicated love only an uncle or aunt or grandparent can provide. Sizhui is not his responsibility and never will be -- he is only Lan Huan’s to dote on and spoil and brag about to his coworkers. Like his boyfriends, he doesn’t particularly want children of his own -- A-Yao finds children far too sticky and Mingjue says he got enough of parenting when he raised Huaisang -- but unlike them, he thinks children are generally delightful. 

“Good morning,” Sizhui says warmly, setting his book aside.

“It is, isn’t it,” Lan Huan says. Brunch always puts him in high spirits. 

“I actually wanted to ask you about something,” Sizhui says.

Hm, Lan Huan thinks. Perhaps his nephew is getting interested in environmental law? Maybe he wants help with schoolwork, although either of his parents would be well-equipped for that. Maybe, Lan Huan thinks excitedly, he is going to be privy to special high school love gossip that is too private for parents! There is steep competition for Best Uncle in Sizhui’s life, so this would be a true honor.

Instead, Sizhui casts a glance back at the kitchen and says, “Do you think my parents are in love?”

Ah, Lan Huan thinks. He’s always tried to be non-judgmental about A-Zhan’s life choices; the same choices, after all, that got him a nephew to spoil. But this was bound to happen eventually. “I know they love each other very much,” he begins diplomatically, and Sizhui shakes his head.

“You know what I mean,” he says.

There’s no danger of being overheard; one of the features of A-Zhan’s house is that it is nearly impossible to speak in different rooms without shouting. Lan Huan sighs. 

“I have certainly thought,” he says finally, “that your fathers have romantic feelings for each other. Many times, over the years.” He thinks of A-Zhan’s longing look when he’d visited him during his first year of college and some other boy had clambered down the fire escape to wave outside his window.

“Is he lost?” Lan Huan had asked, bemused, and A-Zhan had just gone over and tugged the window open.

“Wei Ying,” he had said in greeting, in a different tone than Lan Huan had ever heard from him in eighteen years of brotherhood, and Lan Huan had thought, Hmm.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” this Wei Ying had said, although he crawled through the window all the same. “Is this your brother, Lan Zhan? You guys look so much alike! Hi, I’m Wei Ying, I’m Lan Zhan’s upstairs neighbor, haha.”

“Call me Huan-ge,” Lan Huan had said, and over Wei Ying’s shoulder, A-Zhan had glared. Privately, Lan Huan had given it a month before they got together. And that was almost sixteen years ago. 

Now, looking at their son, he’s not sure what to say. “I have reason to believe,” he says delicately, “that A-Zhan did and does have romantic feelings for Wei Ying.”

To his surprise, Sizhui says, “Good. Shushu said he knew because A-Die is his brother, so I thought you might know about Baba.”

Perhaps there is still a part of Lan Huan that harbors a slight bit of resentment towards his brother-in-law. He’s long gotten over the notion that Wei Ying is leading his brother on; A-Zhan had been very firm about that when Lan Huan pulled him aside before the wedding and said, “Are you sure? Are you sure that this will be enough, forever? Don’t you think he’s taking advantage of you?”

A-Zhan had just stared at him, like it was an insult to imply that A-Zhan deserved better than marrying a man who couldn’t admit his feelings. “This was my idea,” he said firmly, as stubborn as he had always been. “This is not the next best thing to dating Wei Ying. We will be a family. It is different. It is as good.” His voice rose, which was unusual for him. “You might as well say that A-Yuan is taking advantage.”

“Of course not,” Lan Huan said hastily. “He’s a child.”

“I love both of them,” A-Zhan said in his steady way. That was that.

“Yes, well,” Lan Huan said. Privately, he doubts that whatever schemes Sizhui and his friends are planning can hardly go more poorly than Lan Huan’s own attempts to get them together. Time has proved him wrong, after all -- his brother looks as content as he’s ever been -- and Lan Huan can only be grateful for that. 

A-Zhan emerges from the doorway in an apron, his hair tied up off his neck. For a moment, with the cinched waist and the bun, he looks awfully like their mother, except happier than Lan Huan ever saw her. The apron is covered in illustrations of rabbits. “Ge,” he says, setting down his tray without spilling a drop from the teacups. “I brought green and black tea. I will take whichever you don’t want.”

“Thank you,” Lan Huan says, picking the green. 

Wei Ying steps through the door and leans in around A-Zhan to smell the tea he brought out. The way he wraps an arm around A-Zhan’s waist is comfortable and routine, much the way Lan Huan might slip his arms around A-Yao to peek over his shoulder in the kitchen. A-Zhan just brings the tea closer for him to smell. 

Lan Huan barely registers the motion until he looks back to his nephew over his teacup. He’s got an oddly familiar look on his face, and Lan Huan doesn’t place it until hours later, when he’s watching A-Yao practice his defense for his latest case. It is most definitely a scheming face. 

Sizhui’s friends listen so raptly that he doesn’t even have to make them quiet down once. 

“I knew it!” Jingyi declares when he’s done, pounding a fist into his palm. “It’s obvious! Who would get married like that to someone who’s just a friend?”

“You wouldn’t marry me?” Zizhen asks, hurt.

“Of course I would!” Jingyi says hurriedly. Jin Ling rolls his eyes.

“ Anyway ,” Sizhui says, “I’m trying to figure out how to get them to realize that they’re in love with each other.”

“Set them up with other people and see how jealous they get,” Jin Ling says.

“Roller rink date!” Zizhen says.

“Record them each confessing and then show the video to the other person,” Jingyi says.

Hmm, Sizhui thinks. 

Wei Ying’s days have a regularity to them that he never thought he would have enjoyed as a younger man. He works from home -- on the porch when it’s nice out -- but he sets aside his computer around five to start making dinner. Lan Zhan has a commute from the university and Sizhui has after-school activities almost every day, so they usually arrive home just as he’s putting food on the table. He’s not the kind of miraculous chef his sister or even his husband is, but he’s competent enough to feed the three of them, for Lan Zhan and Sizhui to smile at the first bite. It’s great for his self esteem.

He’s just turning the soup down to simmer when he hears them come in. “Honey, you’re home!” he cries, poking his head into the doorway. Lan Zhan has leaned hard into the professor look over the years-- the jacket he wore today has elbow patches -- and he makes it work. His mouth quirks in that almost-smile that Wei Ying can still coax out of him, even after sixteen years of best-friendship and thirteen of sort-of-marriage.

“Smells good,” Sizhui says loyally, shedding his backpack by the door and following him into the kitchen. He seems to have recovered from the accidental bombshell of his parents not actually being together, which is a relief. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Wei Ying that his own adoptive parents were divorcing, but they were fighting every night for years by the time they actually separated. He and Lan Zhan have had so few legitimate arguments over the years that he could count them on his fingers, and Sizhui was privy to none of them. “Jingyi said I should come over after dinner to study.”

“To study,” Wei Ying echoes, winking. One day he will manage to fluster his teenage son -- he’s seen parents do it in movies. 

Unfortunately, Sizhui has built up an immunity to his brand of nonsense. “We have a bio exam on Tuesday,” he reminds him. 

Lan Zhan comes in behind him. Regrettably, he has left the jacket with the elbow pads on the coat hanger, but he still looks excellent, as always. His white shirt is still crisp, even after a day of teaching, and Wei Ying has to avert his eyes as he rolls up the sleeves. Lan Zhan has great forearms, and he can’t deal with that right now. “I will set the table,” he says, and does. 

Wei Ying has to remind himself, as he watches Sizhui ladle soup into a bowl, that they still have a few solid years left before he leaves him. He just looks so grown up, with a concentrating look on his face that he clearly inherited from Lan Zhan. Their features are different, but both of them get that little line between their eyebrows. He restrains himself from hugging Sizhui, but only because he’s holding hot soup. 

Lan Zhan has never managed to break the habit of not talking while eating, but he listens fondly as Sizhui recounts his day. He did well on a math quiz; Ouyang Zizhen laughed so hard at lunch that orange juice came out his nose. “It was a good day,” Sizhui concludes. 

“Excellent,” Wei Ying says. 

“And there’s something else,” Sizhui says. “Um, that I wanted to talk to you about.” He’s biting the inside of his cheek. “I was talking to my uncles about some stuff, and it kind of got me thinking.”

Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan and tries to telepathically communicate: I think our son might be coming out to us right now? Be cool. 

I am being cool, Lan Zhan says with a slight twitch of his eyebrow. You be cool. 

“I know relationships can be complicated,” Sizhui says, “but it kind of seems like, uh --”

“We’re so proud of you,” Wei Ying bursts out.

“--you’re in love with each other,” Sizhui finishes. “What?”

“What?” Wei Ying says. 

“Hm,” Lan Zhan says. 

Sizhui looks between them. “You’re in love with each other,” he repeats. 

Wei Ying swallows around the lump in his throat. “A-Yuan,” he says. “It’s -- it’s not that simple.” He should have guessed this would happen, probably. It’s not like it’s a secret that he’s in love with Lan Zhan. And Sizhui is very perceptive, and so he assumed that it was reciprocal. “Lan Zhan, a little help.”

“We have talked about it before,” Lan Zhan says. Sizhui’s shoulders sink. “We do not feel the same way about each other, but that is not your responsibility.”

“Exactly,” Wei Ying says, relieved. “I’m in love with Lan Zhan, but that doesn’t mean he has an obligation to feel the same way--”

“You’re what?” Lan Zhan says. He looks like he’s been struck across the head with a two by four. Due to an unfortunate garden shed repairing incident with Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying knows exactly what that looks like.

Wei Ying shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, you knew that,” he says. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s fun dinner conversation. “I told you, before we got married at all.”

“You did not,” Lan Zhan says. “You told me that you knew that I was in love with you.”

“Ah?” Wei Ying says, lifting his gaze to stare at him. 

“ Wei Ying ,” Lan Zhan says, a tinge of desperate confusion in his voice. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you!” Wei Ying says. “You--?”

“I love you too,” Lan Zhan says roughly. “I have since we were eighteen.”

“I’m going over to Jingyi’s,” Sizhui says, pushing his chair back. “I’ll be back at midnight.”

“It’s a school night,” Wei Ying says automatically. 

“I know,” Sizhui says, kind and not quite condescending. “But I figured you and Baba would want the time alone.” He doesn’t wait for confirmation. 

Lan Zhan stares at him, lips parted slightly, cheeks pink, as Sizhui fumbles his shoes on in the hallway, heaves his backpack onto his back, and closes the door behind him. “Wei Ying,” he repeats, into the new silence of their house.

“I’m just -- processing,” Wei Ying says. He reaches across the table to take Lan Zhan’s hand. They’ve shared a home for so long that the motion feels completely natural and practiced -- he does hold Lan Zhan’s hand fairly often. But this is uncharted territory. Lan Zhan grips back. “You really -- you mean it?”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan says. “Wei Ying, I -- I have loved you for as long as I’ve known how to love. I just never thought that you felt the same.”

“How could I not?” Wei Ying demands, slightly outraged that Lan Zhan would think such a thing of him. It occurs to him, belatedly, that he needs to be closer, and so he flings himself out of his seat, slips around the table, and sits down straddling Lan Zhan’s lap. For all that his face is calm, pressed close he can feel Lan Zhan on the verge of hyperventilating. Lan Zhan clings to him like he’s drowning. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” Lan Zhan says. “I thought you were -- letting me down kindly.” His eyes search Wei Ying’s face. “I was not upset. To be your friend, to be your co-parent… It is the best thing I have ever done.”

Wei Ying pushes his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. One of Lan Zhan’s big hands comes to rest at the nape of his neck, an anchor. “ Gah ,” he says. “We’re so stupid, Lan Zhan. I thought the same thing. I would have done this forever and been happy.”

“Me too,” Lan Zhan says. His hand flexes around the back of Wei Ying’s neck, a hesitant pressure. “Wei Ying, may I--?”

“Please,” Wei Ying begs, and Lan Zhan pulls him in. The last time he’s kissed anyone was a tiny peck at their wedding. The last time he kissed anyone with tongue was Mianmian, fourteen years ago. And the last time he kissed anyone and had it feel like this was Lan Zhan again, in the basement of his dorm. 

There are certain compartmentalizations that had to occur in order for Wei Ying to stay sane over the years. They sleep in the same bed, for heaven’s sake, and if he hadn’t been serious about keeping his messy emotions to himself, it would have made things considerably harder on both of them. So, no cuddling in bed unless Lan Zhan initiates it. No gazing at him while he sleeps. He’s been limiting himself to just jerking off in the shower for thirteen years. If he smells Lan Zhan’s conditioner while he does it -- it’s not his fault, they live together. The whole bathroom smells like Lan Zhan’s products.

It’s about trying to be respectful of Lan Zhan’s boundaries -- or it was. Just because Lan Zhan knew he had feelings for him didn’t mean he deserved to be subjected to just how hard Wei Ying is gagging for it. 

The point is, he’s been limiting himself to the barest traces of Lan Zhan for so long that honestly, he could get horny thinking about the bones in his ankle, or the guqin callouses on his fingers, or the look he gives Wei Ying when he’s being ridiculous in public. This -- Lan Zhan sitting under him, warm, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, mouthing at Wei Ying’s jaw with more than a hint of teeth -- is like snorting cocaine when he was expecting to take a sip of beer.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he pants. If he had any brain cells to spare, he’d be embarrassed by how desperate he sounds after five minutes of kissing. “Whoa, whoa, careful--” 

Lan Zhan pulls back, although he’s still close enough that Wei Ying can feel his breath ghosting cold over the saliva left on his skin. “Too hard?”

Wei Ying shakes his head emphatically. “No,” he says. “If you bite me, I might--” Lan Zhan’s hand finds the groove of Wei Ying’s hipbone, clutching it like a handle. “--ngh, I might come. And then I’d die of embarrassment and you don’t have time to plan a funeral right now, you’re busy with grading.”

Lan Zhan nips softly at his neck and slides his free hand under Wei Ying’s t-shirt, feeling the firm muscles of his back. “Then come,” he murmurs into Wei Ying’s collarbone, causing him to whine and grind down onto his lap. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says breathlessly, fisting his own hand in his husband’s hair to tragically pull him away and look him in the eye. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just say stuff like that or I’ll beg you to fuck me over the table.” 

Lan Zhan blinks once, a tiny smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth. “Wei Ying wanted a new dining room table anyway.” 

Wei Ying thunks his head down on his husband’s shoulder with a groan. “Lan Zhan… you can’t just say stuff like that,” he mumbles into Lan Zhan’s shirt. “We eat here! What would our beautiful son say?” 

“What if instead,” He runs a hand up the column of Lan Zhan’s throat, reveling in the hitch in his husband’s breath at the contact. “We ruin the couch, and we don’t have to explain to our son why the table he specially picked out at our neighbor’s yard sale in 2011 is in the woodpile.” 

Lan Zhan picks Wei Ying up so quickly that they accidentally knock over the salad bowl, not caring where the good tongs end up as they stumble towards the couch. Luckily Wei Ying had remembered to put away his laptop before starting dinner, so that it was not broken in half as Lan Zhan tosses him bodily onto the worn cushions before climbing on top of his husband. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says reverently, kissing down Wei Ying’s neck. “Wei Ying, I--” He breaks off as Wei Ying suddenly surges upwards and knocks them both off the couch. They narrowly miss banging their heads on the coffee table when they land on the rug.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying grins, preening at how easily he reversed their positions and sits up to straddle his husband’s infuriating still clothed torso. “Did you just throw me on the couch?” 

Lan Zhan’s ears go red. “Should I not have?” He looks slightly embarrassed, but he grabs Wei Ying’s hips with his big strong hands, which Wei Ying feels extremely good about. 

Wei Ying shakes his head fervently and presses Lan Zhan down on the rug as he kisses him deeply, only breaking away to pull off his t-shirt and start working on all the stupid tiny buttons on his husband’s shirt. 

“No no, sweetheart, that was so hot,” He pauses to kiss Lan Zhan’s pouty lips again. “You can throw me down anytime and --” Wei Ying makes a sound of frustration. “--Ah, fuck me-- why are these buttons so fucking small!” He sits up and glares at the offending shirt, firmly regretting having bought it at a tag sale. Such a good bargain. 

Lan Zhan stares at his half-naked husband with a kind of glassy-eyed wonder that Wei Ying finds extremely attractive. His ears are still slightly pink. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan squeezes their hands together. “Would you also like to fuck me?” 

It’s a ridiculous question, like Wei Ying would suddenly wake up one day and not want to fuck his beautiful sexy husband silly. But Lan Zhan asks so sincerely, as if he’s afraid of being rejected still. Wei Ying brings Lan Zhan’s hand up to his mouth and kisses the open palm gently, moving down his warm skin to suck on his pulse point. Lan Zhan shudders at the sensation and grabs at Wei Ying’s ass through his sweatpants. 

Wei Ying groans and grinds his cock against Lan Zhan’s, feeling like he stepped on a live wire. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan, yes,” Wei Ying flattens himself against his husband, biting his neck and squeezing his hand tightly in return. “Yes, I’ll fuck you. Any day, everyday, and you can fuck me all the time too, Lan Zhan--” He breaks off as Lan Zhan bucks his hips up, and they both moan at the contact. “We should fuck tomorrow morning.” 

Lan Zhan shakes his head with regret. “I have my advisee’s thesis defense at 8:45.” 

Wei Ying pouts, but he goes back to sucking bruises underneath his husband’s jaw. He feels slightly insane about just how soft the skin under his jawline is -- either there’s something to this whole moisturizing thing or Lan Zhan is just perfect like that. “Lan Zhan, why can't you work from home like a reasonable person!” Wei Ying is seriously considering telling the department head that Lan Zhan is indisposed for the foreseeable future. 

“What about tomorrow night?” Wei Ying nixes his own idea, regretting that their calendar is so full. “Nope, tomorrow we have Sizhui’s parent teacher conference.”

Lan Zhan grabs Wei Ying’s head and rolls them over, pressing kisses down his husband’s chest and lets his teeth graze over his nipple. “Wei Ying. Saturday morning.”

Wei Ying shudders, slotting his leg in between Lan Zhan’s and makes a high pitched clicking sound as he shakes his head. “Ah, Lan Zhan…. I promised Jiang Cheng we’d help him set up for the track meet.” 

Lan Zhan grinds down onto his thigh. “Saturday night?"

Wei Ying loops an arm around his husband’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss. “And Sizhui can have a sleepover with one of his friends! Genius, Lan Zhan, pure genius.” 

Wei Ying is similarly delighted when Lan Zhan has another brilliant idea. 

“Wei Ying, we’re still dressed.” Lan Zhan rests his forehead on his husband’s, taking a break from kissing to get his brain back online. Wei Ying wants to stay like this forever. But with less clothing, that’s an excellent concept. 

Lan Zhan mournfully removes himself from lying half on top of Wei Ying’s body, both of them unhappy with the sudden lack of contact. Wei Ying thinks that unhappiness is more than resolved by the sight of his husband slowly stripping himself of his clothing, golden eyes locked on Wei Ying as he in turn scrambles out of his sweatpants and boxers with less grace, settling back on the couch. Wei Ying has to grab his dick uncomfortably and think about his new horrible coding language so he doesn’t come on the spot.

Lan Zhan has other plans though, as he turns around and bends over to pick up their clothing and place it in the comfy chair. Tease. Wei Ying has momentarily seen his husband naked before; it’s inevitable when they share a bedroom and a shower. This does not prepare him for the sight of Lan Zhan’s perfect ass or his gorgeous back on full display in their living room at 7:45 on a Thursday evening. 

Lan Zhan walks towards Wei Ying and sinks slowly to his knees, pushing his husband’s legs apart as he mouths along Wei Ying’s bare thigh, a question clear in his eyes. “Wei Ying?” 

Wei Ying has to take a deep breath, trying not to come just from the sight of his gorgeous husband on his knees for him, pretty lips so close to Wei Ying’s cock. “Later, Lan Zhan, yes,” He reaches a hand out to caress Lan Zhan’s cheek, marveling at the ability to simply touch. “So very tempting, Lan Zhan, but I want to come while I’m kissing you.” 

Lan Zhan stands slowly, giving his husband a very full view of his body, and in one seamless motion straddles Wei Ying’s thighs. 

If necking with his husband in their dining room felt like snorting cocaine, then this -- Lan Zhan naked in his lap and grinding his cock against Wei Ying’s -- is like experiencing the heat death of the universe and watching all the matter in the cosmos recompress into a singular point. Far out. 

Wei Ying moans softly as Lan Zhan grasps both their cocks and starts to stroke them. Wei Ying has never felt more grateful for his husband’s big, pretty hands. He can’t wait to get those fingers inside him. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs low in his ear, his left hand fisted in Wei Ying’s hair to tilt his head back.  “What do you want?” 

He already sounds fucked out and they’ve barely done anything yet. Wei Ying supposes that’s what thirteen years of totally-platonic-best-friend-co-parenting induced abstinence will do to a person.

“Just this, Lan Zhan, just your hand,” Wei Ying sucks in a harsh breath as his husband bites down on a sensitive spot near his collarbone and digs his fingers into the taught plane of Lan Zhan’s shoulders. Wei Ying is so close to coming just from the concept of this scenario playing out that he doesn’t think he could handle anything more without having an aneurysm. His husband, his Lan Zhan, his best friend in the whole world, loves him back, they have a family and a home together, and Lan Zhan is naked in his lap. And fuck , his husband is the hottest man alive, Wei Ying is sure of it. 

Lan Zhan jerks them both off faster, finally breaking away from Wei Ying’s poor neck-- he’ll have to wear scarves for a week-- and kisses Wei Ying deeply. He tastes like the vegetable soup Wei Ying made for dinner. 

Wei Ying wraps his arms tighter around his husband, trying to bring them as close together as possible. Why did they ever do anything besides this? Sure, they had a toddler to raise and Lan Zhan had to finish grad school, but holding his husband and kissing his wonderful lips like this should have been a priority. 

Lan Zhan moans into Wei Ying’s mouth, their lips barely connected as they both pant harshly, instead choosing to rest their foreheads against one another as Lan Zhan strokes them off. Wei Ying can feel the stuttering movements of his husband’s hips lose their rhythm as they both near the edge.

Wei Ying cups Lan Zhan’s face in his hands and kisses him desperately, not caring that it’s difficult to get air in his lungs. 

“I love you,” Wei Ying breathes out, fisting a hand in his husband’s hair. 

Lan Zhan exhales against Wei Ying’s lips, and whispers back. “Wei Ying, love you --” 

They were never going to last long, both emotionally charged and physically pent up, and they both come within seconds of each other. Wei Ying does see the heat death of the universe; it looks like his husband’s eyes. 

Lan Zhan goes limp after he comes, and Wei Ying hugs him tightly to his chest, feeling slightly weepy. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs happily. They’re both very sticky and in need of a shower, but neither of them have any intention of separating just yet. “Thank goodness we’re already married. I think if I had to wait to be for-real married to you for any longer, I’d die.”

Lan Zhan hums in agreement. “Mn.”

“I don’t regret it,” Wei Ying says. “The last thirteen years were really good, Lan Zhan.” He wants a hundred more that are exactly the same, except they do this every night.

Something tugs at the back of Wei Ying’s mind. For a dumb, post-orgasmic moment, he’s sure they’ve forgotten something. The echo of Mrs. Yu’s terrifying voice sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine: Did you use protection? -- and then he remembers with relief that it was just a handjob, and also that neither of them has had any kind of sex in about fifteen years. Then he thinks, Ah, of course --

“The dishes,” Wei Ying groans, flinging an arm over his face. “We didn’t clean up from dinner.”

Lan Zhan bites his collarbone in protest of the concept of dishes.

“Hnng,” Wei Ying says. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to stand up, wipe ourselves off. and put the dishes in the sink. And then you are going to pick me up and spirit me away to the bedroom, where you can lie on top of me exactly like this, but on our memory foam mattress instead of the lumpy futon.” He works his free fingers into the thick, soft hair at the nape of Lan Zhan’s neck, scratching idly against his scalp.

Lan Zhan sighs against Wei Ying’s skin. His breath is so warm. His body is so heavy. “Do we have to put on clothes,” he asks, muffled. 

“No,” Wei Ying says immediately. He is so terribly, terribly glad that they are on the same page about these things now. “That would be ridiculous.”

Sizhui returns promptly at 12:02 in the morning, later than he’s ever stayed up on a school night in his entire life. There’s a note on the table that reads, in his A-Die’s scrawl:

A-Yuan, you rascal. Where and when did you get so smart? You certainly didn’t learn it from us. Your poor old pops have gone upstairs (just for sleeping!) because we are old men who need our beauty rest. Especially now that we need to look beautiful for each other. We adore you, sleep well.