Work Text:
Wei Ying was not a violent person. He really wasn’t.
He was more of the excitable kind—like, really excitable.
It really didn’t take anything for him to get going. Tickets for a long awaited concert? A new movie coming out? Old friends visiting? Finding the missing sock with that cute little hamburger emoji on them? Making eye-contact with the squirrel living in the tree outside his bedroom window?
It was all the same, really—a pure rush of endorphins, filling his limbs jack-full until he couldn’t possibly in good conscience sit still—or stand still or keep his mouth shut or stop screaming with his eyes—
So yes, he was kind of excitable, but not—like, in any special way. Wei Ying thought those were actually very normal reactions everyone would have, so he couldn’t quite understand how Nie Huaisang could keep being so calm.
“What the hell, Huaisang. They enslave their hosts, why isn’t your face doing anything?”
Huaisang looked up from his phone, and checked the display panel above their heads.
“Our bus is late, text your brother.”
Wei Ying threw his head back and sighed. “They are zombies, Huaisang! Zombies! I cannot believe you right now.”
When Huaisang only looked at him, with those calm dark eyes, waiting and so—unexcited—Wei Ying sighed again, murmuring, “Alright, alright, god, calm down,” and took out his phone to text A-Cheng of their change in plan. They would have to catch a later train to Yunmeng.
Grimacing, he put the phone on silent afterwards, knowing exactly how his didi was going to react, and while doing so, caught a look of the still open site displaying the weird fungus and felt excitement bubbling up again. Enlarging the picture, he showed the phone to Huaisang, held it under his nose as the latter still wouldn’t look up.
That he smacked him against his lip really wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault, because some rude commuter seemed to think jostling Wei Ying without any kind of follow-up excuse was alright.
Huaisang’s eyes teared up, but they were still glaring at him, so Wei Ying took a hasty step back, throwing his hands in the air to appease him, saying, “Alright, sorry, that really wasn’t—” just for his fist to collide with something hard.
There was a faint grunt, and a barely audible “Fuck”.
Well, fuck, indeed.
Wei Ying turned around, hands still raised in the air, eyes so wide he could feel the stretch in his lids, the words “Oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry” on his lips as he looked at the stranger, just for his tongue to decide working wasn’t something tongues did anymore. The man in front of him clutched his bleeding nose, his glasses slantingly sitting on it—possibly bent out of shape, goddammit—with those eyes glaring straight at him.
“Oh my fuck, sorry, your eyes,” was all that came out of him, his mind blank.
Wei Ying didn’t even know if it was him speaking—but of course, it had to be. As his brain caught up with him, he realized that nobody else would say something so inherently stupid.
Get a grip, he told himself. Offer a tissue, apologize appropriately.
The voice in his mind sounded suspiciously like his jiejie.
Wei Ying opened his mouth, ignoring Huaisang’s pained groan next to him—did he hit him again? He couldn’t remember, but that was secondary right now, because the man in front of him was still glaring, and those eyes were still—like that.
“I mean—like, are they real? Wow, you should be an eye-model or something, you know. With those babies. Damn, I’d pay a lot to look at them all day.” His own eyes widened as he saw the man starting to frown, his slender hand still clutching his bleeding—bleeding, Wei Ying!!!—nose.
“Oh god,” Wei Ying said, and patted his pockets for tissues. “I’m so sorry! Here.” The man took the tissue from him and nodded in thanks. Still so polite!
Wei Ying fumbled with his phone, his stomach rolling as the man righted his glasses as best as he could. “You know, that wasn’t supposed to sound so creepy. I’m not gonna stalk you, promise!” He laughed nervously, ignored another one of Huaisang’s pained groans. “But I bet all your stalkers say that to you.”
The man with the unreal golden eyes looked at him, gaze steady and—dare Wei Ying hope—amused?
Wei Ying floundered—again, god he was an embarrassment. “Not to say that you have a lot of stalkers or—any, but you know—”
“Wei Ying,” Huaisang interrupted quietly, nudging his side, nodding at the approaching bus. Their bus. Relief and disappointment warred in his chest.
“Ugh,” Wei Ying said, eyes catching the man’s, which are looking at him from behind crooked glasses. Wei Ying took his well-loved sharpie out of his jacket pocket, reached for the hand of the stranger and said while writing down his phone number on—very soft skin—god, why was he such a creep, “Call me if you need your glasses fixed. I’ll compensate you.”
Spontaneously adding a heart next to his name—he wouldn’t ever think of this again, he had decided—he added, “Or if you have problems with any stalkers, you know,” and winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Goddammit.
With burning cheeks, he threw a broad grin at the silent man. “You could also just call me if you—you know—have any questions or just—” he took a deep breath, Now or never, Wei Ying, “wanttogoonadatebecauseyou’regorgeous. Oh well, there’s my ride. Bye!”
Huaisang, face hidden behind his fan, clutched his arm in a steel-tight grip with his other hand and yanked him towards the bus.
Wei Ying looked back over his shoulder, and when he saw the man watching him leave, his belly fluttered.
A pure rush of endorphins, indeed.