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“Prison,” Nie Huaisang guesses.
“No, it’s definitely a school,” Lan Zhan says. He squints at the faraway building as they drive by, considering.
Lan Xichen turns around to look at them from the front seat of the car. “Would you guys stop? This game doesn’t even make sense in upstate New York.”
Nie Huaisang snorts. “Not if you look past all the New England-y halloween decorations,”
“This game works everywhere. God bless America,” says Lan Zhan, flatly.
“We’re almost there. Maybe something else can occupy your time until then,” says Nie Mingjue with finality, not looking away from the steering wheel.
Nie Huaisang sighs. He has that look in his eyes that indicates he’s on the trajectory to suggest something Very Bad and almost certainly Not Appropriate. Lan Zhan’s not going to bite, he absolutely refuses to get suckered into a game of kill-marry-fuck on a road trip with their older brothers.
Thankfully they turn off the highway and onto a gravel road. The entrance to Mountain Lake Lodge appears after a couple of minutes being jostled inside Nie Mingjue’s Honda Accord. When they finally pull up and park the car Lan Zhan cracks several vertebrates just getting out. It’s been a long ride.
Nie Huaisang nudges his side as soon as their brothers are out of earshot. “Going to find a camp cutie this summer?”
“Right, because I’m twelve,” he grabs his and Lan Xichen’s luggage out of the trunk.
“The perfect age to get in touch with your sexuality.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t roll his eyes. Just barely. He and Nie Huaisang make the trek to their cabin with their luggage while his brother and Nie Mingjue check in at the lodge.
Once there, Nie Huaisang begins unpacking his shirts and placing them in neat stacks. Lan Zhan decides to join him, tidiness being an area they see eye to eye on.
Nie Huaisang hangs up his Boston University sweatshirt and sighs. “The Yale one looks better.”
Lan Zhan glances down at said hoodie. “No it doesn’t. And you told me you didn’t even want to go to an Ivy.”
“True. But it's more like the principle of the matter. Plus Mingjue would stop being the biggest thorn in my side,” Nie Huaisang’s older brother has exacting standards about everything from grades to extracurriculars.
“You’ll have fun in Boston.”
“Still. It’d be nice to know what it feels like for once, you know, being a boy genius. Is your head heavier?”
“Cute eugenics theory.”
“See that’s what I’m talking about Lan Zhan, all those big words,” this time Lan Zhan does roll his eyes. Nie Huaisang is plenty smart and they both know it, he just doesn’t apply himself. The two have been honorary friends since childhood because of their brothers. Every summer the four of them (and Lan Qiren, his uncle, when they were younger) would vacation together at Mountain Lake Lodge. However, this will probably be their last summer there because of the student loans they'll be acquiring at their respective schools.
“Hey, let’s go down and see what they’re up to. Make sure your brother hasn’t been convinced to single-handedly redecorate the entire dining hall,” Nie Huaisang is referring to the uncanny ability the owner's son, Meng Yao, has to extract work from Lan Xichen by merely batting his eyelashes.
“Sure.”
They make their way to the main lodge, and sure enough Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue have been drawn into a deep conversation with Meng Yao, who looks effervescent. The three don’t even glance up when Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang join them.
“We’ve planned some really great activities this summer,” Meng Yao is saying.
Lan Xichen smiles. “Oh? I’m excited to hear it.” Lan Zhan is happy for him, really, but he does look like a lovesick fool.
“boating of course, and dance instructors -- real professionals. They’re performing at tonight's meet and greet. You’re going to be impressed.”
“That does sound great.”
“I really hope you like it,” Meng Yao says, dimple on full display. He finally seems to notice that Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang have joined the group. “Oh! You two! I’m so glad you’ll be with us this summer. Last blast before college?”
Lan Zhan nods. The conversation thankfully steers away from them again. Thank god. Answering “what’s your major going to be?” is his least-favorite activity. Nie Huaisang grabs his hand and tugs.
“C’mon,” He mutters under his breath.
Lan Zhan follows. Nie Huaisang finds a spot on the outdoor porch of the lodge to sit and watch the incoming guests.
“Ok, now we can play kill-marry-fuck.”
***
“Imagine, by autumn we get to do all this, but with alcohol,” says Nie Huaisang.
They are sitting at a half empty table in the main lodge’s reception room. Adults of all ages are tipsily sashaying their way around the dance floor. Lan Zhan thinks college will be slightly more DJ Khaled than disco, but that's besides the point.
“We’ll still be underage.”
Nie Huaisang shoots him A Look. “Uhuh. Ok Lan Zhan. You know you won’t have your uncle looking over your shoulder in college, right?”
Lan Zhan knows that, but he also knows getting good grades is something he is planning to prioritize. He’s not sure if alcohol is going to be a big part of that equation.
“We’ll see,” he allows.
They sit there for another minute as a new song fades in, ‘Love Train’. Lan Zhan hums and takes another sip of his non-alcoholic seltzer with lime.
“You know, none of these people could stand to see themselves dance without being a couple drinks deep,” says Nie Huaisang.
That’s when Lan Zhan sees him; a stranger with long dark hair, pulled back into a messy bun and an alarmingly attractive smile. He is making his way to the center of the room, no, not just making his way, “takes the floor”. His arm is outstretched, holding the hand of a petite woman. Space seems to open up around them as if the crowd can sense their charisma. They waste no time launching into a lightning fast spin, where the man catches his partner, recovers and then brings their hands above their heads. They thread past each other, switching positions. Their moves are rapid fire and precise. Lan Zhan’s eyes are dragged inexorably towards the man’s hips, which are constantly in motion, taking up the negative space his partner leaves.
“Hey, hey. Lan Zhan?”
His eyes snap up. Oh yea, Nie Huaisang is talking to him.
“See something you like?”
Lan Zhan takes a long sip of his drink. He’s interrupted from Nie Huasaing’s prying with the arrival of Meng Yao who slides easily into the chair next to them.
“They’re good aren’t they?” Meng Yao says.
“Who?” Lan Zhan asks. Nie Huasaing raises an incredulous eyebrow at him as if to say nice try .
“Them. They teach private and group lessons. You guys should try sometime.”
“Yea Lan Zhan. You should try sometime,” says Nie Huaisang, waggling his eyebrows.
Lan Zhan thinks there’s a pretty low chance of that. He’s got two left feet, and is stiff as a board. He’s better with more academic pursuits. He glances up at the dancers again. The music has changed to a salsa number and the gorgeous man has begun biting his lower lip teasingly, his hips moving in tight circles.
Yea, there’s absolutely no way.
“I think I’ll be busy.”
“Busy on your vacation?” Meng Yao asks knowingly.
Nie Huaisang snorts, and Lan Zhan decides it’s time he leaves to avoid digging the rest of his grave.
***
Lan Zhan is sitting on their porch, idly smoking a blunt, when he hears Nie Huaisang.
“Hey.”
He glances down and sees Nie Huaisang standing shiftily beneath the porch overhang.
“Why are you whispering?” Lan Zhan says, full volume.
“Do you have to be like this? I need your help, ” Nie Huaisang whispers.
Lan Zhan supposes he has nothing better to do. He stubs out his blunt, watches the undulating smoke dissipate, and walks downstairs.
“What’s up?”
“Look, I made friends with this guy. Jiang Cheng. He says he can take us to a party. You know an actual one, with people our age?”
“Whose Jiang Cheng?”
“He works here, does coat checks and drinks and stuff. C’mon.”
Nie Huaisang leads him down a path that winds up into the woods where Lan Zhan knows the staff cabins are. The night air is filled with the clicking and whirring of cicadas as well as the sluggish heat of August. Eventually they get to a narrow set of stairs. In front of them is a young man, about twenty years old looking. He’s tall and his hair is slicked back with inadvisable gel.
“You’re late,” says hair-gel.
“Sorry, working my magic takes time,” Nie Huaisang winks. “Lan Zhan, this is Jiang Cheng, Jiang Chen, Lan Zhan.”
“Pleasure,” says Lan Zhan.
Jiang Cheng looks irritated. Was Nie Huaisang lying when he said this guy was his friend? Wonders Lan Zhan. Jiang Cheng turns around and points to a wheel barrel, which holds, for some strange reason, watermelons.
“Alright, if you’re going to help, help.”
So that’s how the three of them end up each carrying an armful of watermelon up the narrow staircase to a large staff cabin. Lan Zhan keeps trying to make eye contact with Nie Huaisang. He’s hoping to convey a general sense of: what the fuck? But the watermelons are getting in the way.
When they finally reach the top of the stairs Lan Zhan hears muffled music coming through the walls of the cabin. Bass reverberates under their feet. Jiang Cheng opens the door and they are engulfed in noise and smoke.
Lan Zhan follows Jiang Cheng through the haze, Nie Huaisang behind them. The room is pulsating with dance and activity. There’s a smattering of young adults making out throughout the room, but most are clustered in the back. The rest of the room appears to be smoking, drinking, dancing or some combination of all three.
“Where do you want these?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like Jiang Cheng hears him over the music.
Then he sees him. The man from earlier. He’s dancing again, but this time rather than salsa it’s looser, less obviously scripted. Lan Zhan doesn’t really watch dance, sometimes SYTYCD or America’s Next Top Dance Crew, but beyond that he has no clue what he’s looking at. Except that it looks good, extremely good. Cardi B’s “I Like it Like That” plays over the speakers. Mood, he thinks absently.
“Hey! You can set these over here,” calls Jiang Cheng.
“Sure,” he forcibly tears his eyes away from the man’s tiny waist, and gyroscopic hips.
“Goddamn these are heavy,” exclaims Nie Huaisang, setting his watermelon down.
And then, almost as though Lan Zhan’s thoughts were a magnet, drawing the object of his obsession into orbit he hears the beautiful dancer’s voice.
“Hey, A-Cheng!”
Lan Zhan turns around. If he thought the best part of this man was his waist, he has to reconsider, for he is currently on the receiving end of a world-altering smile. Dark, lively eyes peer at him curiously, the man is even better looking up close. A look of confusion clouds his face for a second and he glances over at Jiang Cheng.
“Hey, what are they doing here?”
“They’re with me, Wei Ying.” responds Jiang Cheng. There is a beat of silence, which Lan Zhan inexplicably decides to fill.
“I carried a watermelon,” he says.
Omg, what. Nie Huaisang stares at him like he just grew a second head.
Wei Ying does what any reasonable person would do after hearing that pronouncement and ignores it. He nods to Jiang Cheng and walks back to the center of the room where he blends into the press of bodies.
“I really want to help you right now, just to save myself further embarrassment,” says Nie Huaisang.
Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the table behind them and takes it all in. God he’s fucked. He lets the music wash over him and tries to pretend he’s not attempting to catch a glimpse of Wei Ying through the crowd.
Wei Ying materializes in front of him after several songs. Nie Huaisang has already lost interest in Lan Zhan’s mooning and moved away to find beer, so Lan Zhan is alone when this happens.
Wei Ying’s eyes spark with something coy, playful. He holds up one finger and crooks it at Lan Zhan, beckoning.
Lan Zhan points towards himself with eyebrows raised. ‘Me?’
Wei Ying nods, and Lan Zhan is helpless to do anything but follow Wei Ying back into the throng of dancers.
“I can’t dance,” says Lan Zhan.
“Too late for that. Here,” Wei Ying reaches out and grips Lan Zhan’s waist where his shirt is riding up. His hand feels hot on Lan Zhan’s exposed skin. He pulls down, reorienting Lan Zhan’s center of gravity closer to the ground.
“Better,” he starts undulating his hips again in time with the music, clearly meaning for Lan Zhan to follow. It’s difficult. Lan Zhan struggles to move with the beat.
Wei Ying, sensing him floundering, moves around him like a cat circling its prey. He ends up behind Lan Zhan, who feels sweat prickle on the back of his neck at the contact. Wei Ying slides his hands around Lan Zhan’s waist and pulls him close, until he’s flush against Wei Ying’s pelvis.
“Follow my lead,” murmurs Wei Ying, mouth frighteningly close to Lan Zhan’s ear. Lan Zhan gulps, ridiculously turned on from the simple command.
Wei Ying is a gracious dancer. He leads Lan Zhan with feather light touches, never reprimanding him verbally, always guiding him with his movement back to the correct rhythm. Lan Zhan’s initial nervousness wears off, and he finds that he is enjoying himself, despite everything.
The music changes again and Wei Ying shifts away. Lan Zhan feels adrift without his steadying presence. He turns around, and Wei Ying smiles and gives a parody of a bow before wandering away.
Lan Zhan walks over to Nie Huaisang in a trance-like state. Shit. he thinks.
***
Lan Zhan imagines Wei Ying everywhere. Any dark head or small waist he glances at could be Wei Ying’s. The amount of time he spends calming his furiously racing heart is honestly exhausting.
He doesn’t just imagine Wei Ying everywhere either, the man truly seems to be all over the camp: teaching lessons, helping other staff members and doing a variety of odd jobs. Lan Zhan is stuck in a strange limbo of desperately wishing to appear chill, while hoping to catch a glimpse of Wei Ying. Nie Huaisang is understandably fed up with him.
“Can’t you just ask him out?”
“I can’t ask him out. He’s staff, and he’s older than me,” says Lan Zhan, reasonably.
“Yea, by two years. That’s nothing.”
“He’s staff.”
Nie Huaisang sighs and plunks his white go stone down, casually fucking Lan Zhan’s entire strategy on the left corner of the board in the process.
“I hate playing you, you always win.”
“Then get better.”
Just then Jiang Cheng walks into the lakeside game room, this time sans watermelon. He looks upset, but to Lan Zhan’s eye, he always does. He spots the two of them and walks over.
“Hey,” says Jiang Cheng, abruptly. His eyes focus on Lan Zhan.
“What’s up?” says Lan Zhan.
“Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Just come.”
Lan Zhan glances at Nie Huaisang who shrugs. Lan Zhan stands up and trots behind Jiang Cheng who leads them in the direction of the staff cabins, but this time to a different, smaller one than before. He pushes open the heavy wood door.
Wei Ying’s head shoots up when they enter. His female partner is behind him on a small cot, icing her ankle. The space is messy, but in a lived-in sort of way that makes it feel more like a home than a temporary residence. A cat calendar showing the wrong month (July), is nailed to the wall next to a clipping from Pointe Magazine. A variety of half done friendship bracelets hang from a jewelry stand that looks like it was salvaged from the trash.
“You brought him?” Wei Ying asks, incredulous.
“What? You wanted someone who can dance and won’t talk.”
The conversation seems to be getting away from him, so Lan Zhan feels obligated to to bring them back to reality:
“I can’t dance.”
“You heard him. He can’t dance!” Wei Ying gestures towards Lan Zhan.
“Beggars can’t be choosers. I saw you guys dance together,” says Jiang Cheng, stubbornly.
Lan Zhan thinks it's pretty generous to call what they did “dancing”, and judging by the expression on Wei Ying’s face he agrees. However, another, larger part of him thinks he would love to have the chance to dance again with Wei Ying.
“Can you explain what’s going on?” asks Lan Zhan.
“Wen Qing injured herself the other day dancing with a client,” says Jiang Cheng, glancing at the woman icing her ankle.
“Ugh, Su She, that man is a walking lawsuit- too bad I can’t afford insurance,” Wen Qing interjects from the bed, lips pursed.
“Anyways Wei Ying and Wen Qing were going to-“
Wei Ying cuts him off. “You sure he won’t talk?”
Jiang Cheng huffs and ignores him. “Wei Ying and Wen Qing were going to compete in an underground dance competition, it’s good money. But the camp has a non-compete clause, we’re only allowed to earn money from the camp.”
“Fucking ridiculous with what they pay us,” grunts Wen Qing.
“Can you do it?” Jiang Cheng asks, earnestly.
Wei Ying looks like he wants to protest again. Lan Zhan thinks it's probably not a good idea; he really can’t dance, but his mouth moves before his brain does.
“Sure.”
Wei Ying stares at him incredulously. “You said you can’t dance.”
“I’m sure you’re a good teacher,” Lan Zhan is 110% positive that Wei Ying could teach him to tie his shoes and he would enjoy it.
“That settles it then,” says Jiang Cheng, with finality.
***
The contest is a week away, so much to Lan Zhan’s joy and horror they spend several hours each day practicing. He can feel his brain on the verge of breakdown from continual exposure to Wei Ying. His crush has taken on a mind of its own, and with every new lift and turn he is closer to a meltdown of epic proportions.
It doesn’t help that Wei Ying is constantly touching him, moving his body in and out of the correct positions, guiding him through spins with his long, dexterous fingers. Lan Zhan could catalogue each and every part of Wei Ying’s body, there’s no part of the other man he doesn’t like. His height for one, he’s taller than Lan Zhan who is not short himself. It’s hard to imagine how all that height can move itself so gracefully across the floor, but it does unerringly. And Wei Ying’s face-- Lan Zhan could write poetry about it. Something that he finds himself wanting to do when he is alone in his cabin. He resists, just barely. He can only imagine the grief Nie Huaisang would give him if he found out.
He loses focus during practice frequently, distracted by Wei Ying’s, well, everything. Wei Ying, for his part, has been incredibly patient with Lan Zhan, despite his initial reluctance to teach him. He demonstrates the basics over and over until Lan Zhan gets them right, never complaining.
“And a, one, two, three-- now!” calls Wei Ying, prompting Lan Zhan to complete the spin they’ve been practicing.
Lan Zhan misses the count again, and goes on the five. He stumbles to a stop, mere inches from Wei Ying’s chest with a frustrated grunt.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try again--”
Wei Ying raises his eyebrow. “This will be the fourth time”
“I’ll focus this time.”
“Because that has been going well,” says Wei Ying, voice uncharacteristically curt. He’s generally a ray of positivity, despite whatever problems Lan Zhan has with the choreo. He wipes a hand across his slick brow. Lan Zhan’s eye traces a droplet of sweat that is working its way down the exposed line of Wei Ying’s neck.
“Only because you’re so distracting,” Lan Zhan says before he can stop himself. My goddamn mouth. He thinks in horror.
Wei Ying stares at him for a second, before his whole face shifts into a playful, almost predatory grin.
“Oh? How so?” his voice laden with intent. He takes a step closer to Lan Zhan who backs up nervously.
“I---um,” Lan Zhan isn’t usually like this. He prides himself on his unfailing ability to speak in complete sentences.
“Is it,” Wei Ying reaches out and grabs Lan Zhan’s waist. “...my hips?” He pulls them flush together and slowly rocks into Lan Zhan, just barely a dance move. Lan Zhan, to his shock, lets out a small moan.
Wei Ying stares down at him, dark eyes glancing at his lips and then back up at his eyes. He’s so close Lan Zhan can count his freckles. Fuck it, he thinks.
He tips his face up in invitation. For one long, torturous second Wei Ying just blinks, then he leans down and invades Lan Zhan’s mouth. Lan Zhan gasps into it. He takes several steps back until he hits the edge of the wooden dance bar attached to the wall. Wei Ying follows him and grips the bar with one hand. He slides his leg between Lan Zhan's, eliciting a groan from both of them.
They kiss for several minutes; the slick slide of Wei Ying’s mouth tastes like pine trees and something spicy. Lan Zhan revels in the smell, in the feeling of wanting Wei Ying for so long, and getting him. Wei Ying pulls Lan Zhan’s sweaty shirt over his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. Lan Zhan pulls away for a second, as his brain makes an unhappy realization.
“We’re in a practice room…” he pants, trying to restrain himself.
Wei Ying grins, clearly proud of himself. “I locked the door.”
Well then. That’s something. The thought of hooking up semi-publicly has Lan Zhan tingling. Eagerly, He reaches for his joggers and shucks them off. He is unbelievably turned on, but also slightly nervous. He’s had sex before, but it was an awkward experience during his senior year in the cramped backseat of his lab partner’s Subaru. It was quick and over before they both knew it.
Wei Ying backs away and plops down on the floor. He reaches out his finger and crooks it like he did on the dance floor all those days ago, inviting. Lan Zhan walks over and straddles him.
“Look,” Wei Ying points towards their reflection in the mirror.
Lan Zhan does, and is met with a downright filthy sight. Lan Zhan is on top of Wei Ying, butt ass naked, sweating and flushed. His cock is hard and leaking against his stomach. Wei Ying looks equally debauched, pink and panting on the floor.
“Touch yourself?”
Lan Zhan’s breath hitches. He stares at Wei Ying.
“I want to watch, and I want to watch you watch,” murmurs Wei Ying, voice low.
As though in a trance, Lan Zhan takes a hold of his cock, and begins stroking. He stares at himself in the mirror, on top of Wei Ying, as he touches himself. His face a mask of pleasure.
“You’re so good Lan Zhan, perfect,” Wei Ying croons praises as Lan Zhan strokes himself. His approval sends jolts of pleasure down Lan Zhan’s spine. He feels himself nearing the edge.
“Wei Ying...I’m going to…”
“Not yet.”
Wei Ying gently moves Lan Zhan’s hand, and sits up, shifting their positions. He slides out of his shorts, but keeps his loose tank on, and crawls back over to Lan Zhan.
“What do you want?” he asks.
Fuck, Lan Zhan wants everything, anything. Everything Wei Ying will give him. He lets him know.
“You sure?”
Lan Zhan nods stubbornly, “Just...go slow.”
Wei Ying reaches awkwardly over to his dance bag a couple feet away. He grabs a condom and a bottle of lube. Lan Zhan blushes at the sight.
“You were prepared?”
“This is my only bag,” he explains.
Wei Ying takes a second to struggle with the condom, which rolls slowly onto his cock. It’s large, Lan Zhan notes vaguely, and it's going to be inside him soon. The thought only makes him harder. Wei Ying slicks his fingers up with copious amounts of lube and Lan Zhan spreads his legs for him in anticipation, so turned on he’s worried he’ll cum too soon.
Wei Ying smiles, this time not predatorily but soft and happy. Lan Zhan feels weak.
“You’re so pretty, Lan Zhan.”
“You can’t just--.”
Before he finishes speaking Wei Ying is inserting a finger inside of him. The strangeness has him gasping, as he adjusts to the intrusion. He wiggles, trying to get comfortable. Wei Ying’s brow furrows in concentration. He crooks his fingers at just the right angle and Lan Zhan lets out a long, totally fucked-out sound. He moves his finger over the spot again.
“Wei Ying please--”
Before he can ask for more Wei Ying is inserting another finger. The stretch is strange at first, but Wei Ying finds his prostate again and begins steadily stroking it. Lan Zhan is quickly reduced to a helpless mess, gasping and painting on the floor.
“Are you ready?”
Lan Zhan blushes. “Yes…”
“Tell me what you want then”
“...for you to fuck me,” the tips of his ears blush a deep red. Lan Zhan never in his wildest dreams imagined himself participating in dirty talk- he likes it.
Wei Ying lines himself up and slowly pushes in. The drag is a bit uncomfortable at first, but Lan Zhan is so unbelievably turned on that it’s easy to forget. When Wei Ying finally bottoms out Lan Zhan feels painfully tense with anticipation and unreleased pleasure.
“Come on,” he demands.
“Bossy,” says Wei Ying, not unkindly. He begins moving, keeping his eyes on Lan Zhan the whole time, drinking in every gasp and expression on Lan Zhan’s face. It’s….overwhelming. Lan Zhan is completely at Wei Ying’s mercy.
“Fuck, I love watching you.”
“You can’t just say stuff like that,” replies Lan Zhan.
“It’s true.”
In that moment Wei Ying pushes in at just the right angle, hitting his prostate, and making him clutch at the hardwood floor pointlessly.
“Can you watch yourself for me, baby?”
Lan Zhan glances at the mirror again, helpless to refuse. The image of Wei Ying hovering over him, lean arms keeping him upright as he rolls his hips forward is too much for Lan Zhan. The pressure builds until it reaches the point of no return. He cums everywhere, splattering across Wei Ying’s chest.
Wei Ying pumps in and out while Lan Zhan comes down from the high of his orgasm. Just as the feeling is about to become too much Wei Ying cums shouting his name. He collapses, but manages to roll off Lan Zhan as he does.
They both lay on the now slick ground of the studio, catching their breath. Wei Ying winces and sits up.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice unsure for the first time this afternoon.
Lan Zhan thinks about the question. He feels….euphoric. He reaches out and grabs Wei Yings hand.
“Perfect.”
Wei Ying smiles, relief spreading across his face. He cocks his head to one side and scratches the back of his head. “I guess we should clean up before someone needs to use this place,” he says, sounding a bit guilty.
“Mhm.” murmurs Lan Zhan. He could go to sleep right here on the floor, embarrassment be damned
“Hey! You gotta help clean up here Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying teases and tosses Lan Zhan joggers at him.
Lan Zhan smiles with his eyes closed and lets the pants fall across his face.
“And don’t think I forgot-- you still need to get the timing right on that spin!”
"Oh, I remember. I have ideas about how you could help me practice," he replies.