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“Lan Wangji, can you come down? He’s drunk again.”
Wei Wuxian lifted his head, with difficulty, to glare at Wen Qing. “What do you mean, again?” He tried to snatch at her phone with the arm that wasn’t slung across her shoulders, but just ended up upsetting his balance, and, since she was so tiny, Wen Qing’s as well. She almost fell with him when he stumbled.
“Knock it off,” she snapped, righting them again. “Can’t you stay still for one minute?”
Wei Wuxian just grunted, then let his head drop to his chest. He was so tired.
“Wei Ying.” It was Lan Zhan’s voice now, and Lan Zhan’s arms under his armpits, relieving Wen Qing of his weight.
“He already puked once, so you’re probably fine,” Wen Qing said, very unnecessarily. Wei Wuxian grunted again to show his annoyance. “Just make sure he has some water and ibuprofen.”
“Thank you.”
Lan Zhan lifted one of Wei Wuxian’s arms over his shoulders, wrapped a hand securely around his waist, and guided him, slowly, into the elevator and up to their apartment. Wei Wuxian’s eyes were closed the whole time, but he knew the route pretty well by now. He could definitely have done it by himself, but Wen Qing and Lan Zhan were always so careful about everything.
“I don’t need ibuprofen,” he announced when Lan Zhan deposited him on his bed. He could feel Lan Zhan removing his shoes for him, and thought about apologizing for wearing them inside—Lan Zhan hated how Americans did that—but it seemed like a lot of work. Also, when he finally managed to open his eyes, Lan Zhan was gone.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian had to close his eyes again because the room was spinning, but he heard when Lan Zhan came back in.
“Sit up,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian ignored him.
“Sit up or I’ll call your sister,” Lan Zhan said.
Wei Wuxian scrambled upright—his stomach gave a very unpleasant lurch—and allowed a glass of water and two pills be pressed into his hands.
“You can’t just use that whenever you want me to do something,” he said, opening his eyes just long enough to glare.
Lan Zhan’s face was unreadable. Unreadable, but hot, as usual. Wei Wuxian scowled down at his palm and tossed back the pills.
“Drink the whole glass,” Lan Zhan said.
He had already lost this round and they both knew it; Wei Wuxian did as he was told.
“There,” he said, thrusting the glass at Lan Zhan and flopping back on the bed. “Good night, Lan Zhan.”
The weight on the edge of the bed did not shift. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said.
“What? Do you want a goodnight kiss?”
Usually that was enough to get Lan Zhan out of the room fast, but tonight, he just cleared his throat. “You should call her,” he said.
Wei Wuxian rolled onto his side instead of answering, and after a while, Lan Zhan finally stood, sighing.
“Sleep well, Wei Ying,” he said, on his way out the door.
Wei Wuxian did not sleep well, which certainly wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault, but he decided to be annoyed at him the next morning anyway. It was Lan Zhan’s fussing around in the kitchen that had woken him early, after all. After a few minutes of trying uselessly to fall back asleep, he’d given up and dragged himself out of bed.
“Have you ever slept in past 7:30 in your life?” Wei Wuxian muttered, collapsed at the kitchen table. His face was buried in his arms, so it was probably pretty hard to understand him.
“Mm?”
“Nothing.” Wei Wuxian lifted his head, brushing a curtain of tangled hair out of his eyes to squint across the table. It was cluttered with the books and papers he always dumped there as soon as they got back from class; he shoved them aside, and one of the books fell loudly to the floor. “Is there coffee?”
Lan Zhan emerged from behind the open refrigerator door and lifted a disapproving eyebrow at the mess. He closed the door, then turned to fetch two already prepared mugs from the counter, setting coffee in front of Wei Wuxian and sitting down with tea for himself.
“There’s nothing to eat but instant noodles,” he said.
Wei Wuxian made a miserable noise and slurped his coffee. They were both terrible cooks, and being in rural Oregon, with its pitiful Chinese grocery options, made matters worse.
“McDonald’s?” he suggested.
Lan Zhan always waited for his tea to cool before drinking, which meant he had nothing to do but give Wei Wuxian a judgmental look. “No more McDonald’s.”
“You’re just bitter because you get indigestion from anything that actually tastes good,” Wei Wuxian grumbled.
Because Lan Zhan was insufferably mature and patient, he didn’t rise to the bait. “We have time to stop somewhere before class,” he said.
“Fine. But you’re paying this time.”
It was a bad joke, and predictably, fell flat; Lan Zhan was, after all, paying for everything, every time. Wei Wuxian frowned into his mug.
“You know,” he said, after another swallow, “you really don’t have to be here. I’m going to figure something out.”
Lan Zhan was quiet for long enough that Wei Wuxian peered up at him, but as usual, his expression betrayed nothing. When he noticed Wei Wuxian looking, he finally sipped at his tea.
“Change your clothes before we go,” he said, once he had set the mug down again.
Wei Wuxian sighed. “Yes, Lan-Daren,” he said, and left with his coffee to search for something clean to wear.
The meal Wei Wuxian ended up ordering at the cafe probably wasn’t much healthier than McDonald’s, but it helped settle his stomach and his head some, and as a bonus, he got to watch Lan Zhan’s mouth as he ate his preferred Western breakfast of very runny eggs. Wei Wuxian was more or less obsessed with Lan Zhan’s mouth. It was a problem.
“Wei Ying.”
“Hm?”
There was a distracting bit of yolk Lan Zhan had missed near his upper lip, and Wei Wuxian had been imagining what would happen if he dared to brush it away with his thumb. He used to do that kind of thing all the time; he gave himself a mental shake, resting his hands safely in his lap.
“I asked if you are prepared for the test.”
Wei Wuxian scoffed. “Of course. That class is too easy. I can’t believe it’s the most advanced level they have.”
It was the truth, even if it did sound egotistical. His English had been plenty strong before coming to America, but on such short notice, the only study abroad options he could still apply to were intensive English programs. Lan Zhan was too good for the class, too, but of course, he still dutifully completed all the homework. Wei Wuxian hadn’t bothered since the second day. The poor teacher, bless her heart, didn’t know what to do with either of them.
Rather than chastise him, Lan Zhan merely nodded. Wei Wuxian, reflecting on other classes they had shared, suddenly grinned. “Do you remember,” he said, grin widening, “when we were taking that history test, and you got caught cheating—”
“I was not cheating,” Lan Zhan interrupted.
“Sure, Lan Zhan, but you know passing notes is always going to look bad—”
“ You were passing notes to me, and I was blamed for it.”
It was harder to work Lan Zhan up these days than it used to be, so Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but enjoy himself on the rare occasions it still happened. He shrugged, feigning skepticism. “That’s not how I remember it, but whatever you say, Lan Zhan. Oh look, Wen Qing is here!”
He waved her over to their table while Lan Zhan scowled (and, unfortunately, wiped his mouth clean).
“I’m surprised to see you up and functional,” Wen Qing said, approaching with a to-go coffee. Wei Wuxian scooted over in the booth and patted the spot beside him, and she rolled her eyes but sat, exchanging a polite nod with Lan Zhan. They were always so adorably formal with each other.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wei Wuxian said. “I was barely even flushed last night.”
“Wei Wuxian. You threw up on that guy when he asked for your number.”
In the booth across from them, Lan Zhan tensed, then stood. He went to the bathroom without a word, Wei Wuxian frowning after him.
“Look, you’ve upset Lan Zhan,” he said, reaching over to pinch Wen Qing’s shoulder. She smacked his hand away.
“Good. Maybe now you’ll finally believe me when I say he’s in love with you.”
This time, Wei Wuxian made sure the pinch landed. “Be quiet,” he said, glancing up to confirm that Lan Zhan was out of earshot.
“I’m serious, Wei Wuxian,” she said, and even though her revenge shoulder punch was unnecessarily hard, the look she gave him was lined with concern. “Watching you two pine after each other is getting unbearable. When are you going to stop flirting with strangers you don’t actually like and do something about it? You know he won’t.”
Wei Wuxian pouted at her, but she was, as ever, impervious. “Violence is really unattractive, you know,” he said, rubbing his shoulder. He turned away before adding, more quietly, “And we’ve already talked about this. I can’t.”
All of Wen Qing’s patience was, evidently, spent. She slammed her coffee cup down on the tabletop, ignoring both the hot droplets that spattered over her hands and Wei Wuxian’s startled jump.
“Why not?” she demanded. “Because you’re so determined to maintain some stupid, antiquated, chivalrous—”
“LAN ZHAN!” Wei Wuxian blurted, elbowing Wen Qing in the side hard enough that he did feel briefly bad about it. “Wen Qing was just practicing a monologue for her theater class. Isn’t she fantastic?”
Lan Zhan, lowering himself back into the booth, looked between them, suspicious, but eventually nodded.
“Anyway, we have to go take a test now, and it sounds like you still have some lines to memorize. See you later, Wen Qing!”
She glared, but let them go, thank god, without another word about it.
“Why does Wen Qing have to take an acting class if she’s a pre-med student?” Lan Zhan asked, once Wei Wuxian had hurried them out of the cafe and into the car. It was a brand new Mazda MX-5, gleaming white and equipped with every possible luxury add-on, a study abroad gift from Lan Zhan’s uncle. Wei Wuxian tried hard not to think about what Uncle Lan Qiren would say if he knew the car was being used primarily to chauffeur Wei Wuxian’s hungover ass to class on time.
“No idea,” he said. “American universities are a mystery.” He put his feet up on the dashboard, then, at Lan Zhan’s icy stare, hastily set them down again.
“You’d better hurry, Lan Zhan, or we’ll be late.” He flashed what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Can you play that song I like?”
Lan Zhan said nothing as he shifted the car into gear, but once the stereo came to life, his song was already queued up.
There were days when studying abroad didn’t feel too different from high school. They had attended a fancy international school, so Wei Wuxian was already used to speaking English and making friends with people from different countries, and since Lan Zhan had followed him, he even got to continue his years-strong tradition of flustered, probably mutual pining. This wasn’t a perk, exactly, but he didn’t like thinking about what it would be like without Lan Zhan there, so pining would have to do.
He did love getting to know the other students in their English program, however. Many were also from China, but there were students from a variety of other countries as well. Every day when they entered the classroom, Lan Zhan would take his usual seat and quietly open his textbook, while Wei Wuxian went from desk to desk, making small talk with the Mandarin speakers and insisting on exchanging native language greetings with everyone else. So far, he had learned how to introduce himself in Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Finnish, and Kinyarwanda. Lan Zhan never joined in during class, but sometimes he would let Wei Wuxian teach him at home later.
Today, though, they only just made it to their seats before it was time for class to start. Wei Wuxian had to settle for waving to everyone individually—with the exception of some stuffy jerk from Tianjin who always ignored him—and then the test was on his desk, and he forced himself to focus. The tests were never hard, but he had to be sure not to make any careless mistakes. Since he never did the homework, assessments were the only thing keeping his grades respectable.
He and Lan Zhan were first to finish, of course. They handed their papers in to the teacher, who looked more than a little distressed at how little time it had taken, and quietly stepped into the hallway.
“We should wait for everyone else,” Wei Wuxian said. “Some people were talking about going out for a drink after.”
Lan Zhan’s nose wrinkled, like he had smelled something offensive. “It’s noon,” he said.
“Lunch and a drink, then,” Wei Wuxian said. “Come on, Lan Zhan. You never socialize! What are you studying abroad for, if not to meet new people and try new things?”
Wei Wuxian tried not to read too much into the soft, exasperated look Lan Zhan leveled on him.
“Alright,” he said, after a beat.
In the end, only the other Mandarin speakers came—they could be regretfully cliquey—but still, Wei Wuxian was thrilled. He almost never got to meaningfully socialize with anyone but Wen Qing, and she was a real university student, not just taking a couple easy English classes, and thus didn’t have nearly enough time to go out. And Lan Zhan, of course, who, well. Lan Zhan was Lan Zhan.
There was a restaurant-pub within walking distance that could accommodate all nine of them, and they were lucky enough to get tables outside. Whatever-his-name-was from Tianjin stood and moved down a seat when Wei Wuxian took the chair next to him, but it wasn’t worth acknowledging, so Wei Wuxian didn’t. He thought he saw Lan Zhan narrow his eyes, so he shoved a menu into his hands before he could make a fuss.
“Don’t worry, Lan Zhan, there are plenty of boring salad options to choose from. Not a hint of flavor in any of them!”
Lan Zhan took the menu and reluctantly dragged his glare away from Tianjin. Predictably, he ordered the most boring salad of them all, with the dressing on the side, and a mug of hot water. Not even tea; just plain water. Wei Wuxian got several baskets of fried things and a beer, because, while he and Lan Zhan were in agreement that American food was too heavy, at least fried things and alcohol tasted like something.
“Try this, Lan Zhan. It’s fried cheese!” Wei Wuxian said, waving a basket in his face.
Lan Zhan looked extremely offended, but still managed a polite, “No thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” Wei Wuxian said. “Mianmian! Have you tried these? They’re spicy!”
They passed everything around the table—it was so refreshing to eat with people who knew how to share food—and talked, primarily about the test.
“I don’t understand how you finished so fast,” moaned Nie Huaisang. “I think I got half the questions wrong.” He was from Shenyang, friendly and funny but generally clueless about English grammar. Wei Wuxian had helped him with multiple homework assignments that he had not personally bothered to turn in.
“Don’t compare yourself to them,” Mianmian said. She was from Shanghai, very cute and very sarcastic and probably the strongest in the class, other than Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan. Her real name was Luo Qinyang, but Wei Wuxian refused to call her by anything but her suitably adorable nickname. “They only came to America to make us look bad.”
Wei Wuxian grinned. “And to drink!” He raised his beer and nudged Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Right, Lan Zhan?”
From two seats down, Tianjin snorted, then said, loud enough to turn several heads, “Everyone knows why you came to America.”
Wei Wuxian set his beer back down, craning around Mianmian, on his right, to blink at Tianjin.
“Sorry,” he said. “Who are you again?”
“Jin Zixun!” It clearly bothered him immensely that Wei Wuxian didn’t remember, but why should he? The guy had one of those faces.
“Jin Zixun,” Wei Wuxian repeated, like he was trying to commit it to memory, which he was not. It was tempting to continue to provoke him, but he could feel Lan Zhan stiffen beside him, and more than anything, he wanted to avoid a confrontation. “Have you tried the cheese curds?”
Unfortunately, Jin Zixun was not easily distracted. He slammed a hand down on the table; Mianmian and Nie Huaisang both jumped, and Wei Wuxian had to grab Lan Zhan’s wrist to keep him in his seat.
“This is ridiculous,” Jin Zixun snapped. “I don’t know if everyone else is pretending not to know what you did or if they just don’t read the news, but I’m not going to put up with it anymore.”
Wei Wuxian had actually wondered about this, too, and a glance around the table told him, generally, which classmates were in the former camp and which were in the latter. Other than Mianmian, who was glaring daggers at Jin Zixun, most looked stupefied. Not big news readers, then.
“What are you talking about, Jin Zixun?” Nie Huaisang said. His mouth was still half-full of cheese curds, and under any other circumstances, it would have given Wei Wuxian a good laugh. As it was, he could only lean back and avert his eyes, draining his beer as quickly as possible. Maybe if they could just excuse themselves, before—
“He’s Wei Wuxian,” Jin Zixun said. “He was expelled from Lanling University for being part of an admissions scandal. It was all over the news. He was adopted into a good family, and repaid them by stealing money so he could bribe a proctor to change his gaokao scores.”
“You certainly did your research,” Wei Wuxian observed, without making eye contact. He waved at their waiter and gestured for the check.
“It didn’t take research. Everyone was talking about the ungrateful orphan who dragged the Jiang family name through the mud.” Jin Zixun was sneering now, emboldened, maybe, by the rapt attention of everyone around the table. “From what I hear, they paid you off and told you to get the hell out of the country. Didn’t your own brother go on record with the Beijing Daily calling you a disgrace?”
“That’s enough,” Mianmian said. Most of their other classmates were silent, occasionally exchanging embarrassed glances, but Mianmian’s voice had risen louder than usual. “What are you even saying all this for? How the hell would you know anything about it?”
“The president of Lanling University is my uncle,” Jin Zixun answered coolly, and, well, shit. That certainly explained a lot.
Mianmian opened her mouth again, but Wei Wuxian clapped her on the shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said. He directed a forced smile at Jin Zixun. “Well, that seems to have about covered it! If you don’t mind, I think we’ll get going—Lan Zhan, can you get that?”
The check had arrived, but Lan Zhan took no notice. He was preoccupied with staring down Jin Zixun, eyes burning so fiercely even Wei Wuxian had started to sweat.
But Jin Zixun was too busy sneering to notice, which might have explained how he had the audacity to add, “I don’t know how you tricked someone from a family as respectable as Lan Wangji’s to be your bitch, but I refuse to—”
They never got a chance to find out what Jin Zixun refused to do. In one swift movement, Lan Zhan was behind his chair, jerking it back so he could drag Jin Zixun to his feet, hand fisted in the collar of his shirt. It was, distressingly, one of the hottest things Wei Wuxian had ever witnessed, which made interceding before Jin Zixun got punched right in his smarmy face extra difficult.
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, you’re going to cause an international incident!”
Wei Wuxian had to prise Lan Zhan’s fingers away from Jin Zixun’s collar, one at a time, before he would let go. Jin Zixun fell bodily back to his seat, and Wei Wuxian stepped between them, before either could move.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, seriously. With obvious reluctance, Lan Zhan shifted his attention toward him. “Let’s go.”
Lan Zhan threw a wad of what was almost certainly too much cash on the table and let himself be led away, while Wei Wuxian apologized profusely to the other diners who had stopped to stare after them. As soon as they had safely escaped to the car, Wei Wuxian slid down as far as he could in the passenger seat, hiding the side of his face with his hand.
“Please drive as fast as you can,” he begged.
It was a testament to how angry Lan Zhan must have been that he actually did go a few miles over the speed limit. Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember that ever happening before.
“I don’t care what people say about me, you know,” he said, once they were far enough from the restaurant that he could sit up again.
Lan Zhan’s jaw was clenched, and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Wei Wuxian tried to keep his tone light. “Jin Zixun is an idiot. If the others decide to listen to him, it just means they’re idiots, too.”
“I don’t understand why you don’t just—”
“Because it’s my life,” Wei Wuxian snapped, cutting him off. “It has nothing to do with you.”
That shut them both up; Wei Wuxian immediately cringed, hating himself. After all, what was Lan Zhan even doing here, if this had nothing to do with him? Hadn’t he given up everything, including his own future prospects, just to follow Wei Wuxian to this stupid town to study in a pointless program?
“You can still go back,” Wei Wuxian said suddenly, talking fast since he knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t like it. “They didn’t expel you. If you just—”
“No,” Lan Zhan said. His tone did not invite debate.
Wei Wuxian sighed and rolled the window down, hoping to find some welcome distraction in the fresh air. In the end, the wind just messed up his hair so bad he had to take out his ponytail and finger-comb the tangles.
“Do you want to get Lotus Garden tonight?” he asked. It was one of the only Chinese restaurants in town, and as long as you could actually order in Mandarin, the food was decent. “I’ll for real, actually pay this time.”
“Lotus Garden would be nice,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian glanced sideways, and was relieved to find his expression softening.
Of course, when they went to pick it up, Lan Zhan still wouldn’t let him pay. He wouldn’t let him eat straight out of the carton when they got home, either, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s protests as he shoved a plate into his hands.
“We’re university students, Lan Zhan,” he whined, even as he obediently spooned rice onto the plate. “We deserve to be complete slobs once in a while.”
Lan Zhan merely gave him a look, and Wei Wuxian sighed in defeat, flopping down to the sofa with his food. Even getting Lan Zhan to eat somewhere other than at the kitchen table had taken months; it was probably time for him to give up on the dishware battle.
He turned on the TV, and Lan Zhan joined him a moment later, with a cold beer he had poured into a glass.
“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, accepting it with a stab of guilty affection.
“Mm.”
They put on a variety show while they ate, but Wei Wuxian didn’t pay it much attention. He was preoccupied with trying to find a different means of convincing Lan Zhan to go back home without him. It seemed impossible, but there had to be a way . . . maybe if he reached out to his brother. . . .
“You don’t like it?”
Wei Wuxian blinked up at Lan Zhan, who was gesturing at his nearly untouched food.
“Oh—no, it’s good,” he said quickly. “You should try it!”
Without thinking, he scooped up a helping of eggplant and lifted it to Lan Zhan’s mouth. It was a mistake, but he couldn’t very well take it back now, so he was left to endure the heat of Lan Zhan’s eyes, studying him closely for several unspeakably long seconds. When at last he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian could hardly keep his hand steady enough to feed him.
“What do you think?” he asked, painfully aware that he must be glowing red with his flush.
Lan Zhan, the sadist, still hadn’t broken eye contact. “It’s good,” he confirmed, after swallowing.
This was the point at which Wei Wuxian was supposed to say something flirtatious, and either ruin the mood or finally, finally do something about it. He’d thought of a thousand ways to make it happen, all of them entirely feasible—not just feasible, but easy . All it would take was a tiny push. Lan Zhan wanted him to push.
And if he did, Lan Zhan really would stay here with him forever.
“Would you get me another?” Wei Wuxian said quickly, holding up his glass of beer. It wasn’t even half-empty.
Lan Zhan leaned back, looking dazed at first, then hurt. He nodded and went to the kitchen, leaving Wei Wuxian alone to assure himself, miserably, that this was the right choice.
Lan Zhan hadn’t always liked him. It was a fact Wei Wuxian would only very occasionally bring up when he needed a quick, dirty way to win an argument, since it immediately turned Lan Zhan to guilty putty in his hands. Teenage Wei Wuxian had, after all, liked teenage Lan Zhan instantly, even if the manner of liking had evolved over time.
Despite the fact that Jiangs and Lans were family friends, he and Lan Zhan hadn’t really gotten to know each other until high school. Wei Wuxian was nine when he was adopted, and completely unfamiliar with wealthy society, but he learned quickly that rich people tended to strongly prefer the company of other rich people. The Jiangs had earned their money and status relatively recently, primarily through the combination of a few advantageous marriages and a successful architecture firm started by Jiang Fengmian’s grandfather. The Lans, on the other hand, were old money, and thus especially desirable company. His new family never passed up an opportunity to see them.
But Wei Wuxian wasn’t very good at sitting still for grown-up dinner parties, and someone usually found a reason to hurry him out of the room as soon as possible, to his considerable relief. All he could remember about Lan Wangji back then was a serious, quiet child who seemed perpetually shrouded in a cloud of sadness. Playing with Jiang Cheng and Yanli was always preferable to trying to entertain stoic Lan Wangji and his incessantly obedient older brother.
When Wei Wuxian started attending Qishan High School, however, Lan Wangji’s was the first face he saw on his first day. Something about him had changed, and Wei Wuxian was at once determined to find out what; Lan Wangji hadn’t lost his old air of seriousness, but he seemed less sad now, more self-assured, and infinitely more teasable. Wei Wuxian spent most of the year either intentionally aggravating him—by, for example, replacing his literature books with porn and calling him Lan Zhan without permission—or unintentionally aggravating him—by, for example, matching or surpassing his high score on every assessment.
They passed almost an entire year like that, Wei Wuxian constantly prodding and Lan Zhan trying and usually failing to ignore him. Things might never have changed if he hadn’t one day accidentally stumbled upon Wen Chao trying to blackmail Lan Zhan in the music room.
Debate club had ended late, and Wei Wuxian was only stopping by the music room before heading home because he’d forgotten his flute. He nearly left without even noticing Lan Zhan and Wen Chao, hidden from view by the piano, but Wen Chao’s voice was too loud to miss.
“I asked you a question, Lan Wangji.”
Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkled in distaste—Wen Chao was an idiot and a bully, and he had no patience for either—but he was painfully curious to know what he could possibly have to say to model student Lan Zhan. He crouched and approached the piano, keeping out of sight.
“Don’t walk away from me.” Something slammed against the side of the piano, probably Wen Chao’s arm, and Wei Wuxian only just managed not to jump.
“I have nothing to say to you.” Lan Zhan must have pushed past Wen Chao; there was the sound of a scuffle, a small grunt, and then Lan Zhan appeared around the piano, close enough that Wei Wuxian could have reached out and touched him. He held his breath.
“Maybe you don’t care if people find out about your crazy dead parents,” Wen Chao said, too loud, “but what about Lan Xichen?”
Lan Zhan went still. From where he was crouched, Wei Wuxian could clearly see the color draining from his face, the pained crease in his brow. He turned, facing Wen Chao again.
“He’s first in his class, after all,” Wen Chao continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Isn’t he supposed to start studying psychology at Lanling next year? I wonder if a family history of mental illness shouldn’t disqualify people from that kind of work. . . .”
“What do you want?” The words sounded like a curse, the way Lan Zhan spat them out. Wei Wuxian watched his hands curl into fists at his sides.
Wen Chao chuckled, and Wei Wuxian found his hands curling into fists, too. “Nothing,” he said. “I just don’t like you. You think you’re better than everyone else. You need to be taken down a notch.”
Wei Wuxian could hear Wen Chao’s steps carrying him closer, and he didn’t have to think twice about what to do next. He stuck a foot out—Lan Zhan’s eyes widened, noticing him too late—and tripped Wen Chao, hard, so he fell to his hands and knees. Before he could recover, Wei Wuxian was on top of him, wrestling him onto his back.
“What—” Wen Chao was silenced by Wei Wuxian’s fist connecting with his nose.
“You are such a slimy piece of shit, Wen Chao,” Wei Wuxian snarled, shaking out his hand. He hadn’t ever seriously punched anyone before, and it hurt more than he was expecting.
Wen Chao cupped his hands to his nose, too shocked at first to otherwise react. They came away covered in blood, and suddenly he was thrashing, wild and animalistic. Despite this, he couldn’t quite manage to throw Wei Wuxian off; he had too much experience play-wrestling with Jiang Cheng.
“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Chao choked, through his blood and rage, “how dare you—”
Wei Wuxian punched him again, right in the mouth. A hand gripped his shoulder then, and Lan Zhan pulled him up and off, with a stunned “Wei Wuxian!”
“He deserved it,” Wei Wuxian said, glaring down as Wen Chao rolled onto his side to spit blood on the floor.
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Zhan said again, his voice unsteady. “What are you—”
“You’re going to regret this, Wei Wuxian!” Wen Chao staggered to his feet, chest heaving, blood dripping everywhere. “Have you forgotten who the principal of this school is? You’re going to be expelled before—”
“Shut up.” Wei Wuxian shrugged Lan Zhan’s hand off and stepped forward, noting with no small amount of satisfaction that Wen Chao immediately shrank back. “You’re not going to tell your father shit, because I know what you and Wang Lingjiao have been doing in the lecture hall after school on Thursdays, and I have the videos to prove it.”
Both Wen Chao and Lan Zhan gaped at him.
“You’re—you’re lying,” Wen Chao managed after a beat.
Wei Wuxian only shrugged. “You can try me, if you want,” he said. “Or you can get down on the floor and apologize to Lan Zhan, formally, and then never talk to him again.”
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall clock and Wen Chao’s labored breaths. He was glaring at Wei Wuxian with vivid, searing hate, but there was fear in his eyes, too, and the fountain of blood that continued to drip from his nose didn’t do much for his intimidation factor. Eventually, with painstaking, jerky movements, he lowered himself to kneel, first on one knee, then both.
“Wei—” Lan Zhan began, but Wei Wuxian threw an arm out, cutting him off.
“All the way,” he said, looking Wen Chao directly in the eye. “Your forehead needs to touch the floor.”
Wen Chao looked as if he were straining against invisible ropes. He made a strangled sound in his throat, spit out another glob of blood, and bowed, completely prostrate. The apology was almost incoherent, muffled into the linoleum, but when Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to bark another order at him, Lan Zhan touched his elbow and shook his head.
“Alright.” Wei Wuxian waited for Wen Chao to drag himself upright, then crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If I ever hear about you talking to Lan Zhan or Lan Xichen again, I’m sending everything to your father. Got it?”
Wen Chao nodded once, his lip curled.
“Good.” Wei Wuxian turned on his heel, then added over his shoulder, “Oh, and you should probably clean all this up. You made quite a mess. Let’s go, Lan Zhan.”
He didn’t wait to see if Lan Zhan would follow, but he did—first out of the music room, then upstairs to their empty classroom, trailing quietly behind as Wei Wuxian stomped and fumed.
“What an asshole— just a complete and utter shitstain, I can’t even believe —”
“Wei Wuxian.”
“What?” Wei Wuxian stopped pacing, and Lan Zhan approached, cautious.
“Your hand.” He pointed, and Wei Wuxian glanced down. His knuckles were raw and bloody; at least some of it seemed to be coming from him.
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian shook his hand out again. “It’s fine.”
But Lan Zhan’s forehead was creased with worry, and he wouldn’t let Wei Wuxian wave him off when he fetched a First Aid kit from the teacher’s desk and started cleaning his knuckles with an alcohol wipe. Wei Wuxian had been intending to keep shit-talking Wen Chao, but it made him unusually self-conscious, watching Lan Zhan tend to his hand with such precise tenderness. He fell quiet.
“Why did you do that?” Lan Zhan asked, opening a second wipe.
“What?” Wei Wuxian frowned. “You mean hit him?”
Lan Zhan hesitated, then started to dab at his knuckles again. “Help me,” he clarified.
“Wh—because Wen Chao’s a dick,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you’re my friend.”
Lan Zhan looked up sharply, in a way that left no doubt as to whether or not he had ever considered using the word “friend” to describe Wei Wuxian. That was fine; he was used to blindsiding people with friendship.
“Do you really have videos?” Lan Zhan asked, tilting his chin down again.
Wei Wuxian grinned. “Maybe.” He didn’t, but was confident he could get some if necessary. He had connections.
At length, Lan Zhan finished with the alcohol wipes and released Wei Wuxian’s hand. “It’s true,” he said, quietly, unwrapping a piece of gauze.
“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian was blowing on his knuckles, but he stopped when he noticed the tense line of Lan Zhan’s jaw.
“What Wen Chao said about our parents. It’s true. Our father killed our mother. And himself.”
Wei Wuxian sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s . . . awful. I’m sorry.”
He waited, unsure if he should say or do something else, watching Lan Zhan’s thumbs trace distractedly over the edges of the gauze. When their eyes eventually met, Wei Wuxian was reminded, with a pang, of child Lan Wangji. The cloud of sadness made sense now.
“You know it doesn’t—mean anything about you , right?” Wei Wuxian tried, careful, hoping he wasn’t assuming too much.
Lan Zhan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and then he quickly turned his face away, taking Wei Wuxian’s hand again so he could spread the gauze across it.
“My parents are dead too.” Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan freeze. “It was just an accident. But my mom was probably having an affair with Jiang Fengmian. She worked for him.” He had no idea why he was saying all this—it wasn’t something he talked about with anyone, really—but he plowed on anyway. Something about Lan Zhan, the most private person he’d ever met, sharing such a painful and deeply personal secret made Wei Wuxian want to share, too.
“That’s the only reason they adopted me; everybody knows it. They wrote about it in gossip columns for a while. But I don’t care what anyone says. If people are stupid enough to think that kind of stuff means something, I don’t want to know them anyway.”
He exhaled, suddenly tired and a little embarrassed. Lan Zhan was still holding his hand, unmoving, but he seemed to come to with Wei Wuxian’s sigh and started taping the gauze down. Once he had finished and released him, Wei Wuxian flexed his fingers.
“Thanks.”
“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Zhan said, so seriously it was impossible not to meet his gaze. “Thank you.”
“You can call me Wei Ying, you know.” Wei Wuxian grinned, and after a beat, the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth turned up in the smallest smile anyone had ever seen.
Things changed for them after that. Wei Wuxian did his best to keep on teasing, but in the space of a single day, it had become next to impossible; now, when Lan Zhan looked at him, his eyes shone with fondness instead of annoyance, and lingered in a way they hadn’t before. How his regard could flip so quickly from disdain to fierce, unshakable devotion was something Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand, but he didn’t think it was only about punching Wen Chao. Maybe you were just stuck with somebody, once you had both bared your darkest secrets and discovered it actually felt better instead of worse.
Whatever the reason, Wei Wuxian’s heart never stood a chance.
Jin Zixun had been wrong about a lot of things, but he’d been right about plenty. There had been an admissions scandal, and regardless of the actual details, what Jin Zixun said was what the newspapers had reported. It was true that Wei Wuxian had been paid off to get as far away from Beijing as possible, so as not to cast the Jiang family name into even further shame. That had been entirely the doing of Yu Ziyuan—Wei Wuxian had never called her mother, nor even Jiang Fengmian father, but it was easier to refer to them as adoptive parents than to explain the complicated circumstances of his upbringing. As far as Wei Wuxian was concerned, Yanli and Jiang Cheng were his real siblings, but that was different.
Yu Ziyuan had simply never liked him, had never even attempted to hide it, and so it wasn’t a surprise when she came to him the day after the news story broke with his passport, a new bank card with enough money on it to last a few months, and a one-way plane ticket to the U.S. Wei Wuxian had applied for the English program on the flight over, more to secure a long-term visa than anything else.
It was a surprise when Lan Zhan showed up at the doorstep of his brand-new apartment one week later, with no immediate plans to go back. Wei Wuxian had tried everything from reasoning with him to insulting him, but it was no use; Lan Zhan was determined to stay, and Wei Wuxian was left to miserably oscillate between guilt and longing every time he looked at him. It was bordering on untenable, which meant he went out drinking as often as possible. Lan Zhan never wanted to come, and it was easier to find cute strangers to make out with here than at the bars in Beijing.
“You look like hell,” Wen Qing said by way of greeting, taking a seat next to him at their favorite bar. It was small, but the drinks were strong for the price, and after ten they played dance music. “Did you go out again last night?”
“Yes, and all alone, since some people can’t be bothered to make time to see their best friend anymore.” Wei Wuxian turned wounded eyes on her, even as he slid her a gin and tonic.
“I went out with you on Tuesday, and I had exams today,” she said. “And you are not my best friend. You tricked me into being your friend by pretending you needed an English tutor and now I’m stuck with you.”
This was true, but they were also absolutely best friends, so Wei Wuxian just grinned. She glared back and accepted the drink. The bar was fairly quiet, but it was still early, and Wei Wuxian was optimistic there would be someone worthy of flirting with soon enough. He needed extra help distracting himself from thinking about Lan Zhan this week, after the shirt-grabbing incident.
“Listen,” Wen Qing said. “Lan Wangji told me about what happened with that guy in your class.”
That certainly wasn’t helping. Wei Wuxian choked on whatever fruity special he had ordered and had to pound his chest a few times.
“Since when are you and Lan Zhan on chatting terms?” he asked, snippily. The three of them had hung out together plenty since he had, indeed, tricked Wen Qing into being friends over eight months ago, but he couldn’t imagine the two of them interacting on their own. What would they even talk about? Him, apparently.
“He’s worried about you,” she said, ignoring the question. “He asked me if I knew why you’re so adamant about not going back. Wei Wuxian, what was I supposed to say?”
“You didn’t tell him?” Wei Wuxian said quickly, setting his drink down so hard it sloshed over the bar.
Wen Qing shook her head. “No. But I think you should.”
Wei Wuxian grabbed a few napkins to mop up the mess, careful to keep his eyes averted. “There’s no point,” he said. “It won’t change anything.”
“So what are you going to do? Stay here forever, pretending to study English?”
“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian said, knowing full well it sounded petulant.
“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing said. “You can’t stay. You hate the food here.”
“I hate the food here,” he agreed, sadly.
“And you love Beijing. And your family.”
Wei Wuxian stirred the ice around in his drink. “It’s better for them that I’m here,” he said.
“And Lan Wangji? Is it better for him, too? Because you know he’s not going back without you.”
Maybe she knew it was harsh. When Wei Wuxian turned to face her, stunned momentarily silent, her eyebrows were knitted together, almost apologetic. He knocked back the rest of his drink in one swallow, then stood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“I am going to get a shot,” he said, “and then I am going to dance with the first attractive person in this bar who makes eye contact with me. Do you want something?”
Wen Qing closed her eyes and sighed. “No. I have to go.”
She left without saying goodbye, and Wei Wuxian very determinedly did not miss her.
He was—and Wei Wuxian did not use the term lightly— very drunk when he got home. His barometer to measure drunkenness was based on how hard it was to make it to his bedroom, and after spending a distressingly long amount of time trying to work the wrong key in the lobby door, followed by immediately getting off the elevator on floor three instead of five, there was no use denying it. It didn’t matter that he was extra careful to select the correct key to their apartment, because Lan Zhan opened the door before he could even touch the handle.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, only slurring a little. “It’s past your bedtime.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Lan Zhan looked worried, and a little angry, and a lot hot. Why did he always have to look so hot?
“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian stumbled forward, letting Lan Zhan catch him by the elbows. It was nice, because this meant he was close enough to admire Lan Zhan’s hair. He usually kept it quite short, but was afraid to get it cut in America, so it was a little shaggy now, perpetually in his eyes. Wei Wuxian wanted to brush it away—but Lan Zhan was talking again. He had to focus.
“Your phone,” Lan Zhan said. “I called you.”
Wei Wuxian pulled his arms back, patting himself down until he located the phone in his back pocket. “Oh. It’s dead.” He pressed the phone into Lan Zhan’s hands, then dropped heavily to the floor. “I’m taking my shoes off!” he announced.
Lan Zhan said nothing, and at length, once he’d worked off both shoes and socks for good measure, Wei Wuxian blinked up. Lan Zhan was looking at his phone—no. He was looking at the bar napkin that Wei Wuxian had also fished out of his pocket, with someone’s name and number scrawled across it in smudged ink. Wei Wuxian couldn’t even remember if it had been a man or a woman.
He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m not going to call them,” he said. He didn’t have to explain himself, but he wanted to, suddenly. When he dropped his hands, the black spots in his eyes cleared just in time to see Lan Zhan turn away, setting both phone and napkin on the table. He walked into the kitchen, and Wei Wuxian, guilty and irritated about it, followed.
“Why not?” Lan Zhan asked quietly. He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, set it on the island counter between them.
Wei Wuxian took the glass, mainly for something to do as he searched for an answer. He was too drunk for this, and too tired. Why hadn’t he just thrown the napkin away before he left the bar? He knocked back half the water, killing time, but when he looked up, Lan Zhan was still waiting.
“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian was usually a fun, happy drunk, which he prided himself on, but suddenly, he felt on the verge of tears. “Why are you here?”
It was unkind, but it served its purpose. Lan Zhan turned away, shoulders falling.
“I talked to—” he said, but cut himself short. “Never mind.” He opened the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of ibuprofen, setting it on the counter.
“What?” Wei Wuxian said. “Who did you talk to?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning. Good night, Wei Ying.”
He disappeared into his room then, and Wei Wuxian only realized, after crawling pitifully into his own bed, that it was the first time Lan Zhan hadn’t waited to make sure he took the medicine.
Wei Wuxian felt worse the next morning than he had in a long time, but, as memories of the night before slowly came back to him, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t deserve it. At least it was Saturday, and there was nothing to do but drink caffeine and feel sorry for himself.
Lan Zhan was, of course, already showered, dressed, and reading a book on the sofa by the time Wei Wuxian dragged himself out of his room, well after noon. He looked up from his book, then nodded toward the pot of coffee. Wei Wuxian was ashamed, repentant, and adoring all at once.
“Thank you.” He poured himself a cup and shuffled over to the sofa, sitting gingerly at Lan Zhan’s side.
“How do you feel?” Lan Zhan closed his book and set it down.
“Like I’ve been killed and forcibly dragged back to life.” Wei Wuxian didn’t add that this was at least in part because he hadn’t bothered taking the ibuprofen last night. “But otherwise, great.”
Lan Zhan nodded but said nothing more. Wei Wuxian sipped at his coffee, and made it through about fifteen seconds of excruciating silence before he snapped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, setting his mug on the coffee table. “Last night, I didn’t mean—I’m glad you’re here with me, Lan Zhan.”
Usually, it was next to impossible to read Lan Zhan in the moment, but there was no way to interpret his parted lips as anything but surprise, nor the color rising in his cheeks as anything but pleasure. Wei Wuxian allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, even though it was far from deserved. He didn’t look away, and Lan Zhan didn’t, either.
You can’t, Wei Wuxian reminded himself. He turned and grabbed his coffee, silently praying for the heat of the ceramic to bring him back to his senses.
“You were going to tell me something,” he said. “You talked to someone.”
Lan Zhan shifted in his seat. “Your sister called me yesterday.”
Wei Wuxian swallowed too much coffee at once, burning his lip, and cursed, sucking in air through his teeth. “She what?”
“She said she’s been calling you every day and you won’t answer.”
Wei Wuxian flinched, his lip still smarting. “I don’t want to make things harder on her.”
“I think Yanli is capable of making that decision for herself.”
Wei Wuxian gave him a withering look. “You always take her side.”
Lan Zhan only lifted an eyebrow.
“What good would talking do?” Wei Wuxian persisted. “It’ll just get her hopes up, and I can’t go back. If I do—” He caught himself, only just in time, and redirected. “Yu Ziyuan has made it abundantly clear that I am not welcome back.”
Lan Zhan noticed the redirection, judging by the furrow in his brow, but he didn’t press it. “You don’t have to go back there,” he said. “You could stay with me.”
It was Wei Wuxian’s turn, now, to flush with surprise. “Your uncle,” he managed, collecting himself, “would love that.”
“We could get an apartment. Like here.” The color was spreading to Lan Zhan’s ears, but he didn’t look away. “We could apply to a different university.”
Wei Wuxian had been working hard for over a year not to let himself fixate on impossible fantasies about the future, no matter how good they sounded. He had to close his eyes and breathe deep to wrench himself forcibly away from this one.
“I can’t,” he said, setting his mug down again. His hands felt unsteady. “I’m sorry.”
“Your sister is getting married next month,” Lan Zhan said.
It hit him like a slap across the face, but Wei Wuxian managed not to physically react. “When?” he said, eye still closed. His voice sounded too loud, echoing in his ears.
“The eleventh. She’s been trying to tell you. She wants you to be there, Wei Ying.”
With difficulty, Wei Wuxian stood. He ran his hands through his hair, doing nothing to fix it when it all pulled out of the ponytail.
“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I’m going to take a walk.”
He went to his room, threw on the first set of clean-enough clothes he could find, and left without another word. Lan Zhan didn’t try to stop him.
It wasn’t until several hours later that Wei Wuxian realized, first, that he was starving, and second, that he had left without his phone and wallet. Instead of going back, which would have been sensible, he found himself ringing the bell at Wen Qing’s house.
Wen Qing was born and raised in Oregon, and still lived with her family. On a few lucky occasions, her parents had invited Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan over for real food, and even, once, a proper New Year celebration. They were extremely kind and generous, and Wei Wuxian was thus met with nothing but warmth even at an unexpected dinnertime visit.
“Wuxian-Ge!” Wen Qing’s little brother, Wen Ning, adored him, and was nothing short of delighted to find him standing on their front step. “Have you eaten? We’re just having dinner!”
They brought an extra chair to the table and let him pile his plate with shumai and jian bing and three different types of cucumber salad, and because they really were incredibly considerate, didn’t say a word about the fact that Wei Wuxian looked like he’d climbed out of a dumpster. They listened to him talk about school, and then about nonsense, and they laughed at his jokes. It was exactly what he needed.
“Thank you for everything,” Wei Wuxian said, very formally, once he had finished about three helpings more than he had room for.
“A-Qing,” Wen Qing’s father said, clearing away Wei Wuxian’s plate before he could offer to do so himself, “why don’t you open the bottle of Maotai for Wuxian-Ge.”
It was expensive liquor, but they wouldn’t let him refuse. He and Wen Qing settled into two weather-worn camp chairs in the back yard and sipped their drinks from real Chinese pottery. If not for the distinctly Oregon drizzle and the fact that they were overlooking a lawn rather than a busy city street, Wei Wuxian could have been home. It made his chest ache.
“I love your family,” he said, sighing into his drink.
“Try explaining to them why you and I are never getting married.” Her tone was flat, but she was smiling.
“Never say never,” Wei Wuxian said, followed immediately by a yelp when she kicked him.
“So, why are you here?” Wen Qing asked, while he was still rubbing his shin.
“First, to apologize for being an ass.” Wei Wuxian drained his cup, and Wen Qing nodded approvingly, then topped him off.
“Apology accepted,” she said. “And? That can’t be the only reason you look like a zombie and your shirt is inside-out.”
Wei Wuxian blinked down at his sweatshirt and, finding she was correct, pulled it off to fix it. “You could have said something earlier.”
She just crossed her arms and waited, and at length, he told her.
It was getting dark, the air cooling just a little too much to be comfortable. Wen Qing hugged her knees to her chest in the chair and regarded him seriously. “So. What are you going to do?”
Wei Wuxian shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing.” Wen Qing turned away for a moment, then unfolded her legs so she could set her cup on the ground next to her chair. Wei Wuxian got the distinct, unpleasant feeling that it was because she didn’t trust herself not to throw it at him.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he said.
“The hell you can’t.” She had a habit of getting quieter when she was really mad, and she was practically whispering now; Wei Wuxian had to strain to hear. “You can try, Wei Wuxian. You can tell somebody. You can ask for help.”
Without intending to, he let out a small, bitter laugh. “From whom?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe you could ask your rich, highly influential roommate, who also happens to be stupidly in love with you, if he has any ideas?” Wen Qing abruptly stood up from her chair, at the same time Wei Wuxian shrank down further into his. “Don’t you owe it to him to at least try? Don’t you owe it to your sister? All they’ve done since you got here is reach out to you. The least you can do is talk to them.”
Wei Wuxian blinked up at her, then away, down at his hands, the yard, anything else. It was several minutes before he screwed up the courage to look at her again. She seemed less angry than stern now, regarding him with her arms crossed, like a parent waiting for a child to do the right thing.
“Why do you have to be so annoyingly correct about everything?” he said.
Wen Qing let out a breath, and her shoulders relaxed, gradually. “It’s a curse.”
Before he could respond, Wen Ning opened the door.
“Jiejie,” he said, “Lan Wangji keeps trying to call you.”
Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, and Wen Qing waved him off when he made to collect their cups and chairs.
“Go home,” she said. “I’ll tell him you’re on the way.”
“You’re the best friend in the world and I’ll never be worthy of you!”
Wei Wuxian mussed Wen Ning’s hair on his way back through the house, bid a polite but hurried farewell to their parents, and took off down the street at a jog.
The door to their apartment was unlocked when he got home, which was unusual. It was late, and even if it were midday, Lan Zhan was convinced everywhere in the U.S. was extremely dangerous, including small towns in rural Oregon, so he always insisted on taking every security precaution.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian toed his shoes off and peered around the corner, but the kitchen and living room were empty. His phone had been plugged in and was resting on the counter, fully charged. He grabbed it on his way to Lan Zhan’s bedroom, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed the number of missed calls and messages on his screen.
There was the usual daily notification that Yanli had tried to video call, but in addition, he had a dozen missed calls from Lan Zhan—all from hours ago, presumably before he had spotted Wei Wuxian’s forgotten phone and plugged it in for him. There were also several messages from Wen Qing, which he swiped open immediately.
Let me know when you get home. Ummmm also I think Lan Wangji is drunk
???
Does he drink? Is that even possible?? He sounds very drunk and VERY worried so make sure you check on him
And then make him drink water/take ibuprofen/eat something with potassium
Wei Wuxian reread the messages twice to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood something, then keyed back a quick reply.
home!! thx/sorry 4 everything again. also not sure if drunk lan zhan is possible, will report back…!!
He slipped the phone into his pocket and approached Lan Zhan’s door, listening for any sound of movement from inside—there was none—before knocking twice. Still, there was nothing.
“Lan Zhan? I’m coming in.”
When he opened the door, no one was there.
“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whirled, fumbling his phone in a panicked hurry to fish it out of his pocket. He had already pulled up Wen Qing and was seconds away from calling to form a search-and-rescue when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, that all the lights in his bedroom were on.
He moved as fast as he could, throwing the cracked door fully open, and was greeted with the sight of Lan Zhan lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor, hands folded over his waist like an honest-to-god Disney princess. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and his eyes were closed. There was an open bottle of expensive-looking baijiu on the floor next to him.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Wei Wuxian battled briefly with his own worst instincts, and then, losing, snapped a photo.
“Sorry, Lan Zhan,” he murmured, even as he grinned down at the screen. Once he had sent the photo to Wen Qing, he finally set down his phone and knelt beside Lan Zhan.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. Lan Zhan didn’t react. He had been up late the night before, too, worrying, Wei Wuxian recalled, with a twinge of guilt. “Lan Zhan, are you alive?”
There was a small twitch of Lan Zhan’s eyebrows, but nothing else. His cheeks were so cute, all red like that, and his lips were parted, too, just a little.
“Water!” Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, feeling his own cheeks growing hot, and went to the kitchen. He came back with a full glass, their trusty bottle of ibuprofen, and a banana.
“Here, Lan Zhan—um, but you have to sit up—”
Finally, with Wei Wuxian’s arms around his shoulders, gently lifting, Lan Zhan began to stir. He let himself be guided upright, brow furrowed in what could only be described as distressingly adorable consternation, and blinked blearily at Wei Wuxian.
“Wei Ying?” he said. They were sitting with their backs propped against the bed now, shoulders touching. Lan Zhan’s face was very close. Reluctantly, Wei Wuxian turned away, scrabbling for the water.
“Here—drink this—” He thrust the glass into Lan Zhan’s hands, ignoring the way it sloshed over them both. It took every last ounce of willpower he possessed not to watch as Lan Zhan obediently drank.
“How shocking, Lan Zhan!” he said, mainly for something to do in the meantime. “I can’t believe you would drink without me! Where did that liquor even come from?” Wei Wuxian fixed a smile on his face that hopefully conveyed, What a fun bonding moment this is between good friends! and not, I am one more Significant Glance away from shoving you down and ravaging you on the carpet!
Lan Zhan regarded him with dazed, heavy-lidded eyes. Of course, of course, he had allowed some of the water to trail down his chin and neck. Wei Wuxian let out a small, involuntary whimper.
“It was for Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. He looked suddenly stricken, and reached for the bottle, pressing it into Wei Wuxian’s hands. “I shouldn’t have opened it.”
Wei Wuxian accepted the bottle, surprised at how heavy it still was. It must have been three-quarters full. He bit his lip and studied it, recalling now that this was the same brand of baijiu that Lan Zhan had mysteriously produced when they celebrated both Wei Wuxian’s birthday and the New Year. Had he brought a stash of expensive liquor he didn’t drink with him from China, just to give to Wei Wuxian on special occasions?
“I’m sorry,” Lan Zhan said, urgently.
Wei Wuxian startled, realizing Lan Zhan had interpreted his silence as anger. He set the bottle quickly aside. “Oh, no—it’s fine! You hardly even had one glass, anyway.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes were still too-wide and too-penitent. Wei Wuxian scrambled for a distraction.
“What inspired you to drink?” he asked.
Unfortunately, Lan Zhan’s eyes remained exactly as pitiful as they were before. Even more unfortunately, he leaned in, much too close. “Wei Ying,” he said.
It took several moments for it to register that this had been the entire answer to the question, not the start of one. Wei Wuxian cleared his throat.
“Ah—I know you were worried—I’m sorry. I’ll try not to leave without my phone anymore.”
This, at least, seemed to help. Lan Zhan’s gaze softened. Tentatively, Wei Wuxian reached down to pat the top of his hand.
“And what made you decide to drink and pass out in my bedroom instead of yours, hm?”
It was not the right question to ask. In an instant, Lan Zhan had gone serious again. He caught both Wei Wuxian’s hands and tugged, until there was, at most, a centimeter of space between their noses. Wei Wuxian froze, stuck somewhere between fear and hysteria.
“I wanted to tell you,” Lan Zhan said.
“Tell me…?” Wei Wuxian should have pulled away, but Lan Zhan’s eyes had pinned him, helpless, in place. When they traveled down to Wei Wuxian’s mouth, he swore he could actually hear all the blood rushing to his dick.
“Tell you,” Lan Zhan repeated, “I like….” But it seemed liquid courage wasn’t quite enough. He stopped abruptly, and the way his shoulders fell, crestfallen, was finally enough to sever Wei Wuxian’s last functioning synapse.
“God, Lan Zhan,” he groaned. “Look—I know, okay? And I—me too, me too, but right now is not—”
“You know?”
With great difficulty, Wei Wuxian pulled his hands away, so he could bury his face in them. “Yes,” he said, muffled into his palms.
“And you also....?”
“I also,” he confirmed.
He was grateful not to be able to see Lan Zhan’s reaction, but the momentary relief lasted only until Lan Zhan took his wrists and guided them, gently, away from his face.
“Listen,” Wei Wuxian said, just as Lan Zhan surged forward, claiming his mouth in a clumsy, over-eager, and still somehow absolutely perfect kiss.
“Fuck, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian moaned it against his lips. They were exactly as flawless to the touch as they had been to admire; he darted his tongue out, tasting, and Lan Zhan shivered.
“You,” Wei Wuxian said, primarily to remind himself, “are drunk, and we need to stop now.”
“No.” Lan Zhan surged again, opening his mouth this time. Wei Wuxian was still fairly buzzed himself, and he was only human, he had to indulge a little—he dragged his teeth over Lan Zhan’s lower lip, inhaling his resulting gasp. But then Lan Zhan’s hands were on his thighs, and Wei Wuxian’s legs were parting, making room for him to crawl forward, and—
“Shit, fuck, damn it!” Wei Wuxian wrenched himself away, scooting back far enough that Lan Zhan’s thigh couldn’t press into his hard-on. “Stop. We have to stop. You are going to bed.”
When he dared glance up, Lan Zhan’s swollen, kiss-bruised mouth made him wish instantly that he hadn’t. He tried to scoot back more, and his hand came into contact with the forgotten banana. He grabbed it and held it up like a shield.
“Eat this!” he snapped.
Lan Zhan narrowed his eyes, studying the proffered banana like it was some kind of test. “Do you want me to—”
“NO.” Wei Wuxian couldn’t take any more of this. He stood, doing a frankly inspirational job of ignoring the tent in his pants, and stumbled toward the kitchen. “Eat that— potassium!” he rasped, over his shoulder.
He made himself drink two full glasses of water, then splashed a little over his face and neck for good measure, before heading back. There was no way in hell he would survive if he had to actually watch Lan Zhan eat a banana right now. Thankfully, when he finally dared return, there was nothing left but a banana peel on top of his overflowing garbage can.
Not thankfully, the first thing Lan Zhan said in greeting was, “I want to kiss again.”
He was still sitting on the floor, his legs spread too wide, looking exactly as ravished as he had two glasses of water ago. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and dug his fingernails into his palms.
“I did something very bad in a past life, and I am being punished for it,” he muttered.
“Mm?”
Wei Wuxian shook his head and, with positively Herculean effort, opened his eyes. “I promise,” he said, bending down to help draw Lan Zhan to his feet, “that we will kiss again.”
“I want to make love to you.”
Without intending to, Wei Wuxian released him, and Lan Zhan dropped easily to the bed. “You— damn it, Lan Zhan, no one says that—”
Already, Lan Zhan was reaching for him, and Wei Wuxian knew, without question, that one more touch would drain him of whatever flimsy reserves of self-restraint he was still clinging to. He took a large step back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Lan Zhan. If you make me sleep with you right now, I will absolutely hate myself in the morning, and it will be your fault.”
Lan Zhan hesitated, brow furrowing, like he was trying to work out whether or not this was true.
“Lie down,” Wei Wuxian said, channelling someone much more authoritative and less turned on than he, “and go to sleep, and I swear to you, we can make out for as long as you want tomorrow.”
He had no other ideas left, so it was an immense relief when Lan Zhan lay back, almost comically quickly, and closed his eyes.
Wei Wuxian rewarded himself with a short, blissful moment of appreciation for the sight of Lan Zhan stretched out in his bed. Then, realizing he now had to find somewhere else to sleep, he dragged himself reluctantly away, stopped by the bathroom for an extremely unsatisfying orgasm, and finally collapsed, boneless, on the sofa.
It was surreal to wake up and discover that Lan Zhan was still asleep; that had definitely never happened before, and just to be safe, Wei Wuxian tiptoed into the bedroom to confirm he was breathing. He didn’t appear to have moved at all since the night before, but his chest was, nonetheless, rising and falling reassuringly. Wei Wuxian was anxious to talk to sober Lan Zhan—and especially anxious to find out if he was as interested in kissing as drunk Lan Zhan—but he knew all too well the misery of a bad hangover. He let him sleep in, and went to take a long-overdue shower.
Only as he was toweling himself off did Wei Wuxian realize he hadn’t brought any clothes with him to the bathroom. He had learned the hard way to be overly modest while living with Lan Zhan, since it was difficult enough to ignore the suffocating sexual tension of seeing him every day even fully dressed. The only option was to use the robe Lan Zhan kept hanging neatly on the bathroom door, and to pray very earnestly that he didn’t wake up when Wei Wuxian slipped back into his room to grab something to wear.
Naturally, Lan Zhan was wide awake when he returned, further confirming Wei Wuxian’s suspicion that some long-dead ancestor really didn’t like him.
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, intelligently, coming to a halt in the doorway. He was at once conscious of the way Lan Zhan’s robe, slightly too big, kept sliding down his shoulder.
Lan Zhan had been perched on the edge of the bed, draining the last of a glass of water and looking dazed, but his eyebrows knit together, tight with worry, at Wei Wuxian’s entrance.
“Wei Ying,” he said, “I—” His eyes drifted to the robe, and he stopped abruptly. Wei Wuxian could actually see, in real time, the worry transform into panic.
“I forgot my clothes,” Wei Wuxian said, registering a half-second too late that this was not exactly helpful. He felt his face growing warm. “Ah—that is—do you remember anything from last night?”
Lan Zhan’s eyes widened, horror-struck, which immediately answered that question. “We—”
Wei Wuxian threw his hands in the air. “We didn’t!” he said quickly. “Or, well. We didn’t do that, anyway.”
Once again, his word choice didn’t seem to be helping. Lan Zhan’s ears bloomed an instant, violent red.
“Wei Ying,” he rasped. “If I did anything . . . inappropriate, I—”
He sounded so miserable that Wei Wuxian but go to him, taking both his hands as he settled on the bed.
“Lan Zhan,” he said, with what he hoped was his most reassuring smile. “It’s all right! We just talked.”
“Talked,” Lan Zhan repeated. It did not appear to bring him much comfort. His gaze drifted to Wei Wuxian’s exposed shoulder and stayed there, which sent a lightning flash of arousal straight down his spine.
Wei Wuxian bit his lip. He had been intending to start by telling Lan Zhan everything he had been withholding and moving onto this part later . . . but after all, hadn’t they waited long enough?
“You told me,” Wei Wuxian said, sliding in so their hips touched, “that you like me.”
The movement made the robe ride up on his thighs, exposing the skin there, and Lan Zhan flinched away, closing his eyes. “Wei Ying—”
“And I told you I like you, too.”
Lan Zhan went very, very still. “You like me,” he said, somewhere between a statement and a question. His eyes were still closed.
“Yes! Oh, and we did, ah, kiss, also—not too much, honest, and I absolutely deserve a Nobel Prize for stopping it there, for the record. . . .”
Wei Wuxian trailed off, at a loss for words, because Lan Zhan’s eyes were open again, and regarding him with such palpable heat that he felt suddenly feverish.
“We kissed,” Lan Zhan echoed. It couldn’t have been an accident, the way he wetted his lips.
“I’m sorry you don’t remember,” Wei Wuxian said, not entirely steadily. “Would you like to do it again?”
Lan Zhan released a shuddering breath, so drawn out he might have been holding it for years. And then, in answer, he set one hand on either side of Wei Wuxian’s waist, slow and reverent, before dragging him directly into his lap.
“Thank fucking god,” Wei Wuxian groaned.
It was hard to say who initiated the kiss, but ultimately, unimportant—what was important was the way Lan Zhan gasped into his mouth, the bruising intensity of the hands on his hips. Wei Wuxian cupped Lan Zhan’s jaw and kissed with equal intensity, the robe already barely clinging to him, only held in place by the poorly tied sash. His hair, still down and damp, was everywhere, catching on their lips whenever they shifted or panted for breath, and he paused to pull it back, but Lan Zhan beat him to it.
He wasn’t prepared, in the midst of it all, for fingers combing gently through his hair; wasn’t prepared for it to feel tender, the way Lan Zhan pushed his bangs back and up.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, helpless and keening. He caught Lan Zhan’s hands and guided them down, grinding hard against his thigh. “Please.”
Lan Zhan’s hands explored his skin easily, but stopped at the hem of the robe. “I haven’t—” he started, uncertain.
“It’s fine—it’s fine, it doesn’t matter, just touch me—”
And Lan Zhan did, taking hold of Wei Wuxian’s cock in the same movement he pushed the robe over his shoulder and the rest of the way off. Wei Wuxian cursed, scrabbling for a hold in the bedspread as he tipped his head back and rocked into Lan Zhan’s hand. Maybe it was sloppy and inexpert, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t aware enough to notice; all he knew was the heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth on his collarbone, the slick, wet sound of Lan Zhan jerking him off, deliriously filthy.
When he rolled his hips, he could feel the hard press of Lan Zhan’s cock along the curve of his ass, and he delighted in it, grinding harder to see what kinds of noises he could elicit from that perfect mouth. He was so caught up in Lan Zhan, trembling and gasping and whispering his name, that Wei Wuxian’s orgasm took him completely by surprise.
“Oh fuck—”
He jolted with it, wishing he had the strength to watch as he came over both their laps, but it was too much even to open his eyes. Lan Zhan, too, was very still now, although he was still gently stroking him through the aftershocks, thank god, and he occasionally pressed very soft kisses to Wei Wuxian’s chest.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian purred, tipping forward to catch his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, but when he moved his hips again, was met with a new sensation.
“Did you—” Wei Wuxian looked down, and there was, indeed, a wet stain spreading across Lan Zhan’s lap. “Did you come just watching me?”
“You’re beautiful,” Lan Zhan said, by way of explanation, and though he did look embarrassed, he didn’t look nearly embarrassed enough.
“Fuck.” Wei Wuxian wanted to die, but instead, he shoved Lan Zhan onto his back.
He kissed Lan Zhan while helping to strip him of his clothes, and then kissed him some more, until he was hard again, because he could. Lan Zhan came a second time spread out underneath him, completely shameless, shuddering and moaning Wei Wuxian’s name while he jerked him off. He was never, in a thousand years, going to get over it.
“You like me,” Lan Zhan said, once they had both recovered enough to transition to cuddling. There was, impossibly, a trace of doubt in his voice.
Wei Wuxian, draped half across Lan Zhan’s chest, lifted his head to glare at him. “Wh— yes, Lan Zhan. Only desperately. Only since we were sixteen fucking years old.”
How did Lan Zhan even manage to make his face look like that? Did he know how devastating it was when his lips parted in perfect, soft surprise? Was he trying to make Wei Wuxian’s heart stop?
“Me too,” Lan Zhan said, after a beat, very quietly.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help his small laugh. “I know.”
“Then . . . why. . . .” Lan Zhan began, but Wei Wuxian cut him off.
“First of all, why yourself,” he snapped. “Second of all, I was going to finally do something about it last year, but then I—well. Couldn’t.”
It was about time for that long conversation he had spent so long avoiding. Lan Zhan frowned, but when he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian lifted a hand to silence him.
“Showers and breakfast first.”
Lan Zhan was still frowning, but nodded his agreement. And then, because he really was trying to murder Wei Wuxian, apparently, he took his hand and pressed a kiss to his open palm.
“Oh my god, stop being so fucking romantic and get in the shower,” Wei Wuxian begged.
Lan Zhan did as he was told, but not without first flashing one of his rarest, brightest smiles. Wei Wuxian had to jerk off again the instant he left.
Showering and having breakfast became a lot harder, it turned out, when you were no longer pretending not to want to make out with your roommate at every available opportunity. Wei Wuxian took his second shower of the morning after Lan Zhan was finished—he was way too sticky, and his hair way too matted, not to—and when he left the bathroom, fully clothed this time, Lan Zhan was warming up some frozen jiaozi in a skillet.
“That smells good,” Wei Wuxian said.
Lan Zhan turned, and smiled, and then somehow, they were kissing.
“Oh, shit,” Wei Wuxian groaned, not meaning it. He slid his hands up the back of Lan Zhan’s neck, happy to let himself be pressed into the counter even if the drawer handles dug painfully into the backs of his knees. They made out like they were making up for lost time, Wei Wuxian’s legs wrapping around Lan Zhan’s waist, the hands on his ass transcendental when they lifted him to the countertop. Wei Wuxian bit down on his bottom lip, and Lan Zhan made a sound that he hoped desperately no one else would ever get to hear.
Unsurprisingly, the jiaozi burned.
“Do we have any more?” Wei Wuxian cringed, fanning smoke out the window as Lan Zhan tried to scrape the pan clean. They had set the fire alarm off, which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing. He wasn’t sure he had time for a third shower this morning.
“No.”
“Toast it is, then.” Wei Wuxian put his hair up and got to work taking out the bread and making coffee, while also maintaining as much distance between himself and Lan Zhan as possible.
Lan Zhan was not making it easy.
“Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian said, the second time Lan Zhan came up from behind to nuzzle into his neck. “No one would ever believe me that you’re the horny one.”
This didn’t seem to faze Lan Zhan at all; he just pressed closer, humming into Wei Wuxian’s hair. Wei Wuxian was starting to worry he had broken him. He turned around in Lan Zhan’s arms, thrusting a plate of toast between them, and pointed at the table.
“Sit down and behave yourself.”
Lan Zhan’s eyes traveled over him with far too much heat for comfort, but thankfully, he stepped back and did as he was told. It wasn’t jiaozi, but at least breakfast gave them something to focus on that wasn’t touching each other. By the time they were finished, Wei Wuxian was mostly rid of his hard-on.
“Okay,” he said, bracing himself with a swallow of coffee. “We have to talk.”
In an instant, Lan Zhan’s doe eyes turned serious, and more than a little concerned.
“I don’t mean,” Wei Wuxian amended quickly, “about us. Us is great, and should continue happening, ideally as often as possible.”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders relaxed, and his mouth quirked into one of his little half-smiles. Fuck, he was cute.
“I mean,” Wei Wuxian said, straining to maintain focus, “that there are some things I have to tell you.” His fingers curled around the sides of his coffee mug.
“You can tell me anything,” Lan Zhan said, immediately.
Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to scowl at him or crawl over the table into his lap. “You make it really hard to concentrate, you know.”
Unfortunately, Lan Zhan just smiled, correctly interpreting this as a compliment. There was no other way he was going to get through this, so Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began.
He hadn’t been intending to do anything illicit when he slipped into Jin Guangshan’s home office. It was late, and he’d had a few too many drinks, and he wanted a moment to himself away from the stuffy chaos of Yanli’s engagement party. Personally, he thought he had been doing a more than admirable job not dumping his drink directly over Jin Zixuan’s pompous head, but, according to Jiang Cheng, he was acting overly hostile and needed to go cool down before he got them all kicked out, or something.
The kind of party the Jin family threw was not Wei Wuxian’s kind of party, and Jin Zixuan was not the kind of man Wei Wuxian would have deemed worthy of his sister’s affections. But, inexplicably, Yanli really did seem to like him, and Wei Wuxian had at least had a few years of them dating to get used to the idea. Despite what Jiang Cheng thought, he really was trying.
Which was exactly why he chose to sneak away and find somewhere to hide for a while, rather than grit his teeth through one more of Jin Zixuan’s agonizing explanations of how this particular expensive type of champagne was vastly superior to the garbage anyone could buy at an ordinary liquor store. The Jin estate was certainly big enough that there was no shortage of options for places to hide: It resembled a villa more than a house, with so many wings and hallways and spiraling staircases that Wei Wuxian really had been fully and truly lost by the time he wandered into an office.
It wasn’t his fault that Jin Guangshan had left his filing cabinet open, with a folder clearly labeled “Lanling University Admissions Results” right at the forefront. Results hadn’t been released yet, and Jiang Cheng was still waiting to find out whether or not he would be joining them at Lanling next year. It would definitely improve his mood if Wei Wuxian gave him the good news a little early. He took the folder from the drawer, seated himself at Jin Guangshan’s ostentatiously large desk, and flipped it open.
The first thing he noticed was that the folder had very few files in it. Lanling University had over 38,000 students; the chances that Jiang Cheng would be one of the few names included here were slim enough that Wei Wuxian almost closed it again without looking. But something on the page he had randomly opened to caught his attention. It was a summary of results for the gaokao—the national entrance exam—and the name at the top was one he recognized: Su She, one of the more irritating guests at the party tonight. He was the son of a pair of snobbish local politicians, friends of the Jin family and, regrettably, also the Jiang family, and was usually neck-and-neck with Jin Zixuan on Wei Wuxian’s personal insufferable prats ranked list.
His gaokao scores were almost unbelievably bad. Wei Wuxian had to suppress a laugh; there wasn’t a single subject where Su She had achieved the minimum score to be admitted to Lanling. Many of his scores were even below minimum requirements far less prestigious schools, and of course, Lanling was the only university he had selected for his scores to be sent to.
“Poor idiot,” Wei Wuxian said, although he suspected his family’s influence would more than make up for any opportunities Su She missed out on at university. He made to slip the paper back in the folder, but, noticing a paperclip at the corner, turned it over to see what was attached.
It took multiple rereads for Wei Wuxian to comprehend what he was seeing. First, another page of results, identical to the other in all except the scores. These were exemplary, higher even than Wei Wuxian had gotten, and he’d broken two Qishan High School records. Then, behind that, a handwritten receipt for a very generous donation to Yanling University, signed by Su She’s father.
Wei Wuxian’s heart rate had sped up, but he set Su She’s file aside to inspect the next one. This name he didn’t recognize, but the documents that were clipped together looked very familiar: a page of poor test scores, followed by a page of phenomenal test scores, followed by a receipt for a large donation to the university. He stopped paying attention to names and flipped through the rest of the folder, just to confirm. Every single set of documents was the same.
“Shit,” Wei Wuxian muttered, with the dawning realization that he had stumbled onto something serious. He checked that nothing was out of order, then stacked the papers together, mind racing. If he told someone, the students’ reputations would be ruined. But those were spots other students had been denied, students who had worked hard to get into school based on merit, not family money. It was wrong, and Wei Wuxian had never been good at ignoring things that were wrong.
He would need evidence. He took out his phone, flipping back to the first file, trying to move fast; he had lost track of time, wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been missing from the party.
Jin Guangshan walked in on him before he could get more than three photos, as if to answer that question.
“Well,” he said, closing the door behind him and, after a pause, turning the lock on the handle. “This certainly explains why everything at the party has been so quiet and enjoyable.”
Wei Wuxian could feel his neck growing hot, less from the shame of being caught than anger. He didn’t bother trying to hide the folder, but did stuff the phone into his pocket. “How many students?” he demanded.
Jin Guangshan approached the other side of the desk, altogether much too calm. “Oh, it depends on the year,” he said. “Usually no more than fifty. This year, I think it’s closer to forty-five.”
“You can’t do this,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s wrong.”
He was alarmed at the sound of his own voice, shaking with more anger than he had realized he possessed. It wasn’t just Jin Guangshan’s complete lack of remorse, or even the admission that this had been going on for years; Wei Wuxian had been genuinely proud to get into Lanling, had actually believed it meant something. He had been a poor orphan once, and his adoption a public scandal. Being admitted with top marks to one of the most prestigious universities in China had felt meaningful, a slap in the face to everyone who had ever whispered about his sordid background. What did it say about him now?
“I assure you, it’s common practice.” Jin Guangshan was still perfectly relaxed, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “All the best universities make exceptions for students from remarkable families.”
“I don’t care,” Wei Wuxian snapped. “It’s wrong, and I’m not going to let you keep doing it.” He had friends from high school who had wanted to get into Lanling, friends with good grades and test scores who still hadn’t made the cut. He could feel his hands shaking.
“Is that so.” Jin Guangshan’s eyes flicked down to the folder between them. “Did you look at all those files?”
“What?” Wei Wuxian frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m going to tell people, if you won’t do it yourself.”
“May I?” Jin Guangshan held a hand out, and although Wei Wuxian refused to hand the folder to him, he didn’t stop him when he took it, either. He had a few photos already; it should be enough for an investigation, at least.
And then Jin Guangshan pulled one file away from the rest, and tossed it to the desktop.
The name at the top was Jiang Cheng.
“He didn’t actually do too badly overall, but still. Those English numbers aren’t what we’re looking for at Lanling.”
Wei Wuxian flipped numbly through the documents, hands shaking more now. The receipt on the last page was for one of the larger donations he had seen. It was signed by Yu Ziyuan.
“I wouldn’t have done the same for you, by the way, so you can rest assured that your scores were real. I did consider denying you anyway, but, well. Jiang Fengmian is, for whatever reason, fond of you.”
“Yanli,” Wei Wuxian said, the pages in his hands wrinkling. She would be graduating at the end of the year, with honors, and had already been accepted into Lanling’s graduate education program.
Jin Guangshan smiled. “She’s a smart girl,” he said. “She got in on her own merits, too. But she would have been admitted either way.”
Wei Wuxian set Jiang Cheng’s file down and took a moment to try and smooth out the wrinkles, closing his eyes.
“My son is going to have my job in a few years, you know,” Jin Guangshan said, mildly, as if they were discussing the weather. “So, the way I see it, you have two options. You can choose to expose the university, cause a national scandal, and sabotage your sister’s engagement, your brother’s prospects, and your entire family’s reputation. Or, you can hand me your phone so I can delete those pictures, and then go back to the dining room and toast to your sister’s happy marriage and good health.”
Of course Wei Wuxian cooperated. It hadn’t been any choice at all. Jin Guangshan returned his phone once he had deleted the photos and saw him out, and Wei Wuxian followed him, zombie-like, to join the rest of the party. Someone pressed a drink into his hands, and he stood numbly for a toast, nodding in all the right places, until he could safely slip away again, to an empty drawing room.
That was where Lan Zhan found him, alone, staring into the drink he had no taste for.
“Wei Ying?”
Wei Wuxian had wondered, in retrospect, what might have happened if he didn’t trust Lan Zhan so completely. He was reasonably sure that, if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have said a word. But it was pointless to dwell on; he suspected there was no universe in which on glance at Lan Zhan’s face wouldn’t make him want to share everything, his best and his worst, consequences be damned. He had been heartsick for too long, had depended on Lan Zhan for too much, not to look at him and see one last hope now.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, setting his drink down. He must have sounded as terrible as he felt, because Lan Zhan went to him quickly, concern creasing his brow. “How long has your uncle been a professor at Lanling?”
It clearly wasn’t the question Lan Zhan had been expecting, but still, he answered readily. “More than twenty years.”
“And—would he—how well does he know Jin Guangshan?”
Lan Zhan frowned, but whatever question he opened his mouth to ask was interrupted.
“Lan Wangji. Lan Xichen is looking for you.”
Jin Guangshan was in the doorway, and remained there, unmoving, until Lan Zhan, nodding an apology to Wei Wuxian, reluctantly left.
“For such a brilliant young mind, that was very foolish, Wei Wuxian,” Jin Guangshan said, into the quiet of the room.
Two days later, he was called into the admissions office to be informed of his expulsion. The story was in every newspaper in Beijing by the end of the week.
Wei Wuxian’s coffee cup was long since empty by the time he finished recounting everything, but he still found himself staring into it, anxious to avoid Lan Zhan’s gaze. Extended silences had always made him acutely uncomfortable, however, and he didn’t make it very long into this one before he lifted his chin, a smile plastered on his face.
“I think that’s about everything—”
“I shouldn’t have left.” Lan Zhan’s face was twisted in misery.
“What?” Wei Wuxian frowned.
“My brother wasn’t looking for me. I should have known. I should have come back.”
This jump in logic was so extreme Wei Wuxian had to pause, shaking his head incredulously. “Lan Zhan—what could you have done? It would have happened whether you stayed or not. I don’t know why I even started to tell you.”
“I could have helped.”
“I don’t see how.” Wei Wuxian reached across the table and brushed his knuckles, hoping to coax some of the guilt out of his eyes. “Lan Zhan. Really. None of this is your fault.”
Lan Zhan didn’t look at all reassured, but he did, at least, take Wei Wuxian’s hand. “Who else knows?” he asked.
“Besides Jin Guangshan and Yu Ziyuan, only Wen Qing.”
It had been surprisingly easy to tell Wen Qing. She was the first friend Wei Wuxian had ever made with no connection to anyone in his ludicrously gossipy social circle back home, and he was grateful that Lan Zhan seemed to understand this; he merely nodded, as if it made sense.
“We have to expose him,” Lan Zhan said.
At this, Wei Wuxian withdrew his hands, wincing. “We can’t,” he said. “Lan Zhan, Jin Guangshan was right—what am I going to do? Publicly humiliate my brother? Get Yu Ziyuan and my sister’s soon-to-be father-in-law sent to jail?”
“Why is protecting Jiang Cheng’s future worth sacrificing yours?” Lan Zhan didn’t raise his voice often, but it was raised now, vividly angry. “And Jin Guangshan and Yu Ziyuan made their choices.”
“It’s not just that,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “Lan Zhan, think about it—my sister is actually in love with Jin Zixuan. Obviously she has terrible taste, but I’m still not going to ruin that for her. She shouldn’t have to choose between defending me and defending her fiancé.”
“You should consider,” Lan Zhan said, sternly, “that your sister might appreciate the opportunity to make that choice for herself.”
Wei Wuxian, stinging from the reprimand, bowed his head. It was the same point Wen Qing had made several times, and he couldn’t deny it was a fair one.
“You said,” Lan Zhan began, slowly, and stilted enough that Wei Wuxian lifted an eyebrow, “that you were going to—do something. About us. Last year.”
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help smiling a little. “Well, outrageous flirting wasn’t getting me anywhere, so, yes, I was considering a more direct approach.”
The tips of Lan Zhan’s ears were going pink, but he pressed on. “But you didn’t because of . . . this.”
“It’s not that I didn’t trust you,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “It’s just—your reputation—your family’s reputation—”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan had gone stern again, unpleasantly reminiscent of his uncle during a lecture. “It’s not your job to always sacrifice your happiness for everyone else’s.” He added, softer, “And you were the one who taught me there’s no shame in needing help.”
Wei Wuxian nodded, swallowing around the sizable lump in his throat. “Okay,” he said. “Lan Zhan, I need your help.”
He smiled up at him, cautious, and after a beat, Lan Zhan smiled back.
“My uncle might be able to do something,” he said, thoughtful, but Wei Wuxian interrupted him with a snort.
“Lan Qiren hates me,” he reminded him.
Lan Zhan tilted his head, not denying it. “He’s traditional,” he continued, “but not unreasonable. If we just had some evidence. . . .”
“Ah—actually,” Wei Wuxian said, perking up, “we do.”
He took his phone from his pocket and, ignoring several texts from Wen Qing that he would have to get to later, opened the photo gallery. The three photos he’d managed to take before getting caught in Jin Guangshan’s office were saved in their own folder, and he selected it before passing the phone to Lan Zhan.
“I thought he deleted them?”
“You know old people.” Wei Wuxian grinned. “They don’t know about the Recently Deleted folder.”
Lan Zhan rewarded Wei Wuxian with a proud smile. It did very nice things to his stomach.
“I think it’s enough,” Lan Zhan said, after inspecting each photo carefully. “We could ask my brother if—”
Wei Wuxian’s phone started vibrating in Lan Zhan’s hand with an incoming call, and he held it up so Wei Wuxian could see the name: A-jie. Wei Wuxian’s heart stuttered.
“You should answer it, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said.
He took back the phone, uncertain. It had been so long, and he was so worried, and they still didn’t have a plan. But Lan Zhan was here, and he was going to help him.
With a deep, fortifying breath, Wei Wuxian accepted the call.
“A-Jie,” he said, voice already breaking.
Yanli took one look at him and burst into tears.
“Ah—A-Jie, it’s alright! I’m alright, don’t cry—” He was helpless against his sister’s sadness, always had been, which was a major contributing factor in his refusal to answer her calls since he left. Already, he was fighting against his own tears.
“A-Xian,” she sobbed, not in the least listening to him, “where have you been? Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been so worried—”
“I know, I’m sorry, I know—” Wei Wuxian wiped furiously at his eyes, and Lan Zhan, a perfect gentleman as always, stood and began busying himself with making more coffee.
“Your hair is so long!”
Yanli had covered her mouth with her hands, and Wei Wuxian hiccup-laughed at her. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I do.” She laughed then, too, but the tears were back only seconds later. “A-Xian,” she said, “I’ll always love you, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?”
In spite of his very best efforts, Wei Wuxian couldn’t maintain the smile. He covered his face with his hands, pressing hard against his eyes. “I know, A-Jie.” He felt nine years old again, delicate as glass, desperate to be wrapped up in his sister’s arms and rocked to sleep. How had he managed to go this long without even hearing the sound of her voice?
There was a sloshing of coffee just in front of him—Lan Zhan refilling his cup—and then a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. Wei Wuxian sniffled, unwilling to move his hands, but he tipped his head sideways to lean gratefully against Lan Zhan’s wrist.
“Lan Wangji,” Yanli said, sniffling as well. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“It’s no trouble,” Lan Zhan said.
“A-Xian,” Yanli said. “My wedding—I’ve been trying to tell you, but we don’t even have an address—”
“I know,” Wei Wuxian said. He parted his fingers and saw that a box of tissues had materialized on the table around the same time his coffee was refilled, so he grabbed several and did his best to mop up his face. “What day is it?”
“The eleventh,” Yanli said. “Three weeks from now. A-Xian, you’ll be here, won’t you?”
Wei Wuxian turned red-rimmed eyes on Lan Zhan, who hadn’t left his side, whose hand remained steady on his shoulder. For the first time, he wondered if the mistake he had made at Yanli’s party wasn’t that he had started to tell Lan Zhan what happened, but that he hadn’t finished.
“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, decisively. “But first, there are some things you need to know.”
He recounted everything he had just told Lan Zhan, until he got to the place where he should have revealed that Jiang Cheng was one of the students in the folder. Lan Zhan tensed when he realized what Wei Wuxian was doing, but didn’t contradict him. Yanli grew increasingly pale as the story went on; by the end, she had covered her mouth with both hands, and couldn’t stop shaking her head.
Wei Wuxian didn’t want to know what she would look like if she learned the truth about her brother and mother as well.
“I—I know it’s hard to believe,” he said, rubbing the side of his nose and feeling awkward. “But—”
“A-Xian,” Yanli said. “Of course I believe you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wei Wuxian hadn’t realized how worried he had been until relief washed over him, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “He’s your family,” he said, weakly.
“You’re my family.” Yanli looked like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or shake him. “Did you think I would forget that?”
Wei Wuxian had done more than enough crying in front of Lan Zhan for one day, so he blew his nose and very determinedly did not allow one more tear to escape. “No,” he said, muffled into the tissue. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Yanli’s expression changed into something more familiar, slightly exasperated and sympathetic at once. “It was very noble of you, and I know you thought you were doing the right thing. But you don’t deserve this, A-Xian. We have to make it right. I’m going to talk to A-Xuan.”
Lan Zhan had returned to his seat across the table while Wei Wuxian told his story, but he moved his chair closer now, so they were side-by-side, both looking into the screen.
“Don’t you think. . . .” Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan exchanged troubled glances. “I mean, it’s his father. . . .”
“And as I’ve reminded you before, they are not the same person,” Yanli said, firmly. “I’m surprised he would do something so unethical, but . . . well. He wouldn’t have been my first choice for a father-in-law.”
It was the closest to insulting his sister got, and Wei Wuxian grinned, in spite of everything. “That’s A-Jie’s way of calling someone a ‘fucking asshole,’” he translated for Lan Zhan.
“A-Xian.”
“If we had Jin Zixuan’s support,” Lan Zhan said, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s snickering, “I think that would help convince my uncle as well.”
Yanli nodded. “Send me the photos,” she said. “I’ll talk to him tonight. But I think it would help if you could be here in person, A-Xian.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t even have time to formulate a response before Lan Zhan said, “We can fly out tomorrow.”
“Lan Zhan!”
Again, Lan Zhan ignored him. “Wei Ying will send you the itinerary.”
“Thank you,” Yanli said. “I should go—I want to talk to A-Xuan right away.” She looked suddenly ready to cry again, which was the only reason Wei Wuxian didn’t yell at them both for acting like he had no say in this discussion. “A-Xian, I love you. We’ll fix it, okay? Please just come home.”
“I—” Wei Wuxian started, but looking between his sister and Lan Zhan, all the fight went out of him. “I love you too,” he said. “I’ll see you soon, A-Jie.”
He hung up and turned toward Lan Zhan, lifting an eyebrow. “Were you thinking about checking with me before booking flights, or were you just going to knock me out and drag me onto the plane?”
In answer, Lan Zhan passed him his phone. He already had the Hainan Airlines app open and two seats selected—elite class, of course—on a flight departing tomorrow at 2:45 p.m. All that was left was to confirm.
Wei Wuxian bit his lip, wondering if an entire lifetime with Lan Zhan would be enough to make up for all he owed him.
“Thank you, Lan Zhan,” he said, and he hit the Confirm button.
A little over twenty-four hours wasn’t nearly enough time to prepare for an international flight, especially when Wei Wuxian had to spend so much of it getting yelled at by Wen Qing on the phone. He had to swear on multiple deities, along with—whispered into the mouthpiece so it wouldn’t be overheard—Lan Zhan’s very fine ass, that they would come back and say a proper goodbye, before she finally let him hang up.
Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely convinced it would be goodbye; there were too many questions left to be resolved, too many ways everything could still go wrong. Even so, he was nothing short of giddy as they boarded the plane, grinning with unrestrained glee at Lan Zhan when they were offered drinks as soon as they found their seats. Wei Wuxian asked for wine, and, to his great surprise, Lan Zhan did the same.
“You can have mine,” he said.
There was a small partition dividing their excessively comfortable lounge seats, and Wei Wuxian craned forward, considering it sadly. “How am I supposed to kiss you with this in the way?”
The simultaneously flustered and longing look Lan Zhan gave him was almost enough to make Wei Wuxian break the damn thing down.
“Lots of kissing when this is all over,” he promised, because getting kicked off the flight at this point would be very inconvenient. They could still touch hands, at least, down low near the bottom of the partition, and Lan Zhan did so, a quick, affectionate brush of the knuckles. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted a little at the unfairness of having to be trapped on a plane, completely incapable of stripping all Lan Zhan’s clothes off, so soon after finally giving himself permission to do so.
They somehow made it through both the first flight and their connection without any bathroom indiscretions (and Lan Zhan had not been amused when it was casually suggested). He could no longer remember what day it was, but Wei Wuxian felt otherwise remarkably untouched by jetlag, riding the escalator toward baggage claim under the vast white arches of the Beijing airport.
“Remember,” he said, even though they had gone over it multiple times in the past thirty-odd hours, “after we meet A-Jie and Jin Zixuan—”
“I’ll find a way to distract her,” Lan Zhan recited faithfully, although he didn’t try to hide his frown. “But I don’t like this part of the plan.”
“Noted.”
Wei Wuxian came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the escalator, causing several riders to bump into him and grumble until Lan Zhan dragged him out of the way. He couldn’t help it. Seeing Yanli again in person was nothing like on the phone; she looked older, in a sophisticated, ethereal sort of way, even though it hadn’t been more than a year since he left. He understood with a sudden jolt of clarity that he really hadn’t ever expected to see her again. It was overwhelming, now, like looking at a ghost.
“A-Jie,” he said, too quiet for how far apart they were. Yanli turned anyway, and sobbed, and ran to him.
Wei Wuxian ran, too, picking her up in a twirl when they met. Usually she would protest, but this time she only held on, hugging him around the neck as tightly as possible.
“You’re back,” she said tearfully, not letting go even when he set her feet back on the floor.
It sounded true, the way she said it. “I’m back,” Wei Wuxian agreed.
They only stopped embracing when Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan approached, their uncomfortable silence physically tangible.
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, stepping to the side while still keeping one arm slung over Yanli’s shoulder. “Jin Zixuan.” He was determined to behave himself, and hoped his smile conveyed as much. “Thank you for coming.”
Jin Zixuan nodded, with predictable iciness. “It’s all very . . . unpleasant,” he said, after a moment. “But I think we should be able to resolve things relatively quietly, if we’re careful.”
Wei Wuxian suspected Jin Zixuan’s primary objective was to keep things quiet, as opposed to actually doing the right thing, but he’d take what he could get. He nodded, then glanced sideways at Lan Zhan.
“Jiang Yanli,” Lan Zhan said, relatively smoothly. “I’m told you are taking a class with Lan Xichen?”
“Yes!” she said, brightening. “He’s been so helpful.”
“Oh, I think I see our bags—you two catch up! Come help me, will you?” Wei Wuxian grabbed Jin Zixuan’s arm and dragged him toward the baggage carousel, without giving anyone time to react.
“What are you—” Jin Zixuan jerked his arm away, but Wei Wuxian had pulled him far enough that Yanli couldn’t overhear, so he let it happen.
“Listen,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know A-Jie already told you about the folder, but there’s something else I need you to do.”
Jin Zixuan raised one offended eyebrow, making it abundantly clear just how appealing he found the prospect of doing Wei Wuxian a personal favor.
“One of the students in the folder was Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said. “And Yu Ziyuan is the one who paid for it.”
Now both of Jin Zixuan’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean—”
“Yes, but A-Jie can’t know, and neither can he. You have to take his file out before anyone else sees it.”
“I don’t think—”
“I don’t care.” Wei Wuxian had already been through this with Lan Zhan, didn’t have the energy to make his case again. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about Jiang Cheng, or me, or Yu Ziyuan, or any of it—it would destroy A-Jie. You know it would.”
He held Jin Zixuan’s gaze, unflinching, and after a beat, Jin Zixuan lowered his eyes. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Just get it to Lan Zhan. He’ll take care of things from there.”
“Alright.” Jin Zixuan turned away, and even though it was clear how disapproving he was, Wei Wuxian was grateful. If he was still willing to do this for Yanli, maybe he wasn’t all bad.
Once their bags actually did appear on the carousel, they dragged them back to Yanli and Lan Zhan, who were still engaged in polite conversation about graduate school. Yanli didn’t look the least bit suspicious, and Wei Wuxian made sure to catch Lan Zhan’s eye and nod in silent thanks.
“A-Xian,” Yanli said, beaming as he approached. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Of course,” he said, hoping it was true.
When Wei Wuxian woke the next morning, he spent a long time staring at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He had expected to feel disoriented, but the view was too familiar: there was the same lotus-shaped light fixture, the same subtle mark from where he and Jiang Cheng had once thrown a sticky candy that wouldn’t come down for hours, that he had woken up to every day for years. Finally, he rolled over and groped for his phone, reviewing the quick exchange he and Lan Zhan had shared before he succumbed to exhaustion last night.
I have it. I’ll bring you what you need in the morning. Rest.
thank you lan zhan.
He felt lonely and miserable without Lan Zhan by his side, and selfishly wanted to say so, wanted to call and flirt and listen to that soothing voice get flustered on the other end. But it had been Wei Wuxian who had insisted on parting at the airport, so both Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan could get started with their tasks immediately. Time was very much of the essence, and if Lan Zhan already had the files, that meant that by the end of the day, they would likely know one way or another if their plan was going to work. Flirting could wait.
Wei Wuxian swallowed around the lump in his throat, sent Lan Zhan nothing more amorous than a quick good morning, and stood to get ready for the day.
The condo was relatively unchanged from the last time he had been home, but Wei Wuxian still needed a moment to take it all in in the daylight, pausing on his way from the bedroom to the kitchen. Although they were nowhere near as wealthy as some of the families he had grown up associating with, like the Jins and Lans, the Jiangs still had plenty of money, and Wei Wuxian was reminded at once of how awestruck he had been as a child, the first time he had seen his new home.
The main room was open and bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered stunning views of the city skyline, especially at night. Every piece of furniture fit like it had been created for the space; some, in fact, had, which adolescent Wei Wuxian had learned the hard way after breaking one or two. If he craned his neck, he could just see the kitchen, shining with immaculate stainless steel everything. Someone was rifling through the fridge, and stood as Wei Wuxian approached, closing the door. It was Jiang Fengmian.
Wei Wuxian hesitated, but Jiang Fengmian didn’t; he set down the carton in his hands and opened his arms, drawing Wei Wuxian into a firm embrace.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
Wei Wuxian held on tight, only for a few seconds. Jiang Fengmian’s expression was serious when he pulled away, but his eyes were warm. Cautiously, Wei Wuxian smiled. “Me too,” he said.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Jiang Fengmian said, “but let’s get some food in you first.”
He had no desire to argue with that, and let himself be waved into the dining room, where Yanli was already sitting with a cup of tea. She patted the seat next to her, which Wei Wuxian gratefully took, and called to her father to bring coffee.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Like the dead,” Wei Wuxian confirmed. Without intending it, his eyes fell on the seat across from his, typically Jiang Cheng’s. Of course Yanli noticed.
“You’re up early. A-Cheng isn’t awake yet.” She touched Wei Wuxian’s elbow. “It’ll be alright, A-Xian. Everyone just wants to see you.”
He nodded and gave her a weak smile. Jiang Fengmian brought in coffee for him, and he accepted it with thanks, waiting until he and Yanli were alone again before leaning in to ask quietly, “Do you know if they’ve talked yet?”
Yanli, too, lowered her voice. “Not yet, but he said after breakfast. Soon.”
There was, thankfully, food to distract them in the meantime, and Wei Wuxian found he really did forget everything else for a blissful few moments at the spread that was soon set before them. All his favorites were there, whether they were breakfast appropriate or not: fried dough with warm soy milk and chive pockets and shredded pork in sweet bean sauce and congee, plus multiple bowls of different spicy toppings.
“Oh god, thank you,” he moaned, overcome, as he dished a little of everything onto his plate. “The food in America is so bad.”
Yanli and Jiang Fengmian laughed, and they all ate, Wei Wuxian with such enthusiasm he could hardly speak. He was so invested in shoveling as much into his mouth as possible that he didn’t even notice when Jiang Cheng entered. Suddenly, the appreciative murmuring of Yanli and Jiang Fengmian quieted, and the seat across from Wei Wuxian’s was no longer empty, because it was occupied by his brother.
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, at once aware that there was chili oil dripping down his chin.
Jiang Cheng’s expression was harder to read than usual. His typical undercurrent of haughty irritation was there, of course—Wei Wuxian suspected his face was just stuck like that at this point—but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, impossible to miss no matter how determinedly he avoided looking at anyone. It might have been embarrassment, or even hurt.
“So. You’re back.”
Jiang Fengmian stood, muttering something about making more tea, and left the room. Wei Wuxian dabbed at his face with a napkin while he searched for what to say and how to say it.
“I missed you, too,” he said, deciding on a lighthearted approach. “How has your first year at school been? Have you gotten kicked out of a Lan Qiren lecture yet? It’s important that you uphold my legacy, you know.”
Jiang Cheng’s lip curled, and Wei Wuxian knew at once he had chosen the wrong tone.
“Yes, we wouldn’t want to risk anyone forgetting your legacy.”
Yanli said, “A-Cheng,” sharply, but in the same moment, a buzzer sounded from the main room. They had a visitor.
“I’ll get it,” she said, standing. It took a beat for Wei Wuxian to register that he and Jiang Cheng were now alone in the room.
“The food’s good,” Wei Wuxian said, picking with much less fervor than before at his plate. “You’d better have some before it gets cold.”
Jiang Cheng didn’t move. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
Wei Wuxian pushed some pork around with his chopsticks. He was the one avoiding his brother’s gaze now; he could feel it boring into him, an electric current in the air. “What do you want me to say?”
Jiang Cheng scoffed. Silence fell, and stretched, until he blurted, “Jiejie tried calling every day, you know.”
It wasn’t what he had been expecting. Wei Wuxian lowered his chopsticks to the table, head bowed. “I know,” he said.
“We didn’t even know where you went. Just America—that’s all.”
Wei Wuxian risked a glance up, lifting one eyebrow. “Is this your way of trying to tell me you were worried?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Jiang Cheng snapped, just as Yanli and Lan Zhan entered the dining room.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet, but Lan Zhan didn’t even acknowledge him. His attention was Jiang Cheng instead, and he was doing nothing to mask his complete disdain.
“Here,” Lan Zhan said, handing Wei Wuxian a folder without averting his eyes.
“What’s he doing here?” Jiang Cheng could always talk big, but he was reddening under Lan Zhan’s gaze. “Come to defend your honor for you?”
“His honor wouldn’t need defending,” Lan Zhan said, “if his brother didn’t publicly defame it.”
Jiang Cheng stood so fast his chair hit the wall, and Yanli stepped between them to put a restraining hand on his chest, at the same time Wei Wuxian caught Lan Zhan by the sleeve.
“Okay, I think that’s enough catching up for one day!” He tugged, laughing and backing them both toward the doorway. “Lan Zhan, why don’t you just come with me— this way—”
He had to physically drag Lan Zhan down the hall, and even after slamming his bedroom door shut behind them, stood with his back to it, just in case.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. “What’s gotten into you?”
The question seemed to have the unintended effect of making Lan Zhan even angrier. His jaw set in a rigid line, giving the distinct impression he wouldn’t mind breaking down a door or two right now. Wei Wuxian spread his arms to widen his block.
“You’ve done all this for him,” Lan Zhan said. “Did he even ask if it was true, before he went to the papers denouncing you? Has he apologized once?”
Wei Wuxian sighed, deciding on a new tactic. He took Lan Zhan’s sleeve again, and steered him around, leading them both toward the bed.
“It’s not his fault,” he said. He took a seat and waited patiently for Lan Zhan to do the same. “I didn’t exactly try to convince him I was innocent—and you know Yu Ziyuan. He’s a mama’s boy. Always has been.”
He was still drawn as taut as a bow, but after a moment, Lan Zhan sat stiffly beside him. “None of that is an excuse. He should know what you’ve done for him.”
“But he’s not going to,” Wei Wuxian said, and Lan Zhan was too smart not to hear it for the warning it was. “Right? We’ve talked about this. It’s already been decided.”
Lan Zhan’s shoulders fell with his sigh, and some of the anger seemed to drain out of him too, thank god. “I’ll do what you think is best.”
“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian hesitated, about to say more, then remembered the folder in his hands and opened it instead. “And thank you for this, too.”
Lan Zhan nodded. “When are you going to talk to Yu Ziyuan?”
“I think,” Wei Wuxian said, closing the folder and taking a deep breath, “right now.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Wei Wuxian smiled and leaned in to press his nose to the side of Lan Zhan’s neck. Soon, one way or another, this would all be over, and he could focus his energy on something new instead. Something good.
“No,” he said. “For now, you need to go home.” That was part of the plan, too.
Lan Zhan sighed again, then kissed the top of Wei Wuxian’s head. It was very difficult to draw back and let him stand up.
“Call me when you’re done.”
“I will.”
Wei Wuxian walked him out, just to make sure there were no altercations with Jiang Cheng on the way, and then returned to his room for the folder. There was nothing left to do but force his leaden feet to carry him upstairs and knock on the door of Yu Ziyuan’s study.
“Come in.”
She didn’t sound surprised at the knock, nor even look up when Wei Wuxian entered, closing the door quietly behind him. Yu Ziyuan was seated at her desk, glancing back and forth between her laptop and a notebook as she wrote something down. She always had a way of appearing somehow royal, even doing something as mundane as office work; her posture was immaculate, and her hand didn’t waver as she wrote. One of her meticulously manicured eyebrows lifted when Wei Wuxian locked the door handle, but otherwise, she might not have known he was here.
“Well,” she said, returning her attention to her writing. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Meaning, of course: You better have a good reason for disobeying me.
Wei Wuxian took two steps forward, fighting the nervous impulse to clear his throat. There wasn’t much he was afraid of, but Yu Ziyuan instilled a different kind of fear, one that tapped so effectively into his childhood nightmares it was difficult not to burst into tears and run from the room at one word from her.
“I came for A-Jie’s wedding,” he said, thankfully sounding more confident than he felt.
“You weren’t invited.” She turned a page in the notebook and continued writing.
“Yes, I was.”
Yu Ziyuan set her pen down, very slowly, and lifted one hand to remove her reading glasses. Keeping his knees from buckling when her eyes met his was very possibly the bravest thing Wei Wuxian had ever done.
“Do you mean to say,” she said, with exacting calm, “that you intend to make a mockery of Yanli’s wedding and expose her and the rest of our family to even further shame than you already have?”
“I mean to say, I’m going to be at my sister’s wedding, because I love her and she wants me there.”
Yu Ziyuan always hated it when Wei Wuxian referred to Yanli and Jiang Cheng as his sister and brother. She narrowed her eyes, and though it was the kind of reaction that had made Wei Wuxian crumble as a child, he felt strangely emboldened now, fueled by her resentment.
“And,” he said, a little louder, “I’m not going to stay in America. I won’t let you drive me off anymore.”
“Your audacity never fails to astonish me.” Until now, Yu Ziyuan had shown about as much emotion as one normally devoted to filling out paperwork, but there was a sharper edge to her voice all of a sudden, familiar and dangerous. “You haven’t taken enough from this family? How much shame do you have to cause before you’re satisfied?”
“I haven’t done anything to shame this family.”
She stood, with the obvious intention of slapping him, but Wei Wuxian tossed the files onto her desk before she could otherwise move. Lan Zhan had transferred Jiang Cheng’s files to an unmarked, completely nondescript folder, but there was a slight tremor at the corner of her mouth when she looked at it.
“I have a favor to ask,” Wei Wuxian said, with rehearsed precision. “When I leave your office, I want you to call Jin Guangshan. His son is talking to him right now, explaining that we know everything and, hopefully, convincing him to step down as president of Lanling. Tomorrow, Jin Guangshan will call a press conference and publicly admit to being part of an admissions scandal. He will also admit I was framed in an effort to discredit me after I discovered it. When you call, you should urge him not to be an idiot and to agree to all his son’s terms.”
Yu Ziyuan had gone very still. “And why,” she said, “would he agree to that?”
“He’ll agree because, as long as he does, we’re going to destroy all the evidence. You can remind him that he has more money than God, and will therefore probably be able to get off with a slap on the wrist, but it is very important for the enduring reputation of Lanling University that half of its most prestigious donors and alumni aren’t implicated in the same decades-long bribery scandal.”
It was a slight exaggeration of the amount of evidence they had access to, but Wei Wuxian was good at bluffing. It was also the part of the plan that had been the hardest to settle on. Wei Wuxian didn’t like the idea, which had, surprisingly, been Lan Zhan’s, but he couldn’t argue that they had no other incentive to offer for Jin Guangshan to surrender without a fight. And if Jiang Cheng and Yu Ziyuan were getting a chance at being spared the scandal, Lan Zhan had insisted, everyone else should, too.
“What happens if he refuses?”
“All the evidence will be given to Lan Qiren. Lan Zhan already has it. He’ll hand everything over at one word.” Wei Wuxian paused before adding, “And A-Jie will call off the wedding.” This part, too, he didn’t like, but Yanli had made him promise to include it.
Yu Ziyuan was deadly silent. Her eyes cut again to the folder on her desk, and without a word, Wei Wuxian could see she understood.
“Lan Wangji doesn’t have any evidence about Jiang Cheng,” she said.
“No.”
She picked up the folder to flip through it idly. “Who knows?”
“Only Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan.” He hesitated. “Does—did Jiang Fengmian—?”
Her lips pursed, and she snapped the folder shut. “No,” she said. “This is the only copy?”
Wei Wuxian nodded, then watched as she sidestepped to turn on a machine to the right of her desk. It was a paper shredder, sleek and subtle enough that he wouldn’t have registered it were it not now whirring to life. Yu Ziyuan did not look at him as she destroyed files, one by one, folder and all.
“He should have gotten in,” she said, straightening up once the shredder went quiet. “He’s every bit as smart as you are.”
“I know that.”
“You think you’re some kind of savant. You think you’re smarter than everyone, but he works harder than you. He’s always worked harder.”
“I know that.”
Yu Ziyuan fixed her cold eyes on him, then turned away, facing the window. “I will make the call. You may go.”
Wei Wuxian’s legs shook as they carried him back down the stairs and into his bedroom. He was buzzing, overcome by frustration and anger but also, bizarrely, relief. Yu Ziyuan wasn’t anything like a mother to him, and never would be—but he was home, and they had reached an understanding. His family was still his. At least for now, it was enough.
There was an element of anticlimax to watching the press conference the next morning. Wei Wuxian couldn’t say why, except that it felt too surreal, or maybe that the real battle had already been won in Yu Ziyuan’s study. He watched from the couch, wedged between Jiang Fengmian and Yanli, who held his hand. Jin Zixuan had texted last night to give advance notice of when the conference would happen, and although Yanli had communicated it to everyone in the family, Jiang Cheng and Yu Ziyuan were currently nowhere to be seen. Even so, Wei Wuxian suspected they were still watching.
Wei Wuxian had to give grudging credit to Jin Zixuan; Jin Guangshan said everything exactly as they had instructed, taking full responsibility. When he got to the part about framing Wei Wuxian, he even apologized, and managed not to sound completely disingenuous. Jiang Fengmian sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The full answer wasn’t something Wei Wuxian would ever want Jiang Fengmian to hear, so he gave a partial answer instead. “I was worried about A-Jie’s wedding.”
“You shouldn’t have had to carry that on your own.” Jiang Fengmian shook his head, then hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more. Wei Wuxian wondered if he was trying to work out what details had been omitted.
“I know,” Wei Wuxian said, quickly. He wasn’t sure how much the rest of the family knew about Yu Ziyuan sending him away, but he didn’t have any desire for them to find out. He just wanted badly to be done with it now. “I’ll ask for help next time.”
“And you won’t forget that you’re family,” Yanli said, stern, but she squeezed his hand at the same time.
Jiang Fengmian studied him for another beat, then smiled, patting Wei Wuxian awkwardly on the back. “Your sister’s right,” he said.
Wei Wuxian rubbed the side of his nose, also awkward, but couldn’t help returning the smile.
“Well,” Jiang Fengmian said, standing. “I suspect I’m about to have a lot of phone calls to take.”
He left with the promise of making time to celebrate later, and once he was gone, Yanli picked up the TV remote. It was just journalists commenting on the scandal now, and Wei Wuxian had no interest in hearing any of it.
“You can turn it off,” he said. She did, and as she was putting the remote away, Wei Wuxian braced himself.
“It must have been very hard,” he said, clumsily, “for Jin Zixuan. I’ll tell him myself later, but. Please thank him. For me.”
It was almost worth the agony of praising Jin Zixuan to watch Yanli’s face brighten with pride and happiness. “I will,” she said. And then her eyes abruptly changed, going wide with shock at something over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He turned at once.
Jiang Cheng was standing in the doorway, drawn and pale.
“I should probably go call him right now, actually,” Yanli said, getting to her feet. She nodded to Wei Wuxian over her shoulder, encouraging, before slipping past Jiang Cheng in the doorway. He hardly moved.
“Is it true?” he asked.
Wei Wuxian furrowed his brow. “Of course it’s true.” He felt irritated, suddenly, in a way he hadn’t even a year ago, when Jiang Cheng had been perfectly happy to badmouth him to any reporter who asked for an interview. “You think Jin Guangshan would sabotage himself for no reason?”
“Then why—” Jiang Cheng lurched forward, his fists curled, but stopped, with what looked like great difficulty, before actually punching anything. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“He threatened to interfere with A-Jie’s wedding.”
“So you just left.”
Wei Wuxian was growing weary of explaining himself. He rubbed his arms and looked away, up at the ceiling, anywhere but at Jiang Cheng. “Yeah.”
“Without trying to tell Father, or Jiejie, or—” he bit the sentence off abruptly, but Wei Wuxian knew where it was going.
“Would you have believed me?” he asked, quietly.
“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “Maybe. Did you have to think twice about it before telling Lan Zhan, so he could run off and play with you in America?”
“I didn’t tell Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. “Not at first. He just believed me.”
The rest went unsaid, but it hung in the air between them, clear as glass: Unlike some people. He could feel Jiang Cheng bristling.
“Well, that’s great,” he said. “It’s good you have such a faithful friend to stand by you, since obviously your family can’t be trusted. I’m happy for you.”
“Would you stop?” Wei Wuxian got to his feet, and he could see from the way Jiang Cheng tensed that he was half-expecting a fight. “That’s not—I just thought it would be better for everyone, okay? The Jiang name has been dragged through enough mud on my account.”
Jiang Cheng paused, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to work something out. “What are you talking about?”
“When Jiang Fengmian adopted me.” Jiang Cheng just kept on waiting, so he elaborated, “It was a scandal! Everyone said it was because he—you know. With my mom.”
Yu Ziyuan had brought it up every time Wei Wuxian did so much as bring home an 80% on a test; he knew very well how long it had taken Jiang Fengmian to restore even a fraction of his formerly pristine reputation. Yet Jiang Cheng was still staring at him, incredulous.
“Wh—you were just a kid, Wei Wuxian.”
“So?”
“So—are you trying to say you think that was your fault? That you owe us something?”
Now it was Wei Wuxian’s turn to look incredulous. “Of course I do,” he said.
Something in Jiang Cheng’s expression shifted, fractionally, toward understanding. “Wei Wuxian,” he said. “You’re an idiot.”
Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, at a loss. There had been no bite to the insult—if anything, it had sounded almost fond, reminiscent of how they used to tease each other as kids.
“Look.” Jiang Cheng rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “I shouldn’t have said any of those things about you to the papers. I just—you didn’t say anything, and then you just left, and it felt like you weren’t ever coming back. I was pissed.” He swallowed, hard; Wei Wuxian could hear it. “I’m sorry.”
The last time he could remember Jiang Cheng apologizing to him directly, they had been in elementary school, and he had put jelly in Wei Wuxian’s shoes. Wei Wuxian was stunned speechless for a moment, and then, at once, overjoyed.
“Jiang Cheng,” he said, spreading his arms and grinning. “Does this mean I get a hug?”
Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight it when Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around him, which was as good as agreeing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Wei Wuxian said, quiet into his shoulder. He didn’t like to think what would happen if Jiang Cheng ever found out there was still more he didn’t know, and resolved again that he never would.
“Good.”
Wei Wuxian released him, and Jiang Cheng stepped back a pace. They both hovered, uncertain, until a buzzing in Wei Wuxian’s pocket thankfully interrupted them. When he took his phone out, Lan Zhan’s name was flashing on the screen.
“You’d better take that.” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes again—they really were going to get stuck that way—but he smiled a little, too.
Wei Wuxian did, sticking his tongue out, and Jiang Cheng snorted before turning to leave.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan said.
He had forgotten to answer. “Hi,” he said. He was looking after Jiang Cheng’s silhouette as it disappeared down the hall.
“Are you alright?”
Wei Wuxian considered the question. “I’m good,” he said. “Really good.”
“Good.” Lan Zhan paused. “The files are gone.”
Jin Zixuan had a second set of copies—minus Jiang Cheng’s file, of course—but Wei Wuxian suspected those would be destroyed by morning, too, if they hadn’t been already.
“Thank you.” He sighed, leaning against the door frame. “I want to see you.”
There was another pause, longer this time. “I’m on my way over,” Lan Zhan confessed, sounding guilty.
Wei Wuxian laughed, and something in his chest unfurled, a weight lifting, replacing itself with a hopeful spark. “See you soon, then.”
Maybe it was in poor taste to leave after just having accomplished multiple family breakthroughs, but no one seemed surprised, exactly, when Wei Wuxian said he was going out. He kissed Yanli goodbye, promised to be back in time for breakfast, and hurried to the elevators, ready at the curb by the time Lan Zhan drove up.
“Isn’t this your brother’s car?” Wei Wuxian asked as he climbed in.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. He waited for Wei Wuxian to buckle his seatbelt before leaning across to kiss him. Wei Wuxian made a small noise of surprise—the kiss wasn’t exactly chaste, and the windows weren’t tinted—but that was all the protest he had. He melted into it, humming.
“I missed you, too,” he said, once Lan Zhan drew back. Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered up, then back down to Wei Wuxian’s mouth. Heat pooled in his stomach, spreading uncomfortably out, and with tremendous effort, he forced himself to turn toward the window. He was not going to sully his good name again so soon by getting caught fucking Lan Wangji in a car.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Where are we going?”
Lan Zhan thankfully took the hint and straightened up. “My brother’s,” he said, before shifting into gear.
“What?” Wei Wuxian whirled around. “Is that—I mean, are they—”
“They offered their apartment to us. They’re going to stay with my uncle for a few days.”
“Oh.” Wei Wuxian relaxed. “Well—that’s kind of them.” He hoped it wasn’t too obvious how horrified he had been by the alternative prospect; Lan Xichen was wonderful, but something about his long-term roommate had always given Wei Wuxian the creeps. He worked in administration at Lanling, and likely, Wei Wuxian realized, would have plenty to do in the fallout of Jin Guangshan’s resignation.
“They’re going to offer to readmit you.”
Lan Zhan’s profile was lit by the neon signs of restaurants they drove by, and Wei Wuxian let himself bask in the sight of it as the words sank in.
“Ah,” he said. It seemed strangely unimportant, even though it was all he had been dreaming about for a year.
“Will you accept?” They slowed to a stop for a red light, and Lan Zhan turned to him.
“I don’t know.” Wei Wuxian smiled. “You’re what I liked best about university. I’m not sure I care about the rest as much anymore.”
The light turned green, but the car didn’t immediately move, until someone honked behind them. Lan Zhan hit the gas too quickly.
“So reckless, Lan Zhan.”
“What do you mean?” Lan Zhan asked, refusing to be distracted, as usual. His voice was husky.
Wei Wuxian fidgeted with the strap of his seatbelt. Saying it out loud still felt embarrassing, and a little terrifying, but he owed Lan Zhan at least this much. “I mean, I want to stay with you. It might take me some time to figure the rest out. Is that alright?”
Lan Zhan exhaled, loudly, like he had been holding the breath. It was hard to tell in the dark of the car, but Wei Wuxian was fairly sure his ears were pink.
“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. His hand drifted over, and Wei Wuxian met it halfway, grasping tight.
They stayed like that for the rest of the drive, holding onto each other, otherwise quiet. Wei Wuxian didn’t think his heart had beat this fast during any of the difficult conversations he’d had in the past forty-eight hours, and it made him feel vaguely ridiculous, like a teenager again, but he couldn’t pretend he minded. There had been too much stopping him from even considering the possibility of a happy ending for too long. He could use a fresh start.
“It’s enormous.” Wei Wuxian dropped his overnight bag to the floor, gaping as they stepped inside Lan Xichen’s apartment.
Apartment was an insufficient word, really, to describe where Lan Xichen lived. Technically it was a studio, but only in that the living and sleeping spaces weren’t separated, as it occupied the entire eighteenth floor of the building. Wei Wuxian had been in lecture halls that would fit fewer people. It was as elegant as it was large, sparsely but meticulously decorated, so calming and tasteful it reminded Wei Wuxian of Lan Xichen himself.
“You know,” he said, lifting an eyebrow as he scanned the room, “there’s only one bed.” He had long suspected there was something more to Lan Xichen’s relationship with his roommate than they let on.
Lan Zhan glared at him with such ferocity that Wei Wuxian choked on a laugh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Wei Wuxian threw his hands up, ruining the attempt at innocence with his grin, and toed off his shoes before taking himself on a tour of the space. There was an open, modern kitchen that even boasted a full-size oven, a dining table with seats for twelve, and a piano centering the living space. The bed looked freshly made, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on any visible surface.
“Are you sure they actually live here and this isn’t just a showroom for the building?”
Lan Zhan was in the kitchen, and didn’t answer; Wei Wuxian made his way over, and when Lan Zhan turned, he was holding out a glass of just-poured wine.
“Thank you.” He accepted the glass, going weak with fondness. It was too like Lan Zhan to immediately see to Wei Wuxian’s needs with no regard for his own. “You’re not having any?”
A haunted look crossed Lan Zhan’s face. “Never again.”
Wei Wuxian couldn’t help another laugh. “Probably for the best.”
He sipped wine and watched, content, as Lan Zhan set about making tea. They ordered an excessive amount of food to be delivered—it was impossible to choose just a few dishes when there was so much they had missed—and between stuffing himself with second and third helpings of crepes and fried noodles, Wei Wuxian recounted his conversations with Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Cheng. Already, it all felt distant, like something that had happened to another person. It was actually refreshing, not to be so instantly exhausted by the mention of his family. Lan Zhan didn’t once interrupt, although his facial expressions did little to mask his opinions throughout.
“He apologized,” Wei Wuxian said firmly, when Lan Zhan’s arched eyebrow did not immediately relax after hearing about Jiang Cheng. “So you have to play nice now.”
He didn’t look thrilled about it, but Lan Zhan gave a terse nod.
“Yu Ziyuan—” he began.
“Isn’t going to be a problem,” Wei Wuxian put in. “I know it’s unusual, alright? But I’d rather just . . . let it be now.”
Lan Zhan frowned. “You deserve better,” he said.
“I’ve got better, from the rest of them.” Wei Wuxian reached across the table, touching the top of Lan Zhan’s hand. “And from you.”
He had been going for lighthearted and flirtatious, but the smile died on Wei Wuxian’s lips when he found himself trapped under the intensity of Lan Zhan’s gaze. Lan Zhan caught his hand before he could draw it back, and Wei Wuxian swallowed, suddenly under the distinct impression that everything on the table was about to get swiped off and him dragged onto it. He didn’t mind the idea.
It might have happened, if Lan Zhan’s phone hadn’t started buzzing in the same moment. They both jumped, and Lan Zhan scowled, releasing Wei Wuxian’s hand to dig the phone out of his pocket. Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to press his glass of wine to the side of his flushed neck. He had been way too ready to fuck Lan Zhan on his brother’s table, which probably meant a cool-down was in order.
“It’s Wen Qing.” Lan Zhan held the phone out to him, and Wei Wuxian took it, grateful for a distraction as he swiped to accept the video call.
“I can’t believe you just let me find out what happened because my parents saw it on the news,” Wen Qing said, without so much as a hello. “Were you ever planning on calling? Or even just replying to my messages?”
“I’m sorry!” Wei Wuxian set his wine down, bowing his head apologetically. “I forgot to connect to Wifi—we’re at Lan Zhan’s brother’s place.”
Lan Zhan began to clear the table, and Wei Wuxian shot him a thankful smile. He acknowledged it with a small smile in return, and any cooling effect Wei Wuxian’s wine glass had had on his flush was instantly lost.
“Mmm.” Wen Qing continued to regard him with chilly disapproval, but the effect was ruined when Wen Ning appeared in the background, waving enthusiastically.
“Wuxian-Ge! You’re coming back, right?” Wen Ning’s face fell when he added, “Jiejie said you might not.”
“We’ll definitely come back,” Wei Wuxian assured him. They had far too many loose ends to tie up and goodbyes to make in Oregon not to return, no matter what long-term decisions they arrived at. He hesitated before admitting, “But we might not stay long.”
Wen Ning seemed satisfied, at least. “I’ll see you soon then! Bye, Wuxian-Ge!”
Wen Qing watched her brother leave, her mouth quirked in gentle exasperation, before returning her attention to the screen. “Well, I’m glad to hear at least you weren’t planning on ghosting us.”
“Of course not. We’ll come back after the wedding, and then—” He glanced up as Lan Zhan began wiping down the tabletop with a cloth, and their eyes met. “Then we’ll see.” It didn’t bother him not to have answers beyond that; he couldn’t quite remember why he had ever concerned himself with anything other than Lan Zhan’s gaze, now that he held it.
It must have been too obvious what was happening, even from a camera phone. “Oh shit,” Wen Qing said, her voice straddling shock and approval. “You two are finally fucking, aren’t you?”
Lan Zhan froze, then stiffly turned, retreating to the kitchen to rinse out the cloth. The back of his neck was red.
“Wen Qing!” Wei Wuxian wasn’t totally sure whether to be appalled or amused. “He’s right here—”
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s fine—I’ll let you go so you can keep gazing adoringly at each other, but you absolutely have to call and tell me everything tomorrow.”
“I promise,” Wei Wuxian said, relieved. “And Wen Qing—thank you. I don’t think I would have done anything without you.”
Wen Qing’s eyes softened with her smile. “What are best friends for?”
Wei Wuxian beamed so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She waved him off, and he ended the call.
Lan Zhan was still rinsing out the same cloth when Wei Wuxian cautiously approached him from behind.
“I, ah—think it’s clean, Lan Zhan.”
He blinked down at his hands and turned off the water. It was hard to tell if he was pleased or mortified, so Wei Wuxian spoke carefully, studying the side of his face. “I didn’t actually tell her anything. She just kind of figured it out.”
“It’s alright.” Lan Zhan wrung the last of the water from the cloth and draped it over the faucet. He was still flushed, but when he turned toward Wei Wuxian, it was decisive, without a hint of doubt or embarrassment. “I don’t care if everyone knows.”
It wasn’t possible not to kiss him. Wei Wuxian made a helpless sound in the back of his throat and tipped forward, pressing his hands to Lan Zhan’s chest, his lips to the corner of his mouth. Lan Zhan gathered him in so close it briefly winded him, and kissed him back.
They hadn’t kissed this way before. Wei Wuxian had never kissed anyone this way before, soft and unhurried, so distant from the drunk and desperate haze of Oregon that those could have been different people, a memory from a dream or a movie. He opened his mouth and Lan Zhan mirrored him, rewarding him with small, stuttering gasps when Wei Wuxian licked over his bottom lip, up across his teeth. Lan Zhan’s fingers curled over the small of Wei Wuxian’s back, and even though he was burning, drunk with wine and arousal and newly kindled hope, he thought he would be happy to stay like this forever, just kissing in someone else’s kitchen, if it meant never having to helplessly pine again.
Lan Zhan shifted, the hard, insistent line of his dick hot against Wei Wuxian’s hip, and he reminded himself, delightedly, that there was no need to make any such bargain.
“You know,” he said, lifting his arms to circle Lan Zhan’s neck, “that night you got drunk, you also said you wanted to make love to me.”
He tilted his head to better flash a mischievous smile, eagerly anticipating Lan Zhan’s flustered reply, but had somehow forgotten that Lan Zhan was so desperately romantic he had lost the ability to be embarrassed about it.
“I do,” he said, perfectly earnest.
“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. He was the flustered one now, struck dumb with awe at this beautiful, bewildering person he had somehow tricked into wanting him. It made no sense, but he wasn’t going to waste another minute thinking about it. “Take me to bed right now.”
He was done with delays, done with patience and prioritizing. Lan Zhan went momentarily still, but only until Wei Wuxian jumped up to wrap his legs around his waist, at which point he very quickly came to life. His hands found Wei Wuxian’s ass, gripping firmly to hike him up higher, and as encouragement, Wei Wuxian kissed him deep, groaning into his mouth. Lan Zhan stumbled, but did mostly manage to carry him the entire way to the bed, although they had to stop a few times along the way, once slamming Wei Wuxian’s back so hard against the wall he had the wind knocked out of him.
“Sorry—” Lan Zhan huffed hot against his neck, and Wei Wuxian clutched at his shoulders, hissing once he could breathe again.
“Do you even know,” he said, in between biting a trail from Lan Zhan’s ear down his neck, “what your fucking mouth looks like?”
Lan Zhan swallowed, and Wei Wuxian revelled in the way his throat bobbed as he dragged his teeth down it.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice was rough, in a new, unfamiliar way that Wei Wuxian was eager to hear more of. They had made it to the bed somehow, and when Lan Zhan let him fall to the mattress, Wei Wuxian wasted no time in tearing his shirt up and off. It halted Lan Zhan where he was standing, his only movements the labored rise and fall of his chest.
“Lan Zhan.” Watching Lan Zhan watch him like this, spellbound, was inarguably nice, but already Wei Wuxian was stretched thin with restraint, so turned on he could hardly keep himself propped upright. “Are you going to take your clothes off, or do I have to do it for you?”
Lan Zhan visibly swayed, his eyelids fluttering closed in a wince that looked genuinely pained.
“Wei Ying,” he said again, taking a step forward, and Wei Wuxian helped, pulling him in by the waist of his jeans. He couldn’t stop his hands sliding up and under Lan Zhan’s shirt, couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his abdomen before mouthing down, wet and feverish. One of Lan Zhan’s hands clutched at the back of Wei Wuxian’s head with an instinctive jolt, tangling into his hair, which had already come out of its ponytail without his noticing.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, thumbing open the top button of his fly, then pausing. “What do you want?”
He could get used to this, peering up at Lan Zhan from this angle, feeling him shaking with the effort of remaining standing as he stared at Wei Wuxian’s mouth through half-lidded eyes.
“Anything,” Lan Zhan said, his voice gravelly, fingers unsteady as they combed through Wei Wuxian’s hair. “I want anything— everything, just. You.”
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched, and he had to tilt his head down, huffing out a startled laugh, disoriented by how suddenly he had allowed the upperhand to be taken from him. He couldn’t find it in him to be resentful; did it even count as surrender, when he was getting everything he’d ever wanted?
“Come here,” he murmured, laying back on the bed, catching Lan Zhan’s arms to draw him down and in. He collapsed into the pillows, Lan Zhan crawling over him, and they kissed, working each other out of their jeans and underwear slowly, until they were both breathless and pressing against each other, skin-to-skin.
“Hold on,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan’s eyes on him were dark and impatient, but he let him slip away, watching with curiosity as he crawled to the other side of the bed. There was a small nightstand there, and Wei Wuxian opened first the top drawer, then the bottom, humming with satisfaction to find it well-stocked.
He rolled over, bringing with him a box stuffed to the brim with several varieties of lube and condoms. The look on Lan Zhan’s face went from stunned to betrayed.
“I didn’t say anything!” Wei Wuxian insisted, biting his lip against a laugh. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why your brother and his roommate would only have one bed and a drawer full of—”
“Please stop,” Lan Zhan begged, sincerely enough that Wei Wuxian did feel a little bad.
“Sorry, I’m done, sorry!” He set the box down and cupped Lan Zhan’s face in his hands, offering an apologetic kiss. When he drew back, Lan Zhan did appear less horrified, though there was still a troubled crease in his brow.
“Hey,” Wei Wuxian said, smoothing a thumb over the crease, like he’d always wanted to. He thought he might have some idea of what was still bothering him. “You know I haven’t actually, ah—done this—either, right?”
Lan Zhan stilled, eyes narrowing like he had misunderstood. “But—you’re always out late. You’re always coming home with phone numbers—”
“I throw them away.” Wei Wuxian laughed, weakly, to hide his embarrassment. “I’ve been obsessed with you since we were in high school, Lan Zhan. I tried to mess around a little to distract myself, but—how could anyone else even be good enough for a one-night stand when I know you exist?”
Whatever doubt was still darkening Lan Zhan’s expression lifted, and Wei Wuxian was grateful to be pushed down into a bruising kiss before he could admit anything else. He whimpered into the kiss, then moaned, just from the brush of Lan Zhan’s hand along his hip. They were only rocking against each other, Lan Zhan hadn’t even touched him, but already Wei Wuxian was trembling, overstimulated to the point that he almost didn’t register the words when Lan Zhan spoke them close to his ear.
“I love you,” Lan Zhan said, kissing down his jaw to punctuate the confession. “I’ve always loved you—even before I knew it, I loved you—”
Wei Wuxian cursed, desperately twisting to catch Lan Zhan’s mouth, still trembling, almost delirious. He only realized he had come when Lan Zhan’s hand, sliding up his side, left a wet slick there.
“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian said. He repeated it several more times, alternating between sucking and biting at Lan Zhan’s lips while they kissed, both punishment and reward. There was no other way to respond right now, no way he could trust himself to find the words—he had always been better with actions, but silently vowed to Lan Zhan to get there, to say it back, once he was brave enough.
He didn’t remember deciding to flip Lan Zhan over onto his back, couldn’t say where he found the inspiration to hold his hips to the mattress as mouthed down his chest and stomach. Lan Zhan’s skin bloomed under his touch, and there were noises coming from him Wei Wuxian was certain he had never made before, so it was surprisingly easy to take his cock into his mouth like someone with experience, surprisingly easy to move with confidence.
Lan Zhan grabbed his hair and pulled, and Wei Wuxian discovered he liked it. He liked it, too, when Lan Zhan jolted, likely an accident, and his cock hit the back of his throat; it shouldn’t have felt so good, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised to find every new sensation of Lan Zhan better than the last. He thought Lan Zhan might have said something like an apology, and hummed to show he was alright, and that produced a very strong reaction. Wei Wuxian did it again, wrapping a hand tight around the base of his cock at the same time, and Lan Zhan came swearing, alternating between several words Wei Wuxian had never heard him use and “Wei Ying,” repeated over and over.
Swallowing it wasn’t his favorite, Wei Wuxian decided, but it was worth it for the new element of filthiness it added to their kiss when he dragged himself back up to Lan Zhan’s mouth. There was a new look on Lan Zhan’s face, too, when at last he could open his eyes, something at once searing and reverent, that made Wei Wuxian quickly aware he was hard again.
“You are so,” Wei Wuxian began, at the same time Lan Zhan rasped, “Wei Ying.” They both stumbled over breathless laughs. Wei Wuxian groped behind him, finding the box, and produced a bottle of lube, before he lost all control of his senses again.
“I would like to fuck,” he said, “or make love, or whatever, please, now.”
Lan Zhan didn’t laugh at him. He nodded, serious, and they settled on their sides, facing each other, Wei Wuxian slicking first his own hand, then Lan Zhan’s. He traced his hand over the curve of Lan Zhan’s ass, and Lan Zhan imitated him, and it was, somehow, completely natural. When they kissed, it was almost too sweet for how good this felt, pressing experimentally into the places that made Lan Zhan’s breath catch, lifting his own hips to allow easier access for Lan Zhan’s fingers.
He discovered it worked better to slip a hand under Lan Zhan’s thigh rather than behind, and when he panted out a “Can I,” Lan Zhan said “Yes,” almost too fast. Lan Zhan’s forehead tipped against Wei Wuxian’s collarbone when he pressed a finger in, and then Wei Wuxian was saying “Yes” too, moaning it, before Lan Zhan could even form the question. There was nothing unpleasant about it, nothing uncomfortable. Wei Wuxian rocked his hips and bit his lip and shivered and cursed, pushing back against Lan Zhan immediately, begging him for two fingers before he had even fully taken one. He was going to come again, he realized distantly, fucking Lan Zhan with his fingers and getting fucked the same way, and while it wasn’t an unappealing prospect, he knew there were other options.
“Fuck—Lan Zhan, wait, stop,” Wei Wuxian managed, through gritted teeth, and although he made a bereft noise when Lan Zhan’s fingers slipped out of him, Lan Zhan was gracious enough not to say anything about it. “Please let me fuck you—” he begged, knowing he sounded desperate but far past the point of caring. “I can’t—I need to— fuck, Lan Zhan, please—”
“Yes, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan said it easily, rolling onto his back. When Wei Wuxian drew his hand away, Lan Zhan’s legs fell apart, and that almost did him in right then and there.
“Fuck, I can’t even look at you.” Wei Wuxian surged forward, gripping Lan Zhan by the thighs and lifting both legs over his shoulders, his dick so painfully hard at this point that he hissed when it came into contact with skin.
Lan Zhan’s head was tilted to the side, his arms spread uselessly above him. He was watching Wei Wuxian with an intensity that settled, coal-hot, in his chest. He forgot to even think about a condom, would remember to be mortified about it later, but for now only just managed to slick himself down with a little more lube and not come in his hand by some miracle. Lan Zhan arched his back, anticipatory, when Wei Wuxian lined his cock up against his ass, and it almost made him choke on his tongue.
“Tell me,” Wei Wuxian said, with difficulty, “if you need me to stop, or—anything—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, wetting his lips. “Please.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t have to be asked twice. He shifted, and Lan Zhan shifted with him. They both drew in, then released, synchronous breaths when he pushed all the way in.
“Fuck,” Wei Wuxian said, insufficiently. He could barely keep his knees from buckling, had to close his eyes immediately because the sight of Lan Zhan arching under him, skin stained red with his flush, hands twisting into the sheets, was more than anyone could be expected to endure.
It didn’t matter that his thrusts were uneven and rough. Already Wei Wuxian could feel his orgasm building, threatening to tear through him too soon, and his grip on Lan Zhan’s thighs tightened, in a way he distantly knew would leave bruises later. Nothing should be allowed to feel this good, no one should be allowed to feel this way; he couldn’t comprehend anything beyond the heat of Lan Zhan’s skin, couldn’t hear beyond the sound of Lan Zhan’s groans, soft at first but louder as Wei Wuxian’s thrusts became more urgent, as if, impossibly, it felt this good for him, too.
He knew when he came this time, couldn’t miss the blinding, dizzying flash that dragged Lan Zhan’s name out of his throat, somehow filthier than any curse he had ever uttered. His senses came back to him in stages, as he shuddered and panted and continued to roll his hips, helpless, through the end of his orgasm. Sight returned last, and when Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, he almost wished it hadn’t: Lan Zhan was a mess underneath him, shivering and soaked with sweat, his cock so hard it was purple.
Wei Wuxian pulled out, probably too fast. He couldn’t help himself, he had to kiss him, had to taste his mouth again now—
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan welcomed the kiss, but gasped into his mouth, ragged and breathless, “ Please —I need—”
“Fuck me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian begged. He was out of his mind with lust, long past the point of oversensitivity, but it didn’t matter—Lan Zhan was so good, he deserved everything, and Wei Wuxian would spend the rest of his life trying to give it to him.
They were both so wet it was no effort at all for Lan Zhan to slick his cock. He sat back against the pillows as he did it, and Wei Wuxian made an impatient noise, which Lan Zhan echoed when Wei Wuxian couldn’t wait anymore and crawled into his lap. He was fairly certain this wasn’t how you were supposed to do it your first time, and didn’t care; he couldn’t remember what it felt like to care about anything but this, Lan Zhan’s lips and his sweat and his skin, the straining groan that ripped out of him as Wei Wuxian lowered himself onto his cock.
He couldn’t move anymore, but Lan Zhan could. Wei Wuxian just let himself be held in place, Lan Zhan’s hands strong and reassuring on his hips as he fucked him. Distantly, Wei Wuxian was aware that he was talking, just little fragments of words, “Lan” and “I” and “Yes” punctuating their rhythm, but he couldn’t have silenced himself even if he wanted to. Lan Zhan came without him even realizing. One moment, they were clinging to each other, and the next Lan Zhan was stroking the small of his back, gently pulling out, whispering soft words Wei Wuxian never registered as he eased him down to the bedspread.
They lay pressed into each other’s skin, sometimes kissing and touching, only half-awake, for what might have been minutes or hours. Time had never felt less real, or the rest of the world more irrelevant. If the sweat cooling on his skin hadn’t started to get uncomfortably cold, Wei Wuxian thought he might have slept through the night exactly like that, more content than he had ever been. But eventually, it became too much, and he moaned a small protest.
“Covers.”
Lan Zhan huffed out a laugh, which made Wei Wuxian frown and reluctantly open his eyes.
“What?” he demanded, knowing full well it sounded petulant.
“We should clean up first.” Lan Zhan pushed some of Wei Wuxian’s hair out of his face, and the gesture was so affectionate that whatever argument he had been formulating was quickly forgotten. He caught Lan Zhan’s hand, holding it against the side of his face, and let out a dreamy sigh when it earned him another deep, tender kiss.
“Can’t you just clean me up?” Wei Wuxian said at length, only partially because he liked bossing Lan Zhan around. He really was exhausted.
Lan Zhan lifted an eyebrow, obviously battling several impulses at once. Obedience, evidently, won; he left, returning shortly with a bowl of water and a towel, and Wei Wuxian had to work very hard not to grin too obviously at how easy it had been. He stretched out and made appreciative noises as Lan Zhan bathed him, and returned the favor with enthusiasm. Every part of him was aching, bruised and burning and oversensitive, or else he was fairly certain he would have climbed back into Lan Zhan’s lap to start all over again. It was certainly waking Lan Zhan up, his breath coming a little faster and his skin twitching with every new touch.
“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian left the towel in the bowl and set it on the floor, pressing a kiss to Lan Zhan’s ribs before straightening up. “I promised my sister I’d be home for breakfast tomorrow,” he said, significantly, because Lan Zhan had already started to reach for him. “Which means we should probably sleep at some point.”
“Mm.” Lan Zhan sounded petulant now, but he didn’t argue, and when Wei Wuxian tugged at the covers, he moved so they could settle underneath them.
“Do you want to come?” Wei Wuxian felt a little uncertain, for some reason, even with his head pillowed on Lan Zhan’s chest. “To breakfast?”
He had to tilt up to see Lan Zhan’s expression, but it was relaxed, gratified. “Yes,” he said.
Wei Wuxian smiled, cushioned by the reassurance, and nuzzled closer, letting his exhaustion take him. He drifted off to the warmth of Lan Zhan’s mouth pressed against his temple.
They didn’t manage to actually leave the apartment until almost eleven the next morning, but considering how difficult it was for either of them to inhabit the same room without putting their hands all over each other, Wei Wuxian personally considered that impressive. He didn’t think anyone in his family would appreciate the excuse, however, nor the added detail that they probably wouldn’t have made it out at all had they not given into feverish mutual handjobs in the shower. He just hoped they had successfully identified and hidden all the bite marks on both their necks.
Whisps of memory from the night before kept coming back to Wei Wuxian on the drive over. He continually had to turn his face to the window, struggling to hide his stupid, lovesick grin.
“What?” Lan Zhan said for a third time, looking sideways at him. He had Wei Wuxian’s favorite, tiny smile curving at the corner of his mouth, so it was impossible not to tell him.
“I was just thinking about how you looked when I was fucking you,” he said. Followed urgently by, “Eyes on the road, Lan Zhan!”
“Please don’t say that kind of thing when I’m driving,” Lan Zhan said, strained, even though he had technically missed the traffic cones.
“Understood.” Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it more, but he kept the rest to himself, content to relive the night in his head. It didn’t seem fair to the rest of the world, getting to be this happy.
He turned to admire Lan Zhan’s profile, and almost didn’t realize he was speaking when he observed, wistful, “I have no idea what I did to deserve you.”
They were pulling up to the gate to the building, so Lan Zhan had to pause to speak to the guard before turning a disbelieving look on him.
“Wei Ying,” he said. His tone was surprised, but also firm. “You changed me.”
He had the audacity to park right after that, and casually unbuckle his seatbelt, like he hadn’t just said the most sentimental, most ridiculous thing anyone had ever heard. Wei Wuxian sputtered, then scoffed to cover it up, and finally, just before climbing out of the car, kissed him fast on the cheek. They were both flushed and smiling the entire elevator ride up.
Everyone greeted them enthusiastically, with the exception of one obligatory remark from Jiang Cheng about what time people must eat breakfast in America, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t even pretend to be bothered when he was overflowing with joy, seated in his family’s dining room with Lan Zhan at his side. Only Yu Ziyuan wasn’t present, and that had been a fairly common occurrence even before she had forced him into exile. He didn’t think too much of it.
Breakfast was simple but perfect, and over the food they talked about Oregon, which Wei Wuxian found himself enjoying more than expected. It felt nostalgic, rather than miserable, now that he could look back on it as a diversion instead of a cage. Once he had told a few stories about Wen Qing, and Lan Zhan put in that she was the one who had convinced him to come back, Yanli immediately insisted she and her entire family be invited to the wedding, to Wei Wuxian’s absolute delight. They moved onto wedding plans from there, and he even thought he heard Jiang Cheng ask a normal, polite question about the health of Lan Zhan’s family, which Lan Zhan responded to equally politely. Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so proud.
Everything had taken on such a dreamlike feel that he didn’t even register it as unusual, at first, when Yu Ziyuan joined them, taking her usual seat at the head of the table. Both Jiang Cheng and their father looked up in thinly veiled alarm, but the only person she acknowledged was Lan Zhan.
“Lan Wangji,” Yu Ziyuan said imperiously, without so much as a greeting, helping herself to tea. “I hear we have you to thank for taking care of Wei Wuxian while he was away.”
To his right, Lan Zhan had gone stiff, but he kept his face neutral. “I accompanied him,” he said, with practiced calm.
“Hmm.” Yu Ziyuan considered them both, sipping from her cup. “You had to withdraw from Lanling, didn’t you? To accompany him? I recall that your uncle wasn’t pleased.”
Lan Zhan didn’t immediately answer, the only outward sign that he was furious. Under the table, Wei Wuxian found his hand and squeezed.
“He now understands my decision,” he said eventually.
Wei Wuxian frowned, suddenly realizing the implications of this. It had never occurred to him that Lan Qiren might have been angry enough about Lan Zhan going to Oregon—going to Oregon for Wei Wuxian— that there had been consequences. But if he had really cut Lan Zhan off. . . .
“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said, lowering his voice, even though he suspected everyone else could still hear. “If Lan Qiren didn’t support you going to the U.S., then how—”
“My brother,” Lan Zhan murmured, equally quiet.
Wei Wuxian sat hard against the back of his chair, reeling. Between this and the rather unspeakable things they’d done in his bed last night, he decided he owed Lan Xichen a very nice gift basket.
“Well,” Yu Ziyuan said. “I hope it was worth it.”
Her eyes traveled between the two of them, leaving no doubt that the “it,” in this case, was not referring to “your study abroad experience.”
Lan Zhan’s jaw set, stubborn, and he met her gaze straight on. “It was.”
Wei Wuxian didn’t get long to bask in how fucking good the moment felt. Jiang Fengmian and his siblings were exchanging uncomfortable glances, and he jumped in, scrambling for a distraction. “So—A-Jie! Have you thought about—”
“I’m told Lan Qiren is taking over as interim president at Lanling.” Yu Ziyuan interrupted him without a hint of remorse, but she sounded more conversational than before, her manner inquisitive rather than challenging.
“He is,” Lan Zhan acknowledged.
This was news to Wei Wuxian—it must have been announced after the conference—but when he looked between Lan Zhan and Yanli, neither seemed surprised.
“It wouldn’t be right for A-Xuan to take over the position right now,” Yanli explained, taking pity on Wei Wuxian’s bewildered swiveling. “He can apply in a few years, when things have settled down. He doesn’t want the job right now anyway.”
“It’s a wise decision,” Yu Ziyuan said. “Lan Qiren is experienced and sensible. He’ll be able to lead Lanling out of a scandal.”
“My uncle looks forward to helping restore Lanling’s good standing,” Lan Zhan said, for all the world like he had rehearsed it, “and intends to atone for past misconduct by first readmitting Wei Ying.” He paused before adding, “Should he want to return.”
The only sound in the room for several seconds was Wei Wuxian choking on his coffee.
“Indeed,” Yu Ziyuan responded at length. There was a flash in her eyes that almost looked like respect.
The conversation thankfully returned to wedding preparations after that, and soon Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were clearing the table, waving off the rest of them to the living room to help Yanli prepare table centerpieces for the reception.
“I’ll be right there,” Wei Wuxian said, moving toward the kitchen and nodding at Lan Zhan to follow his siblings. “I need more coffee.”
He almost turned right back around and walked out again when he found himself face-to-face with Yu Ziyuan, but it was too late; she was observing him closely, Jiang Fengmian nowhere to be seen.
“Oh—” Wei Wuxian put a hand out, steadying himself on the doorframe, and raised his cup. “Coffee,” he said, meekly.
Yu Ziyuan lifted the pot, and Wei Wuxian only just managed to recover from his shock and hold the cup steady in time for her to start pouring.
“He’s a good man,” she said, without preamble. “And a good connection.”
She finished topping off his cup and turned to set the pot down. Wei Wuxian stood very still, gaping at her back, until Jiang Fengmian entered with more dishes.
“Wei Wuxian,” he said, setting down the plates to muss his hair. “We’ll take care of this. Go help your sister.”
“Yes,” he said, almost gasping it. Then, quieter: “Thank you.”
He thought he saw Yu Ziyuan’s head tip, just slightly, in acknowledgement.
Lan Zhan was waiting for him in the hallway, of course. Wei Wuxian very nearly crashed into him in his hurry to escape the kitchen, and that got hot coffee sloshed down both their fronts, but he hardly even noticed it.
“Are you alright?” Lan Zhan asked. He took the cup from Wei Wuxian’s hands and set it aside, putting steadying hands on his elbows.
Wei Wuxian wiped halfheartedly at his shirt, then at Lan Zhan’s, then gave up. He was giddy, suddenly, couldn’t turn it off; he glanced down the hall, then back over his shoulder, before stepping in close.
“Yes.” He kissed Lan Zhan full on the lips, enjoying the thrilled little tremor that passed between them. Before he could lose his nerve, he tilted his head and caught Lan Zhan’s gaze. “By the way: I love you.”
Wei Wuxian tried to step back, but Lan Zhan held him in place. The hands on his arms tensed, and he thought for a moment that he could see tears brimming in Lan Zhan’s eyes, before he closed them and pulled Wei Wuxian in for another kiss. It was deeper than the first, and lovely, until it was interrupted.
“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng’s voice called out from the living room, startling them both into jumping apart. “Don’t think you’re getting out of helping! Get in here!”
The glare Lan Zhan shot in that direction was positively murderous, but Wei Wuxian just laughed and took him by the hand.
“Coming!”
Wei Wuxian led the way toward his brother and sister, grinning helplessly, and Lan Zhan let himself be led, because he was, indeed, a very good man.