Archive of Our Own ^beta

The apartment is small, like all single dwellings in the city. The building is older, which means there is no elevator, but seven flights of stairs to climb feels like an easy price to pay in exchange for such low rent, Wei Ying thinks. There are worse places he could have ended up at this price point, and at least the tiny corner suite has been updated with new appliances and a fresh coating of paint.

“Lan Zhan, look!” Wei Ying calls, peeking around the edge of the privacy screen he has just unfolded. “It has bunnies on it!”

Lan Zhan looks up from where he is kneeling on the floor, hard at work assembling Wei Ying’s new bedframe.

“Jiejie always gives me such cute things,” Wei Ying muses, trailing his fingers over the painted silk. “Think it’s big enough to hide the bed?”

“Perhaps,” Lan Zhan replies, scanning the screen with a critical eye. He looks a bit doubtful.

“Which way am I supposed to sleep again?” Wei Ying asks.

“Southward,” Lan Zhan replies, tightening the last of the screws in the bed frame. Wei Ying watches him work, eyes drifting to the muscles flexing in Lan Zhan’s exposed forearms. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, and the fabric is strained where it’s been cuffed tightly around his biceps. Wei Ying doesn’t know how Lan Zhan can stand to stay so well dressed in the sweltering summer heat, but Lan Zhan remains committed to his impeccably tailored shirts and slacks.

“Ready for the mattress?” Wei Ying asks, and Lan Zhan nods in response.

Together, they push the bedframe into the corner furthest from the entrance and hoist the mattress onto the slats. The bed is the only real piece of furniture Wei Ying owns, and it is the only new thing that he’s purchased for this move. He didn’t leave the Jiang’s house with much; aside from his threadbare wardrobe and his endless collection of books, he’s inherited one set of bedsheets, one set of dishes, and a slightly dented frying pan. There are so many things he still has to buy, and so many things he still has to do.

But with Lan Zhan here, Wei Ying is feeling anything but stressed about it. Lan Zhan had arrived with a bucket of cleaning supplies and proceeded to scour every available surface before the moving truck showed up with Wei Ying’s belongings. He’d hauled the majority of the boxes up the stairs by himself, unpacked and set up what passes for Wei Ying’s kitchen, and now, he’s making the bed they’ve just put together, tucking the comforter around the end of the mattress and placing the pillows carefully at the top.

Suddenly seized by mischief, Wei Ying comes around the screen and launches himself at Lan Zhan, catching him around the waist and toppling him backward onto the bed. Lan Zhan’s back hits the mattress with a soft thump, his arms going around Wei Ying’s shoulders to keep him steady as he laughs into Lan Zhan’s neck. He offers no resistance, simply lying where he’s fallen, and Wei Ying giggles from where he’s tucked against Lan Zhan’s chest.

“Caught you,” Wei Ying grins, angling his face up to try and see Lan Zhan’s expression.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. He’s staring at the ceiling, his arms loosening as his hands come to rest at the small of Wei Ying’s back.

“Say, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying drawls, sneaking his hand up Lan Zhan’s side.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan warns him, voice low.

But Wei Ying ignores him, sinking his fingers into the flesh just below Lan Zhan’s ribs, and he cackles with glee as Lan Zhan flinches and tries to twist away. He attacks with both hands, grasping and pinching around Lan Zhan’s waist, howling with laughter as Lan Zhan struggles to grab his wrists. His laughter quickly morphs into a delighted yelp as Lan Zhan hooks a leg around Wei Ying’s hip and flips them both over. He presses Wei Ying heavily into the mattress and gets a grip on his wrists at last, pinning Wei Ying’s hands on either side of his head.

“Mercy!” Wei Ying cries, still giggling uncontrollably, elated that Lan Zhan is indulging him. They haven’t really wrestled like this since they were in high school, when Wei Ying would poke and prod until Lan Zhan had him pinned and panting and laughing on the floor.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Lan Zhan points out.

“Are you going to?” Wei Ying teases, eyes darting to where the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears are reddening.

“No,” Lan Zhan replies, and Wei Ying can only laugh at him some more. “There is still the bathroom to set up.”

“Aren’t we done yet?” Wei Ying whines. “It’s late and I’m tired!”

“The shower curtain must be put up,” Lan Zhan says. “And I bought you new towels.”

“Let them sit in the boxes until tomorrow,” Wei Ying protests. “I don’t care enough to do it all tonight.”

“You don’t intend to shower?” Lan Zhan asks, one perfect eyebrow arched in question.

“I’m not dirty,” Wei Ying insists, a little mischief creeping back into his voice. “You did all the heavy lifting. I barely broke a sweat!”

“Indeed,” Lan Zhan agrees, maintaining eye contact as he flexes his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrists. In the next moment, he pushes himself up and away, leaving Wei Ying lying sprawled on the bed. “Do you plan to eat dinner?”

“Maybe,” Wei Ying yawns, stretching his arms up over his head. “Too hot, though, so maybe not.”

“You should eat,” Lan Zhan tells him, already opening Ele.me on his phone.

“Order for me!” Wei Ying demands. “I don’t want to think right now.”

Lan Zhan hums in acknowledgment, and Wei Ying watches him fondly from where he is still splayed out on the bed. The sun is just starting to set outside, casting a warm orange glow across Lan Zhan’s face, glinting off the golden flecks deep within his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, and Lan Zhan dutifully returns to the side of the bed, pocketing his phone after completing their food order.

“Come back down here,” Wei Ying says, tugging at Lan Zhan’s forearm. “Take a break. Keep me company.”

Lan Zhan relents, lowering himself back down, and the two of them lie side by side, their shoulders bumping together as they stare at the ceiling. Wei Ying sighs, a light and contented sound, the fingers of his right hand drumming idly against his own chest. He turns his head slightly to observe Lan Zhan’s profile, tracing the sharp line of Lan Zhan’s jaw with his eyes.  

“Whatcha get for dinner?” Wei Ying asks.

“Liang mian,” Lan Zhan replies. “Zha jiang mian for you.”

“Good call,” Wei Ying says. “You’re the best, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan says nothing, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, one hand tucked up behind his head. Wei Ying shifts a little, jostling Lan Zhan where their shoulders are touching. He nudges Lan Zhan with his elbow until Lan Zhan turns his head to look at him, and Wei Ying smiles widely, suddenly overcome with a rush of affection.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says softly, but it only makes Lan Zhan frown.

“No need to thank me,” Lan Zhan says, his voice tinged with something Wei Ying can’t quite identify. “It was no big thing.”

“No,” Wei Ying protests, propping himself up on his elbows and turning to face Lan Zhan head-on. Lan Zhan meets his eyes, but there is something wary in his gaze. “Not like, thank you for helping me move,” Wei Ying explains. “I just mean, thank you for being you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze softens, but he doesn’t reply. He is looking at Wei Ying in that quiet, intense way that he sometimes does, and it always makes Wei Ying feel warm and giddy. Something about having Lan Zhan’s undivided attention on him makes Wei Ying feel victorious, almost smug, like he’s won some sort of game that no one else knows they are playing.

“You’re really great,” Wei Ying says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the first person I’d call for basically everything. You take such good care of me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan continues to watch him, his eyes roving over Wei Ying’s face, his expression calm but questioning, and Wei Ying feels the same swell of affection as before, warmth spreading out from behind his ribcage.

“You’re my favourite person,” Wei Ying says, the warmth rushing up his neck and down his arms. He can feel it tingling all the way to his fingertips.

Lan Zhan’s expression doesn’t waver, but his eyelids tremble ever so slightly, and his long, thick eyelashes cast quivering shadows across his cheeks.

“I’m just so happy,” Wei Ying smiles. “I’m the luckiest person in the world, because you’re my best friend.”

Something dark flickers across the surface of Lan Zhan’s eyes, but it disappears quickly, like a fish darting back into deep waters.

“Your best friend,” Lan Zhan repeats, voice low. It’s almost a whisper.

“Of course you’re my best friend!” Wei Ying presses on. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. You’re so thoughtful and kind, and I know I can depend on you for anything,” he gushes. “Remember when we first met? When everyone thought you were mean and cold and stuffy?”

“I am mean and cold and stuffy,” Lan Zhan tells him flatly.

“No you’re not!” Wei Ying laughs. “You’re a big softie, and the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and I’m just so happy I know that now.”

“I am not a softie,” Lan Zhan says.

“Yes you are,” Wei Ying insists. “I know your secret. I know how much you love bunnies!”

Lan Zhan regards him seriously, a muscle working in his jaw.

“Besides,” Wei Ying continues. “You’re so nice to me all the time!”

“Only to you,” Lan Zhan says. His stare is piercing, and Wei Ying feels giddy all over again.  

“Exactly!” Wei Ying says. “It means I’m special. You make me feel so special, Lan Zhan.”

“As your best friend?” Lan Zhan asks quietly.

“Yes!” Wei Ying avers. “As my best friend. You make me so happy, Lan Zhan, and I don’t think that will ever change.”

Lan Zhan stares at him in silence, swallowing heavily, and Wei Ying absently watches the way his throat bobs, his eyes trailing down to the glimpse of Lan Zhan’s collarbone where it’s peeking out of his shirt.

“It won’t change,” Lan Zhan breathes out at last, and Wei Ying smiles, because it sounds like a promise.

“Never!” Wei Ying agrees. “Lan Zhan, do you think—”

He is interrupted as Lan Zhan’s phone buzzes, and Lan Zhan quickly sits up to retrieve it.

“The food is almost here,” Lan Zhan says, standing up and heading briskly toward the door.

“Won’t they bring it up?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Zhan gives a small shake of his head. “I will meet them out front,” he says, slipping his shoes on and exiting the apartment without looking back.

Wei Ying flops backward onto the bed again, arms stretched out, smiling softly to himself. The sun has dipped below the horizon, but it’s still oppressively hot inside the tiny room. Wei Ying closes his eyes and listens to the hum of the small fan in the corner, feeling warm, and sleepy, and content. By the time Lan Zhan returns with their food, he’s half asleep, and Lan Zhan has to hoist him upright as Wei Ying protests.

“Eat,” Lan Zhan says curtly. “Then shower.”

Wei Ying nods and hums, his mouth already full of noodles. Lan Zhan reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of Tsingtao, silently offering it to Wei Ying, who happily accepts it.

“See?” Wei Ying smiles. “Such good care of me, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, dropping his eyes to the floor. It’s a moment before he adds, “You’re welcome.”

Wei Ying beams at him, and they finish the meal in silence as the last light of the day disappears.

---

Looking back on his life until now, Wei Ying would say that he has been very lucky. He doesn’t remember much from the time after his parents died. Those memories are hazy, waterlogged and blurry. If he ever stopped to recall them clearly—which he doesn’t—he might find some edges on which to cut himself, but why linger in dreary shadows? Better to turn his face toward the sun, to the Jiang’s lake house in the summertime, to the smell of the lotus blossoms and the sound of the water lapping at the side of the dock.

Growing up with the Jiang family was not without strife; Auntie Yu has never pretended to like him, but Wei Ying couldn’t be more grateful for where he ended up. Uncle Jiang’s boundless generosity, Jiang Yanli’s unconditional support, and Jiang Cheng’s prickly camaraderie have carried him through a tumultuous adolescence and into a victorious adulthood.

And then, there is Lan Zhan.

Having Lan Zhan in his life is like having an extra heartbeat. Or maybe Wei Ying’s own heart is just twice as loud whenever Lan Zhan is around. Wei Ying can’t help it; Lan Zhan has always made him happy, even in high school, when Lan Zhan spent half his time ignoring Wei Ying, and the other half telling him to get lost. Lan Zhan flustered easily back then, and Wei Ying excelled at flustering him. Even now, when Wei Ying reminds Lan Zhan of that one year they spent together in the same class, Lan Zhan’s ears will flush delightfully pink.

When Lan Zhan moved away the following year, Wei Ying didn’t think much of it. They didn't stay in touch, and Wei Ying cheerfully graduated high school and university without him.  But when Lan Zhan returned to Shanghai for grad school, it was like finding the last piece of a puzzle Wei Ying had been trying to put together for years.

And this time, when Wei Ying pushed, Lan Zhan pushed back.

Lan Zhan in university was not like Lan Zhan in high school. He would no longer fluster, or startle, or react to much of anything Wei Ying tried to pull on him, and Wei Ying, fascinated, stuck to him like glue.  Lan Zhan has always been beautiful, but there was something uncommonly attractive about him as an adult, and Wei Ying, still fascinated, would tease him about the years they spent apart, asking if Lan Zhan had left a cocoon behind in Suzhou.

Wei Ying has never met anyone as nonchalantly breathtaking as Lan Zhan, and he can’t help but feel an odd sort of pride that Lan Zhan lets him hang off his arm and do whatever he wants. They’re practically inseparable, because what Wei Ying wants is usually just Lan Zhan’s attention. Lan Zhan gives it to him freely, much to the astonishment of everyone who thinks they know him. And Wei Ying simply smiles to himself, because no one knows Lan Zhan like he does.

---

“Sorry, sorry!” Wei Ying is saying, darting swiftly through the crowded doorway of the café to the table by the window where Lan Zhan is already seated. “Lan Zhan!” he cries, dropping into the opposite chair. “Sorry I’m late, but I made it!”

“No need to apologize,” Lan Zhan says smoothly. “I already ordered for you.”

“Of course you did,” Wei Ying says, smiling fondly as a server drops off an extra frothy cappuccino. She returns a moment later to place a pistachio cream puff in front of him, and Wei Ying beams happily at her before she blushes and ducks away.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you for like a month,” Wei Ying exclaims, smile stretched wide. They’ve messaged each other constantly, of course, but seeing Lan Zhan in person is different. Wei Ying doesn’t think he could stop smiling for anything. He’s too happy, too giddy, too excited to catch up.

“A month and a half, actually,” Lan Zhan corrects him. 

Wei Ying just laughs, light and carefree. He’s been so tired and busy since the move, mostly preoccupied with settling into his new job at the lab, but he’s been looking forward to seeing Lan Zhan all week. Now that they’re together again, Wei Ying feels rejuvenated, like he’s ready to take on the world.

“How is work?” Lan Zhan asks him.

“Oh, you know,” Wei Ying says, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s all about producing vaccines right now, so not a lot going on with my research. I’m very busy, which is great, but I worry I might get bored.”

“Indeed,” Lan Zhan agrees, leveling him with a knowing look.

“I’m bad news when I get bored,” Wei Ying intones, as if Lan Zhan doesn’t already know this better than anyone.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. “Do you have any time at all for your own projects?”

“Not really,” Wei Ying laments with a sigh. “Seriously, it’s all very boring. Don’t make me talk about boring things, Lan Zhan, tell me something interesting instead!”

Lan Zhan glances down at his tea for a moment, his long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks as he considers his response. Wei Ying looks on, happy and expectant.

Finally, Lan Zhan speaks.

“I’m seeing someone,” Lan Zhan says.

For a moment, Wei Ying is suspended in time. It’s like his brain is rejecting the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice, refusing to parse the syllables, and Wei Ying can’t make sense of what he’s just heard.

“What?” Wei Ying gets out. His own voice sounds far away, like an echo at the end of a tunnel.

“I’m seeing someone,” Lan Zhan repeats, his eyes steady on Wei Ying’s face.

Wei Ying blinks at him, completely at a loss for words. He’s gone very still, his knuckles pale and stiff where he’s gripping his coffee cup. There’s white noise rising in his ears, rolling in like a tidal wave, and soon he can’t hear anything, like he’s been plunged underwater. He feels cold, and dizzy, like the world has tipped sideways and spun right off its axis.

“Wei Ying?”

Lan Zhan’s gaze is piercing, but Wei Ying is no longer seeing him. His eyes are unfocused, his body numb. His mind is racing, Lan Zhan’s words sinking into his consciousness like a stone tossed into a pond, a slow and inevitable pull toward the bottom as the surface reels from impact.

“Wei Ying.”

This time, Wei Ying snaps out of it, the stern command in Lan Zhan’s voice finally penetrating the fog. He swallows thickly, blinking back the blurry edges of his vision and making eye contact at last. Lan Zhan is watching him with open concern, his brow minutely furrowed. There is a tension to him that wasn’t there before, a wariness that Wei Ying doesn’t recognize at all.

“I…” Wei Ying starts, but he trails off uselessly, and the furrow in Lan Zhan’s brow only deepens.

Wei Ying tries again.

“You’re seeing someone?” he cautiously repeats, carefully eyeing Lan Zhan’s face for signs of a joke.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan confirms, eyes serious and probing.

“Since when?” Wei Ying blurts out, immediately flushing at how incredulous his own voice sounds.

“About a month,” Lan Zhan replies.

“A month?!” Wei Ying exclaims, suddenly struck by a violent bout of vertigo. He grips the edge of the table and tries not to be sick.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan confirms, a flash of guilt across his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Wei Ying asks, voice unusually petulant.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” Lan Zhan says, his tone apologetic. “I did not want you to be…” Lan Zhan trails off, the silence hanging awkwardly between them.

“Be what?” Wei Ying prompts, perhaps a little too curtly.

“Upset,” Lan Zhan finishes, and Wei Ying feels a rush of angry, embarrassed heat crawling up his neck.

“I’m not upset!” Wei Ying insists, fighting down a sudden swell of shame. What is he doing? Lan Zhan had divulged something deeply personal, and Wei Ying had reacted with bald-faced shock. Immediately contrite, Wei Ying leans forward, reaching out to grip Lan Zhan’s wrist where it’s resting beside his teacup.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I really am!” he pleads. “I just—I was really surprised, okay? I mean,” he hurries to add, “not that I should be surprised! Who wouldn’t want to date you? Look at you!” he gushes. “You’d have to be an idiot not to want to date you. Of course you’re seeing someone. Of course you are,” he babbles. “Who is she?”

Lan Zhan regards him for a long moment, his suddenly thousand-yard stare pinning Wei Ying in place.

“His name is Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Zhan says.

Before, the world had tipped off its axis.

This time, someone has kicked it directly into the sun. His grip around Lan Zhan’s wrist goes slack, and he feels his own eyes going wide.

“His—I mean, he—I mean you—you’re—” Wei Ying scrambles to find his footing, retracting his hand and nervously scratching the back of his head. The heat that had been crawling up his neck has set his cheeks aflame, and his tongue feels heavy and unwieldy, completely out of his control.

Lan Zhan regards him seriously, looking concerned and wary all over again, and Wei Ying hates it.

“You knew,” Lan Zhan says. “Didn’t you?”

“I—” Wei Ying stops himself, confused and flustered. “Did I?” he manages.

“You must have,” Lan Zhan insists. “Wei Ying. I have never been interested in women.”

“Yeah but that’s—” Wei Ying stops himself, utterly embarrassed and ashamed. “I mean, you’re just—” he tries again, but he can’t get the words out, choked up with shame and something else he can’t identify. Every thought that comes to mind is more unbearable than the last, every explanation more ignorant and obtuse. Wei Ying falls quiet, completely deflated and abashed.

Lan Zhan remains silent. The furrow in his brow is gone, but there is something very sad reflected in his eyes, and Wei Ying feels like the biggest monster in the whole fucking world.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying murmurs. “I’m really sorry, Lan Zhan.”

“You do not need to be sorry,” Lan Zhan says quietly, but his eyes are downcast, and his back is stiff. “But if you are uncomfortable with me now—"

“No!” Wei Ying cries, shooting forward in his chair and grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist again. Perhaps his grip is too tight, because Lan Zhan flinches ever so slightly, and Wei Ying quickly releases him, flushed and nauseated and a little bit panicked. “No, no, no!” He chants, shaking his head, willing Lan Zhan to look up and make eye contact again.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice firm. “I am not uncomfortable with you. I could never be uncomfortable with you,” he pleads. “Please, Lan Zhan, look at me.”

Slowly, Lan Zhan raises his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s gaze. Wei Ying has never seen him look like this, raw and vulnerable and exposed. He’s frightened, Wei Ying realizes, and Wei Ying feels a protective urge so powerful he almost tears up with it.

“Listen,” Wei Ying tells him. “I don’t care about any of that. You’re my best friend. My best friend, Lan Zhan, and nothing you could tell me is going to change how I feel about you. I—” he chokes on the thought. Hastily snuffs it out. “I care about you,” he says instead. “I want you to be happy. And I want you in my life. I wouldn’t know what to do without you! So please, please believe me. I’m still your best friend,” he finishes, but something about that tastes like ashes in his mouth.

Lan Zhan’s expression is complicated, but the fear is gone, and Wei Ying is so relieved he almost cries. His head is a noisy jumble, and his heart is in turmoil, beating erratically like a swarm of startled moths, but the only thing that matters to him is that Lan Zhan is not afraid anymore.

“So,” Lan Zhan says slowly. “You are not upset?”

“No!” Wei Ying avers. “Absolutely not! I’m happy for you,” Wei Ying says, although his voice cracks as he says it. “Honestly and truly. I’m so grateful for you.”

Lan Zhan continues to watch him, his expression softening, his shoulders relaxing, and Wei Ying gives him what he hopes is his best, most brilliant smile.

“In fact,” Wei Ying soldiers on, “I want to meet him! You should bring him to Nie Huaisang’s next week and introduce him to the crew.”

Lan Zhan frowns ever so slightly. “Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course I’m sure!” Wei Ying insists. “If he’s important to you, he’s important to me. I want to meet him,” Wei Ying says, his stomach twisted into a thousand excruciating knots.

“I will think about it,” Lan Zhan finally concedes.

“Good!” Wei Ying says. “Great! That’s…” he’s grasping for words again. “That’s just great, Lan Zhan,” he finishes.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says quietly, and Wei Ying flushes all over again with shame, this time accompanied by a sharp, queasy pain behind his ribcage.

“Don’t thank me,” Wei Ying admonishes him. “We’re past that.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan intones solemnly. “We are.”

“Good!” Wei Ying says again. “Perfect.”

Everything is perfect.

---

If you had to ask him, and he had to answer, Wei Ying would say that the moment he should have known better was years ago, in the summer before Lan Zhan moved away. Somehow, Wei Ying had convinced Lan Zhan to take a trip with him to Nanhuizui park on the night of the Qixi festival. Jiang Cheng had flatly refused to come along, and Nie Huaisang mysteriously didn’t show up, so it was just the two of them on a late-night stargazing adventure.

“See?” Wei Ying had said, eyes glittering in the dark. “You can totally see the Milky Way from here.”

Lan Zhan had not replied, his eyes turned toward the sky, and Wei Ying had chattered on like he always did, happy to fill the space between them with fanciful nonsense.

“I told Jiang Cheng the view was going to be great, but he was too embarrassed to go stargazing on Qixi without a girlfriend. His loss, right?” Wei Ying had grinned. “Imagine getting so wound up about being single that you scare away all your potential girlfriends.”

Lan Zhan had spared him a withering glance, but he’d remained silent, turning his gaze back to the sky. Wei Ying had watched him fondly, tracing the angle of his jaw with his eyes, then the slope of his nose, then the line of his eyebrows. Lan Zhan’s profile was truly exquisite, and Wei Ying never got tired of looking at him.

“Say, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying had said. He’d nudged Lan Zhan with his elbow until Lan Zhan had turned to look at him. “Do you like Mian Mian?” Wei Ying had asked, his heart suddenly ricocheting wildly in his chest as he spoke.

The look of disgust Lan Zhan had given him would have curdled milk, and Wei Ying had burst out laughing, bubbling over with joy and excitement.

“Okay, okay, not Mian Mian!” Wei Ying had wheezed. “If not Mian Mian, then who? She’s so pretty, Lan Zhan, how could you not like her?”

“It’s not about that,” Lan Zhan had said, voice clipped and ears delightfully pink.

“What, then?” Wei Ying had persisted. “Do you like older girls? What about Wen Qing? You know, Wen Ning’s sister? She’s a couple of years older, but she’s really hot. I’m pretty sure Jiang Cheng has a crush on her. Maybe that’s more your type?”

Lan Zhan had frowned, a thin and brittle line.

“No,” was all that he would say.

“I guess no one is good enough for you,” Wei Ying had sighed. “You’re pretty awesome, after all. I mean, if I were a girl, I’d totally be into you, Lan Zhan.”

“If you were a girl,” Lan Zhan had snapped at him, “then I wouldn’t—”

But Lan Zhan had cut himself short, pursing his lips and turning away, ears aflame and shoulders tense.

And Wei Ying had laughed.

Because of course, he’d thought. If he was a girl, Lan Zhan would never like him back. Wei Ying would be too loud and too raucous, not at all the type of girl that Lan Zhan would like or deserve. Lan Zhan’s ideal girl would be poised and serene, elegant and demure. And of course, she would have to be unspeakably beautiful, lest she be jealous of her own boyfriend’s flawless jade complexion.

“Promise you’ll tell me when you have someone you like,” Wei Ying had wheedled. “I want to be the first to know!”

Lan Zhan had glared at him, and Wei Ying had thrilled under his burning stare, his own heart still hammering, feeling smugly victorious.

If you asked him now, and he had to answer, Wei Ying would tell you what a perfect fool he’d been.

---

Mo Xuanyu is not what Wei Ying is expecting.

Granted, Wei Ying is not at all sure what to expect. As much as he’d amused himself by imagining Lan Zhan’s ideal girl, he’d given no such thought as to Lan Zhan’s ideal boy. Mo Xuanyu is smaller than Wei Ying, shorter and more delicate, fine-boned and pale. He wears his hair long and hi-lighted blond, feathered locks sweeping just past his shoulders. His large eyes curve into crescents when he smiles, and his voice when he speaks is soft and lilting. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Mo Xuanyu is saying. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“You have?” Wei Ying croaks out. Beside him, Wen Ning shifts a little, glancing sideways at Wei Ying, and Wei Ying wonders if everyone can see how unaccountably nervous he is.

“Yes,” Mo Xuanyu replies. “Zhan-ge says you’re his best friend.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying gets out, his stomach clenching with something not unlike resentment. “Yeah. We’re best friends.”

“I’m so glad,” Mo Xuanyu smiles. “Zhan-ge deserves good people in his life. I hope we can be friends, too?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying tries to smile back. He’s not sure if he’s succeeding.

“Everyone here is so nice!” Mo Xuanyu gushes. “I was a little nervous before we arrived, but now, I’m feeling much better. I shouldn’t have worried. Zhan-ge takes such good care of me,” he says sweetly, sending an affectionate look in Lan Zhan’s direction.

Wei Ying has to tamp down on the angry rush of heat that’s crawling up his throat, burning like bile, pointedly not following Mo Xuanyu’s gaze to where Lan Zhan is engaged in conversation with Wen Qing. Why is he suddenly so annoyed?

“So, how did the two of you meet?” Wen Ning asks with a soft smile.

“Oh, well,” Mo Xuanyu giggles. “I might have stalked him a little at the library when I was supposed to be studying.”

“You’re a student at the university, then?” Wen Ning prompts.

“Yes, I’m studying art history, but I’ll be switching majors to traditional Chinese painting next year,” Mo Xuanyu explains. “I didn’t think they’d let me, but Zhan-ge helped me with the application process. If it wasn’t for him, I never would have tried. He’s so good to me,” Mo Xuanyu says, eyes wide and sparkling, and Wei Ying feels his gut twist with a sharp and rancid pang.

“He helps me with so much,” Mo Xuanyu continues. “I used to pretend I didn’t know how to search for things so that he’d look them up for me,” he says. “He was so patient with me! I don’t think he knew I was just making up excuses to talk to him, because it surprised him when I finally asked him out. Thankfully, he said yes,” Mo Xuanyu laughs.

“So, you asked him?” Wei Ying blurts out. He doesn’t know why he wants this clarified, but the distinction seems important, somehow.

“Yes!” Mo Xuanyu enthuses. “I was so nervous! I didn’t think he’d be interested at all, but I just had to try. And now, here we are,” he smiles, eyes drifting over to where Lan Zhan is still talking with Wen Qing. There is such an open look of admiration on Mo Xuanyu’s face, such an innocent, doe-eyed devotion, and Wei Ying is suddenly overcome with a wave of dizzy nausea.

“Are you okay?” Wen Ning is asking him. Wei Ying is dimly aware of Wen Ning’s fingertips resting on his forearm, a tentative and questioning pressure.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying manages. “I’m okay. Sorry,” he adds, smiling what he hopes is a bright and reassuring smile. “Maybe I just need some water.”

He excuses himself and makes his way into the kitchen, moving to fill a tall glass of water at the sink. He takes greedy gulps and tries to steady himself, but his stomach refuses to settle, uneasy and seasick.

“Wei Ying.”

He startles and whirls around, coming face to face with Lan Zhan’s piercing gaze. Wei Ying swallows, pushing down the bile rising in his throat and forcing a smile, but it only makes Lan Zhan frown.

“Are you all right?” Lan Zhan asks, and Wei Ying feels a stab of queasy guilt.

“Of course!” Wei Ying replies, voice pitched just a little too high. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look flushed,” Lan Zhan tells him, brow furrowed with concern.

“Do I?” Wei Ying asks, flushing even deeper. “Must be hot in here,” he babbles. “Tail end of summer, and all that.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hums, but it is less of an agreement and more of an assessment. He is studying Wei Ying with that scalding intensity of his, and Wei Ying finds himself shrinking back toward the sink, away from Lan Zhan’s penetrating stare.

“He’s nice,” Wei Ying blurts out, desperate to deflect Lan Zhan’s scrutiny. “Mo Xuanyu.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone neutral. “He is.”

“He’s very…” Wei Ying trails off, grasping for something to say. He’s having trouble forming words around the bitterness in his mouth.

Lan Zhan simply watches him, waiting him out, eyes guarded but never wavering.

“Pretty,” Wei Ying finally finishes, immediately blushing with the admission.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says softly. “He is.”

“He’d have to be, right?” Wei Ying soldiers on, digging himself in deeper. “To catch your eye like that, I mean.”

Lan Zhan regards him for a long moment before speaking.

“I suppose,” he allows, speaking slowly and carefully. “Although I did not notice him at first.”

“He says he stalked you at the library,” Wei Ying blurts out. It sounds almost accusatory.

Lan Zhan simply nods, the slightest incline of his head.

“Picking up students on the clock now, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying tries to tease, but it comes out sounding a little petulant, and Wei Ying kicks himself for being so transparent.

“I picked him up, actually,” Mo Xuanyu says, appearing as if out of thin air, sliding into the conversation as he sidles up to Lan Zhan. “Remember?”

“Oh!” Wei Ying exclaims, startled into another blush. “Yeah. Right.”

Mo Xuanyu regards him sweetly, his smile guileless as he slips his hand into the crook of Lan Zhan’s elbow. Lan Zhan remains stoic, shifting minutely to accommodate him, and Wei Ying feels dizzy all over again, awash with a sickly heat.

“Who can resist a sexy librarian, right?” Mo Xuanyu winks at him, and Wei Ying watches in dismay as the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears turn pink.

“Xuanyu,” Lan Zhan admonishes him gently, and Wei Ying’s treacherous stomach lurches in protest.

“Sorry, Gege,” Mo Xuanyu drawls, clearly pleased with himself, stretching out the gummy syllables with just the hint of a whine, and this time, Wei Ying is certain he’s going to be sick.

“Excuse me,” he mutters, averting his eyes and pushing away from the sink. He flees back into the living room without a backward glance, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

The rest of the evening goes quietly until Nie Huaisang sets up the karaoke machine. Normally, Wei Ying would be the first to sing, jumping at the opportunity to be the centre of attention, but tonight, he is strangely subdued, and Nie Huaisang doesn’t question it, singling out Mo Xuanyu instead.

“New blood sings first!” Nie Huaisang declares, waving the microphone in Mo Xuanyu’s direction. “Choose your song wisely. This can be a tough crowd,” he says, voice sly. “Especially your boyfriend,” he adds with a wink.

Mo Xuanyu blushes prettily in embarrassment, just a dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“I couldn’t possibly,” he demurs, one delicate hand coming up to curl over his mouth. “I’m a terrible singer,” he says through his fingers.

“All the more reason to get it over with,” Jiang Cheng huffs, clearly impatient. “He won’t leave you alone until you do it.”

Mo Xuanyu laughs, light and airy, while Nie Huaisang nods with enthusiasm.

“He’s right,” Nie Huaisang says. “I insist! You have to sing, Mo-di.”

“I suppose I could do one song,” Mo Xuanyu relents, accepting the microphone at last.

As it turns out, Mo Xuanyu is not a bad singer. He is, in fact, a very good singer. Although his voice isn’t powerful, it’s clear and sweet, resonating softly like the notes from a glass wind chime. His eyes flutter shut on the high notes, his brow furrowing ever so slightly in concentration, and Wei Ying finds himself gripping his knees tightly enough to feel the imprint of his fingernails through his jeans. He runs his eyes over Mo Xuanyu’s face, over his fingers where they are wrapped around the microphone, traces the line of his slender wrist to where it disappears inside the sleeve of his loose-fitting blouse.

The song concludes to thunderous applause from Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang, and even Jiang Cheng looks mildly impressed. Mo Xuanyu covers his mouth with one hand, suddenly shy and embarrassed again. He hands the microphone back to Nie Huaisang before diving onto the couch beside Lan Zhan, wrapping his hands around Lan Zhan’s elbow and burrowing his blushing face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

The furious heat that shoots through Wei Ying’s body is so strong and immediate that Wei Ying almost gasps out loud. It races up his neck and into his ears, ringing like an angry alarm bell, and Wei Ying bites his lip to keep from snapping out a protest. Wave after wave of ugly resentment washes over him at the sight of Mo Xuanyu clinging to Lan Zhan’s arm, at the way his delicate fingers are pressed into the folds of Lan Zhan’s shirt. Lan Zhan’s attention is entirely fixed on Mo Xuanyu, his eyes downcast and his face angled toward the top of Mo Xuanyu’s head, and Wei Ying feels a powerful surge of vertigo, his stomach dropping through the floor as a sudden chill overtakes him.

He doesn’t remember excusing himself, but somehow, he’s already at the door, struggling to put his shoes on and blinking back the stinging in his eyes. He’s fumbling with his laces when Lan Zhan comes up beside him, stopping just a few feet away and speaking softly to him.

“Wei Ying, are you all right?” Lan Zhan asks.

“I’m fine,” Wei Ying says to the floor, fingers trembling as he finishes tying his shoes. “I just don’t feel very good,” he admits. “So I’m leaving.”

“Let me take you home,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying flushes angrily in embarrassment, immediately guilty and abashed.

“What?” he says, shooting to his feet and meeting Lan Zhan’s gaze at last. “No! Don’t be stupid, you can’t leave your—” Wei Ying nearly chokes. “You can’t leave Mo Xuanyu here by himself.”

“He will be fine,” Lan Zhan assures him. “I will come back for him. Wei Ying, you’re not well.”

“I’m fine!” Wei Ying insists, perhaps a touch too loudly, and Lan Zhan blinks at him, clearly taken aback.

“I’ve got him,” says Jiang Cheng, shouldering past Lan Zhan and bending to retrieve his own shoes. “Come on, you moron, I bet you drank too much again.”

“I did not,” Wei Ying huffs, but he takes the out, opening the door for his brother and following him into the hallway. “See you, Lan Zhan,” he throws over his shoulder, but he pointedly does not look back.

“What’s with you?” Jiang Cheng says as they exit the building and walk into the night. “You look like shit.”

“I do not,” Wei Ying sniffs, climbing into the passenger seat of Jiang Cheng’s car. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Since when have you ever slept well?” Jiang Cheng retorts. “Seriously, you sick or something?”

“No,” Wei Ying says, trying his best not to sound as sullen as he feels. “I’m just tired.”

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng says, blasting the air conditioning and pulling out onto the road.

They drive in silence for a while, but Wei Ying remains restless and uneasy, jigging his leg and fidgeting incessantly with the zipper on his jacket.

“Will you fucking sit still?” Jiang Cheng snaps at him. “What are you, a toddler? Even Jin Ling can sit still longer than you can. For fuck’s sake,” he says, swatting at Wei Ying’s hand. “Just, fucking stop that!”

“Okay, okay!” Wei Ying laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll stop, I promise. Your temper is still so bad, Jiang Cheng. No wonder Qing-Jie won’t date you!”

“You wanna die?” Jiang Cheng barks at him. “Besides,” he adds. “You’re one to talk.”

Wei Ying just laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not like I want to date Qing-Jie.”

“Of course not,” Jiang Cheng huffs. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What, then?” Wei Ying prompts, eager for another chance to tease.

Jiang Cheng throws him an exasperated look before turning his eyes back to the road.

“You know what I mean,” he says, voice clipped.

“No, I really don’t,” Wei Ying insists. “Enlighten me!”

Jiang Cheng remains silent, a muscle working in his jaw, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The streetlights flash by overhead, illuminating his face in steady waves, his expression suddenly hard to parse.

“You know you’ve never had a girlfriend, right?” Jiang Cheng says.

Wei Ying blinks at him in surprise.  “Of course I know that.”

“Well, haven’t you ever stopped to wonder why?” Jiang Cheng bites out.

“Because I don’t have anyone I like, silly,” Wei Ying replies, amused but somewhat baffled.

Jiang Cheng snorts derisively. “You sure about that?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Wei Ying laughs. “You don’t think I’d notice if I met a girl I liked?”

“You wouldn’t even notice if a girl came up and punched you in the face!” Jiang Cheng snaps. “Have you seriously not noticed that no one—and I mean NO ONE!—has ever asked you out?”

Wei Ying opens his mouth to reply, indignant, but Jiang Cheng keeps going.

“You’re such an idiot,” Jiang Cheng declares. “You act like you’re some sort of expert on love, but you’ve never even been on a date! And why? Because you’re an oblivious idiot, that’s why.”

“I am not!” Wei Ying protests. “I just. I mean…” he trails off, suddenly unsure of how to defend himself. He’s coming to the horrifying realization that Jiang Cheng is right. “I just haven’t met a girl I like,” he insists. “So what if no one has ever asked me out? A man should be the one to do the asking,” he says loftily.

Jiang Cheng lets out a longsuffering sigh.  “Sure. Okay. Fine. A man should do the asking. You’re still a fucking idiot.”

“Why are you so invested in my love life?” Wei Ying asks.

“What love life?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “And I’m not. Die alone, you hapless moron.”

“I’ll never be alone as long as I have you, Didi,” Wei Ying sings at him.

“Gross,” Jiang Cheng grimaces, and Wei Ying just laughs.

They continue in silence for a while, the hum of the car and the passing traffic lulling Wei Ying into a lazy half-doze. It’s several minutes before Jiang Cheng speaks again.

“So,” he begins, voice strangely cautious. “What did you think?”

“Hmm?” Wei Ying hums. “Think about what?”

“Lan Zhan’s boyfriend,” Jiang Cheng grits out. “Mo Xuanyu.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying replies. It’s like being doused with cold water, all his agitation from earlier coming back in a rush, his sleepy haze evaporating completely.

“Oh?” Jiang Cheng parrots back at him. “Is that it?”

“No,” Wei Ying sulks, sliding down in his seat, newly dejected. “I mean, he’s fine, I guess.”

“You guess,” Jiang Cheng says with a shake of his head. “Idiot,” he adds.

“What?” Wei Ying bites out. “I’m not allowed to say he’s fine?”

“You love meeting new people,” Jiang Cheng points out. “Everyone else seemed to like him. I just wanted to know your thoughts.”

“What for?” Wei Ying mutters. “Since when do you care if I like a person or not?”

“I don’t,” Jiang Cheng says flatly, pulling to a stop in front of Wei Ying’s building. “You have terrible taste in people. Your stupid best friend is a case in point.”

“Take that back!” Wei Ying demands. “Lan Zhan is perfect, and your slanderous opinion of him is wrong and stupid.”

“You’re wrong and stupid,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “Get the fuck out of my car.”

“Fine,” Wei Ying huffs, popping the door open and stepping out onto the curb. He turns back and leans into the vehicle, grinning at Jiang Cheng as Jiang Cheng scowls back at him. “Thanks for the ride, sweetest and most precious Didi of my heart.”

“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng says. “Go to bed and feel better, or whatever.”

“Love you, too,” Wei Ying sings, closing the door on Jiang Cheng’s answering scowl.

He really is quite tired, Wei Ying realizes as he climbs back up to his apartment. It’s no lie that he hasn’t been sleeping well; it’s been at least a week since he’s had more than a few hours in a row. Ever since his conversation with Lan Zhan in the coffee shop, he’s been restless and unsettled, and Wei Ying had put it down to nerves. Naturally, he’d been nervous to finally meet Mo Xuanyu. What kind of person wouldn’t be worried about meeting their best friend’s new significant other?

But now that they’ve met, Wei Ying isn’t feeling any better. In fact, he’s feeling decidedly worse. Mixed in with his exhaustion is a creeping sense of shame. Mo Xuanyu had been perfectly warm, polite and pleasant, earnest in his desire to be Wei Ying’s friend. But Wei Ying had been unable to reciprocate that warmth, overwhelmed by queasy resentment, instead. He’s never had such a physical reaction to anyone, Wei Ying thinks. He’s certainly never been driven to flee from his own friends, least of all Lan Zhan. He’s never turned away from Lan Zhan before. Why on earth would he?

Wei Ying kicks his shoes off by the door, then he crosses the room and drops his phone onto the stool he uses as a nightstand. He flops face-first onto his bed, then he rolls onto his back to stare moodily at the ceiling.

What the hell is wrong with him?

His phone lights up with a message, and Wei Ying reaches over to retrieve it from the stool, swiping it open and tapping on the WeChat notification.

Lan Zhan <3: Did you make it home all right?

Wei Ying feels his heart constrict, a new flush of shame rising in his cheeks. He’d been nothing but a petulant brat, and Lan Zhan is still concerned about him. He begins to type his response, but he deletes the first few attempts without sending them. Giving up on anything more detailed, he sends a single word in reply.

Wei Ying: yeah

Lan Zhan immediately starts typing again, and Wei Ying worries his lower lip between his teeth, nervously watching the screen.

Lan Zhan <3: How are you feeling? You did not seem well.

Wei Ying curses under his breath, kicking himself for being so obvious.

Wei Ying: I’m fine, i’m just tired

Lan Zhan’s response is not long in coming.

Lan Zhan <3: Wei Ying. Please tell me if something is wrong.

Wei Ying drops the phone to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of nausea rolls over him. There’s nothing wrong, he thinks. He’s just tired, and overworked, and he’s embarrassed himself in front of his best friend’s new boyfriend. He’ll be fine in the morning, he thinks.

Wei Ying: Nothing’s wrong i promise! I just need sleep. Have a good night, lan zhan!!

Lan Zhan begins typing, then stops. Begins again. Stops.

Finally, his reply appears.

Lan Zhan <3: Please get some rest. I will message you tomorrow.

Wei Ying releases the breath he’s been holding, his stomach flip-flopping with anxiety. He’s relieved that the conversation is coming to an end, but some traitorous part of him is comforted by the idea that Lan Zhan will keep him in mind until tomorrow.

Wei Ying: Goodnight lan zhan!!

Lan Zhan <3: Goodnight, Wei Ying.

Wei Ying tosses the phone aside, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. There’s an ache inside his ribcage, a slow and tedious throbbing that travels through his veins, thrumming past his pulse points and settling into his fingertips. He curls in on himself, willing sleep to take him, but his thoughts won’t settle, and sleep won’t come.

Eventually, Wei Ying rolls over to greet the sunrise, his heart huge and heavy, and he cradles his phone to his chest as it flashes with Lan Zhan’s incoming message. Wei Ying stares at the notification, refusing to open it, savouring the bittersweet anticipation that maybe, just maybe, in this moment, he is still Lan Zhan’s first priority.

---

Fall is Wei Ying’s favourite time of year. Even the torrential rainstorms that mark the turning of the seasons give Wei Ying great joy, stoking his anticipation for the crisp, cool days ahead. The advent of the Autumn Festival and the promise of Golden Week means delicious food, time with family, and nightly moon walks with friends, but this year, Wei Ying finds himself alone more often than not.

He is trying his best not to message Lan Zhan incessantly, but it’s hard. He’s used to sharing almost every thought that enters his head with his best friend, but now, it feels wrong to be monopolizing so much of Lan Zhan’s time and attention. They no longer meet for walks every other day to traverse the city with a hot drink in hand. They don’t spend the odd lunch break together in the university canteen. They don’t whittle away the hours in Lan Zhan’s apartment, chatting or playing video games or reading in companionable silence, and they certainly don’t carry on their tradition of monthly movie nights with Wei Ying’s feet in Lan Zhan’s lap.

It’s not that Wei Ying has no other friends, but without Lan Zhan in the picture, Wei Ying is feeling decidedly less social. He finds more reasons to cancel on people, especially in group settings where Mo Xuanyu might be present, which means he’s barely seen Lan Zhan in weeks. The only person he sees consistently is Wen Ning, because Wen Ning is the only one of his friends who doesn’t attempt to pry into his more subdued moods.    

“Lan Zhan was asking about you last night at hotpot,” Wen Ning informs him. He’s absently stirring up his brown sugar boba, his curious eyes on Wei Ying’s face. “I think he was expecting to see you there.”

“I had a thing,” Wei Ying shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink and chewing mulishly on the pearls. “I told Qing-Jie I wasn’t coming.”

“That’s what I told him,” Wen Ning assures him. “But I think he was disappointed.”

“Was Mo Xuanyu there?” Wei Ying asks, feigning nonchalance.

“No,” Wen Ning replies. “He also had a thing. An art thing, I think.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, feeling a guilty stab of satisfaction. “That’s too bad.”

“Hmm,” Wen Ning hums in agreement. “We all missed you there, Wei-ge.”

“I’ll try to make the next one,” Wei Ying promises, although it’s a half-hearted promise at best.

“A few of us are going to see the fireworks on National Day,” Wen Ning says. “You should come, too.”

“Work is really crazy right now,” Wei Ying hedges.

“I understand,” Wen Ning smiles. “Still, think about it, won’t you?”

“Okay,” Wei Ying replies.

He can’t avoid everyone forever, he thinks.

That night while lying in bed, Wei Ying’s phone lights up with a notification, and he swipes it open to find he has a new follower on Weibo. Curious, he clicks on the profile, only to have his stomach do a sickening backflip. Mo Xuanyu smiles up at him from the screen, looking happy and radiant in his profile picture, but Wei Ying’s eyes are immediately drawn to the featured photo below it.

Lan Zhan stares back at him, his expression neutral, his beautiful features aglow in the sunset, golden flecks faintly visible in his eyes. Tucked up beside him, Mo Xuanyu beams, his sparkling eyes curved up into crescents, his smile wide and laughing, and one of his fine-boned hands is pressed flat against Lan Zhan’s chest.

The nausea hits him gradually this time, creeping up his throat until he feels choked with it. Wei Ying stares, unblinking until the picture on his screen begins to dissolve into pixels, his vision blurring around the edges. He’s morbidly transfixed, unable to stop himself from clicking on the photo to enlarge it, slowly scrolling through the comments underneath. There are dozens of them, each one chock full of congratulatory sentiments, rows of elated and cheerful emoji sprinkled between lines of effusive praise and delight.

‘So handsome!’

‘Wow, congrats!! lucky you, Didi!’

‘So beautiful, like a jade statue!’

‘Jealous! Does he have a brother???’

Mo Xuanyu has liked every comment, but he’s only responded to some. Wei Ying greedily searches out his replies, devouring each one like a starving man licking the last grains of rice from his bowl. Mo Xuanyu is sly and funny, almost coquettish, teasing his followers with crumbs of information, daring them to ask for more. Many of them are clamouring for additional pictures of Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying feels a surge of indignation, his protective instincts flaring. Aside from WeChat, Lan Zhan eschews all forms of social media. Outside of emails and his professional profile on the university website, Lan Zhan’s digital footprint is all but non-existent. He’s perfectly indifferent about having his photo taken, but until now, no one else besides Wei Ying has dared to upload his image.

But try as he might, Wei Ying can’t find any other pictures of Lan Zhan as he scrolls obsessively through Mo Xuanyu’s feed, and his ire dissolves into a sulking resentment. He keeps coming back to the featured photo, to Lan Zhan’s stoic face, and to the delicate hand on Lan Zhan’s chest. He’s obsessed with the sight of those long, pale fingers splayed over Lan Zhan’s heart.

What must it be like, he thinks, to be Mo Xuanyu? To be so wan and fragile looking, yet so full of energy and life? How resilient does Mo Xuanyu have to be, navigating a society that sees him as weak and effeminate? Is he arrogant and greedy for displaying his affection for Lan Zhan so openly? Or is he actually unspeakably brave, risking disgust, and censure, and maybe even violence for daring to love another man?

Wei Ying closes his eyes, breathing in deeply, the image of Mo Xuanyu’s hand burned into the back of his retinas. He thinks of Lan Zhan, perfect and beautiful and brilliant. He imagines Lan Zhan’s large, strong hands closing around Mo Xuanyu’s slender wrists. Would Lan Zhan pull him closer, until Mo Xuanyu is flush against his chest? Would Lan Zhan lead Mo Xuanyu to bed, or would he scoop him up and carry him? Would Lan Zhan push him down, pinning Mo Xuanyu against the mattress with his hips?

Wei Ying lets his hand drift down his body, reaching beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and giving himself a tentative squeeze. He’s already half hard, and his breath hitches at the contact, his throat suddenly dry. He gives himself a short, shaky stroke, biting back a whimper as he shivers in response. He hasn’t touched himself for weeks, and his body is thrumming with need. His usual hazy fantasies have left him cold; whatever nameless, faceless paramours he habitually conjures up have offered no release, and now his skin feels too tight, his desire too big and unfocused to be sated by any ordinary means.

What must it be like, he thinks, to be Mo Xuanyu as he is kissed by Lan Zhan? Would Lan Zhan be slow and gentle, his lips softly pressed against Mo Xuanyu’s trembling mouth? Or would he be rough and demanding, claiming Mo Xuanyu as Mo Xuanyu has sought to claim Lan Zhan? Why else would Mo Xuanyu post that picture, Wei Ying thinks, unless to stake his claim?

Wei Ying chokes back a sob, his eyes still screwed shut, furiously stroking himself in time with his thundering heartbeat. There’s a familiar pressure coiling in his gut, and he’s leaking onto his stomach as he edges closer toward his release. He knows it won’t be long now, and he ruts into his own hand, tightening his grip as he imagines himself as Mo Xuanyu, splayed out beneath Lan Zhan’s broad and powerful chest as Lan Zhan moves between his legs, the smell of sandalwood thick in the air—

Wei Ying presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he comes, stifling the pitiful cry that escapes him. He comes spiraling down almost instantly, shaking uncontrollably and blinking back tears. A wave of shame crashes over him, intensely mortifying, and he curls in on himself, cradling his soiled hand against his chest. It’s several minutes before his breathing evens out again, and several more before he finds the strength to uncurl his body and make his way into the bathroom. He takes a scalding shower, his head bowed under the steady stream as it beats down onto the back of his neck.

He stays like that, completely disgraced, until the hot water runs out.

---

Century Park is busy on a normal day, and on National Day, it’s practically overrun. Wei Ying is expecting as much, and normally he loves a marquee event like the International Music Fireworks Festival, but this year, the crowds are making him feel a tiny bit claustrophobic. Wen Qing and Wen Ning had arrived early to stake out a spot, spreading out a large picnic blanket directly across from the barges that will launch the fireworks over Mirror Lake. Wei Ying sits cross-legged at the back of the blanket between Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, finishing off his second beer of the night and waiting for the show to begin.

“Here,” Nie Huaisang says, proffering a bottle of nongxiang baijiu in Wei Ying’s direction. “Something a little stronger for you,” he winks.

“Ganbei,” Wei Ying grins, accepting the bottle and exhaling deeply before swallowing a generous shot. He inhales through his nose, then completes the ritual by exhaling once more through his mouth, a trace of pineapple and star anise evaporating off the tip of his tongue.

“That’s the good stuff,” Nie Huaisang sighs happily, taking a sip from his own bottle. “What a perfect night for drinking and fireworks. Glad you could make it this time, Friend!”

“Happy to be here, Friend!” Wei Ying smiles in response, and it’s not entirely a lie.

He is happy to be outside after being cooped up at work all week.

He is less than happy to be confronted by the sight of Mo Xuanyu clinging to Lan Zhan’s arm as they crest the hill and make their way toward the group. The two of them sit down, side by side on the front corner of the blanket, and Wei Ying tries his best not to stare darkly at the back of Mo Xuanyu’s head.

It’s been a week since his last transgression, since he last took himself in hand and imagined what it might be like to be crushed under Lan Zhan’s weight, wrists pinned and legs spread wide. He’d come with an excruciating gasp, swift and violent, biting into the flesh of his palm to keep from crying out. He takes a long shower after every crime, attempting to slough off his guilt, but it clings to him like smoke, an accusatory perfume that no amount of soap and hot water is able to wash away.

By the time the sky is dark enough to let the fireworks begin, the park is crowded almost to capacity, people pushing in from all sides around the edges of the lake. Wei Ying finds himself five drinks deep, squeezed in solidly between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng; the Wens are perched in front of them to the left, with Lan Zhan and Mo Xuanyu to their right. Mian Mian and her boyfriend have appeared just in time for the show to start, and she shoves him down onto the edge of the blanket before settling into his lap.

“Hey now,” Nie Huaisang calls out, voice sly. “Settle down over there, this is a family event!”

Mian Mian just laughs, shaking her bangs out of her eyes with an irreverent toss of her head.

“Tell that to these two lovebirds, why don’t you?” she throws back at Nie Huaisang, gesturing carelessly toward Lan Zhan and Mo Xuanyu, and Wei Ying feels his stomach swoop with a wave of familiar nausea.

Lan Zhan is steadfastly ignoring everyone, but Mo Xuanyu blushes prettily as he laughs, curling one hand over his mouth while his other hand rests possessively on Lan Zhan’s thigh. Wei Ying watches in queasy horror as Mo Xuanyu flexes his fingers, running his palm down Lan Zhan’s leg to give his knee a squeeze.

To anyone else, Lan Zhan might appear perfectly indifferent, but Wei Ying notices the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness of his spine beneath his shirt. His hands are laced together and resting in his lap, but his grip is not relaxed, the veins in his forearms standing out as he tightens his fingers together. Mo Xuanyu doesn’t appear to notice, leaning more fully into Lan Zhan’s side and looping his arm through the crook in Lan Zhan’s elbow.

Wei Ying knocks back the last of his baijiu and glares angrily at the back of Mo Xuanyu’s head. He’s more than a little buzzed at this point, and his agitation spikes as Mo Xuanyu proceeds to nuzzle his head into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Lan Zhan shifts almost invisibly, but Wei Ying sees it; he’s certain that Lan Zhan has angled his face away, the line of his neck strained ever so slightly.

The first bars of music begin to ring out, rolling across the surface of the lake, and the crowd inhales its collective breath in anticipation. It’s not long before the first volley of fireworks explodes overhead, brilliant flowers burning across the sky, their reflections blossoming beautifully in the water below. The crowd exhales, united in awe, their enthusiastic applause interspersed between exclamations of wonder and delight.

Wei Ying can feel the explosions in his chest, each one striking harder than the last, growing in intensity like a thunderstorm getting closer and closer. Fiery bouquets bloom across the night, tearing apart the darkness one after another, but Wei Ying’s attention is not on the sky. His eyes are fixed on Lan Zhan’s upturned face, on the thin line of his mouth, and the minute furrowing between his perfect, sword-stroke brows.

The music swells as the climax draws near, the tension building as the crowd prepares for the final, magnificent salvo. Wei Ying feels it rather than sees it, transfixed as he is by the play of colour flashing across Lan Zhan’s jade-like profile. When the last trails of fire fizzle out, and the explosions stop drowning out his heartbeat, Wei Ying blinks back the tears at the corners of his eyes and tears his gaze away at last.

All around him, people are cheering and applauding, many of them already on their feet and looking to exit the park. The crowd shifts and sways as people attempt to disperse, and Wei Ying gets shakily to his feet as Jiang Cheng shoos him off the edge of the blanket.

“Help me fold it,” Jiang Cheng is saying as the rest of the group begins to stand up. He shoves the corner he’s holding at Wei Ying, then moves to pick up the opposite side. Wei Ying sways a little on his feet, jostled as Nie Huaisang stumbles drunkenly into his side, and he’s just about to say something sharp when the sound of Mo Xuanyu’s laughter slices through his awareness, and whatever he was about to say dies on his lips.

Lan Zhan is attempting to help Mo Xuanyu up, but Mo Xuanyu is playfully making himself into dead weight, his head thrown back in laughter as Lan Zhan holds onto his hands. Not to be deterred, Lan Zhan simply shifts his grip and hauls Mo Xuanyu up by the wrists. Mo Xuanyu lets out a yelp of delight before throwing his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and toppling forward into Lan Zhan’s chest. Surprised, Lan Zhan stumbles back a step, catching Mo Xuanyu around the waist to keep them both from falling over. Mo Xuanyu laughs into Lan Zhan’s chest, and then he turns his face up, eyes twinkling, and presses a kiss to Lan Zhan’s chin.

“No!”

Wei Ying doesn’t remember moving, but suddenly, his hand is on Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder, yanking him around, tearing him out of Lan Zhan’s arms with an angry cry.

“Don’t!” Wei Ying snaps, shoving Mo Xuanyu back and away. “Stop that!”

Mo Xuanyu’s eyes are huge, surprise and confusion written across his features as Wei Ying furiously accosts him. “What are you—"

“Lan Zhan doesn’t like to be touched!” Wei Ying hisses at him. “Stop touching him!”

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan gasps, voice laced with shock. “Wei Ying, please, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Wei Ying exclaims, whirling around to face him. “You don’t like it! I can tell!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan tries again, his expression remorseful and deeply worried. “It’s fine, I promise you, I—”

“Don’t lie to me!” Wei Ying cries, angry and hurt. “You hate it when people touch you!”

“Wei-ge,” Mo Xuanyu tries to interject. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but—”

“Then stop touching him!” Wei Ying explodes, and Mo Xuanyu shrinks back.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, tone suddenly firm. “Stop this.”

“No!” Wei Ying bites back. “You’re lying to me! Stop lying to me!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says again, still firm, but there’s an edge of hurt to his voice. “I would never lie to you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jiang Cheng spits out, striding forward and grabbing Wei Ying by the collar of his jacket. Wei Ying flails at him, but Jiang Cheng simply grabs Wei Ying’s wrist with his free hand and twists Wei Ying’s arm behind his back.

“Jiang Cheng!” Lan Zhan exclaims, but Jiang Cheng ignores him, roughly yanking Wei Ying away from the group and steering him into the dissipating crowd.

“Get off me!” Wei Ying protests, but Jiang Cheng simply tightens his grip and shoves Wei Ying forward, marching him toward the street.

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng snaps at him. “You’re fucking drunk and I fucking hate you.”

“I’m not—” Wei Ying tries, but he’s cut short as Jiang Cheng kicks the back of his knees, dropping him unceremoniously onto the sidewalk.

“What the fuck!” Wei Ying yelps, struggling to get back on his feet.

“Sit,” Jiang Cheng growls, pushing him back down onto the curb. “Don’t fucking move. I’m calling us a DiDi.”

“Fuck you,” Wei Ying snipes, but he stops struggling, glaring blearily up at Jiang Cheng through his bangs.

“No, fuck YOU,” Jiang Cheng snarls, thumb stabbing angrily at his phone. “I cannot fucking believe you. How much did you drink tonight, you absolute piece of shit?”

“Not enough,” Wei Ying bites back. “I’m still awake enough to hear you talking.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “I should leave you here to rot.”

“Then why don’t you?” Wei Ying sulks. The adrenaline from his outburst is receding, and Wei Ying is starting to feel cold, and nauseated, and something else he can’t quite identify yet.

“Because A-Jie would kill me,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. “That’s literally the only reason I’m not leaving you to hang yourself. Show a little gratitude, you fucking rabbit whelp.”

“Sounds like all my gratitude should go to Jiejie, not you,” Wei Ying gripes.

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng says, waving over their DiDi and opening the back door. “Get in the fucking car.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t waste time seeing if Wei Ying will comply, hauling him up from the curb and forcing him into the vehicle. Wei Ying hits the seat with a grunt, then Jiang Cheng prods him until he moves over, and soon, they are on their way, both of them begrudgingly silent.  

When they arrive at Wei Ying’s building, Jiang Cheng insists on walking him up. Jiang Cheng tells the driver he won’t be long, then he ushers Wei Ying up all seven flights of stairs, one hand gripping Wei Ying’s elbow, the other hand heavy on Wei Ying’s shoulder. Once inside the apartment, Jiang Cheng gives him a little shove, releasing his grip as Wei Ying stumbles forward.

“Take your shoes off, asshole,” Jiang Cheng says. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Don’t bother,” Wei Ying mutters, struggling to kick off his sneakers. “Just leave me alone, already.”

“The fuck I will,” Jiang Cheng retorts, busily filling a glass at the sink. “Who the hell are you? Stop making trouble for everyone else and behave for five fucking minutes.”

Wei Ying, finally free of his shoes, makes his way over to the tiny kitchen table and drops heavily into one of the chairs. The world spins as Jiang Cheng roughly puts the glass down in front of him, spilling a few drops of water onto the table.

“Drink,” Jiang Cheng barks, and Wei Ying bitterly complies, eyeing Jiang Cheng warily over the edge of the glass. His stomach lurches with every sip, his blood too thick with alcohol. When he’s finally finished drinking, Jiang Cheng gives him a curt, satisfied nod.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says, turning to leave. “Go to bed, you fucking disaster.” He stops with his hand on the doorknob, then turns back to glare at Wei Ying. “I hope you feel like shit tomorrow, because you sure as hell fucking deserve it.”

“Fine, fine,” Wei Ying waves him away. “I promise to suffer, okay?”

“No, you know what? It’s not okay!” Jiang Cheng explodes, eyes livid. “There isn’t enough suffering in the world to teach you a fucking lesson, you unrepentant asshole! Do you have any idea what kind of a jerk you were tonight? You owe that kid an apology.”

“I—” Wei Ying tries, flushed with embarrassment, chilled by shame.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jiang Cheng roars. “And what about me? Where’s my apology? I saved face for you tonight by interrupting your fucking temper tantrum, and for what? So you could just sleep it all off and forget about it in the morning? Fuck that, Wei Ying. Fuck you.”

“I didn’t mean to—"

“To what?” Jiang Cheng rages. “To embarrass yourself by acting like you’re Lan Zhan’s psychotic ex-girlfriend?”

Wei Ying recoils as if he’s been slapped, his heart leaping violently into his throat.

“What?” he chokes out, suddenly short of breath.

“You heard me,” Jiang Cheng sneers. “You’re a fucking embarrassment.”

“I’m not—Lan Zhan’s not—" Wei Ying stammers. “It’s not like that!”

“Like hell it’s not!” Jiang Cheng spits at him. “You want to know why no one’s ever asked you out?”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying protests, something not unlike panic throbbing through his veins.

“Everyone sees it but you!” Jiang Cheng snarls. “You’re fucking obsessed with him! You always fucking have been! And now you’re acting like a spoiled fucking princess, because guess what?”

“Don’t,” Wei Ying pleads, tasting bile in his mouth. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re not his fucking favourite anymore!” Jiang Cheng finishes, his mouth twisting with scorn.

It’s like a kick to the gut, knocking all the oxygen out of Wei Ying’s lungs with a sharp, vicious jolt that leaves him gasping for air. The shame that’s been building up and festering for months comes crashing over him like a tidal wave, bathing him in fear and disgust. His stomach is roiling, and he fights back the urge to vomit as the room starts to shrink and spin, the darkness closing in around him even as his vision sparks white. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, curling in on himself as he wills himself not to be sick.

Across the room, he hears Jiang Cheng sigh.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng says, tired and deflated. “You better fucking pick up.”

Wei Ying says nothing, his eyes fluttering open to stare at the floor. He feels cold, and numb, and utterly, utterly ashamed.

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

There is the sound of the doorknob turning, and then, he is gone, his footsteps disappearing angrily down the hallway.

It takes a while before Wei Ying trusts himself to stand and make his way into the bathroom. He sheds his clothes and steps into the shower, blasting cold water over his head and forcing himself to endure it. He lasts a full minute before he struggles to turn it off, shivering violently as he sinks down to his knees. It’s a struggle to haul himself up and dry off, but somehow, he manages.

Wei Ying crawls into bed and closes his eyes, his hair soaked and his heart broken, and he dreams about not waking up.

---

Morning comes all too quickly, and Wei Ying blinks awake into the sunrise, head pounding and vision blurry. He rolls over onto his back, scrubbing a hand across his face and swallowing down the wave of acidic nausea that rises to greet him. His body is stiff, throbbing with exhaustion as if he’d just run a marathon, and there’s a sour taste in his mouth, his tongue thick and heavy.

His stomach turns as the events from last night begin to resurface, queasy flashes of anger and guilt stabbing through the fog of his hangover. He remembers yelling, his own voice sharp and petulant. He remembers shoving Mo Xuanyu away, his hand slapping roughly against Mo Xuanyu’s chest. And he recalls with perfect clarity the look of horrified shock on Lan Zhan’s face as he’d pleaded with Wei Ying to stop.

Wei Ying lets out a long, low groan, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he sees sparks. He’s still a little chilled, but white-hot shame is burning behind his ribcage, humiliation seeping through the cracks in his heart. He’s absolutely mortified, shocked and disgusted at his own ignominious behaviour, and he curls in on himself, willing the sickly waves of disgrace to pass over him and recede. It doesn’t happen, the wretched nausea taking root in the pit of his stomach, twisting and seething miserably through his gut.   

His phone vibrates on the stool beside him, and Wei Ying groans again, picking it up and accepting the call with no small amount of dread.

“Are you alive?” Jiang Cheng demands, clipped and impatient.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying rasps, his voice coming out weak and pathetic. He clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’m alive,” he manages.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “I hope you feel like garbage.”

“Ugh,” Wei Ying replies, wincing as he tries to sit up. “I wish I were dead.”

“Tough shit,” Jiang Cheng bites out. “Suck it up and suffer like you promised me you would.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m suffering plenty,” Wei Ying says flatly.

“Probably not as much as you should,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “You need anything?”

“No,” Wei Ying mutters, raking an unsteady hand through his hair. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“If you say so,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Drink some sour plum soup and stop feeling sorry for yourself. I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t have to,” Wei Ying protests, but it only makes Jiang Cheng sigh in exasperation.

“Shut up, you moron,” Jiang Cheng growls. “You still wanna argue with me? Stop being such a pain in the ass. I’m calling you later, so you’d better pick up.”

“All right already,” Wei Ying relents. “I’ll pick up, I promise.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says. “Get some more rest. Then sort your shit out.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, his stomach lurching with dread. “And Jiang Cheng?” he tries.

“What now?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Hurry up and spit it out, before you piss me off again.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying says quietly. “And sorry.”

“Whatever,” Jiang Cheng huffs. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying murmurs. “Bye, Didi.”

“Fuck off,” Jiang Cheng says, and then the line clicks dead.

Wei Ying sighs, dropping the phone from his ear to stare at his notifications. There are three missed calls from Lan Zhan, plus half a dozen unread messages from friends. Most of them are from Nie Huaisang, drunkenly asking if Wei Ying is okay, and two of them are from Wen Ning, wishing him a good night and then a speedy recovery. There’s only one message from Lan Zhan, and Wei Ying’s stomach twists painfully in anticipation as he taps it open.

Lan Zhan <3: Wei Ying. Please call me.

Wei Ying hesitates, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, apprehension choking him up. Eventually, he starts to type, but he keeps going back to erase what he’s written, and ten minutes later, he still hasn’t sent a single word. He stares at his screen in dismay, at a loss as to how to proceed, when suddenly, the phone lights up with an incoming call.

It’s Lan Zhan again, and Wei Ying freezes, his pulse picking up with anxiety. He rejects the call immediately, sending it straight to voicemail, but Lan Zhan doesn’t leave him a message, disconnecting the call as soon as the recording starts to play. A moment later, Lan Zhan begins to type, and Wei Ying resists the urge to throw the phone across the room in a panic.

Lan Zhan <3: Wei Ying, are you there? Please take my call.

Wei Ying stares unblinkingly at the screen until his vision starts to blur, paralyzed by a fresh wave of nauseated humiliation. Lan Zhan has every right to censure him; his behaviour toward Mo Xuanyu had been reprehensible, and Wei Ying deserves to be reviled for it, but Wei Ying doesn’t think he can handle Lan Zhan’s condemnation just yet.

Wei Ying: I can’t

Lan Zhan begins typing again immediately, but Wei Ying doesn’t wait for his reply.

Wei Ying: I’m sorry

Lan Zhan stops typing, and Wei Ying blinks back the sudden stinging in his eyes. It’s a long minute before Lan Zhan sends his reply.

Lan Zhan <3: Can I see you?

Wei Ying lets out a shaky exhale, his heart constricting painfully in his chest.

Wei Ying: No

Lan Zhan <3: Wei Ying. Please.

Wei Ying closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing thickly, pushing back the bile.

He’s not ready. Not yet.

Wei Ying: I’m sorry

Lan Zhan stops replying after that.

---

Two days later, in the middle of the night, Wei Ying picks up his phone.

It’s cowardly and he knows it, calling Lan Zhan when he knows that Lan Zhan is certain to be asleep, but Wei Ying has never claimed to be especially brave. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he waits for the call to go to voicemail, but much to his dismay, Lan Zhan picks up on the third ring.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan rasps, voice heavy and thick with sleep. “Wei Ying, is that you?”

Wei Ying is struck dumb, his strategy foiled, all of his thoughts evaporating at the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice. His speech is all planned out, his talking points scribbled onto the scraps of paper that lie scattered across the bed, but suddenly, he doesn’t remember any of it, his mind filling up with static.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan calls again, his voice softer this time.

Wei Ying swallows, his throat clicking with the effort, and then he forces himself to speak.

“Hi,” he manages.

“Hello,” Lan Zhan replies, gentle and warm, and Wei Ying feels an ugly pang of guilt for keeping him waiting so long.

“Listen,” Wei Ying begins, gripping his phone tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. “I need you to do me a favour. I don’t deserve it, but please, just do this one thing for me.”

“What is it?” Lan Zhan asks.

“I need you not to talk,” Wei Ying tells him. “Just. Don’t talk, okay? I have to say some things, and if you start talking, I don’t think I can get through it.”

There is a long pause on the other side of the phone before Lan Zhan replies.

“All right,” he says. “I’m listening.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying exhales, steeling himself and sitting up straight on the bed. “Okay. Um. I just…” he trails off, his stomach twisting sharply with anxiety and shame, but he chokes back the bile and stumbles through the next few words. “I’m sorry,” he gets out. “I just. I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying—”

“No, don’t talk,” Wei Ying reminds him. “Please. Just listen.”

Lan Zhan complies, falling silent again.

“What I did was really wrong,” Wei Ying says. “I was an asshole. I treated your—” he stumbles, unable to say the word. “I treated Mo Xuanyu like shit, and I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to him like that. I tried to apologize,” he explains. “I sent him an email. Nie Huaisang gave me his contact, and I probably wrote too much, or maybe not enough, because he didn’t reply, but I tried. It’s fine if he never answers me, but I really meant it, and I want you to know that I tried.”

Lan Zhan remains silent as Wei Ying takes in a shaky breath.

“He doesn’t have to forgive me,” Wei Ying continues. “And neither do you. Because I… I really don’t deserve it. I wronged you, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice cracking with remorse. “I had no right to speak for you like that. To speak over you like that. I thought I… I thought I knew you better than anyone, but it turns out, I wasn’t seeing you at all. I haven’t seen you this whole time. I’ve just been imagining whatever I wanted to see because I—" he chokes off, his breath suddenly constricted, throat dry and eyes burning.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan tries again. “You didn’t—”

“Don’t,” Wei Ying interjects, voice trembling. “Please don’t. I have to say this. I’m almost done, I promise.”

Lan Zhan lets out a long, heavy sigh, but he stops trying to speak, and Wei Ying gathers what remains of his courage, pushing aside the sickly veil of shame.

“I’ve been a shitty friend,” Wei Ying says. “The worst friend, to my best friend, to my favourite person in the whole world, and I—” he chokes again, his breath hitching. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined things with Mo Xuanyu.”

“Wei Ying—”

“I’m sorry if Mo Xuanyu is mad at you because of me,” Wei Ying rushes on. “Tell him it wasn’t your fault, because it wasn’t. It was my fault, and you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, a hint of urgency in his voice.

“I won’t bother you two again!” Wei Ying cries, his voice breaking at last. “I won’t call, and I won’t text, and I won’t get in the way anymore! I’ll leave you both alone, I promise!”

“Wei Ying, that’s not—”

“I’m sorry!” Wei Ying keeps going, heedless of Lan Zhan’s protests. “I’m sorry, and I’ll do better, and I understand if you hate me now, but I’m so, so sorry, Lan Zhan,” he finishes.

On the other side of the phone, Lan Zhan lets out another long sigh. Wei Ying holds his breath and waits.

“I could never hate you, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says at last. He sounds tired and sad, and Wei Ying’s heart cracks right down the middle.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying breathes out, kicking himself for being so self-centered. “I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t try to make me feel better. I don’t deserve it. Just…” he trails off, completely out of steam. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan remains silent.

“I’m done now,” Wei Ying says, voice small and broken. “So… I’ll let you go.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. It sounds like a plea.

“Bye, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers.

He ends the call without waiting for a reply, dropping the phone on the bed and then immediately doubling over. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in shaky gulps of air, wrapping his arms around his roiling stomach and willing himself not to be sick. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, shaking with repressed sobs, unwilling to make a sound. He’s made enough noise already, he thinks. He’s taken up too much space.

Wei Ying lets himself fall onto his side.  He tucks his knees up to his chest and makes himself small, then he closes his eyes and waits for the sun to wake up.

---

Wei Ying is in mourning.

It doesn’t matter that no one actually died; losing your best friend is a little like death, and Wei Ying is certain that he’s lost Lan Zhan in every way that counts. He’s remained true to his word: no calls, no messages, and no interference. Lan Zhan had tried to call him back the day after Wei Ying’s apology, but after Wei Ying had rejected the call, Lan Zhan stopped trying to contact him completely. Wei Ying makes himself scarce, burying himself in his work and losing himself in late-night super topic spirals. He holes up in his apartment and listens to melancholy music. He eats very little and drinks far too much.

He is, he thinks, entirely pathetic.

It doesn’t take long before he catches a cold, worn down and wrung out as he is. He tells no one, not even Jiang Yanli. She calls to check in on him, but he lets the call go to voicemail and messages her instead, not wanting his scratchy voice to give him away.

Wei Ying: Hi, jiejie! <3 I’m fine i’m just very busy. Give jin ling a kiss for me!

Jiejie: You missed dim sum again this week. Do I need to send A-Cheng to check on you?

Wei Ying: Please don’t!! I promise i’m okay!

It takes a few more messages to dissuade her, but eventually, Wei Ying convinces her not to send Jiang Cheng calling with a vat of soup.

The thing is, without Lan Zhan, everything has changed. Wei Ying’s life is starkly different than it used to be. He does everything on his own now, because even the thought of spending time with other people exhausts him. His insomnia is out of control, and he doesn’t have the energy to put on a happy face for his friends and family. His very existence disgusts him; there is no one he can be around without feeling like a burden.

Not anymore.

Without Lan Zhan, Wei Ying feels lost and lonely. Gone is the easiness and the feeling of security he used to enjoy, knowing that Lan Zhan was just a quick tap away. There’s a gaping wound at the very heart of him where Lan Zhan used to live, and Wei Ying aches with his absence. He’s never felt anything like it, this yawning abyss, a yearning so sharp he could cut himself on it.

What did they use to look like, Wei Ying wonders? He remembers how he used to hang off of Lan Zhan’s arm, his head thrown back in laughter. Had Jiang Cheng been right? Had everyone else been able to see what Wei Ying has only just realized? Does everyone else know that he’s obsessed with Lan Zhan? That whatever they’d had together was more than a typical friendship, and that Wei Ying is the world’s biggest idiot?

The loss of their intimacy is excruciating. It’s brutal, and violent, and altogether devastating, because now, Wei Ying finally understands. He wants what he’d already had, but more. He wants all of Lan Zhan’s attention, but more.

He wants to be held.

He wants to be kissed.

He wants to be wanted, but only by Lan Zhan.

Truly pathetic, he thinks.

Wei Ying is not accustomed to wallowing in his own misfortune, and yet here he is, stranded at a convenience store at half past midnight on a Saturday, counting out the last of the change from his pocket to pay for instant ramen. He’s over the worst of his cold, but he’s still a bit congested, and spicy noodles seem like the obvious answer. What else is he supposed to do? He can’t sleep, and he can barely breathe; the least he can do is eat something for the first time in 24 hours.

He shuffles his way home, dour and subdued, mentally calculating how long it will take to cook and eat the noodles before falling into bed. He’s too busy fumbling for his keys to notice the figure waiting outside of his building, and he jumps a little when Lan Zhan calls out to him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, moving to intercept him as Wei Ying approaches the front door.

Wei Ying stops in his tracks, his keys dangling from his fingers. He can feel the blood draining from his face, white noise ringing in his ears.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeats, coming to a stop in front of him. “We need to talk.”

“I can’t,” Wei Ying rebuffs him, shrinking back a step. “I’m sick. Don’t come near me.”

“I don’t care,” Lan Zhan says, taking a step forward and closing the gap between them. “You won’t message me,” he says. “You won’t take my calls. What else do you expect me to do, Wei Ying?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Ying replies weakly. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.”

“When did I ever say that?” Lan Zhan nearly snaps. “Wei Ying. I never said that.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying chokes out, his voice hoarse. “I thought it would be easier if I wasn’t around for a while.”

“Easier for who?” Lan Zhan asks, his eyes flashing. “Wei Ying. I am begging you. Stop making assumptions.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying murmurs, his throat suddenly constricted. He really can’t do anything right.

“Why have you refused to meet with me?” Lan Zhan demands.

“Because,” Wei Ying says, his voice breaking. “I can’t see you anymore.”

Lan Zhan balks, recoiling as if struck. “What?” he breathes out. “Why?”

“Because you have a boyfriend!” Wei Ying explodes. “I told you. I won’t get in the way. There’s no room for me beside you now,” he cries. “You’re not mine anymore!”

Lan Zhan’s expression shatters, and Wei Ying feels the world shift, his heart dissolving into dust.

“So please,” Wei Ying whispers. “Please, just—”

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan interjects, his voice rising with urgency. “Stop it. There is no boyfriend. We broke up. I broke up with him.”

“What?” Wei Ying exclaims, his pulse ringing loudly in his ears. “Why?” he can’t help but ask.

“Because,” Lan Zhan breathes, his mouth twisted with remorse. “I couldn’t do it. I tried, but I couldn’t. I was lying to myself. I couldn’t even kiss him, because I wanted it to be you.”

“What?” Wei Ying gasps, completely flattened.

“I wanted it to be you,” Lan Zhan repeats, voice firm. “Wei Ying. It has to be you. It’s always been you.”

For a moment, Wei Ying can’t hear anything. It’s a moment of perfect silence, the city around them screeching to a halt, the echo of Lan Zhan’s words ringing in Wei Ying’s ears.

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, his keys and the bag from the convenience store falling to the ground. “Oh,” he croaks out, burying his face into his cold, shaking hands. “Oh!” he sobs, breaking down at last, shuddering violently as his tears begin to fall.

Strong arms wrap around him, and Wei Ying finds himself enveloped by sandalwood, crushed against Lan Zhan’s chest. He cries and cries, shaking like a leaf, but Lan Zhan just holds him tighter, cradling the back of his head and murmuring reassurances into his ear.

“Shh,” Lan Zhan soothes. “Wei Ying. It’s all right. I have you.”

Wei Ying only cries harder, but Lan Zhan remains steady, tracing comforting circles over Wei Ying’s back.

“It’s all right,” Lan Zhan repeats. “Wei Ying. You’re all right. Everything is going to be okay.”

“How?” Wei Ying chokes out, fisting his hands into Lan Zhan’s shirt. “What are you doing? I don’t deserve you!”

Lan Zhan removes his hand from the back of Wei Ying’s head, lifting Wei Ying’s chin up instead, forcing Wei Ying to look at him.

“Let me be the judge of that,” Lan Zhan says, his eyes dark, voice low and commanding.

Wei Ying is certain that he’d be falling over if Lan Zhan wasn’t holding him up. He struggles to collect himself, sniffling pitifully and standing up straight. Lan Zhan gives his waist a squeeze, then he stoops to pick up the grocery bag and Wei Ying’s keys.

“Come,” Lan Zhan says, taking Wei Ying by the hand and leading him toward the apartment building. He unlocks the door and guides Wei Ying up all seven flights of stairs. Once Lan Zhan’s flicked the light on and they’ve kicked off their shoes inside the apartment, Lan Zhan removes their jackets, then he plants Wei Ying in one of the two chairs at the tiny kitchen table before going to boil some water. Wei Ying sits in silence, his eyes fixed on his hands where they’re clenched tightly in his lap.

Lan Zhan leaves the ramen on the counter and rummages around in the fridge, coming up with a slightly dried-out piece of ginger. He retrieves a knife from the drawer and cuts off three slices, discarding the shriveled outer edge. He places the other two pieces into a mug with some vinegar and brown sugar, then he pours the boiling water over top. He sets it down in front of Wei Ying and takes a seat in the other chair.

“Drink,” he says gently, and Wei Ying complies, taking a careful sip of the tangy, scalding liquid.

Lan Zhan watches in silence as Wei Ying slowly drains the mug, and Wei Ying begins to warm up, sensation returning to his fingertips. He’s not crying anymore, but he feels shaken and hollow, vulnerable and raw. He finishes his tea and takes a deep breath, biting back a fresh wave of sorrow.

Lan Zhan moves his chair around the table, inching closer to Wei Ying until their knees are nearly touching. He leans forward to stroke the bangs out of Wei Ying’s eyes, and Wei Ying can feel himself tearing up again. This is everything he wants, and everything he’s been missing, but it feels so fragile, and Wei Ying is terrified he’s going to lose it all over again.

“Hello,” Lan Zhan whispers, reaching up to cradle Wei Ying’s face between his hands. He strokes his thumbs across Wei Ying’s cheeks, then he lets his hands drift down until he is holding the back of Wei Ying’s neck, squeezing gently.

“Hi,” Wei Ying manages in response, voice thick and wet. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replies, eyes soft.

“I missed you so much,” Wei Ying says, fresh tears escaping from the corners of his eyes. “Like a part of me was carved out and ripped away.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, his voice laced with regret.

“I’m useless without you,” Wei Ying admits, trying to smile, but his tears keep coming. “I’m such a mess, Lan Zhan. I need you, but I don’t deserve you.” he chokes out.

“I told you,” Lan Zhan says. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He takes the empty mug away from Wei Ying, setting it down on the table before taking both of Wei Ying’s hands in his own. “I don’t care what you think you deserve. I want you, and that’s all that matters.”

Wei Ying regards him tearfully, swallowing back another sob. A seed of hope takes root in his heart, but his guilt has yet to dissipate. He still feels responsible for accosting Mo Xuanyu.

“How can you forgive me so easily?” Wei Ying asks. “I was such a jerk.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head, giving Wei Ying’s fingers a squeeze.

“You apologized sincerely, and what’s done is done. Please stop beating yourself up about it. Besides,” he adds. “It made me realize how unfair I’d been to you.”

“What?” Wei Ying exclaims. “How on earth have you been unfair to me?”

“I never asked you directly,” Lan Zhan explains. “I never told you how I felt. I should have given you that chance.” He drops his eyes to where he’s holding Wei Ying’s hands, drawing soft circles over Wei Ying’s knuckles with his thumbs. “I was too disheartened to try,” he admits. “When you said things would never change between us, I believed you. I tried to give you up.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pleads, shaking his head in protest. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was such an idiot, I didn’t even know that I was—” he chokes back another sob. “I didn’t even realize that I liked you—HOW I liked you,” he laments. “Of course you thought I couldn’t, because I didn’t even know that I could.”

“I should have told you,” Lan Zhan murmurs. “I should have tried.”

Wei Ying shakes his head again. “I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know.”

“I never should have said yes to Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Zhan says, raising his eyes and locking their gazes together. “Not while I was still in love with you.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his voice dissolving into a sob. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry! I should have known sooner, I should have realized, I should have—”

“Shh,” Lan Zhan hushes him. “It’s all right now. I’m here with you, Wei Ying. And I’m yours, if you will have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you!” Wei Ying cries. “After everything I’ve done, and you still like me? I’d be an even bigger idiot than I already am if I rejected you now.”

“You are not an idiot,” Lan Zhan tells him, voice fond. “Of course I still like you. That will never change, Wei Ying.”

“Promise?” Wei Ying asks, that seed of hope blossoming in his chest.

“I promise,” Lan Zhan avows. “But I must warn you,” he adds, releasing one of Wei Ying’s hands to stroke the side of his face. “Other things will change.”

“Other things?” Wei Ying echoes, voice suddenly tentative. “Like what?” he asks, his stomach twisting with anxiety.

“Like this,” Lan Zhan whispers, and then Lan Zhan leans forward to kiss him.

For a moment, Wei Ying freezes, his eyes going wide and his mind going blank. The press of Lan Zhan’s mouth is firm, his hand slipping around to the back of Wei Ying’s head. Wei Ying lets his eyes flutter shut, lets Lan Zhan angle his head so that their mouths slide together more easily, Lan Zhan’s tongue probing at the seam of Wei Ying’s lips. Wei Ying lets out a small whimper, melting into the kiss, opening his mouth to grant Lan Zhan entry, and Lan Zhan immediately dives deep, sweeping past Wei Ying’s teeth with his tongue.

Wei Ying keeps his eyes closed when Lan Zhan finally pulls away, but Lan Zhan doesn’t go far, leaving just enough space between them to exhale a soft sigh, and then he presses featherlight kisses to Wei Ying’s eyelids, his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes out, hooking his leg around Wei Ying’s chair and dragging him closer. Wei Ying takes it one step further, edging out of his seat and climbing into Lan Zhan’s lap. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and leans back in, Lan Zhan meeting him halfway. The kiss is a little rougher this time, a little more insistent, and Wei Ying makes a desperate sound in the back of his throat as Lan Zhan presses deeper, hungrily plundering Wei Ying’s mouth.

“Wait,” Wei Ying gasps, struggling to get a hold of himself. He pulls back a little, curling his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. “I’m still sick,” he says. “I’ll make you sick. We shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care,” Lan Zhan says, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist and moving his hand away from his mouth. He leans forward and recaptures Wei Ying’s lips with his own, silencing any further protests.

Wei Ying relents, relaxing back into the kiss, clinging to Lan Zhan and shuddering with every stroke of Lan Zhan’s tongue. Lan Zhan’s hands are hot on his back, caressing his shoulder blades, stroking up and down his sides, squeezing at his hips. Wei Ying lets out a reedy little moan and presses himself closer, fisting his hands in the back of Lan Zhan’s shirt.

Lan Zhan breaks the kiss to mouth at the underside of Wei Ying’s jaw, moving upward from his chin, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake. He nips gently at Wei Ying’s earlobe before kissing the shell of his ear, then he works his way down the side of Wei Ying’s throat, finally sinking his teeth into the juncture between Wei Ying’s neck and shoulder. Wei Ying lets out a startled gasp, his hand flying to the back of Lan Zhan’s head, pressing Lan Zhan closer, and Lan Zhan hums in satisfaction, closing his lips over the bite mark, sucking in hard, soothing the sting of his teeth with his tongue. Wei Ying lets his head fall back, fully exposing the line of his throat to Lan Zhan’s ministrations, and Lan Zhan takes full advantage, nipping and sucking searing kisses up and down Wei Ying’s neck.

Wei Ying’s breathing is beginning to come in short, erratic puffs, his pulse racing, his heart skipping sharply every time Lan Zhan scrapes his teeth over his Adam's apple. Wei Ying arches his back, tightening his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, desperately pulling himself closer. He can’t get close enough, he thinks, squeezing his thighs where he’s straddling Lan Zhan’s lap. He’ll never be close enough.

Lan Zhan lets out a low groan, dragging his hands down Wei Ying’s back until he’s cupping Wei Ying’s ass in both his hands, squeezing roughly, and Wei Ying can’t help the needy whine that escapes him in response. Lan Zhan grips him harder, then he shifts to slide one arm underneath Wei Ying’s thighs, the other going firmly around Wei Ying’s waist, and he surges to his feet, hoisting Wei Ying up against his chest as if he weighed nothing.

Wei Ying clings to him, wrapping his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist and burying his face into Lan Zhan’s neck. Lan Zhan carries him across the room and folds back the privacy screen, lowering Wei Ying onto the bed, but Wei Ying remains wrapped around him, unwilling to let go and lie back on the mattress.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, turning his head to press a firm kiss to Wei Ying’s temple. “Wei Ying,” he repeats softly, nuzzling at the side of Wei Ying’s face until Wei Ying relents, turning his head until Lan Zhan can kiss him again, hot and wet and demanding.

Wei Ying lets Lan Zhan uncurl his body until Wei Ying is stretched out beneath him. Lan Zhan draws back for a moment, one hand grasping firmly around Wei Ying’s hip, the other cradling the side of Wei Ying’s face as he settles between Wei Ying’s legs. Wei Ying blinks up at him, his breath still coming short and fast, his heart beating wildly out of control.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chokes out, his vision blurring, his throat constricted with more humiliating tears. “Lan Zhan, please…”

“Shh,” Lan Zhan soothes him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s all right,” he murmurs. “You’re all right, Wei Ying.”

“I don’t—I mean I’ve never—" Wei Ying stumbles. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he manages, feeling small and stupid.

Lan Zhan’s eyes pool dark and deep, his pupils going wide with desire. He strokes his thumb across Wei Ying’s cheek, his gaze unwavering, and Wei Ying feels deliciously helpless beneath him, his heart shaking, overwhelmed with anticipation. Slowly, Lan Zhan leans forward and kisses him, softly this time, just a gentle caress of lips until Wei Ying relaxes.  

“It’s all right,” Lan Zhan repeats, breath hot against Wei Ying’s lips. “I’ll take care of you.” He pulls back and brushes a stray lock of hair away from Wei Ying’s eyes. “I’ll make it good.”

Wei Ying swallows thickly, heat coiling in the pit of his gut, his eyes wet and plaintive.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Lan Zhan whispers. “Tell me now, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, blinking back more tears and trying to smile.

“You can do anything you want to me,” Wei Ying says, his voice trembling but determined. “Anything at all. If it’s you, then I’ll like it. If it’s you, it’s okay.”

Lan Zhan lets out a shaky breath, then he presses his hips down in between Wei Ying’s legs, and Wei Ying gasps at the evidence of Lan Zhan’s desire, hot and hard against his crotch. He can feel his own erection straining against his jeans, and he can’t help arching up off the bed in search of more friction. Lan Zhan stifles a groan and grinds down harder, and Wei Ying spreads his legs wide, rolling his hips up to meet him.

Lan Zhan slips his hands underneath the hem of Wei Ying’s t-shirt, rucking it up around Wei Ying’s ribcage before descending to close his mouth around one of Wei Ying’s nipples. Wei Ying cries out in response, hands flying to the back of Lan Zhan’s head, threading through Lan Zhan’s hair. Lan Zhan swirls his tongue in a circle, then he pushes Wei Ying’s t-shirt further up, pulling it off and leaving Wei Ying’s hands lying tangled in the fabric above his head. He dives back down and claims Wei Ying’s mouth in a searing kiss, and Wei Ying goes pliant beneath him, his whole body shuddering with need.

Lan Zhan moves down his body, trailing hot, wet kisses down the middle of Wei Ying’s chest, dipping his tongue into Wei Ying’s belly button before nosing at the waistband of Wei Ying’s jeans. Wei Ying’s breath hitches as Lan Zhan pops the button on his fly and guides the zipper down over Wei Ying’s erection, stiff and leaking against his underwear. Lan Zhan mouths at him through the fabric, breathing hotly, his tongue pressing up against Wei Ying’s balls, and Wei Ying lets out a long, keening whimper, his back arching off the bed even as Lan Zhan holds his hips down.

Wei Ying’s hands are still tangled uselessly above his head, his fingers flexing in the fabric of his t-shirt. There’s something delicious about the sensation of being restrained, however lightly, and he thrills as he struggles to free himself, pulling weakly against the cloth. Lan Zhan remains focused elsewhere, pushing Wei Ying’s Jeans and underwear down around his thighs, freeing Wei Ying’s cock at last. Wei Ying shivers as Lan Zhan’s hot breath ghosts across his belly, and then Lan Zhan takes him in hand, squeezing gently at the base of his cock as he takes the tip into his mouth.

It’s all Wei Ying can do to keep from sobbing as Lan Zhan takes him in deeper, moving his head slowly down the shaft until he’s kissing his own fingers, hollowing his cheeks out and sucking as he bobs back up. Wei Ying throws his head back and bites his lip to keep from crying again, screwing his eyes shut, unable to watch. It’s so much more than anything he’d imagined, all of his shameful fantasies paling in comparison to the feeling of Lan Zhan’s tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Wei Ying’s eyes fly open as he feels Lan Zhan’s free hand slipping in between his legs. Lan Zhan fondles his balls, cupping and squeezing gently before trailing his fingers over Wei Ying’s perineum to probe at his ass. Wei Ying feels his breath hitch as Lan Zhan slips a finger inside, the tight ring of muscle contracting around the intrusion, his whole body quivering with pleasure. Slowly, Lan Zhan begins to crook his finger, dragging it back slightly before pushing back in, and Wei Ying’s gut clenches at this new invasive pressure.

Lan Zhan sets a steady rhythm, timing the long drag of his finger with the suction of his mouth, twisting the hand at the base of Wei Ying’s cock as he strokes the shaft with his thumb. Wei Ying lets his eyes flutter shut again, his mouth falling open around a desperate moan, unable to silence himself any longer. Lan Zhan pushes his finger in to the hilt, and Wei Ying lets out a strangled cry as Lan Zhan hits his prostrate, his entire body jerking and going stiff with a violent shock of pleasure.

Lan Zhan shows him no mercy, pressing in again, causing Wei Ying to spasm and writhe, unable to move freely, his legs still constrained by his jeans around his thighs, his hands still tangled overhead. Every stroke of Lan Zhan’s finger leaves him shaking and breathless, and soon, he’s a trembling mess of nerves. There’s nothing but the unrelenting pressure inside his body and the hot, wet suction around his cock. All of his muscles are taut with pleasure, his body stretched out like a bowstring ready to snap, and he comes with a broken sob, exploding into Lan Zhan’s mouth in hot, heavy waves.

His climax rips through his body, shockwave after shockwave of ecstasy washing over him, stars behind his eyes as he shudders and spasms. Lan Zhan milks him through it, squeezing and stroking and sucking his cock until Wei Ying has gone completely soft. He continues to brush his finger against Wei Ying’s prostrate, sending echoes of his orgasm up his spine until Wei Ying is shaking and whimpering with overstimulation.

Lan Zhan swallows down Wei Ying’s release, licking away the last few drops that escaped onto Wei Ying’s stomach, then he withdraws his finger and moves up Wei Ying’s body, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him. He pushes his tongue into Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying shivers, surprised at the taste of himself. Lan Zhan keeps kissing him, bracing himself up on one elbow as he unfastens his own pants with his other hand. He brings out his cock and roughly starts stroking himself. The kiss gets messy, wet and insistent, and then Lan Zhan’s mouth slips off of Wei Ying’s lips with a groan. 

Wei Ying finally untangles one hand from his t-shirt, shakily reaching down between them to wrap his fingers around Lan Zhan’s hot, leaking cock. Lan Zhan lets out another groan, lacing their fingers together over his huge, hard length, stroking up slowly, squeezing as they get to the tip. He thrusts into their joined hands, rolling his hips down until the tip of his cock brushes against Wei Ying’s belly. He begins to rut into the crease of Wei Ying’s hip, their hands slicked with precum sliding smoothly over the length of his cock with each thrust.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan pants, his mouth slipping against the side of Wei Ying’s neck. “Wei Ying,” he gasps, his breath hitching with his thrusts, sending hot bursts of air across Wei Ying’s throat.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chokes out, his own breathing still unsteady. He tightens his grip around Lan Zhan’s cock as Lan Zhan quickens his thrusts. “Lan Zhan!” he calls, voice wrecked, and it’s the last push Lan Zhan needs, his body stiffening with a shudder. He bites into the juncture of Wei Ying’s neck and shoulder as he comes, releasing hot streaks of come across Wei Ying’s stomach.

Wei Ying can’t help the moan that escapes him at the feeling of Lan Zhan’s teeth on his neck, the thrill of watching Lan Zhan orgasm going straight to Wei Ying’s soft, overstimulated cock. His voice trails off into a whimper as Lan Zhan releases his neck with a gasp, panting roughly beside Wei Ying’s ear. Lan Zhan untangles their fingers and moves to brace himself up on all fours. He lets his head hang down so that their foreheads are touching, his chest heaving as he brings his breathing back under control, and Wei Ying lets his eyes flutter shut, Lan Zhan’s breath hot across his burning cheeks.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, lifting his head up to brush his lips across Wei Ying’s forehead. “Wei Ying,” he exhales, dropping a kiss on the bridge of Wei Ying’s nose. “Wei Ying,” he whispers, before claiming Wei Ying’s mouth, kissing him with a deep and possessive sweep of his tongue.

Wei Ying shudders with another reedy moan, his mouth going slack as his body falls limp and pliant, still pulsing with the aftermath of his own release. He feels warm and heavy, his mind blissfully hazy when Lan Zhan finally releases him and pulls back, kissing each of Wei Ying’s eyelids with steady, gentle pressure.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls to him, and Wei Ying pries his eyes open to meet Lan Zhan’s deep, affectionate gaze. “You were so good,” Lan Zhan murmurs, and Wei Ying lets out a sharp, shaky breath, flooded by warm relief, tears springing hot into the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t,” Wei Ying sobs, screwing his eyes shut and throwing his free arm across his face, suddenly shy and anxious again. “Don’t look at me like that, I don’t want to cry anymore!”

“Why shouldn’t I look at you?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice laced with amusement. “It’s all right,” he says, taking Wei Ying by the wrist, pulling his arm away from covering his eyes. “You can keep your eyes closed,” he soothes. “Just relax, Wei Ying.”

“I want you to hold me,” Wei Ying whines. He’s starting to cool off, and he shivers a little as Lan Zhan sits up and away from him.

“In a moment,” Lan Zhan promises him, stroking his hand over Wei Ying’s thigh before leaning forward to untangle Wei Ying’s other hand from his t-shirt. He brings both of Wei Ying’s hands together, gathering them to rest on Wei Ying’s chest as Wei Ying sighs in relief, his shoulders relaxing at last. Lan Zhan stands and removes Wei Ying’s jeans, pushing them down with his underwear, taking Wei Ying’s socks off as he goes. Wei Ying feels heavy, his eyes still closed as he listens to Lan Zhan moving about the room. Dimly, he hears the tap running while Lan Zhan washes his hands, and then Lan Zhan returns to sit on the bed, pressing a warm, wet cloth to Wei Ying’s rapidly cooling skin.

Wei Ying shivers again as Lan Zhan wipes him clean, stroking the cloth gently across his chest, circling down over his stomach before dipping in between his legs. Wei Ying instinctively draws his knees up, his legs falling open, toes curling as Lan Zhan runs the cloth under his balls, finishing with a sweep over the length of Wei Ying’s cock. He listens to the rustling of fabric, his eyes fluttering open to see that Lan Zhan has removed his button-down and his undershirt. He shakes his slacks off his hips, then he divests himself of his underwear and socks, folding all the clothing and stacking it neatly on the stool beside the bed.

Wei Ying watches him blearily as Lan Zhan walks back to the sink and fills a glass with water, crossing the room to turn the lights off before circling back toward the bed. Wei Ying blinks into the darkness, his eyes adjusting quickly, Lan Zhan’s silhouette taking shape as he arrives beside the bed.

“Sit up,” Lan Zhan says, softly commanding, and Wei Ying struggles to lift himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Lan Zhan offers Wei Ying the water, waiting for Wei Ying to accept it before sitting down beside him and wrapping one arm tightly around Wei Ying’s shoulders. He holds Wei Ying steady as Wei Ying drinks, his other hand caressing Wei Ying’s thigh. When Wei Ying is finished, Lan Zhan takes the glass back, setting it down on the floor beside the bed. With that out of the way, Lan Zhan stands and scoops Wing Ying off the bed, hoisting him into a bridal carry as Wei Ying squeaks in surprise.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaims, his arms going tight around Lan Zhan’s neck. He presses close to Lan Zhan’s chest and flushes with embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

Lan Zhan ignores him, using one foot to kick back the comforter before lowering Wei Ying back down to the mattress. Wei Ying reluctantly uncurls his body as Lan Zhan lays him on the bed. He kisses both of Wei Ying’s hands after Wei Ying unclasps them from around Lan Zhan’s neck, and Wei Ying goes pliant once more, allowing Lan Zhan to arrange him against the pillow.

Lan Zhan climbs into bed beside him, pulling the comforter over them both. He turns to face Wei Ying and props himself up on his elbow, settling his other hand on Wei Ying’s chest and splaying his fingers over Wei Ying’s heart. His eyes are alive with the reflection of the city lights from the window, the steady glow of Shanghai at night illuminating his pupils in the dark.

Wei Ying watches Lan Zhan watch him, his heartbeat throbbing under Lan Zhan’s palm. His eyelids are beginning to feel heavy as exhaustion finally creeps in, all of his adrenaline draining away, leaving him soft and sleepy. Lan Zhan strokes his bangs back from his forehead and drops a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“Sleep,” Lan Zhan tells him, and Wei Ying lets his eyes drift shut, turning his face toward the sound of Lan Zhan’s voice.

“Will you hold me now?” Wei Ying murmurs, reaching out blindly, and Lan Zhan takes his wrist, guiding them both to roll over until Lan Zhan is flat on his back with Wei Ying lying prone across his chest. He wraps one arm around Wei Ying’s waist, tucking Wei Ying’s head beneath his chin and stroking down his back with the other hand.

Wei Ying sighs, melting into the heat of Lan Zhan’s body, the soothing motion of Lan Zhan’s hand caressing his back coaxing him toward slumber. Consciousness drifts away from him with the rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s chest, and soon, he is fast asleep, following the sound of Lan Zhan’s heartbeat down into his dreams.

---

Wei Ying blinks awake into the light of mid-morning, the rectangle of sunlight from the window already halfway up the wall. He’s alone in bed, the comforter tucked securely around him and the smell of fresh coffee wafting through the air. Slowly, he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Lan Zhan comes into focus, standing at the stove wearing his slacks and his undershirt, pouring a mug full of coffee. He returns to the side of the bed, picking his shirt up from the stool before setting the mug down in its place. He hangs the shirt over the top of the folded privacy screen, then he takes a seat on the bed, reaching out to stroke his fingers through the hair at the back of Wei Ying’s head.

“Good morning,” Lan Zhan says, his voice soft and smooth.

“Hi,” Wei Ying breathes out in response, leaning into Lan Zhan’s hand as it slips around to cradle his cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut and nuzzles into Lan Zhan’s palm, suddenly choked up with too much emotion, the memory of last night lapping over him like warm ocean waves.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, lifting Wei Ying’s chin until he opens his eyes.

Lan Zhan locks gazes with him, then he leans in and gently brushes their lips together, lingering just a breath away before pressing back in for a longer, firmer kiss. Wei Ying sinks into it, opening his mouth and letting Lan Zhan stroke their tongues together, exhaling with a soft sigh when Lan Zhan finally pulls back.

“Hi,” Wei Ying tries again, smiling a little this time. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“Why not?” Lan Zhan asks him, squeezing the back of Wei Ying’s neck.

“Because,” Wei Ying replies, voice cracking. “I didn’t know I wanted this. I didn’t think I could have it.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees. “Neither did I.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Wei Ying laments. “I can’t believe I thought you liked girls,” he says, cringing at his past self.

Lan Zhan lets out a huff of air, his mouth quirking slightly in amusement.

“An interesting conclusion to draw, yes,” Lan Zhan agrees. He takes Wei Ying’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing in reassurance.

“Did you always like me?” Wei Ying asks, voice curious but a little shy.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replies.

“Even in high school?” Wei Ying presses.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan confirms, eyes brimming with affection. “Even then, Wei Ying.”

“But I was so annoying!” Wei Ying laughs, flushed with a burst of giddy delight at Lan Zhan’s reply. “I was so desperate for your attention, but you always ignored me.”

“I certainly tried to,” Lan Zhan agrees. “I did not succeed.”

“I really am obsessed with you,” Wei Ying admits. “I guess I always have been. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it. It must have been really hard for you,” Wei Ying says ruefully. “Me being so oblivious, I mean.”

Lan Zhan drops his eyes to their intertwined fingers, nodding ever so slightly.

“It was difficult,” Lan Zhan allows. “I did not wish to force my feelings on you. I did not think you would welcome them.”

“Did you think I was straight?” Wei Ying asks.

“You thought you were straight,” Lan Zhan says, lifting his eyes and pinning Wei Ying in place with his stare. “That is what really mattered. I always suspected, and I always hoped, but it is not my place to tell you who you are, Wei Ying.”

“You’re allowed to tell me I’m an idiot, though,” Wei Ying says, flushing with a fresh wave of embarrassment. “I did think I was straight. It seems so silly—I’ve never even liked a girl! I just. I never really thought about it. Not until I had to,” Wei Ying confesses.

“And what do you think now?” Lan Zhan asks him gently.

“I think I just like you so much, I don’t care about anything else,” Wei Ying replies. “Which isn’t to say I’m not gay, because I think I must be. I mean, I liked what we did last night. I really liked it,” Wei Ying babbles, blushing furiously. “But the truth is, I really just want you. It can’t be anyone else but you.”

“I’m glad,” Lan Zhan says, lifting their joined hands to kiss the back of Wei Ying’s wrist. “Because I don’t intend to share you.”

“I should hope not!” Wei Ying cries. “I don’t want to share you, either.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, somewhat wry. “I suspected as much.”

Wei Ying groans, covering his eyes with his free hand. “I’m so sorry,” he says, unable to meet Lan Zhan’s amused gaze. “I was such a jealous asshole. I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s all right,” Lan Zhan soothes. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Don’t I?” Wei Ying asks, peeking through his fingers. “Is Mo Xuanyu really all right?”

“He’s fine,” Lan Zhan assures him. “The breakup was mutual, Wei Ying.”

“He’s really okay?” Wei Ying persists, dropping his hand and searching Lan Zhan’s face. “You didn’t break his heart?”

“I did not,” Lan Zhan replies. “He was disappointed,” Lan Zhan allows. “But he is not devastated.” He pauses for a moment, considering his next words. “I think he realized I was not truly available.”

“Because of me?” Wei Ying asks, his guilt surging.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan admits. “He told me I was infatuated with you,” Lan Zhan adds, his mouth twitching up in amusement.

“Are you?” Wei Ying perks up with hope.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “Utterly and completely.”

Wei Ying laughs, his eyes crinkling up in delight. His anxiety from the last few weeks begins to melt away, dissolving like frost on the first day of spring. He feels light and warm, happy and hopeful.

“So,” Wei Ying says, squeezing Lan Zhan’s fingers and scooting forward on the bed. “What now?” he asks.

“Whatever you want,” Lan Zhan replies, lifting his free hand to run his fingertips back and forth along the slope of Wei Ying’s collarbone.

“What if I just want to be stuck to you all day?” Wei Ying demands.

“I could arrange that,” Lan Zhan tells him, voice thick with desire, and Wei Ying feels his stomach do a backflip.

“What about all day, every day?” Wei Ying challenges. “Would you take me to the library?” Wei Ying quips.

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan allows, his eyes glinting with intent. “If you promised to keep quiet.”

Wei Ying feels a mischievous thrill shoot up his spine. He wonders how loudly he could moan with Lan Zhan’s thick cock weighing down his tongue, but he immediately flushes scarlet at the thought, surprised at his own lewd enthusiasm. Lan Zhan seems to notice, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Would you like that, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, voice low. “Tell me,” he says, releasing Wei Ying’s fingers and stroking both hands up the sides of Wei Ying’s neck. “What else do you want?”

Wei Ying's eyes go wide and pleading as his answer leaps immediately into his mind. He swallows heavily, his throat constricted all over again as he speaks.

“I just want to be the boy you like,” Wei Ying whispers.

Lan Zhan’s expression melts, his eyes going soft, his lips curling slightly into the hint of a smile.

“You are,” Lan Zhan breathes, cradling Wei Ying’s face between his hands. “Wei Ying. You’re my favourite.”

Wei Ying smiles, relief and joy gathering wetly at the corners of his eyes.

“Kiss me again,” Wei Ying demands, and Lan Zhan complies, tumbling a laughing Wei Ying back onto the bed, pressing him down and kissing him breathless.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls, wrapping his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist as Lan Zhan trails kisses down his neck. “Lan Zhan, I like you so much—”

Lan Zhan surges up to kiss him, swallowing the tip end of Wei Ying’s confession, sweeping the words out of Wei Ying’s mouth with his tongue. Wei Ying moans, and Lan Zhan gentles the kiss, eventually pulling back and pressing his lips to Wei Ying’s forehead.

“Mark your words,” Lan Zhan tells him, dropping another kiss at Wei Ying’s temple. “You said I could do whatever I wanted to you,” Lan Zhan reminds him, his voice laced with promise next to Wei Ying’s ear. “Shall I show you what I want?”

“Yes please,” Wei Ying shivers. “I’m all yours.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “You are.” He kisses Wei Ying on the cheek. “And I am going to keep you,” Lan Zhan declares, sealing their mouths together in another deep kiss.

Wei Ying breaks the kiss by smiling too widely, laughing against Lan Zhan’s lips.

“Yes please,” Wei Ying repeats, his laughter subsiding as his voice trails off into a whisper.

They kiss until the coffee grows cold. Wei Ying feels bad about wasting it, but Lan Zhan refuses to let him drink old coffee. He watches Lan Zhan make another pot, sitting quietly at the kitchen table, dressed in nothing but his underwear and Lan Zhan’s button-down.

“You should drink more ginger tea, as well,” Lan Zhan tells him, handing Wei Ying the fresh mug of coffee.

“I will if you make it for me,” Wei Ying quips, batting his eyelashes, but Lan Zhan doesn’t miss a beat, handing him a second steaming mug.

“You already made it?” Wei Ying laughs. “How am I supposed to drink two things at once?”

“The tea will take much longer to cool off,” Lan Zhan points out. “Drink the coffee first.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying smiles, overwhelmed by affection.

Wei Ying drinks his coffee, then his tea, and then Lan Zhan insists on taking him to lunch, determined to feed Wei Ying some proper soup for his cold. Wei Ying isn’t feeling the slightest bit sick anymore, but he lets Lan Zhan take care of him anyway. He leans into Lan Zhan’s side as they walk back to the apartment, Lan Zhan’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist.

“Say, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying calls, struck by a sudden thought.

“Hmm?” Lan Zhan hums.  

“Is it really okay for us to be like this in public?” Wei Ying asks.

“Are you worried about that?” Lan Zhan frowns.

“No,” Wei Ying assures him. “Not exactly. It’s just, I was so sure you didn’t like to be touched, and here I am, clinging to you like a barnacle in broad daylight,” he explains. “It’s a little hypocritical of me, don’t you think?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan sighs at him, but his tone is fond.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Wei Ying soldiers on. “So, if you need me to be less clingy in public, I can stop—"

Lan Zhan abruptly comes to a halt, spinning Wei Ying around with a yank on his elbow. He pulls Wei Ying flush against his chest, kissing him deeply, one hand pressed into the small of Wei Ying’s back, the other hand resting heavily on the nape of Wei Ying’s neck. The unceasing flow of sidewalk traffic bends around them, people darting by in annoyance or bustling past with indifference.

“Don’t stop,” Lan Zhan breathes across Wei Ying’s lips. “Wei Ying. Don’t ever stop.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying gets out, his voice as unsteady as his knees. “I won’t.” He presses a soft kiss to Lan Zhan’s cheek. “I promise.”

Wei Ying takes Lan Zhan’s hand, their fingers intertwining, and together, they make their way home.

Fin