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Of all the ways Lan Zhan might have expected their first date to go poorly, this was not one of them.
He couldn’t even say it had started out well, because it had started out like this: he had arrived at the restaurant, a family-owned hole-in-the-wall with vegetarian options that he and Wei Ying had been going to for months, ten minutes early. Then he’d stood outside and waited. Wei Ying had showed up ten minutes late, walking slowly down the sidewalk, and when he’d seen Lan Zhan he’d given him a tight smile and said, “Hi.”
“Hi,” said Lan Zhan, trying not to sound like someone who spent a significant amount of time thinking about Wei Ying’s laugh. Then he'd remembered they were literally on a date (their first date) (Wei Ying had asked him out) (Wei Ying Had Asked Him Out), so maybe it was okay to sound like that. “How are you?”
“Good,” Wei Ying said shortly. “Um. Inside?”
And he’d swept past Lan Zhan into the restaurant. That was… fine. It was chilly out and Wei Ying wasn’t wearing a jacket, so maybe he was just cold. Lan Zhan followed him inside, into this warm place that smelled like seafood and frying things, and they were seated at a small table along the wall, and Lan Zhan said, “How was your day?” because it was Friday and he hadn’t seen Wei Ying since Monday, and Wei Ying said, “Good.” And stared at the menu like he’d never seen it before. After about thirty seconds of this, he said, “...Ah. Yours. How was yours.”
“I saw ge this morning,” Lan Zhan said, and found himself faltering, falling silent. The thing was, he was good at talking to Wei Ying. He’d never been good at talking to anyone other than Lan Huan, not even shufu, but it was easy with Wei Ying, who always waited for Lan Zhan to collect and rearrange his scattered words, who said things like ‘I know what you mean’ and ‘Yes! Exactly that! Oh my god, that’s exactly how it feels’ and ‘Remember a few weeks ago when you said that thing about tuning forks? I’ve been thinking about it ever since, and….”
But the Wei Ying sitting across the table from him was closed off, shoulders hunched, not even looking at Lan Zhan.
“Wei Ying,” said Lan Zhan. “Are you okay?”
Wei Ying nodded once. “Fine. Just tired. Sorry.”
It continued like that. They ordered, waited in silence for the food to come, ate in silence when it did. Or, Lan Zhan ate. Wei Ying just sort of stirred at his soup, spooning rice into it and then not actually eating any. He’d taken a couple sips of hot tea in the past half hour; that was it. Lan Zhan asked him again if he was okay, and again Wei Ying said yes, and Lan Zhan asked in desperation how Jiang Yanli was doing, because Wei Ying loved talking about Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying said, “A-jie’s… yeah. Good. Thank you.”
“Do you….” Lan Zhan watched Wei Ying poke at the rice in the bottom of his soup bowl. “Do you want to order something else?”
Wei Ying didn’t respond for a moment, then gave a tiny shake of his head. “No, I like it,” he said. As if trying to prove something, he raised his spoon to his lips and ate what had to be a single grain of rice.
Silence settled in again, a snowdrift.
Lan Zhan almost felt made fun of, which was not something he was used to feeling around Wei Ying; at least not since the very beginning, and never like this. He didn’t know what to do with this silent, expressionless Wei Ying. He could try yet again to start a conversation, but it was obvious Wei Ying didn’t want to talk. It felt like Lan Zhan was being annoying just by sitting here, which was also not something he was used to feeling. He wondered if this was how Wei Ying had felt, in those first few weeks when he’d been pestering Lan Zhan to get a reaction and Lan Zhan, flustered and panicky, had shut him down every time.
This wasn’t just ‘tired.’ This was…. Something was wrong, and maybe it had nothing to do with Lan Zhan, but that felt increasingly unlikely. A pleading, childlike part of him wanted to say: ‘You asked me out. You asked me out, you wanted to.’ But Wei Ying was allowed to change his mind.
“Um,” said Wei Ying.
Lan Zhan, who had been staring down at his own half-eaten meal, looked up quickly. Wei Ying was still avoiding his eyes. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his soup spoon set aside. He didn’t want to be here. Lan Zhan had guessed, but this was when it really sank in: Wei Ying didn’t want to be here.
“I have to. Bathroom,” said Wei Ying. And he got up from the table and left.
Lan Zhan watched him weave through the other tables to the back of the restaurant. Then Wei Ying disappeared around a corner and Lan Zhan was alone and his body felt like an empty hallway, like any sound he made would echo. He sat there and waited for Wei Ying to come back.
And waited.
And waited.
It took about ten minutes for Lan Zhan to realize, with a cold, rising floodwater sensation, that Wei Ying might not actually be coming back. Except—no, that couldn’t be right. Everything about this was terrible, but Wei Ying wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t cruel and he wasn’t a coward; if he had changed his mind, he would tell Lan Zhan. He wouldn’t hide in the bathroom about it, that didn’t make sense. Wei Ying was kind. If he was going to end this before it even began, he’d do it kindly.
Five more minutes.
The waiter came by, giving Wei Ying’s empty chair a polite but pointed glance, and Lan Zhan paid the bill. Two more minutes. Finally, he got up so the waiter could clear away their bowls, Wei Ying’s almost entirely untouched. He couldn’t just stand there next to the table, and he still didn’t understand what was going on, so he headed to the back of the restaurant after Wei Ying. The bathrooms were just off the kitchen. Lan Zhan opened the door to the men’s room, expecting to see Wei Ying at the sink, but there was no one there.
He left, Lan Zhan thought, numb. There must be a back exit. He left.
Then he heard the sound of a throat clearing.
“…Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan said, very quiet.
“Ah,” came Wei Ying’s voice from the farthest stall. “Ah. Lan Zhan?”
Relief swept through him, dizzying like a head rush. “Wei Ying,” he said. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, sorry,” said Wei Ying, and his voice sounded kind of stuffy, nasally, and Lan Zhan was abruptly worried all over again. “Sorry sorry, it’s… been a couple minutes, huh.”
“It’s been almost twenty minutes,” said Lan Zhan. He stepped all the way into the bathroom, letting the door fall shut behind him.
“Fuck,” said Wei Ying. “Fuck. Are you serious?”
“Mm.” There were three stalls including Wei Ying’s, then two squat toilets at the end. The other stalls were thankfully empty. When Lan Zhan moved closer, he could see Wei Ying’s shoes, but at the wrong angle, like he was kneeling.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Wei Ying gasped out. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry. Um—just—I maybe need one more minute, and then I’ll be—I’ll be right out. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yes! Sorry! I’ll be right out!”
“I paid the bill,” said Lan Zhan.
A long pause. “Okay,” Wei Ying said at last, in a very small voice. “Okay. Yeah. That’s…. That makes sense. Okay. I…. I might stay in here for a second, but you can go, okay? I’ll pay you back.”
“Wei Ying. Can you open the door?”
A second pause, even longer. “Yeah,” Wei Ying said defeatedly, and unlocked the stall door. He had been kneeling in front of the toilet, but now he slumped sideways, sitting on the grimy bathroom floor. His skin was ghostly pale, a faint sheen of sweat on his face, hair clinging in sweaty strands to his temples. His eyes were glazed over, his lips colorless.
Lan Zhan let out a sharp breath. He slipped into the stall, crouching down beside Wei Ying and putting a hand on his shoulder. Wei Ying was shivering slightly, tremors running through his whole body. The toilet bowl was empty, but everything smelled faintly sour. “You’re sick?”
“I think I have the flu,” Wei Ying whispered. “Or something. I don’t know. It started last night.” His eyes darted up to meet Lan Zhan’s, then away again. “Sorry.”
Last night. Last night? “Wei Ying,” said Lan Zhan. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I was feeling better,” Wei Ying said. He bent over the toilet again as if unable to stay upright, resting his forehead on his arm. “‘M feeling better, I just, I need a minute.”
“You’ve been throwing up,” said Lan Zhan. “You should be in bed.”
“But.” Wei Ying sniffled. “But. Lan Zhan. Tonight was supposed to be perfect.”
Lan Zhan blinked at him.
“I had this really nice shirt I was gonna wear,” Wei Ying continued mournfully. He was mumbling into the crook of his elbow, slurring a little, eyes closed. “It’s like, red silk, it’s the nicest shirt I own, it makes my skin look great, it was a birthday present from a-jie last year, it’s my best shirt. And. Tight jeans. Like respectable enough for a nice dinner but tight enough to make you want me. ’N I was gonna have one drink with dinner, just to loosen up a little, because I was kinda nervous, because you’re you, and. And I was gonna be really funny and make you smile. A lot. Make you wanna go out with me again.”
Speechless, Lan Zhan squeezed Wei Ying’s shoulder.
Wei Ying took a shaky breath, sniffling again. “But standing up was a lot,” he said. “So I just put on the same jeans I wore yesterday. Because they were on the floor by my bed. I don’t even know what shirt I’m wearing.”
“A black sweater,” Lan Zhan managed.
“An’ I showered but I didn’t do anything else. I didn’t even put on lotion, I can’t do smells right now. And the idea of drinking or eating anything makes me want to die. Lan Zhan ah…. I wanted to look good.”
Lan Zhan’s heart was a flower in ultraviolet light. All his hidden patterns just fucking glowing. “Wei Ying always looks good,” he said.
Wei Ying turned his head, looking up at Lan Zhan. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his eyes bloodshot. He looked like a very beautiful, flu-ridden person who had just spent twenty minutes throwing up in a public bathroom. Lan Zhan brushed a piece of sweaty hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.
“I’m so sorry,” Wei Ying said, voice cracking. “About dinner. I think I was late, I don’t even remember how I got here. I feel so weird, everything’s blurry and my brain is gonna hatch out of my skull like a horrible chicken and all the sounds are underwater and I was just trying really, really hard not to puke all over the table. I kept waiting for it to pass but it didn’t and I was afraid to open my mouth, sorry, that’s so gross, but. Yeah. And then I, you know, came in here, and I thought it had only been like five minutes but I guess it was twenty. And you….” His eyes widened. “You paid the bill. Oh my god. I was supposed to…. Lan Zhan, I’m the one who asked you out.”
“I like paying for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “But you can pay next time, if you want.”
“Ah?”
Lan Zhan leaned over and pressed the side of his face to Wei Ying’s shoulder, the soft knit of his sweater. Below the sour sweat he smelled like Wei Ying, warm and familiar, cao guo and lotus and boy. “Next time.”
“You… want there to be a next time?”
“Mm.”
“Still?”
“Yes,” said Lan Zhan, straightening up. “Can I take you home?”
“Oh,” said Wei Ying. “I—I don’t know if I’m up for sex.”
Lan Zhan went perfectly still. “Wei Ying,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You have the flu. I know you are not up for sex.”
“Oh.”
“I want to make sure you get home safe.”
“Oh.”
“Would you prefer to call someone?” Lan Zhan asked.
“No,” said Wei Ying. “No. Thank you.”
It was a slow walk out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk, Wei Ying clinging to Lan Zhan’s arm. The night air was chilly, smelling of cigarette smoke and car exhaust and the sizzling meat smell of a barbecue place next door. This was a narrower street, mostly residential buildings and tiny shops, strings of little red flags crisscrossing overhead, neon signs for a pharmacy, electronics repair, Taiwanese food, fried chicken. Lan Zhan called a Didi and kept a hand on Wei Ying’s back while they waited, not trusting Wei Ying’s ability to stay upright. Wei Ying shivered hard.
“Are you cold?” Lan Zhan asked, frowning.
“Um. A little,” said Wei Ying. “When I left to come here I was way too hot, but now….”
Lan Zhan let go of him long enough to take off his own coat and drape it across Wei Ying’s shoulders, buttoning the top two buttons to hold it in place. Wei Ying was quiet for all of this. When Lan Zhan finished with the buttons, Wei Ying gave him a small, shy smile.
Luckily Wei Ying held it together on the drive back to his flat in Yangpu, forehead pressed to the cold car window, eyes squeezed shut. Lan Zhan walked him into his building, into the rickety elevator. During the short ride up to the sixth floor, Wei Ying shuffled into Lan Zhan’s space, resting his cheek on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and making a sweet, sleepy little noise that Lan Zhan already knew he was going to think about at least three times per hour for the next month. Then Wei Ying jerked back. “Wait, no, sorry. I’ll get you sick.”
“It’s okay,” said Lan Zhan, heart rising like a moon, through dusky blue. He wanted to hold Wei Ying’s hand. He wanted to wrap an arm around Wei Ying’s back and pull him in, hold him close, keep him warm, hear that little noise again, press his nose to Wei Ying’s hair and breathe in, sick smell be damned. The elevator dinged. Lan Zhan led Wei Ying down a dim hall crowded with stools and baskets, brooms propped up outside apartment doors. Wei Ying’s flat was at the very end, his door plastered with printed-out door gods. The first time Lan Zhan had been here, Wei Ying had noticed him looking at the gods and said, ‘I need all the luck I can get.’
Inside, the flat looked neater than usual. Not that it was ever that messy, but Wei Ying and his roommate Nie Huaisang’s ever-present stacks of books and notebooks were nowhere to be seen, and all the shoes and house slippers were arranged in even rows on the shoe rack. Lan Zhan switched his boots for the gingham bunny patterned house slippers Wei Ying had gotten for him a while back, then led Wei Ying over to the lumpy couch. “Sit,” he instructed. Wei Ying sat, his dark eyes never leaving Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan fetched him a cup of water from the kitchen and then started to help him out of the borrowed coat, but Wei Ying stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“I wanna keep it on,” he said softly.
Lan Zhan was going to die, maybe. He handed Wei Ying the nearest blanket. “Do you want tea?”
“Ah Lan Zhan, you don’t have to stay,” said Wei Ying. “I’ve got it from here.”
“Why is there dry rice spilled all over the kitchen counter,” said Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying squirmed. “I tried to make congee earlier, but I almost passed out.”
“Hm,” said Lan Zhan, and went to go make some tea. He set the kettle to boil, cleaned up the rice. When he looked up, Wei Ying was watching him from the couch. “Can you eat?” Lan Zhan asked him. “Plain rice?”
“I…. I don’t think so.”
“Are you going to be sick again?”
Wei Ying made a face. “Probably. At some point.”
Lan Zhan searched the cupboards until he found a plastic wash basin. When he brought it back out to Wei Ying with a cup of tea, Wei Ying took one look at it and whined, yanking the blanket up to hide his face.
“Oh my god,” he said, muffled by the blanket. “Lan Zhan, seriously, you can leave. It was so nice of you to take me home, you’re the best, thank you, but really, really you can go.”
Lan Zhan paused. “What’s wrong?”
“I.” At first Wei Ying didn’t answer, just breathed into the blanket. Finally he said, “This is just. Lan Zhan, this is way too much for a first date. In the beginning it’s supposed to be sexy and fun and easy, and everyone’s showing off their best self, and I know we’re not exactly strangers but still, this part is new. It is way too fucking early for the hottest person I’ve ever met to be handing me a fucking barf basin.”
“I see,” said Lan Zhan. He put the tea and basin on the coffee table and sat on the end of the couch by Wei Ying’s feet. “How long do we have to date before it is acceptable?”
“Three months! At least!”
“Hm.”
“Yeah,” said Wei Ying, lowering the blanket. His face was blotchy, the twist of his mouth miserable. “Because by then, you know I’m like, fun, and fun in bed, and you’re invested, maybe. Hopefully. So you can see me all gross and horrible like this and it won’t turn you off forever.”
“I’m invested now,” Lan Zhan told him.
Wei Ying’s eyes snapped up to meet his.
“I’ve been invested,” said Lan Zhan. Anxiety skittered across his skin, but: Wei Ying didn’t think Lan Zhan was invested, and that was so wrong it canceled out any fear or embarrassment.
“Oh,” Wei Ying breathed. His cheeks were turning pink. Lan Zhan wanted to kiss him everywhere, starting with his mouth, his throat, trailing down his chest, to his hipbones and the insides of his pretty thighs, his kneecaps, ankles. Lan Zhan wanted Wei Ying in his lap, honestly. In his bed. In his own flat, his kitchen, Wei Ying under the yellow lights, the windows dark with a smoggy bruise-colored night, starred with city-glow. Wei Ying with a cup of coffee in the mornings, tea or liquor in the evenings, making soup, making black peppercorn noodles, making whatever the hell he wanted. Those soft dark eyes finding Lan Zhan’s across the room. That toothy, crinkly-nosed smile. “Me too,” Wei Ying said. “I’m invested too.”
Lan Zhan’s ears felt warm. Wei Ying was grinning at him, still pale and sweaty and green around the edges, but he was Wei Ying and he was so handsome.
“Ai,” Wei Ying groaned, burying his face in the blanket again. “God, this is awful, I can’t believe I can’t kiss you right now.”
“You can later,” Lan Zhan said.
They looked at each other.
“Lan Zhan really doesn’t have to stay,” Wei Ying said, quieter this time. “You’ve done more than enough, I have everything I need. Thank you.”
“Do you want me to go?” Wei Ying didn’t answer. Lan Zhan glanced at his watch: it was almost eight. “Is Nie Huaisang coming home soon?”
For some reason that made Wei Ying go all shifty-eyed, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well. Um. To be totally honest, no, he’s not.”
Lan Zhan waited for Wei Ying to elaborate.
“So. Funny story,” Wei Ying said. “Three days ago, before I started puking my guts out, I may or may not have asked Nie-xiong to, ah… vacate the premises tonight. I think he’s at his brother’s.”
It took a moment to sink in. Then Lan Zhan felt his entire face grow hot.
“Just in case!” Wei Ying said squeakily. “I wasn’t presuming anything, I swear! I just, on the off-chance it did go well and you did want to come back here, I didn’t want Nie-xiong hanging around, he’s got ears like a cat, this place is tiny, there’s no privacy. But obviously I wasn’t gonna push and it’s not a big deal at all and I, I want to respect you and do this the right way, and stuff.” He let out a breath, eyes wide and insistent, flushing all the way down his throat. “I want to respect you so hard.”
“You. Wanted me to come back here,” Lan Zhan said faintly.
Wei Ying made a noise not unlike a cat being trod on. “Yes! Just not like this!”
“Like how?”
“I—,” Wei Ying was gripping the blanket with white knuckles. He took a deep breath. “I wanted it to go well tonight,” he whispered. “I wanted to… fucking offer you a cup of tea or whatever. I wanted you to come home with me. I wanted to kiss you in the elevator, and the hallway, and the doorway, and in the kitchen, and here on the couch, and in my bed.”
Lan Zhan leaned over, pressing his forehead to Wei Ying’s knees. “Wei Ying,” he said, and Wei Ying let out a weak laugh and pushed his hands through Lan Zhan’s hair, scratching at his scalp a little. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
Lan Zhan nodded.
“Okay. Yes. Fuck.” He traced the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear with his thumb. “I cannot fucking believe I have the flu right now.”
“I want to stay over,” said Lan Zhan.
“You do? Tonight?”
He nodded again.
“You can stay over,” Wei Ying said. “Are you gonna run away screaming if I throw up?”
“No.”
“Do you wanna sleep in my bed? I’ll sleep out here.”
“No. Your bed.”
“Sorry, you want to sleep in my bed with me? Lan Zhan, I’ll get you sick.”
Privately, Lan Zhan thought that ship had long since sailed. It didn’t matter. “Your bed.”
“Fine!” said Wei Ying, fake exasperated. “But we’re not touching. I’m sweaty and disgusting and I smell like a toilet.”
Lan Zhan nodded a third time, even though he fully planned on holding Wei Ying’s hand. If Wei Ying thought they weren’t going to fall asleep holding hands, he was out of his mind.
“Oh my god. Alright,” said Wei Ying. “I’m gonna finish my tea, and then I’m gonna shower and brush my teeth five times, and then we can go to bed. And in the morning maybe we can cuddle and watch a movie and pretend you slept over because you fucked the daylights out of me, which was the original plan.”
Lan Zhan was going to die. “Mm.”
“Cool,” said Wei Ying, a smile in his voice. “Cool. Okay, sweetheart. Help me up.”
END.