Chapter Text
When Wei Ying misses the bus, he instantly blames it on Lan Zhan. He spent far too long staring at his legs in the full length mirror the night before, wondering if the reddened hand-prints would turn into bruises, wondering how he would explain them if they did. Then he moved on to staring up at the ceiling and occasionally touching his mouth, which was still swollen and sore.
He had no idea kissing involved things like this.
By morning light, only the tips of Lan Zhan’s fingers have left any lasting marks, and Wei Ying can explain those away easier than an entire palm print. He waits to feel scorn at the way Lan Zhan laid hands on him, but standing naked in the bathroom mirror, he presses down on one of them and—
Well.
Anyway, Lan Zhan is the reason he’s going to be late.
He’s stuffing leftover baozi into his mouth and rushing out the door when he looks at his phone for the time and notes a WeChat from Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan: Do not take the bus today. I will drive you.
Wei Ying skids to a stop, his backpack nearly falling off his shoulder. When he looks up, he sees Lan Zhan’s car out front.
Couldn’t have Lan Zhan told him sooner?
He checks the message again; the little indicator telling him that it was sent at 5:16am feels particularly cruel.
Wei Ying collects himself and locks the door, trailing down to Lan Zhan’s car and hopping inside. He takes a pretty vicious bite out of the baozi. “Don’t say anything,” he grumbles.
Lan Zhan starts the car and pulls off the curb. After a minute of silent chewing, Wei Ying relents. “I didn’t mean it, please say something. Good morning, Lan Zhan, I didn’t see your text, is this the treatment I can expect as your newly minted boyfriend?”
He watches Lan Zhan speed through a yellow with a thrill of delight. He doesn’t think most people know Lan Zhan is so reckless in his driving, though he would probably call it something dignified, like “controlled” and “efficient” or some nonsense to cover the fact that he likes to be fast.
“Game day,” he points out, eyeing Wei Ying’s bare legs. Cheer wears their uniforms all day on game days, for the spirit and all. “Regardless, you don’t have clothes suited for winter.”
“How would you even know that? I have a ton of warm stuff!”
“You do not wear them.”
Wei Ying is so offended he nearly chokes on the hurried bite he took waiting for Lan Zhan to speak. “I do so, you—”
“Close your mouth.”
It’s such a shock to hear that he does so on instinct, though he feels silly afterward. Lan Zhan’s gaze flicks toward him a moment, like he’s checking.
“Do not speak while eating.”
Wei Ying wants to gripe with that, but he’s in Lan Zhan’s car, with its white leather that must be custom and not a single speck of dust anywhere he can see. Reluctantly, he finishes chewing, then shoves the rest into his mouth so he only has to do it one more time. Staring at Lan Zhan’s profile, Wei Ying notices that his jaw seems tense. Is he angry? Holding back laughter? Wei Ying wishes he could get a better look at Lan Zhan’s eyes, since that’s where he usually has the most luck reading him.
Lan Zhan stops for a light and looks over at Wei Ying, who finishes swallowing and sticks out his tongue. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do so, except that he thinks it makes Lan Zhan’s expression strange, and that makes him laugh. He sucks a little sauce off his thumb just to see if he can make Lan Zhan frown.
“The light’s green,” he points out, noticing the change from the corner of his eye. Lan Zhan takes off again.
Something clicks into place in his brain, making his muddle-headedness last night seem silly. He may not know how to pretend to be a boyfriend, but he knows what annoying Lan Zhan feels like. Pushing buttons isn’t so different from flirting. It certainly can’t hurt things if people think he’s doing everything in his power to rile Lan Zhan up, can it?
He bounds out of the car as soon as it’s safe, rushing to meet Lan Zhan on his side.
“You were right, gege,” he says, looping his arms around Lan Zhan’s back and linking his fingers together, “it’s cold!”
Lan Zhan looks down at him, eyes half-lidded. He does not take this early bait. Wei Ying must try again.
“Er-gege is always so warm,” Wei Ying marvels. “Is it perhaps because of his warm jacket?”
He doesn’t expect how quickly Lan Zhan acquiesces, shrugging off his jacket and wrapping it around Wei Ying’s shoulders. He locks his car and walks Wei Ying inside; they share classes in the first half of the day, but not the second. Wei Ying sits on the edge of Lan Zhan’s desk until the very second before morning recitation begins, at which point he slides into the seat next to him facing entirely in his direction, not even pretending to pay attention.
Shameless. It feels even better to be so shameless with Lan Zhan, who of course must cede defeat.
Lan Zhan hangs back to talk to Shu-laoshi about the grades of a few struggling teammates, trying to head things off before they become dire. It’s a good talk, but it leaves him late to lunch.
Wei Ying is waiting for him.
He sits at the edge of Lan Zhan’s table, pointing an extremely red piece of pork at Huang Yizhen as he speaks. By the time Lan Zhan has acquired food of his own, Wei Ying has captured the attention of every teammate he usually eats with. Lan Zhan normally sits entirely in silence, reading on his phone, but he understands psychologically that it helps with team morale for him to be present.
There is a wide space between Wei Ying and the next person, clearly left for him, which Lan Zhan takes. If Wei Ying notes the sudden fall of silence around the table, he does not mention it.
“Lan Zhan!” he crows, nearly elbowing his rice as he rushes into a greeting. Lan Zhan is aware that Wei Ying’s plan is to be as sticky as possible, but when he throws his leg over Lan Zhan’s, it is still something of a surprise. “I thought you’d never get here. Were you trying to test how thick my face is? I could sit here all day, you know, even if you left me all alone. It’s been nice catching up!”
Wei Ying could, in theory, hang out with his former basketball teammates whenever he wants. Lan Zhan has always gotten the sense that it was Jiang Cheng that stayed his metaphorical hand, though he’s never been able to prove that. Now that he’s gone, it seems Wei Ying is happy for the excuse to talk to the others and check in with them, judging by the pleased gleam in his eye.
“I would not,” Lan Zhan promises, frowning at Wei Ying’s yet-untouched vegetables.
“Not what?”
“Leave you alone.” The vegetables are concerning because Wei Ying douses everything he’s going to eat in chili oil, and the little bowl is not red at all. “Do you dislike leeks?”
“Huh?” When he looks up, Wei Ying’s cheeks and nose are faintly pink, and close enough to his own that he can see a tiny freckle over his left eyebrow, never before noticed. Lan Zhan’s stomach swoops.
Wei Ying recovers quickly. “I mean, no, not really. I would’ve taken the cucumber, but why have tofu when I could be having meat?” Eyes darting down to Lan Zhan’s food, Wei Ying reaches for his shoulder. “Unless I was Lan Zhan, in which case tofu would be super appropriate and delicious for me, and somehow give me all the protein necessary for a—what are you doing?”
Lan Zhan finishes covering his cucumbers in Wei Ying’s chili oil, then switches their bowls. “I have no aversion to leeks,” he explains, rapping his chopsticks twice on the side of Wei Ying’s new bowl. “Eat.”
In the car, Wei Ying had done as asked almost without thinking. Lan Zhan notes the way he does the same now, sticking cucumber in his mouth before Lan Zhan takes his first bite.
It’s only when conversation creeps across the table again that he realizes that everyone else was watching them.
Wei Ying’s foot swings gently where it hangs, his leg still hooked over Lan Zhan’s.
The game hasn’t even started, but Wei Ying is down 50% of his water just watching Lan Zhan’s pre-game captain speech. He’d probably call it a talk, or downplay it, but it’s definitely a speech. Wei Ying cannot conceptualize Lan Zhan giving speeches.
He’s suddenly annoyed that he wasn’t still on the team when Lan Zhan became captain, which is just a stupid thing to think about. Pointless.
“Wei Ying!”
Splashing water down the front of his uniform, he whirls to give a lackadaisical salute. MianMian does not look happy with him. This is a regular occurrence.
“Take your eyes off your boyfriend’s backside and huddle.”
Wei Ying stashes the water and jogs over. “Excuse you!” He joins the huddle, grinning at MianMian. “I’m the ass in our relationship.”
There’s only a second or so of silence before the rest of the team bursts into giggles, which is the fastest way to MianMian’s forgiveness, especially when he sees her lips twitch at the corners. They go over the order of their routines one last time and get into positions, half the squad waiting and watching from the stands until they switch out after their half-time performance.
Basketball cheering is Wei Ying’s second favorite, just after competitive cheer. While splitting attention isn’t a preference, the fast-paced reactions necessary to cheer on the sidelines of basketball versus other sports does give him a bit of a rush. Lan Zhan gives him four opportunities to lead the very embarrassing number thirteen chant, which he does with mounting glee and a couple of rolled eyes from his teammates, but the game goes well.
By halftime, he barely has a chance to wave one sweaty hand up at Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang, who have Wen Qing sat between them with her nose in a book. The two wave back, and Nie Huaisang elbows Wen Qing into giving an absent flick of her fingers, which Wei Ying catches like he’s been blown a kiss.
“Ow!” he cries as MianMian flicks his forehead, jogging past him to where the rest of the team is setting up.
“Get in formation!”
Wei Ying gets in formation. It’s not his favorite sort of routine as a flyer—he barely has any tricks at all, since regulations are strict—but there’s something thrilling about the idea that everyone knows he has a personal investment in the game, and about that investment being fully displayed to the school for the first time.
After their performance, Wei Ying heads to the cheer team’s section of the stands, only half-performative as he leans over the railing to call for Lan Zhan. He doesn’t immediately move, throat bobbing as he hydrates before walking in his direction.
“Hey baby,” he calls, “anyone ever ask why you walk so slow?”
Wei Ying waggles his eyebrows, but his face heats too. The obvious innuendo reminds him of the very real feeling he experienced in Lan Zhan’s lap and the sight of him afterward, sitting on his bed, totally unembarrassed. Not that he had anything, not that he has anything to be embarrassed about! It’s just—
“No.” Lan Zhan only answers when he’s close enough to be heard without shouting, of course. Wei Ying’s heart grows three sizes. “You did well.”
In what? Oh. Oh! “Were you watching? That’s definitely a violation of some sort of code, getting distracted by your tall, gorgeous boyfriend in his skimpy little skirt, what would coach say if he saw the state of your work ethic, I w—”
Lan Zhan pulls him down at the neck and kisses him, ignoring Wei Ying’s desperate pushing on his shoulders as he nearly overbalances and falls over the railing. He reaches through to settle Wei Ying back on his feet, hands squeezing his waist before letting go. “Later,” Lan Zhan admonishes.
Right. That’s the roles they’re playing. Wei Ying is desperate, clingy for more of whatever Lan Zhan gives. Lan Zhan is reticent to give. Isn’t it just like him, to be so responsible, to remember what they’re really doing? Wei Ying gets so caught up in annoying Lan Zhan that he’s liable to forget.
(Later, when he runs down to congratulate Lan Zhan for quite obviously being the best player on the team and the reason for their winning streak, their kiss—though it’s the same as any other, aside from the massive audience—leaves him cold for the very first time.)
“So,” Jin Zixuan starts. Wei Ying’s food freezes halfway to his mouth.
He’s managed so far to keep conversation to Jiang Yanli, how her week was, how the baby’s doing, how her parents are. Guangzhou is treating them well, but they probably won’t be home again until midwinter, and oh, does Wei Ying need anything? Of course not, but it keeps the flow of conversation steadily away from him. At one point, Wei Ying even asks Jin Zixuan how his various charitable organizations are faring.
Perhaps that one was a bit of a giveaway?
“He finally got tired of himself?”
Thinking wine will help this conversation, Wei Ying tries that instead, letting the alcohol pour down his throat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Jin Zixuan rolls his eyes, but Jiang Yanli’s have lit up, gleaming across the table as she puts more vegetables onto his plate. She and Lan Zhan are too similar, it’s unfair—he was blind not to notice it before.
“You seem happy.” Oh, wow, a death blow. Wei Ying falls back into his seat, hands over his face.
Ugh.
“Any reports about me from Jiang Cheng are categorically false,” he starts. It’s not that he doesn’t like Lan Zhan, or that he’s ashamed of Lan Zhan, but lying about a fake relationship to his very pregnant, very emotional sister is generally not on his list of things to do.
Jiang Yanli’s mouth turns down momentarily. “A-Cheng? He hasn’t said anything.” Her smile returns. “But if you’re sharing things with him like this… oh, A-Ying, that’s wonderful!”
Wei Ying is torn. Jiang Cheng keeping secrets for him is oddly touching, but if it’s not him, then—
“I didn’t expect him to make a move,” Jin Zixuan admits. “But when he told me, I can’t say I was surprised, either.”
“Really?” Wei Ying finishes his glass. “I mean, obviously, who wouldn’t want me, but Lan Zhan?”
“And you called me peacock?”
Wei Ying leans over the table on his elbow, batting his lashes. “You can’t say things like that and not explain them. Are you telling me Lan Zhan had a crush on me all this time?”
Jin Zixuan looks uncomfortable now. “What did he tell you? I don’t even know how you got together. I asked about shoes and he said he wouldn’t be online for the sale because he was leaving early to take you to school, so I pried it out of him.”
Until this moment, he’s lived happily in ignorance when it comes to the near-familial acquaintance between former and current basketball captain. Now he’d give anything to read those chat logs. Times really do change.
“Don’t change the subject like that! You let on that Lan Zhan had a crush on me and I want to hear every little detail.” Beneath the table, Wei Ying’s leg starts to bounce. He drowns a leaf of cabbage in chili oil just to occupy his mouth.
“You’re asking like that’s embarrassing. Isn’t that the point of dating? That you date people you would have crushes on?”
“If it wasn’t embarrassing, you’d be telling me about it!”
“Boys,” Jiang Yanli cuts in, eyeing them both, fond exasperation in the line of her shoulders and the crinkles around her eyes. “Be kind. Lan Zhan must be special, to have won the heart of our Wei Ying. Can you not tell me about him, instead?”
As much as he wants to hear about Jin Zixuan’s delusions, he’ll have to figure out a way to wrestle them from him another time. At Jiang Yanli’s coaxing, Wei Ying tries to describe Lan Zhan without letting on that Wei Ying doesn’t actually like him like that. For all Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s early difficulties, the two of them are such ooey-gooey romantics; it’ll have to be something good.
“Lan Zhan is… do you remember when I always complained about how boring he is?” Jiang Yanli nods. “He’s still like that, but it’s not so boring. It’s interesting. He’s so funny, you know? I didn’t know he was funny, but you have to get kind of close to him to hear it. I could hang off him all day and he never gets tired, I swear... And he lets me steal his coat, and takes me to school because he thinks I don’t have winter clothes to wear, and he’ll tighten my ponytail for me before I notice it’s loose.” He’s not explaining this very well. Why does Jiang Yanli seem so emotional? It must be the pregnancy. “He always knows what he wants to do, which is cool. Decisive! He doesn’t doubt himself and he never doubts me, he’s so… steady. But not in a boring way!! Ugh, I don’t know.” Wei Ying shoves pork in his mouth, self conscious for no good reason.
“A-Ying, that’s wonderful.” Is Jiang Yanli about to cry? Wei Ying definitely couldn’t handle that right now, but luckily it seems to be just a little tremor. “You’ll have to bring him for dinner.”
“Of course,” Wei Ying lies, his stomach turning. “I could never get serious about someone without a-jie’s official seal of approval.”
There are certain advantages to knowing where Wei Ying is at all times.
Lan Zhan has always sought him out in the past, watching from the corner of his eye, always making sure to face forward on the off chance Wei Ying might catch him looking. He’s long-since passed the feeling of shame he once had, enjoying the antics of such an obnoxious person, but there is a difference to being on the other end of perception that Lan Zhan was never willing to allow.
Now, of course, Wei Ying comes to him. All Lan Zhan had to do was agree to a plan that made no sense, and Wei Ying crawls into his lap in the middle of lunch and says next time they should go home and eat. “You have to prove yourself,” Wei Ying babbles, running his fingers through Lan Zhan’s hair. “I can’t shack up with you if you’re not a provider, you know. I have needs!”
Indeed, Lan Zhan has become well-acquainted with need. Many of his wants have become needs recently. It could pose a problem, if things don’t go his way.
He’s disinclined to imagine that sort of future.
Life as Wei Ying’s boyfriend is far less structured, but far more enjoyable in the trade. Shared classes are now spent ignoring the foot kicking his while he’s trying to write, notes slid under his books or between the pages to fall out at strange intervals—sometimes days after he receives them.
I like that sweater, one note said, I think I’ll take it home with me. Lan Zhan only saw it the next morning, after Wei Ying had already whined and languished over how scratchy and old his sweater was, sticking Lan Zhan’s hand down the back to try and make him feel it. All Lan Zhan felt that day was the vulnerable ridges of Wei Ying’s spine, the chilly skin at the nape of his neck, and the chill of his fingers tugging at Lan Zhan’s ear when he took off his sweater and offered it.
Another was a little man cut from paper, which was folded over the end of one page and telling Lan Zhan: don’t squint like that at the pages, you’d be way too sexy with glasses, no one would be able to get any work done!!!
These paper men showed up more often than regular notes, always with sayings that are obviously from Wei Ying—though they’re written as though they’re their own little people who all happened to have embarrassing, vaguely lecherous crushes on him.
Do you need a paper cut? Run your finger down my side, we’ll both get a little something!
I heard you shacked up with some loser cheerleader. Want me to show you what a real man can do?
I’ve never seen anyone with eyes as pretty as you! Too bad my life is ever so short and ever so doomed, for when you destroy me, I’ll never see such pretty things again. </3
The paper men grow more elaborate the more Wei Ying manages to secret them away on his person. Lan Zhan suspects he makes them at home instead of doing his reading, because he never sees Wei Ying cutting them out, and the one holding a vaguely anatomical heart with a hole in his chest seems to have taken a lot of work. I saw how sexy your boyfriend is, the bubble by his mouth says, and knew I’d never have a chance. I couldn’t go on!
Wei Ying catches him spiriting this one into his bag. “Lan Zhan,” he swoons, playing it up; it remains to be seen what audience Wei Ying hopes to impress with these games. He leans over Lan Zhan’s table—one long leg directly in the path of anyone trying to get by—and the waist of his tight jeans digs a little into his hip, showcasing the small rise of his flesh around it like an offering.
“Are you impressed? Are you going to keep this one?”
He tucks it into a small pocket where it’s unlikely to tear or crinkle. “He will join the others.”
Wei Ying stretches his arms forward until he’s tugging at the opposite edge, almost splayed out on the table. Ridiculous. The dip at the small of his back is—
Lan Zhan stands.
“You kept more of them?! How many? You can’t sell them when I’m famous, I’ll sue you.”
“I would not.” He steels himself, glad most students have cleared the classroom by now, though he catches a few lingering at the door. Lan Zhan would have assumed the novelty has worn off their relationship by now; perhaps not. “The others are currently on my desk.”
“In your room? How many! Do they live together? Do you play house when you’re alone? You should invite me over, you know I love… house.” Wei Ying props his face up in his palms, elbows on the desk, no sign at all that he cares what sort of display he’s putting on. Is that the goal? He knew the point of Wei Ying’s plan, flimsy as it was, but he should have realized it would have… effects. Not just on the other students, but on himself.
There’s something dangerously heady about catching Wei Ying off-guard.
“Yes.” As he answers, Lan Zhan tugs Wei Ying up and over his shoulder. He squawks, kicking the table and making a lot of noise, but that does nothing to deter Lan Zhan. “All of them.” Wei Ying pounds his fists on the small of Lan Zhan’s back. He’s strong, but Lan Zhan doesn’t let him know he can feel it. “Yes. No.” He grabs his bag and Wei Ying’s, slinging them both over his shoulder and heading for the door.
“You may come over,” Lan Zhan finishes replying, then turns to the students gathered around the door. “Excuse me.”
They scatter.
“What’s going on?” Wei Ying whines, voice coming from somewhere near Lan Zhan’s hip. “I’d love to come over. Wait. Who’s there?”
“No one.”
“Oh. But there were people?”
Interesting. If Wei Ying didn’t notice their audience, who does he think he’s been performing for?
“Yes.” Lan Zhan walks out of the room. Morning break lasts twenty minutes, and he’s spent about five so far.
Wei Ying kicks him lightly in the chest.
“Let me down!! You can’t just carry me around forever, I need my stuff!”
“I have it.”
There is a slight pause. “Lan Zhan, are you carrying me and our stuff?”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying starts genuinely squirming, now. “Put me down! Coach will kill me if you throw your back out and lose us the season because you were trying to show off!”
“No.”
“Lan Zhan!!”
He stops walking. “If I put you down,” Lan Zhan asks, “will you behave?”
Something in Wei Ying’s voice shifts. “Of course, er-gege~” He feels the shadow of a touch on his ass, as though Wei Ying wanted to squeeze but chose restraint instead. “I’m always well-behaved.”
Though he should not reward dishonesty, Lan Zhan sets him on his feet, watching Wei Ying pull his cropped sweater back down until only the bones at his hips are showing. He fixes his ponytail before looking over Lan Zhan, eyes widening when his gaze reaches the top of his head. “Oh, Lan Zhan, I got fuzz in your hair!”
He ducks his head to let Wei Ying grab it, only for his hands to slide around the back of Lan Zhan’s neck, instead. “Got you,” he murmurs, smiling as he tugs Lan Zhan into a sweet kiss.
Lan Zhan allows himself a few seconds of groping at Wei Ying’s waist, and then a few more. Wei Ying pulls away to laugh. “Careful,” he warns in a bare whisper, so quiet no one passing would ever be able to guess it, “I’m the horny one, remember?”
For a brief moment, Lan Zhan contemplates the ways in which this situation might also cause him pain.
It passes.
At least Wei Ying has agreed to coming over after practice.
Having Wei Ying in his space again feels… charged.
The last time we were here was the first time we kissed, Lan Zhan thinks. He steers Wei Ying clear of the house altogether, hopefully giving himself time to clear his head, maybe wait for Wei Ying to make the first move.
After all, there is no audience to mind them.
Wei Ying wolf whistles when he sees the court in the distance, running ahead and darting back when he reaches the gate and sees he needs a code to open it. “I forget people probably think I’m using you for sex and money,” Wei Ying jokes, leaning up against the fence.
“They would be disappointed,” Lan Zhan replies, “at how little of either you receive.”
Wei Ying follows him inside, tapping a rhythm on Lan Zhan’s back with his palms. Sometimes he thinks this will be worth it even if Wei Ying never wants anything more—for the easy camaraderie they’ve gained, and for how freely Wei Ying touches him these days.
Lan Zhan retrieves a basketball from the small shed in the corner and turns, passing to Wei Ying. Despite years supposedly off the court, he receives well enough, dribbling around a little before widening his stance holding the ball at his chest, raising a brow at Lan Zhan.
“Humor me,” he asks. Two words, nothing special, but Wei Ying complies.
He passes back to Lan Zhan with the ease of someone who has played basketball for many, many years. The tip of his nose is already pink from the cold. The next time Lan Zhan passes to him, he shoots; the ball bounces against the backboard, flirting with the rim of the basket before falling to the side.
Wei Ying laughs.
“Lan Zhan, I lost it! Two years and all my magic’s gone.” He jogs to grab the ball back from where it’s rolling to the sidelines, the pleats of his skirt bouncing with every movement.
People should not play basketball with cheerleading uniforms on. This is—hazardous.
Wei Ying dribbles back to him. Lan Zhan takes the pass when offered and shoots, watching the ball swirl around the rim of the basket before falling through. Wei Ying cheers, hands up like he’s got pom poms in his fists. Behind him, the sunset is warm and orange, contrasted against the cool twilight sky above it.
“Wei Ying.”
“Hm?”
He retrieves the ball, passing to Wei Ying, who bounces it right back at him, half a smile still on his face.
“I have always wondered…” There’s no good way to word it, but Wei Ying saves him the trouble, face falling a little. Lan Zhan hates that, but accepted the chance it might happen when he decided to ask the question.
“Why did I quit?”
“Yes.”
Wei Ying sighs, taking his pass and dribbling absently. The ball goes back and forth between his hands and the ground, right to left and back again; Wei Ying’s eyes take a moment to focus in on Lan Zhan again.
“A lot of things. Jiejie used to teach me all the routines, you know? Just for fun. She’d act like my coach and get all stern with me—in her way, of course.” He shoots, this time making an easy basket, catching the ball when it naturally bounces back in his direction. “Jiang Cheng wasn’t interested. He didn’t look down on it or anything, but I don’t think tumbling is really for him.” His lips twitch upward at the corners.
“I knew for a long time.” Wei Ying makes another basket. This time, he has to jog a little for the ball. Lan Zhan keeps his eyes on the bouncing of his ponytail. “That we couldn’t keep competing like we were. Something had to give, and why shouldn’t it be me? I had other interests.”
Wei Ying turns and passes to Lan Zhan, who catches on instinct.
“You shoot this time. Remind me what perfect form looks like?” Wei Ying swoons, a little too sad to really play up the sajiao.
Lan Zhan holds his gaze a moment, then relents, dribbling forward into a layup. Wei Ying cheers louder than before (“Thirteen! What a dream! He’s the captain of our team!”), to the point that Lan Zhan wonders if the neighbors can hear. His ears grow hot.
He catches the ball and holds it under his arm, turning to face Wei Ying, who has one hip cocked, the opposite fist in the air, his cheer smile dissolving into laughter at the look on Lan Zhan’s face.
“Wei Ying.”
“C’mon, I didn’t even say your name! I can think of lots of cheers that rhyme with Lan Zhan. Should I try those next?”
“We should go inside.”
Wei Ying pouts. “Lan Zhan, no.”
The sunset is rapidly fading. Soon, they will not be able to see. He opens his mouth to point out the chicken skin on Wei Ying’s skin, but he’s already speaking, always so much faster to his words than Lan Zhan.
“Come on, come, we did your thing, let’s do a little of mine.”
“My thing?”
“Basketball!”
Lan Zhan walks toward the sidelines, setting the ball on the ground before facing Wei Ying again. There is still a sliver of sunset left. When it’s truly dark, they will go inside, where Lan Zhan can feed him before sending him home again.
“You played for many years. Is it not also your ‘thing’?”
Wei Ying crosses his arms, pouting even harder. “Play with me.”
Lan Zhan wants to smile so, so badly. He forces himself to look stern only by the thinnest of margins. “I have played with you all afternoon.”
“You know what I mean!”
Maybe. “Show me.”
Wei Ying beams at him. Sometimes Lan Zhan wants to capture him, like a firefly in a jar. The satisfaction of possessing that light would be unparalleled.
He lets Wei Ying take his hand and drag him to center court, lets him smooth his palms down Lan Zhan’s bare arms, inspecting him like he’s a toy in a shop. “It’s just like dancing,” Wei Ying explains. “You know how to dance, right?”
A pause. “Yes.”
Wei Ying freezes with his hands in Lan Zhan’s, holding him like he’s about to inspect his knuckles. He’s so—his fingers are cold. His eyes narrow.
“You hesitated.”
“I did not.”
“You did! Lan Zhan, you can’t tell me you’ve never danced before.”
Who would I dance with? he wants to ask. No one has ever asked him to besides Wei Ying, but he wouldn’t have said yes, in any case. There’s no one else worth dancing with.
“Show me,” he says again, but Wei Ying’s grip on his hands tightens.
“No, no, Lan Zhan, you’ll break my heart!” He sways close before stepping back, swinging Lan Zhan’s arms inward before expanding them out again. “Come on, try this one with me.”
He watches Wei Ying a few more times, entirely motionless, then tries it. There’s no music, so it should be awkward, but Wei Ying keeps a rhythm he can follow. Wei Ying laughs, almost a giggle, lifting one of Lan Zhan’s hands and twirling beneath it.
“Okay, basic step one over, let’s do basic step two.” He puts Lan Zhan’s hands on his waist, cool skin quickly warming beneath his palms. “Ever seen a waltz?”
Lan Zhan gives him a look. Wei Ying laughs again, his head dipping toward Lan Zhan’s chest. “Alright, alright, Lan Zhan is a master of pop culture, deepest apologies to er-gege. This one’s easy. When I step, you follow me, okay?”
Wei Ying steps back with his right foot. “Now with your left,” he instructs. Lan Zhan steps into the vacated space, then mirrors Wei Ying’s step to the side. It’s a little awkward at first, as he familiarizes with the motion. Twice, they get too caught up in watching their feet and stumble, his hands tight on Wei Ying’s body as he sways without consideration.
He must trust that Lan Zhan will catch him.
“You catch on pretty fast,” Wei Ying compliments, fingers brushing the cropped hair at the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. His ears feel hot again. “Now you know how to lead, at least. That’s the most important part.”
“Boys!” Lan Qiren calls out into the dark. The sunset is barely a sliver of orange, disappearing in moments. Lan Zhan slows their movement. “It’s dark; you should come inside.”
“Coming,” Lan Zhan calls before looking back to Wei Ying. “There is another move.”
“Oh? Gege, don’t hold back on me now.”
Lan Zhan leans down, speaking directly at Wei Ying’s ear. “Lifts.”
Before Wei Ying can move, he hefts him over his shoulder, ignoring his loud, indignant protests. “This is not how you lift!!! Lan Zhan, put me down, two in one day is two too many!”
He doesn’t—not until they’re at the door, anyway. Wei Ying has to take off his shoes.
“Brute,” he grumbles.
Lan Zhan finally gives in to the urge to smile.
When Wei Ying returns from washing up, now bundled into one of Lan Zhan’s oversized sweatshirts, he sees a jar of the chili oil he always has with him at school. It's still sealed; from his new knowledge of Lan Zhan’s tastes, he’s probably never put chili oil on anything he wasn’t giving to Wei Ying.
Lan Qiren carries food from the kitchen and doesn’t comment on the chili oil at all.
It’s a painfully normal dinner, but Wei Ying has been eating alone all year. He looks at the chil oil jar again and feels the fluttering of birds in his stomach when he goes to use it.
Considering Lan Zhan’s rules about talking during mealtimes, he’s absolutely shocked when Lan Qiren dabs at his mouth and starts to speak. Beside him, he sees Lan Zhan momentarily freeze, as if this has also thrown him off.
Wei Ying resists the urge to down his entire glass of water in one go.
“How are the Jiangs?” he asks. “I hear from A-Zhan that Jiang Yanli is faring well, but Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan have not paid a personal visit to the school in some time. Are they well?”
At least the question is easy to answer. “They are,” Wei Ying assures. As his leg begins to bounce beneath the table, he feels Lan Zhan place one hand on his thigh, pressing him down. Wei Ying almost chokes on his own spit. “Business in Guangzhou has gone well this year, so they haven’t spent much time out here, is all. Jiang Cheng is doing well abroad, and I don’t need as much minding these days, ha ha.”
Unsure where his discomfort comes from, Wei Ying takes a big bite of tofu and cabbage, giving him lots of chewing time where he won’t be asked to speak. Lan Qiren is frowning slightly, which is never a good sign.
“Am I to understand you are typically alone?”
Wei Ying waits until he’s properly done chewing and not a single drop of chili oil dots his lips before answering. It’s not that he wants to impress Lan Qiren, he doesn’t really care, obviously, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Lan Zhan, not after all the progress they’ve made. They’re almost friends, now! The thought still makes him so excited that Lan Zhan has to press down on his thigh again.
“Yeah, like I said, I’m eighteen and plenty grown, so I don’t think anyone’s worried. I don’t mind.” After a pause, he offers Lan Qiren his sunniest smile. “It gives me plenty of time to study without interruption.”
Lan Zhan squeezes his thigh, which, okay, fair, but Lan-laoshi doesn’t need to know he rarely studies, does he?!
He receives a hum from Lan Qiren, which tells him absolutely nothing. They finish out the meal in relative silence. When they’re finished, Lan Zhan takes the dishes and goes to wash them, leaving Lan Qiren and Wei Ying alone like an absolute jerk.
With no Lan Zhan to stop it, his leg bounces; he hopes Lan Qiren can’t tell. “Thank you for dinner, Lan-laoshi.”
Lan Qiren nods. He seems contemplative; Wei Ying wonders if he’s going to get some kind of talk about being respectable and acting with integrity.
“It serves a child ill to be without oversight,” he says, finally breaking the tension. Wei Wuxian feels a flutter of indignation; he can take care of himself, regardless of Lan Qiren’s opinion of him, and opens his mouth to defend that ability when Lan Qiren continues. “You are welcome to eat with us in the evenings, Wei Ying, so long as we are given enough notice to cook for three.”
He gets up from the table and momentarily leaves the room, returning with a pad of paper and a pen, all Cloud Recesses Academy stationary. He writes something down and tears off the first page, handing it to Wei Ying.
It’s a phone number.
“Guangzhou is far to travel on short notice,” he says, noticeably more stiff but to Wei Ying’s surprise, very sincere. “If there is an emergency I can handle, there is no need to bother Jiang Fengmian with it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lan-laoshi.” Wei Ying feels the world tilt beneath his feet, just a little bit. “I won’t trouble you, Lan-laoshi.”
Lan Qiren nods, as though the matter is settled, now. Maybe it is. Wei Ying will just need several days to process it.
He doesn’t know how to explain. Does Lan Zhan know? Is that why he invited Wei Ying over? But how could he, when Lan Zhan didn’t even know the Jiangs were away so often? An uncomfortable knot settles in the pit of his stomach, but there’s something soft and warm there, too, curled around it, impossible to untangle.
When Lan Zhan drives him home, he doesn’t speak at all. Lan Zhan reaches for his hand over the console, even though there’s no one there to see. Wei Ying lets him.
Sunday brings the arrival of Jin Zixuan, as many Sundays are prone to doing—less, with Jiang Yanli’s pregnancy, but Lan Zhan is not surprised to finish breakfast and head for the court only to find someone already occupying it.
“You said I would not see you again for several years,” he remarks, breaking Jin Zixuan’s concentration just to watch him miss the basket.
“Fuck you.” Jin Zixuan chases the ball. “Can’t you be grateful? I get like one free Sunday a month and I’m here, aren’t I?”
Lan Zhan hums. “Where is Jiang Yanli?”
“Out with your little boyfriend.”
“He is appropriately sized.”
Jin Zixuan makes a face and throws the ball at his chest. Hard. “Gross.”
Lan Zhan throws the ball back (harder) and they start their endless one-on-one, which has no winner or loser and no counted score, though Lan Zhan is privately aware he is winning. The point of the game is, in part, that Jin Zixuan believes he is winning as well.
They play silently for a few minutes. Lan Zhan is courteous and allows Jin Zixuan to shoulder check him and get away with it for forty-five full seconds before returning with interest. Eventually, Jin Zixuan’s breaths come faster and he gets a little sloppy.
“Stop making me feel old,” he demands, stopping to breathe in the middle.
Lan Zhan raises a brow.
“Alright, fine, I’m old and withering.”
Jin Zixuan is less than two years older than Lan Zhan. Two grades apart in school, which is apparently enough to get married and have a baby before Lan Zhan has graduated, but he was a personal witness to the love story between Jiang Yanli and his hopelessly romantic friend. He has always understood having surety in what you desire.
He twirls the ball in his hands while Jin Zixuan goes for a water bottle, watching him closely. His shoulders are tight. He taps his toe while he stands.
Lan Zhan waits.
“A-Li and Wei Ying are having a weekend out while she has the energy; she’s getting more tired by the day,” Jin Zixuan admits when their play resumes. “He’ll probably keep visiting as often as possible until yuemu moves in, but that’s coming sooner than we thought.”
That sounds… unpleasant. Jiang Yanli is due to give birth in a few weeks. Presumably, Yu Ziyuan will be moving in a little before that, just in case Jiang Yanli delivers early.
“Thirty days,” he reassures Jin Zixuan. “Give or take.”
“You spend thirty days trapped between laoma, yuemu, and my wife when she can’t wash her hair.”
Lan Zhan allows him a basket. “I did not impregnate my fiancee three months before our wedding.”
“There’s still time!” Lan Zhan ignores the basket entirely, throwing the ball directly at Jin Zixuan’s laughing face. “If A-Li’s anything to go by, Wei Ying will be knocked up by—hey!” With his opponent well out of the way, Lan Zhan gains two points before Jin Zixuan can stop him.
They continue to play, giving Jin Zixuan a physical outlet for his stress, but those teasing words play back in his mind. He’s not the sort of person to worry unnecessarily, nor is he the kind who normally enters into bargains founded on dishonesty. He also cannot bring this up with Jin Zixuan. He might be helpful, but he would tell Jiang Yanli, and Wei Ying worries about her.
Fortunately, Jin Zixuan brings it up for him.
“Distract me,” he demands, pushing back the hair falling into his eyes. “What changed? I thought you had a ten year plan or something.”
Normally, Lan Zhan would not answer. Jin Zixuan would fill in the blanks himself and allow Lan Zhan to nod or shake his head depending on the voracity of his assumptions. When he opens his mouth, Jin Zixuan looks a bit surprised.
“Circumstances with a greater chance of success developed.” The ball bounces so hard from the rim that it flies clear across the court. Jin Zixuan winces and runs to grab it. “I did not have time to plan as thoroughly around them.”
Jin Zixuan makes a decent shot, for being so out of practice. Lan Zhan gives him a pleased expression, which mainly consists of a minute raise in his brows.
“That worries you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You’ll be fine. He’s obsessed with you.”
Lan Zhan misses. Easily. “Is he?”
“Soon as we told him we knew, he wouldn’t shut up about you. Was I that annoying when I first got with A-Li?”
Privately, Lan Zhan did not find lovesick Jin Zixuan annoying, nor does he think it would be annoying to hear Wei Ying go on about him for a long time.
Jin Zixuan smiles. “Thanks, A-Zhan.” It is unclear if he is thanking Lan Zhan for finding his pining sweet or allowing him to intercept the ball.
“Wei Ying and yuemu are best off avoiding close contact, but it’s gotta suck being left alone all the time. A-Li worries about him constantly. Just… tell him something reassuring.”
Lan Zhan dribbles aimlessly, seemingly uninterested in the hoop. Waiting, perhaps.
“A-Li tells me constantly about how great a father I’ll be,” Jin Zixuan confesses. “I still feel wound tight all the time, but I know she believes it.” He makes toward the basket before feinting and throwing the ball at Lan Zhan’s face, instead. “Tell him something you believe.”
I haven’t stopped, Lan Zhan admits to himself. “You will be a great father.”
“Ah, don’t do that, you’re scaring me.”
“You will drop him in less than thirty seconds.”
“Can you not, just, stop being extreme? Ever?”
Winter comes properly upon them between one night and the next.
Every night after practice, Wei Ying goes and visits with Jiang Yanli in the hour before she goes to bed, usually under the guise of bringing items over that Auntie Yu wanted brought. She hasn’t texted him in months, and what he receives are nothing more than dry instructions, but Wei Ying hops to do them like his feet are on fire.
Lan Zhan is happy to drive him, when their practice schedules align. Sometimes, when his feet are too achy and he’s a little early, he sits and watches Lan Zhan finish practice. There’s something about him in that captain’s role that’s just so funny. He only ever saw Jin Zixuan doing it, so to see Lan Zhan’s style is a riot.
As he gets used to holding hands with Lan Zhan, and to no longer sitting in the grass if they eat outside because he has a perfect spot in Lan Zhan’s lap, and to someone to fix his scrunchie for him when he’s not paying attention, and—
Most of that stuff could be platonic, Wei Ying notes. If he and Lan Zhan are those weird exes that stay best friends after they break up, that would make sense; both of them are loyal, intelligent, obsessive people. Staying close with an ex is in their wheelhouse, so that’s no problem.
The Wen Chao-based rumors have died down on the surface, but they continue to make their way into snide comments. Wei Ying doubts Lan Zhan hears any of those, but Wei Ying hears them, and that’s just as bad for everyone, honestly. Hearing a negative rumor about Lan Zhan has his teeth grinding all day; hearing a bad rumor about himself makes him laugh more than anything else.
He doesn’t like thinking about when they’re going to end it, just because he still isn’t sure of the best methodology. Until he has a solid break-up plan, end dates feel horrible and tenuous. There’s absolutely no reason he should be the one bringing it up, so—
“Do you think we break up in Spring, or are we a Summer Before University break-up?”
—he does, of course, bring it to the table.
Lan Zhan clenches his jaw over his homework, turning his head toward Wei Ying. “When do you see it?”
Wei Ying isn’t sure what he expected. Reluctance? Remorse? An extension? Of course Lan Zhan can ask so easily, it’s all fake. They aren’t really together and never would be! Things won’t change too much when everyone else knows they aren’t dating (anymore) so Lan Zhan’s response is rational, actually.
“Summer seems cliche,” he says, keeping his voice as mild as possible. Lan Zhan gives a non-committal hum.
It’s frustrating, because Lan Zhan doesn’t hear all these nasty things people want to whisper about him. Wei Ying clearly isn’t doing a good enough job seeming desperate and horny, no matter how many times Lan Zhan has to pry him away from his body!!
He needs to get better at acting. It’s not all his fault, though; Lan Zhan is so tame! He’ll leave bruises, grip so tight Wei Ying gasps at the strength in his fingers alone, but his refusals of Wei Yings ardor are always brief and to the point. He’s never mean, not really, just a bit of a bully. It’s not believable enough that he’s desperate.
Wei Ying needs a stunt on his side. He’s known for being outlandishly shameless, right? He can come up with this one thing.
