Chapter Text
“Welcome to Yiling!” Wei Wuxian called out absently, most of his focus on decorating the latte in front of him, carefully giving the rabbit he was drawing there an actual expression, complete with a nose that gave the appearance of wriggling. It was not easy, considering he was doing it in foam, but Wei Wuxian loved a challenge, and he took particular joy in making his customers gasp with delight with his creations.
Wei Wuxian had never imagined he’d grow up to own a café. He thought about that sometimes – tried very hard not to think about it in other times – when he turned on the coffee machine in the morning, or while he was stocking up the dessert fridge with Wen Ning’s creations, or when he was putting down the chairs from where they stacked them on the tables at night so they could clean more easily after closing.
He thought about it sometimes when he opened Yiling Café’s doors to its customers for the day, when he was putting his art skills to use by ridiculously decorating someone’s latte, when he was laughing and chatting with his regulars – he’d never imagined owning a café. Now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Of course, he owned a café. He finished off the little bunny with a flourish, grinning at his customer brightly as she laughed, and he bent down closer to the counter so she could take a picture of him with it.
“That’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said with a laugh of her own. “It’s definitely going down as the fanciest latte I’ve ever had. Might even be better than the bird you drew for me last week. Thanks, Yiling Laozu.”
He’d also never imagined, Wei Wuxian thought as he went back to the counter, that he’d end up with giggling girls calling him anything like laozu.
The honest truth was, for a while, he’d never really imagined a future for himself – at least, not one that he could have really controlled. He’d just figured he’d go wherever he needed to go, do whatever he needed to do, be whatever his family needed him to be. It was the least he’d owed them, considering they’d given him a home, safety and security, everything he’d ever needed growing up. He’d been ready to be the dutiful son.
And then, for a short while, he’d imagined nothing – just surviving to the end of the day. Thankfully, that was only for a very short while.
After that, he’d gone back to never really imagining a future.
When he’d found this place – or, rather, when he’d first stumbled into it, sixteen years old, broke (and broken) and hungry and desperate – it had been nothing more than an old, run-down family teahouse that was barely holding it together. Somehow, for some reason, the little family that had lived here had taken pity on him, had taken him in and given him food, a roof over his head, a job – and finally, a family.
Now that little tea house was Yiling Café, a locally famous but mostly out-of-the-way place where a niche group of students liked to hang out, a must-visit for all those who liked particularly complicated latte art, and a curiosity for those who liked the eclectic blend of styles that couldn’t quite be labelled, furniture that didn’t quite match, and a truly unique combination of art on the wall that couldn’t quite be described.
Instagrammable, hipster, indie – whatever anyone might call it, Wei Wuxian had put everything he could into making Yiling into what it was today – dedicated his heart and soul and body to creating the most perfect place he could as a tribute to the love and the life the little mismatched family he’d found here had given him so unconditionally.
He might never have imagined owning a café, but now that he owned part of Yiling Café – now that he was very much a part of the family that owned Yiling – Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
Which was also a bit of a lie, he supposed, because he could imagine himself doing something else. This – running Yiling during the day, doing a combination of night and online classes whenever he could, finding time to paint whenever possible, and all the rest of the responsibilities he juggled – was not even close to the future he’d thought he’d have or the life he’d once lived.
Then again, that was a long time ago, and Wei Wuxian tried hard to live in the moment and not think about what-ifs or to let himself dwell too much on what could have been. Life hadn’t gone the way he’d thought it would go, and here he was, living a new life, working towards new dreams.
That was why his name ringing through the café in a voice that was distinctly one from his past came as such a surprise to him.
He’d been working on decorating his customer’s cappuccino when the bell above the door rang, and he’d called out, “Welcome to Yiling!” as usual – absently, and without real focus, because he was trying to get the whiskers on the cat he was drawing just right – and then….
“Wei Ying.”
His hand started to shake. He forced himself to finish the slightly-less-than-perfect piece of latte art, plastered on a smile as he handed it over to the girl – and then, very, very slowly, he turned to the door.
He was still staring at Lan Wangji – Lan Zhan – standing there, framed by the rainbow faux-stained glass of Yiling’s front door, eyes wide with surprise, when Lan Zhan said again, “Wei Ying.”
And Wei Wuxian smiled, bright and brilliant, pushing away any other thoughts – any other memories – to just bask in the happiness – the improbability – of actually seeing Lan Zhan again – of Lan Zhan being here, in a university district, in the middle of the city.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, laughing, shifting to wipe his hands on his apron and come around the counter towards him. “Oh my god, it’s really you. What are you doing here?”
“I… getting tea?” Lan Zhan said, the inflection in his voice making it sound like a question. Wei Wuxian laughed again, reaching over to take his hands and squeeze them softly – Lan Zhan, here, in his shop! – before letting go quickly. Lan Zhan had never liked to be touched – not by strangers, in any case. Wei Wuxian didn’t think he’d fit into Lan Zhan’s exceptions anymore. He'd lost that particular right years ago.
“Getting tea,” Wei Wuxian repeated, laughing again, trying not to let his smile dim at the thought. He laced his fingers together behind him instead to stop the urge to reach out and touch Lan Zhan again – check if he was really here, if he was real. “Oh god, it’s been – what? – ten years and you’re here getting tea. Incredible.”
“Nine years,” Lan Zhan corrected him, and then, “Wei Ying, you – you’re here.”
Wei Wuxian grinned, gesturing around him. “Yep. This is Yiling. It’s only partially mine, but it is basically mine and – “
“WEI WUXIAN!” Wei Wuxian froze, wincing, turning away from Lan Zhan – only for Lan Zhan to grab his wrist, grip tight.
“Just a – ” Wei Wuxian tried to turn back to say, but was interrupted by a loud thump as the door to the kitchen shut, and Wen Qing stormed out.
“Where the fuck is my coffee?” she demanded. She came to a dead stop in front of him, staring down at where Lan Zhan was still gripping his wrist. She gave him a narrow-eyed and slightly-too perceptive look. “Why the fuck are you holding that boy’s hand instead of making me coffee?”
Lan Zhan let go of his wrist like it burned.
“Yes, yes, ma’am,” Wei Wuxian said with a huff, turning to Lan Zhan, he said, “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll get you that tea – just – don’t go anywhere, okay?”
“Okay,” Lan Zhan answered, walking over to stand by the counter. Wei Wuxian gave Wen Qing a pointed look as he passed – one that she masterfully ignored. He continued to try to give her pointed looks as he rounded the counter and started on her coffee, but she was incredibly determined and probably far too used to his glaring for it to have much effect.
“You know Wei Wuxian?” she asked, sidling up to Lan Zhan, as if she didn’t know the history better than almost anyone who hadn’t been there with him when it had happened. As if Wei Wuxian wasn’t still sentimental enough to have those ridiculous little polaroid strips they’d taken together taped up by his desk, or pictures of Lan Zhan still carefully saved, or ridiculous pieces of art so clearly inspired by Lan Zhan that Wei Wuxian wasn’t even sure he could sell them.
As if she’d never walked in on him crying his eyes out on their ridiculously old sofa after going to one of Lan Wangji’s concerts, the ticket and program still carefully held in his hands.
You know Wei Wuxian, indeed. Oh no, she had no idea who Lan Wangji was to Wei Wuxian at all.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, not really glancing over at her. He was still staring at Wei Wuxian. It was getting a little hard to ignore just how intently he was staring. Wei Wuxian fought the urge to tap his foot as he waited for the expresso shots to finish so he could dump them into Wen Qing’s tumbler and send her away.
“You’re that classical composer-slash-musician-slash-socialite-slash-whatever else you are though, aren’t you?” Lan Zhan nodded once. It was… a fair description of him, actually. It was really quite hard to pinpoint exactly what label Lan Wangji fell under, but Wei Wuxian suspected the average human being probably didn’t know as much as this about Lan Wangji.
He hoped Lan Zhan didn’t think Wen Qing was some kind of stalker or something – even though that would be really hilarious; he’d love to see her reaction to that sort of assumption. It just so happened that she lived with him and just –
He wasn’t a stalker either. Not really, anyway. “Right,” she continued. “So how do you know our Wei Wuxian?”
“Goodbye, Wen Qing,” Wei Wuxian said pointedly, shoving her tumbler at her. “Go to class before you’re late.”
She gave him a pointed look. He gave it right back at her. Eventually – this time – she lost. Mostly because she was going to end up really late if she didn’t leave, but Wei Wuxian would take whatever victories he could.
Wei Wuxian started on the green tea. “Don’t mind her,” he said to Lan Zhan, offering him another smile, even though he was only met with that intense gaze. No indication whatsoever of what was going on inside his mind. Wei Wuxian felt another momentary pang of sadness at that; once upon a time, he would have known what Lan Zhan was thinking, what was behind that inscrutable look.
Once upon a time.
He’d lost that particular privilege too.
He finished making the tea, sprinkled a small rabbit on the top of the foam with some matcha powder and slid the cup over, glancing up at the short intake of breath from Lan Zhan. “I – it’s a green tea macchiato,” he explained, not entirely certain how to interpret the breath. “Er – I… it’s – is that how you still prefer green tea? I mean, I can make you just a regular one if you – I mean, I just assumed –”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly, cutting Wei Wuxian off. “It’s fine.”
Wei Wuxian smiled at him, wide and happy, and waved him away when he tried to pay. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You walk into my café – I’m definitely treating you to a drink! It’s been so long….” He gestured to a table, following Lan Zhan there, setting the tea down in front of him and dropping onto the seat opposite him. He couldn’t believe Lan Zhan was here – couldn’t take his eyes off him.
The beautiful boy he’d known had truly grown up into the most ethereal man Wei Wuxian had ever seen. He’d known he was beautiful – he’d seen him on the news, all over social media, in pictures – seen him from the nosebleed seats of a really fancy theatre – but he hadn’t seen him up close in so long, and he was even more beautiful than Wei Wuxian could have imagined.
“Tell me,” he said because just sitting there staring was… stupid. Unprofessional. Not allowed. Not anymore. “How have you been? Apart from buying tea, what are you doing here? I mean, what are you doing in the city? Especially this part of the city!”
“Working,” Lan Zhan said, sipping at the green tea with an appreciative hum. “Uncle is setting up a community performance center nearby as part of our outreach program. There will be a concert, and an exclusive camp on the new facilities to raise more funds.”
“Ah! So generous, Lan Zhan! Always giving back to the community. You’ve always been so kind; I shouldn’t be surprised.”
There was a moment of silence before Lan Zhan asked, sounding almost tentative, “And you?”
Wei Wuxian gestured around him. “This is my café,” he said. “Or, well, I co-own it with Wen Qing – that’s the utterly terrifying woman you just met – and her family.”
Something flashed across Lan Zhan’s eyes – only for a moment, and then it’s smoothed away again. “Oh.”
“She’s actually a med student so she’s not here that much. It’s usually just me and her brother, Wen Ning, because the Grandma who ran this place and the old uncle that used to are both a little too old now, and they spend most of their time taking care of A-Yuan.” He knew he was rambling – and god, Lan Zhan probably didn’t even care about how this place was run. He’d just been asking to be polite, but Wei Wuxian had never been very good at getting his mouth under control. “So yeah, it’s mostly me out here, Wen Ning in the kitchen and – “
The door opened, bell jingling, and he had just enough time to stand up before A-Yuan was attached to his leg. Grandma walked in slowly and serenely after him.
“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said, laughing. “You’re just in time.” Carefully, he turned him around so he could look up at Lan Zhan. “This is Lan Zhan. He’s an old friend of mine.”
“From the pictures!” A-Yuan said happily, still clinging to Wei Wuxian’s leg. “He’s prettier than in your pictures.”
Wei Wuxian felt something like horror starting to creep up on him. “Ah, well – er – um – Grandma,” he said, shifting around so he could thrust A-Yuan in her general direction. “Could you please – “
“But Xian-ge,” A-Yuan whined, still clinging tightly to his leg. “I want to talk to your pretty friend.”
“Later,” Wei Wuxian said hurriedly. “I – “A-Yuan detached himself before Wei Wuxian could protest, and instead, clung to Lan Zhan’s leg. “A-Yuan.”
“No,” he insisted, trying to climb into Lan Zhan’s lap without letting him go. “I want to stay.”
“Ah, Lan Zhan – I’m so – “
But Lan Zhan was already moving, shifting the teacup and making space for A-Yuan to climb up and settle, giving Wei Wuxian an incredibly smug little grin. Wei Wuxian was going to have Words with Wen Qing and Wen Ning because, holy shit, where did the child learn to be that devious?
“It’s okay,” Lan Zhan said, wrapping one arm around A-Yuan’s waist to keep him from slipping. “Let him sit.”
“I – ” The bell above the door rang again, signaling a customer, and Wei Wuxian cursed. “Ah, Welcome to Yiling!” he called out, turning to wave at the customer, before giving Lan Zhan a sheepish smile. “I’ve got to – are you sure A-Yuan isn’t bothering you?”
“He’s fine,” Lan Zhan repeated again, serenely reaching around A-Yuan for the tea.
“I’m fine,” A-Yuan repeated, beaming at Wei Wuxian – and wow, wow. This child is possibly evil.
Hesitantly, but very, very aware that he had customers waiting, Wei Wuxian returned to the counter to take the orders. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see A-Yuan talking to Lan Zhan, chatting happily. And Lan Zhan, far from looking uncomfortable or upset or put upon, actually looked completely relaxed and natural.
Oh god, what was the little monster telling Lan Zhan? What secrets was he spilling right this minute? He was now abruptly aware that they’d somehow raised the child to be friendly – but was it really appropriate? Was A-Yuan like this with everyone, or was it just the fact that he recognised Lan Zhan from Wei Wuxian’s pictures – and oh god, he recognised Lan Zhan from Wei Wuxian’s pictures – what was he saying?
He didn’t realise exactly how distracted he was until he slid a cup of coffee over to the waiting customer. “Laozu,” she said, a soft whine in her voice. “Please could you decorate it?”
“Ah – ah, yes!” Wei Wuxian said, a little too loudly. She was one of their regulars, and he knew he needed to get his head in the game or people would start wondering why he was being so weird. “Sorry, sorry. Head’s all over the place. I have a test coming up soon,” he said, looking back, giving her a warmer smile as he decorated her latte, adding more of a flourish than usual to make up for the lack of attention initially. “It’s on my mind.”
“Oh, no – yeah, me too,” she answered, sighing. “I’m going to fail.”
“No you aren’t!” he said, reaching for his notepad. He gave her a wink, drew a silly little sketch of a small frog and a good luck banner, and passed it to her. “For luck,” he said – and ignored her blush.
“Ah, Wei Wuxian,” she said, laughing. “I could sell this for a lot of money.”
“A little bit of money,” he said, and gave her a small pout. “But I drew it just for you. The luck charm will only work for you.”
She giggled. “Of course,” she said, tucking it away in her bag. “I’d better keep it safe then.”
Part of the reason Yiling was so popular, according to Grandma, despite Wei Wuxian’s incompetence (excuse you, he was a great cook) in the kitchen was because of Wei Wuxian’s charm – and it wasn’t that Wei Wuxian did it on purpose or anything, but if being nice and kind and considerate to people was really considered flirting (Wen Qing insisted it was), then it didn’t exactly do any harm. It brought in business, after all.
He glanced back at Lan Zhan as he felt eyes on him, found him watching Wei Wuxian with an unreadable expression on his face, and Wei Wuxian gave him a bright smile right back, feeling his heart clench as he watched the way A-Yuan was playing with the ribbon holding his hair in a ponytail, and Lan Zhan just… letting him.
Wei Wuxian really didn’t think his heart could take such a perfect sight. It was just far, far too close to his deepest dreams – the ones he’d never even dared to think about in daylight – ones where Lan Zhan forgave him and he got to see his family again.
Lan Zhan stayed for longer than Wei Wuxian expected him to, sitting quietly and seemingly quite content to play with A-Yuan, who kept his interest in “Zhan-ge” for much longer than Wei Wuxian had been expecting.
Apparently, today was just going to be all about defying expectations or something. Maybe the world was playing a huge joke on Wei Wuxian.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to Lan Zhan for about the twentieth time as A-Yuan still refused to let Wei Wuxian take him back to Wen Ning, clinging to Lan Zhan’s cardigan stubbornly. In front of him, on the table alongside Lan Zhan’s second cup of green tea, was a passable drawing of what might be a person – potentially Lan Zhan, judging by the white cardigan – playing a qin, which was a little too well-drawn to have been done by a four year old child, next to a man in black and red playing a flute, which was definitely drawn by a four year-old. It looked scarily like a post-modern interpretation of something Wei Wuxian had upstairs in the apartment.
A-Yuan was finishing the drawing with helpful labels – Zhan-ge - Xian-ge – and even some helpful arrows in the appropriate places.
“How does he know I play the qin?” Lan Zhan asked, when Wei Wuxian finally slid down into the seat opposite him, customers all served and settled for the moment.
“Er –”
“The pictures upstairs!” A-Yuan answered helpfully. Seriously – seriously – where did he learn to be like this? A-Yuan gave Lan Zhan an angelic smile, and then turned it on Wei Wuxian as well. Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.
“The pictures?” Lan Zhan asked. He wasn’t looking at A-Yuan; he was looking straight at Wei Wuxian.
“I’ve been following your career,” Wei Wuxian finally had to admit, because he couldn’t exactly deny it, all things considered. “It’s – it’s impressive.” He put on a bright smile and looked up to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze. “The great Hanguang Jun – Lan Wangji – who basically single-handedly revived classical Chinese music and brought it into pop culture.” His smile softened into something more real because… well, this part, at least – this was true. “It’s amazing, what you’ve done.”
“You’ve… you’ve followed my career?” Lan Zhan asked, and it might have been Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he thought he heard a small bit of surprise in Lan Zhan’s voice.
“Of course,” Wei Wuxian said, flashing him another smile. “Didn’t I always say you’d be famous one day?”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, and Wei Wuxian felt his stomach flutter – god, it had been so long since anyone had called him that. He didn’t even notice Lan Zhan covering his hand with his own, grip tight. “This place – back then – “
Lan Zhan’s phone rang. Wei Wuxian glanced over it, spotted Uncle flashing on the screen, a picture of the Lans together as the background, remembered he’s destroying Wangji and go home, Wei Wuxian – and carefully pulled his hand away. He didn’t dare meet Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“You should get that,” he said, still looking at A-Yuan’s drawing rather than anything else. He really couldn’t bring himself to look at Lan Zhan.
“Wei Ying….”
“You used to get into so much trouble when you didn’t answer their calls.” When you were with me, Wei Wuxian thought, stomach twisting painfully at the memories that recalled. God, he tried so hard to not remember them – the painful parts, the regret – to only remember the happiest times, the happiest memories, not let it be tainted by the hurt and the longing. But now, with all this – with Lan Zhan in front of him, with his uncle calling him on the phone, with the picture right there on the screen - all those emotions were right here now.
“Wei Ying.” He refused to move, refused to look up, refused to continue the conversation – afraid he’d give too much away – just sat there, eyes down, until Lan Zhan sighed and picked up the phone. “Uncle….”
Wei Wuxian picked up the empty cup from Lan Zhan’s table, moving away to put it into the sink and give him privacy for the conversation with his uncle. He swore he could still feel the warmth of Lan Zhan’s hand on his, fingers wrapped tight around his own.
“I have to go,” came from behind him as he finished washing the glasses in the sink. He turned around, plastering the usual smile onto his features as he finally looked at Lan Zhan again. He was carrying A-Yuan, shifting to settle him onto his hip, obviously waiting for Wei Wuxian to come around to take him. A-Yuan was clinging, misery in every line of his body.
“Zhan-ge, you won’t stay for dinner?” he asked, voice small and plaintiff. Wei Wuxian hurried around the counter, drying his hands on his apron again.
“A-Yuan,” he scolded. “Lan Zhan has his own dinner waiting.”
“But I want him to stay for dinner,” A-Yuan all but wailed, clinging tighter. “Then you’d be happy, and you wouldn’t have to hide your sadness away anymore. I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”
“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said again, helpless and a little angry and just so confused. He took A-Yuan from Lan Zhan, shaking his head, addressing Lan Zhan instead of the clinging child, who finally came easily enough. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s got into him. Kids, you know? I just –”
Lan Zhan’s hand curled around his wrist, where he was holding A-Yuan up, stopping his words. Slowly, he looked up to meet Lan Zhan’s eyes.
“I’ll come back,” Lan Zhan said quietly, words solemn as any promise.
Wei Wuxian could only swallow hard and nod, completely unable to find any words to reply – couldn’t do anything but stare into Lan Zhan’s eyes. They were firm, serious, full of emotions that Wei Wuxian didn’t have time – and didn’t have the concentration – to actually decipher.
“I’ll come back soon,” he said again, before letting go of Wei Wuxian and walking out of the door.
Wei Wuxian stood there, still staring after him, A-Yuan clinging to his neck. He felt A-Yuan’s head turn, then, noticing Lan Zhan was gone, eased back to grin at Wei Wuxian. “He’ll be back,” he said triumphantly, looking so incredibly pleased with himself that Wei Wuxian had to laugh.
“Oh my god, A-Yuan,” he said, spluttering, still laughing as he bounced A-Yuan on his hip. “I can’t believe – you sneaky little…. ah, what am I supposed to do with you?”
“Thank me?” A-Yuan giggled happily, settling against Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian had to shake his head.
“You are definitely evil. Who taught you to be like that, huh?”
Another soft giggle, and Wei Wuxian felt small fingers tugging at his ribbon. “You did.” It shocked another laugh from Wei Wuxian.
“Ah, A-Yuan….” He let out a soft sigh, looking back at the door, shaking his head a little. He wondered if, after everything, Lan Zhan would really come back – if he’d be allowed back, if he’d even care whether he was or not. Then again, why would he? Why could he possibly want to see Wei Wuxian again?
A small hand rested lightly on his cheek, pulling his attention away from the door and back to A-Yuan in his arms. The boy’s eyes were solemn. “He’ll come back,” he said quietly. “So you don’t have to miss him anymore, okay, Xian-ge?”
Wei Wuxian tried to smile back, turning to kiss A-Yuan’s palm softly. “Okay, A-Yuan.” He looked back at the door again, not letting the wistful sigh escape him. He felt the sigh in his very soul though.
If only it were that easy, A-Yuan. If only.
But he’d learned nine years ago that things were never that easy – not in the real world.
--
He stands in front of the Lan’s house, up against the immovable force of Lan Xichen.
“Please,” he says, voice shaking. “Please. I can explain. Just – please let me explain.”
Lan Xichen doesn’t move. “He doesn’t want to hear it,” he says, voice calm – but there’s ice in the tone, and Wei Wuxian has to remember that despite all the gentle kindness he’s received from Lan Xichen in the past, when it comes to his baby brother, there is no give, no understanding.
“Please,” Wei Wuxian continues trying because it’s too important. He needs to say it, needs to make Lan Zhan understand – or even if he won’t, he doesn’t, he needs to apologise.
“He doesn’t want to hear it,” Lan Xichen says again. “Go home, Wei Wuxian.”
Wei Wuxian swallows hard, blinking back tears, shoulders dropping. “I – please,” he says again, and hears Lan Xichen’s sigh.
“Go home.”
He nods once. “Just… please,” he breathes to keep from sobbing. “Please tell him I’m sorry.”
He hears the door click shut. As he leaves, he takes one look back, hoping to get any kind of glimpse of Lan Zhan, but there’s not even a shadow in the window.
He goes home to angry voices in the living room.
“He’s a disgrace,” Lan Qiren says. “An utter disgrace. This is one prank gone too far, and I have had enough of it. This – this is beyond anything. It’s destroying Wangji. He’s destroying Wangji. If you do not control him….”
“I will resolve this,” Yu Ziyuan promises, and Wei Wuxian barely manages to dodge out of the way as Lan Qiren comes storming out. He gives Wei Wuxian the dirtiest glare he’s ever seen and brushes past him without another word.
Yu Ziyuan follows, her own look telling Wei Wuxian to stay right where he was. Once the door shuts behind Lan Qiren, she turns around and glares at him, then sniffs once.
“Pack your things,” she says quietly, firmly.
Wei Wuxian feels his entire world stop. “What?”
“You heard me,” she says. “Pack your damn things and leave. You have brought enough shame on this family.”
“Ziyuan,” he hears Jiang Fengmian say behind her, but he’s staring at her, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
“No,” she says. She doesn’t look away from him. “You heard Lan Qiren. You heard what he did. That is unacceptable – and you have indulged him enough. Either he leaves,” she says, “or I do. And I’ll take A-Cheng and A-Li with me.”
“I’ll leave,” Wei Wuxian says, because what else can he say to that?
“A-Xian…” Jieng Fengmian starts to say, but he’s cut off by his wife.
“Tonight,” she says. “Leave tonight.”
Jiang Cheng is crying as Wei Wuxian zips up the bag, hands shaking, breathing too fast, too hard, and it’s all Wei Wuxian can do to keep from screaming. He doesn’t understand how this is happening, doesn’t understand how it’s come to this, but his room is… it’s clear of everything important, everything he can carry, everything that will fit into the one bag he has to take with him.
Everything else – his life, his dreams, his family – he’s leaving it behind.
Jiang Cheng clings. “I’ll talk to her,” he says. “Wei Wuxian – I’m sorry – I’ll – I’ll talk to her, I’ll –”
Wei Wuxian hugs him back. Quietly, he slips him a letter, folded into the shape of a rabbit. He tries for a watery smile, but thinks it probably looks more like a grimace. “Can you –”
Jiang Cheng’s hand shakes. “You still want to write to him? After this?”
“Please?” Wei Wuxian says quietly, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Just make sure he gets it?”
“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says again, trying to hold on. “A-Xian – I –”
Wei Wuxian sees Yu Ziyuan on the stairs behind him, face showing only impatience. He extracts himself from Jiang Cheng carefully and starts down the stairs. She hands him a small envelope.
“My husband wants you to have this,” she says, and then she walks away.
Jiang Cheng is still crying when he leaves. He doesn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to his shijie.
He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he’s already miles away, standing on his own at the last stop of the bus, in the middle of a city he doesn’t know, completely and utterly alone.
--
Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting anything – he wasn’t really expecting Lan Zhan to come back, wasn’t expecting anything close to forgiveness or friendship or – well, his presence at all. That meeting had been an accident, and Lan Zhan had probably just been too polite to leave right away. He’d always been too polite for his own good, really, putting up with Wei Wuxian all the time when they were younger, even when Wei Wuxian had probably annoyed the shit out of him.
Probably too polite, didn’t want to cause a scene, especially with A-Yuan determinedly clinging to him the way he was. Lan Zhan had always been nice to children too, so he’d probably just not wanted to disappoint him.
Wei Wuxian kept telling himself this as he opened up the next day. Don’t expect. Don’t hope.
He’d learned, within that first month after being thrown out, that hope hurt more than just dealing with it – just accepting the truth for what it was. He’d hoped then, those first few months – when his phone was still connected, and there had still been a way for his family to reach out to him – that they would. That father – Jiang Fengmian, not his father – would reach out, would call him and tell him… something. Ask him to come home. Tell him he was forgiven.
He’d hoped, he’d half expected it – especially when he’d still get tearful phone calls from Jiang Yanli and assurances from Jiang Cheng – he hadn’t thought… he hadn’t planned for it all to stop.
But when the phone line had been disconnected, his bills unpaid and overdue, there had been no real way for A-Li or A-Cheng to reach him then, and he knew Yu Ziyuan wanted it that way. That’s when he’d learned to stop hoping.
The more you expected, the worse the hurt became – so it was best to just not expect anything. Then, everything that happened came as a surprise. It was much better that way.
That was also the reason he was most definitely surprised when Lan Zhan walked into the café a little after the lunch rush had died down. He stepped through the door, wearing jeans, a white shirt and a light blue cardigan, his hair tied up, white ribbon streaming behind him, and Wei Wuxian almost choked on his customary, “Welcome to Yiling!”
It was hard enough to believe Lan Zhan was even here – but here and looking, if possible, even better than he had yesterday…. It was entirely possible that Wei Wuxian was still sleeping and this was a dream, or this was a hallucination brought on by too many emotions.
But no – no, that was definitely Lan Zhan, giving Wei Wuxian a curious look.
“Ah – ah, Lan Zhan!” he said, beaming, trying to cover up just how flustered he was by the man’s very appearance. God, how was it possible he looked so good? “Green tea macchiato? Have you had lunch? We’re doing a really nice Greek salad today, and luckily for you, I wasn’t in charge of making it. There’s also some nice pastries, which I had a part in making, and also this!” He pulled out a bunny cupcake. “Which I also made.”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “No, and that sounds good.”
Wei Wuxian blinked. God, did Lan Zhan even sound better than he had yesterday too? Or is this all part of this weird hallucination that Wei Wuxian was most definitely suffering. “Er. So that’s… green tea macchiato… and no salad?”
“No, I haven’t had lunch,” Lan Zhan said patiently. “The salad sounds good, as does the cupcake. Thank you.”
“Ai, no – no, don’t just – er – just, sit down?” Wei Wuxian offered, laughing to cover up his nervousness. “Let me just – I’ll bring everything to you, okay? Sit, sit.”
Lan Zhan was really here. Ordering lunch. He’d really come back, just as he’d promised he would. Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite wrap his head around it, hands shaking just a little as he made the coffee. He almost couldn’t find the voice to call into the kitchen for Wen Ning to bring out the salad, and just barely managed to bring over the tea and the cupcake without dropping anything.
“Here,” he said, setting it down in front of Lan Zhan. “Salad’s just coming.” He bit his lower lip, unsure, sitting down across from Lan Zhan. There weren’t any other customers yet – he could… he could enjoy this, just for a bit. “You came back.”
“I said I would,” Lan Zhan said quietly, reaching for the tea. His eyes never left Wei Wuxian’s. After a moment, he frowned, almost imperceptibly – but Wei Wuxian was watching him closely enough to notice. “You didn’t think I’d come?”
“Oh – no, it’s not – It’s just been a really long time,” Wei Wuxian said, a little breathless by the intense gaze. “I wasn’t sure….”
“It’s been a really long time,” Lan Zhan agreed, setting the cup down and making as if to reach for Wei Wuxian’s hand again, just as he had yesterday. “Wei Ying….”
“Lunch,” Wen Ning said from beside the table, suddenly appearing, sliding the plate right between them. Wei Wuxian started; he hadn’t even noticed Wen Ning approaching, and drew his hand away with a soft laugh.
Lan Zhan turned his glance up to Wen Ning, and said very politely, “thank you.” Wen Ning nodded but didn’t move.
“Oh! This is – Lan Zhan, this is Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian introduced. “Wen Ning – Lan Wangji – he’s –”
“Your friend from before,” Wen Ning agreed. “Jiejie told me.”
That – immediately – made Wei Wuxian suspicious. He narrowed his eyes at Wen Ning again, but he seemed completely unmoved by the hints Wei Wuxian was trying to throw. They sat there – or stood there, in Wen Ning’s case – awkwardly silent until, finally, the bell on the door rang as it opened, and Wei Wuxian was forced to turn his attention away.
“Welcome to Yiling,” he called out, waving at the small group of people who’d just entered. “I’ll be right with you.” He looked back at Lan Zhan and smiled at him, soft and apologetic. “Enjoy lunch. I’ll be back.”
He got up and went to the counter, looking back at the table – the same table as yesterday, the one in the corner, nearest the paintings of lotus pond that Wei Wuxian had painted there in a fit of homesickness – and fought the urge to go back over there.
Wen Ning was saying something to Lan Zhan, too low to be overheard, and Lan Zhan’s face was giving absolutely nothing away. He made the coffees, attention still on the pair, extricating himself from the customers for a moment as he saw Wen Ning walk away. He grabbed his wrist before he could go into the kitchen, leaning in close.
“Wen Ning,” he said, quiet and firm. “What did you say to him?”
Wen Ning looked over, the perfect picture of innocence. “I was just talking to him about the café,” he said, but Wei Wuxian was finding it increasingly difficult to believe him.
“Wen Ning,” he said again.
“That’s all!” Wen Ning said, not quite meeting his eyes. “And complimenting his music, seeing as you play it constantly.”
Wei Wuxian’s grip tightened, pulling Wen Ning closer. “Wen Ning,” he said again, gentle. “It’s – it was never his fault, okay? I know what Wen Qing thinks but – it was me. I – It was never his fault.”
Wen Ning smiled at him, soft and easy, twisting out of his grip easily. He patted Wei Wuxian’s arm gently, and then quietly slipped away back to the kitchen.
Wei Wuxian glanced up to find Lan Zhan watching them. He gave Lan Zhan a reassuring smile – or what he hoped was a reassuring smile, he wasn’t entire sure he had full control of his body right now considering the stress everyone he knew was apparently trying to heave onto it – and waved, then turned back to finish with the customers.
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, slipping a couple of cookies onto a plate as he finished the coffees. “Treat on the house for the delay.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lan Zhan pulling out a laptop and settling with it in front of him as he ate.
Lan Zhan…. Lan Zhan was staying. Despite everything Wei Wuxian tried to do, he felt hope – a traitorous, tiny, spark of that unwanted want – rise inside him.
It doesn’t mean anything, he tried to tell himself, eyes sliding over to where Lan Zhan was still sitting, tapping at the keys on his computer, looking completely focused on whatever it was on the screen. It doesn’t mean…. He’s just… he’s here. And that was what Wei Wuxian couldn’t get passed – that was one reason the hope refused to die again. Lan Zhan was here. He could have chosen to go anywhere, but he’d chosen to come here, where Wei Wuxian was.
Maybe, he traitorous part of him whispered, it means he’s forgiven me.
He heard the frustrated, almost silent huff as he went by the table a little later. “Refill?” he asked, reaching for the empty cup.
Lan Zhan looked up at him, lips curling up into a tiny smile. “Please.”
He heard the frustrated huff again when he came back with the refill, noticed the tiny shift in his expression that he was quite sure meant Lan Zhan was glaring at the screen. He put the cup down and slid into the seat opposite him once more, waiting until Lan Zhan looked up, a little sheepish at being caught emoting, probably.
“Everything all right?”
Lan Zhan sighed and turned the screen around, indicating for Wei Wuxian to look at it. It took him a moment to actually realise what he was looking at.
“Is that the artwork for the concert?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s… that’s. Something is really wrong with that.” It was… it was quite hideous, really. “Did you hire a professional for this?”
If Wei Wuxian sounded incredulous, it was because he really was. He’d seen work from some of the art students in the area and some amateurs on the internet who could do better than the… the atrocity on Lan Zhan’s screen.
“Yes,” he said shortly, glaring at the screen. “I have tried to get them to fix it multiple times. Each time, it comes back worse.”
“Here – can I – ?” Wei Wuxian shifted in his seat, about the pull the laptop closer – but he shifted his seat instead, sliding it to sit right beside Lan Zhan. “Do you have the ai file of this? Oh, great – that’s… Let’s start with getting rid of all of this… what even is all of that supposed to be?”
“Confetti,” Lan Zhan sighed, soft and so put-upon Wei Wuxian had to laugh.
“It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” he promised, turning to give Lan Zhan his brightest smile. “We’ll fix it.”
He watched Lan Zhan drop his eyes, a small smile tugging the corner of his lips up. “Thank you,” he said, and Wei Wuxian felt something twist in his stomach, happy and sad and incredible and painful all at once.
“Don’t say thank you yet,” he managed to get out, turning his attention back to the screen. “I haven’t even finished fixing it. You might hate it.”
“Impossible,” Lan Zhan said quietly and firmly beside him, and Wei Wuxian could feel the heat radiating off his body as he settled closer.
And, for a moment, they weren’t in Yiling at all; they were sixteen years old, basically in each other’s lap, pressed up right against each other’s side, Wei Wuxian giggling softly as they fought over the mouse on the laptop, trying to put the finishing touches on their project without getting too distracted by one another. He could remember it so clearly – the way Lan Zhan had turned, soft lips brushing gently over Wei Wuxian’s cheek; how he’d slid his hand into Wei Wuxian’s, threading their fingers together and squeezing; his soft, “thank you, Wei Ying” that had made Wei Wuxian’s heart soar.
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and when he opened them, he was back in Yiling, the picture of the brilliant, incredible man beside him open on the laptop in front of them, reminding Wei Wuxian exactly how far out of reach Lan Zhan really was now.
“I hope he’s paying for your time,” Wen Qing said who-knew-how-long later. Wei Wuxian had been so focused on the edits he was making to the poster in front of him, to Lan Zhan’s quiet instructions and murmured approvals from beside him that he hadn’t been aware of much of anything else. “Because he’s certainly wasting a lot of it.”
Wei Wuxian turned to find her standing behind them, hand on her hip. “Doesn’t he have professionals to do that?”
“Wen Qing,” he protested immediately, turning, already starting to apologise to Lan Zhan for her rudeness.
“No – she’s right,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “This is a huge imposition. I will, of course, compensate - ”
“No,” Wei Wuxian said, before Wen Qing could articulate her agreement to that. “I offered. I mean – I didn’t even ask, I just did it. Absolutely not,” he said again, shaking his head as Lan Zhan seemed to make to reach for his wallet. “No.”
Wen Qing snorted inelegantly. “Wei Wuxian,” she said with a sigh. “You’re a fucking idiot.” She shook her head, glaring at Lan Zhan again, before she gestured at the clock. “You are supposed to be going to class.”
He looked up and swore. “Fuck – fuckfuck, yes – shit,” he said, scrambling up and almost tripping over Lan Zhan’s legs. “God – fuck, I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan – I have to – “
Lan Zhan looked up at him and inclined his head. There was most definitely a small smile on his lips. “I… I can come back tomorrow?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian… god, he thought he actually imagined hearing a little hopefulness in that question.
He wasn’t sure, but he… as hard as he tried, he couldn’t help but hope.
“Yes,” he said quickly, scrambling to get the apron off. “Yes – please. Come back tomorrow.” He grabbed his bag from under the counter, made a detour to Lan Zhan’s table. “I – “He took a slow breath, offered a warm smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lan Zhan.”
“See you tomorrow, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan answered, doing a masterful job of ignoring Wen Qing’s glare.
Wei Wuxian took his lead in that and, also ignoring her glare, called out another goodbye before rushing out of the café and towards his night class. This time, he couldn’t even find it in himself to stop hope from taking hold of his heart and, as much as he was trying to prepare for disappointment, he just couldn’t help but feel lighter.
If nothing else, he would see Lan Zhan tomorrow. That was more than enough to hope for.
--
It starts with a bet. All mistakes, Wei Wuxian thinks, start with a bet.
It’s starts with a bet and ends with Wei Wuxian losing everything.
It starts with Jiang Cheng getting bored of Wei Wuxian’s infatuation, of one too many comments about Lan Zhan, one too many “what-ifs” – just a brother who wanted to find some way to get Wei Wuxian to rise to the occasion rather spend any more of their teenage years pining after a boy he’d probably been in love with half his life.
They’re standing off to the side in the gym, their fencing masks off and dangling at the side, foils in hand, watching Lan Zhan compete – Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Nie Huisang huddled together, other team members a little way away from them – and Wei Wuxian’s cheering is perhaps a little too enthusiastic, but he doesn’t care what the others think – because that parry and riposte had been beautifully executed and won Lan Zhan the victory – and the championship.
He thinks he might see a smile on Lan Zhan’s face when he takes his mask off and turns to them, eyes catching Wei Wuxian’s, holding for a moment, before he turns away to shake his opponent’s hand.
He sighs happily. “Lan Zhan’s just so good.”
Jiang Cheng makes a retching noise. “You’re disgusting. When are you going to tell him you have the world’s biggest crush on him?”
Wei Wuxian snorts. “I’m not. I mean – I do not.”
“Oh, you do,” Nie Huisang says, knocking his shoulder against Wei Wuxian’s. “You really, really do. It’s visible from like. Outer space.”
Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes and waves enthusiastically when Lan Zhan looks over again.
“Seriously, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says. “Ask him out.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?” Nie Huisang demands. “I dare you to.”
Wei Wuxian laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not taking that.”
“I’ll bet you anything,” Jiang Cheng says, “that he’ll say yes. Anything.”
Wei Wuxian snorts, looking over incredulously at Jiang Cheng. “You want me to bet against myself? Those aren’t exactly good odds, brother.”
Jiang Cheng laughs. “What am I supposed to say then? That I bet you anything you can’t get him to go to the end of year dance with you?”
“I don’t even understand the odds right now,” Wei Wuxian laughs with him.
“You get him to go the dance with you – you get a dance with Lan Wangji, and I get to pick the music in the car for a year and half of your allowance for – oh – three months?” Jiang Cheng says.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Well – what would you want?”
“Your support while I cry forever?” Wei Wuxian says, nudging his brother’s shoulder before throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Half your allowance for three months – and you are not allowed to complain about my music tastes in the car all year.”
“I want in on this,” Nie Huaisang says, sliding in between them. “What do I get?”
“Copy my homework for the rest of the year?” Wei Wuxian asks.
Nie Huaisang grins. “Better yet, do my homework or the rest of the year.”
“I don’t even know which side you’re betting for,” Jiang Cheng points out.
“Ah, whichever side wins, I’m going to get someone to do my homework, right?” Nie Huaisang says with a laugh. “So I definitely think this one is a win-win for me.”
Wei Wuxian laughs, and then is immediately distracted by Lan Zhan walking over to them. He winks at his little group, extracting himself from them to go to Lan Zhan’s side.
“That was so great, Lan Zhan!” he says enthusiastically, falling into step beside him even as Lan Zhan continues to walk towards the changing room. “Congratulations on the championship.”
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, and it might be Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he thinks Lan Zhan might slow a little to let Wei Wuxian match his pace more easily.
“Do you want to come out for milkshake with us after?” he asks, turning a little to see Lan Zhan’s expression, smiling a little more brightly when he saw that it didn’t change. No annoyance at the question – definitely a plus point for him.
“Okay,” Lan Zhan says with only the barest hesitation, and Wei Wuxian beams at him. To think, it would take Jiang Cheng and that stupid bet for him to actually think seriously about asking Lan Zhan out – but now that the thought was really there, planted in his mind, he couldn’t seem to shake it.
Maybe the bet is exactly what he needs to finally push him into asking what he’s always wanted to ask anyway.
Eventually, anyway. He’s not quite ready to take that plunge yet. He’s still got a little while, and it’ll make it all the better when he collects his reward.
--
“I think we need a house meeting,” Wei Wuxian said pointedly, poking his head into Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s apartment as he came back that evening before evening thinking about going upstairs to his own rooms.
They were both giving him looks of utter innocence that he was not buying in the least. He sighed and took off his shoes, coming inside. “Seriously,” he said. “We need to talk.”
“So talk,” Wen Qing said, raising an eyebrow. She reached out a hand to pause the movie they had on and put down the textbook she’d been reading.
“If he comes back tomorrow,” Wei Wuxian said, and ignored Wen Qing’s snort of incredulity “If he comes back, which, by the way, if he doesn’t, I’m pretty sure it’s going to be your fault for being so rude to him… let’s not be rude like that again, okay?”
Wen Qing raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Was anything I said untrue? He’s rich as fuck. He shouldn’t be making you – a poor student, struggling artist, and café worker – do free work for him.”
“I was just helping,” Wei Wuxian said with a roll of his eyes and then he shook his head, sighing. “And you know that’s not what I meant.”
They were all silent for a minute before Wei Wuxian let out a soft sigh. “It really wasn’t his fault,” he said quietly.
“He’s the reason you were thrown out,” Wen Ning pointed out, his own voice just as quiet, a little hesitant.
“No – not exactly,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head again. “I did that to myself.”
“Yes, you just… spontaneously decided to get yourself thrown out, disowned, left wandering the streets alone and basically penniless,” Wen Qing said, eyes flashing with anger. “What would have happened if you hadn’t walked into our shop that day?” she demanded. “What if you’d – I don’t know, walked in somewhere else where people had been less – less – what would you have done, Wei Wuxian? What the hell would you have done?”
“No, that’s not – I mean – god, Wen Qing,” he said with another shake of his head. “That’s not what I meant either – stop misinterpreting my words.”
“You were sixteen years old,” she hissed in a whisper.
“I made the bet,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’d been – been messing around, making a mess – for years – and I – they weren’t wrong, I did make that bet, I did do it because of the bet – and then I – “
“You were sixteen,” she said again, louder this time. “Stop taking on the weight of the fucking world, Wei Wuxian. You were sixteen years old, and you made a mistake, and they abandoned you.”
She swallowed hard. It wasn’t until she reached over and wiped a tear from his cheek that he realised he was crying. Her eyes were flashing, bright and angry – but also bright with their own tears. “They abandoned you because they were more worried about saving face than they were about you. And now you’re asking me to be nice to one of them?”
“It – it wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault,” Wei Wuxian said, reaching up to take her hand, squeezing it gratefully. “I hurt him.”
“He wouldn’t even listen to you,” Wen Ning said quietly. “When you wanted to explain.”
Wei Wuxian looked at him, eyes widening. “How – how did you know?” He’d never told them that. He’d never told them the details.
“You talk in your sleep, Xian-ge,” he said quietly. “Sometimes, you beg him to just let you explain.”
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, letting out another slow, shaky breath. “It wasn’t his fault. I hurt him. You don’t – you don’t understand. You couldn’t understand.”
“So explain to us why we should be nice to him,” Wen Qing said. “When he’s been such a big part of that sadness you’re always carrying around. When the last time I found you crying your eyes out, absolutely inconsolable, right here on this couch was when you’d just come back from one of his concerts. Why the hell should I be nice to him?”
“Lan Zhan didn’t have many friends,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Or, well, any friends. He was just so fucking perfect all the time – one of the Lans, whose uncle owned the school, whose brother ran it; top the class for everything, a prodigy at every activity whether that was music or sport or art. Like an ice prince. Ever since we were little, he was just… this untouchable person no one dared approach.
“But I’m… well, I’m not very good at doing what I’m supposed to so I just – I couldn’t help it. I approached. I tried to be his friend, kept bothering him even though… Well, sometimes, I think he was just too well brought up to tell me to go away. He only told me to piss off once or twice, which was quite something, I’ll tell you. I was so proud of myself.” He gave a wistful smile, laughing a little wetly at the expression on Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s faces. “I’m not selling this, am I?”
“No,” they both said at the same time.
Wei Wuxian shook his head, still smiling wistfully. “The point is he never let anyone in until I forced my way into his life. And he let me in. After the bet, after I started seriously considering my crush might be something – I – he let me in. He’d never let anyone get close to him, and when he opened up – I did that to him.”
“You made a dumbass bet with your brother,” Wei Qing said, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I’ve heard worse, Wei Wuxian. That’s not exactly a reason to cut you out of his life so decisively. I mean, sixteen-year-old boys…” She snorted derisively. “Not really known to be the picture of tact and subtlety.”
“It wasn’t just the dumbass bet, which was stupid enough,” Wei Wuxian said, closing his eyes. “It was… it was so much more. You can’t possibly understand – how it came out, what people said about him afterwards – what people said to his family. It… it wasn’t just the dumbass bet.” He could still remember that moment, remembered it so vividly he could have painted it a million times over, and each and every rendition would look exactly the same.
Wei Wuxian, in a spitting rage, in the middle of the great hall, rising to bait he knew better than to rise to, stepping forwards to have it out with Jin Zixun. Lan Zhan, catching the punch Jin Zixun had thrown with one hand, other hand curled around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, holding him steady, stopping him and supporting him all at once.
Jin Zixun pulling back, rubbing his hand, glaring, spitting out, “You, Lan Wangji? Defending that low life? Don’t you know he’s playing you, just like he’s playing the rest of the world? You’re protecting him – but the reality is, he’s just doing you to win a bet.”
And beside him, Su She – “Is he doing you or are you doing him? There’s a lot of money riding on that too, Lan Wangji. Fair game for us to bet on your activities when your boyfriend is doing the same, right?”
The sounds of laughter, too many people humming in agreement – and the guilty looks on both Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s faces – and probably his own horrified expression. He remembered Lan Zhan dropping his hand like it burned, remembered his expression as he’d looked at Wei Wuxian – disgust and horror and pain – and then he’d disappeared into the crowd.
Wei Wuxian had been left standing there, people giving him knowing looks and murmurs and insinuations of such – such crassness – about a relationship that had become so important to him, with Su She and Jin Zixun looking so, so smug – and his brother and Nie Huisang holding him back, trying to stop him from hitting Jin Zixun in his arrogant little face.
He’d been sent to the school office for brawling. Lan Xichen had sent him home.
The next day, Lan Zhan hadn’t come to school, and the gossip had been everywhere – and not just in words – but pictures, and social media posts, and speculation, and more and more bets, and demands for him to answer questions so they could see who’d won how much.
It had made enough of a fuss for every societal news source to have heard about it.
The Jiang’s secretary’s son – the one they’d adopted and who Jiang Fengmian doted on for reasons “unknown” – and his bet to get Lan Qiren’s perfect, beautiful nephew – the apple of society’s eyes – ruined.
And Wei Wuxian hadn’t been able to deny it.
He’d never even had a chance to explain. Lan Xichen had sent him home.
And then… he’d gone away. Up until yesterday, his last memory of Lan Zhan had been that look – disgust, horror, pain.
In that moment, he’d known Lan Zhan had hated him, and Wei Wuxian hadn’t blamed him. He’d hated himself too.
“What the fuck do you mean you didn’t blame him?” Wen Qing demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t he ask you? Why the fuck didn’t anyone ask you?”
“I – the big families,” he tried to explain, feeling… something – lighter, so grateful he could cry – at her immediate defense of him. “You have to understand….”
“That they valued their own faces over your life,” Wen Ning said, repeating his sister’s words from earlier. “And we’re supposed to… to what, Xian-ge? Forgive them?”
Wei Wuxian bit his lip, looking from one face to the other, finding in their expressions all the anger – on his behalf and not at him – all the acceptance, all the sympathy he’d never seen from anyone else over this – not even from himself, and felt the tears start again. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “Understand, maybe?”
Wen Qing’s arms came around him, and Wen Ning shifted to rub lightly at his back.
“Wei Wuxian, you are the most kind-hearted, compassionate idiot I’ve ever met,” she said with a soft sigh. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment. “You really want us to forgive him, don’t you?”
Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, nodding almost imperceptibly. “He doesn’t hate me, Wen Qing,” he said, voice small. “He… I’ve always thought – I was so worried he – but he doesn’t hate me.”
He was silent for a few more moments before he whispered – so, so softly, afraid of what the words might mean – afraid of the hope that seemed to refuse to die inside him since earlier this morning – “Maybe… maybe he’s forgiven me. Maybe he’ll finally listen.”
She hugged him tighter, and he felt Wen Ning’s arms join his sisters, holding him close and safe and loved. “I’ll fucking gut him if he doesn’t,” she said, voice suspiciously wet.
“Jiejie,” Wen Ning added, voice also thick with tears, but his words were ringing with a clear resolution. “I’ll help you hide the body .”