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Today is the twenty-fifth of February. Wei Ying is in the second year of his PhD and the sixth month of his visiting fellowship at the National Taiwan University. He and Lan Wangji have been dating for three hundred and sixty-five days. It’s Lan Wangji’s first visit to Taipei.
When Lan Wangji steps out of the airport, it’s far warmer than Shanghai and drizzling. He considers taking a taxi to Wei Ying’s rented apartment but decides against it. It’s only five pm, which is when Wei Ying usually leaves the university to go home. There’s no need to rush. He takes the metro instead, all the way to Sanchong station, then the 62 bus into Wanhua District, where Wei Ying’s apartment is.
Lan Wangji doesn’t like travelling, not particularly. He’s lived in Shanghai all his life. He likes routine and comfort and security: going to the same cafe on the way to his job at the Shanghai Museum, buying food at the same grocery store each week, running the same jogging route in the mornings. Knowing exactly where he is and where the things he needs are. Still, on occasion, he supposes that it’s nice to experience a different place. He listens to the women behind him on the bus speaking in dialect and looks out over the wide expanse of the Tamsui River as they cross over.
In the airport, he had bought a small guidebook; now, he leafs through it idly. Wei Ying loves sightseeing, but he’s confessed to Lan Wangji that he hasn’t found time to see much of Taipei. Lan Wangji hopes they’ll be able to do some exploring this weekend. He has no interest in, say, going up Taipei 101, but he would like to see the National Palace Museum, wander around with Wei Ying, looking at the art, holding hands. Checking out the competition, huh, Wei Ying would say, nudging their shoulders together.
At the stop by the elementary school, he disembarks, emerges into Wei Ying’s new neighbourhood. It feels strange, being in a place that Wei Ying knows so well, whereas Lan Wangji doesn’t at all. The rain has stopped, but it’s still humid, moisture hanging in the air. He checks the map on his phone and crosses the road. Not far to go now.
On the corner, Lan Wangji sees a street vendor peddling bright rows of late-winter fruit: custard apples, tangerines, guavas, jujubes. He gets a bag of loquats and picks out a few tangerines too, absent-mindedly fantasising about peeling them for Wei Ying later after they fuck, feeding him segments, naked and sated beneath the sheets, letting Wei Ying lick the juice off his fingers. The anticipation is a sweet ache in his stomach.
By the 7-Eleven, he turns onto the street of Wei Ying’s apartment building. He no longer needs a map: Wei Ying has described the street, his block, the surroundings so clearly that he knows exactly where he is. Lan Wangji walks past rows of motorcycles, a couple of convenience stores, until he sees Wei Ying’s apartment complex. The building is opposite a takeaway deli called sir’s, where he knows Wei Ying often gets dinner.
“I think the auntie who owns it is going to adopt me as her own one of these days,” Wei Ying told him over video call one evening, as he ate noodles from a takeout container. “What with how often she feeds me, I may as well move in there. Look! Look how big the portion she gave me is!” He held the phone closer to the mountain of food. “She’s always trying to give me extra, because she says I’m too skinny. You two would get on—she keeps moaning that I put too much chilli oil on her food and that I won’t be able to taste it.” He shook his head and laughed.
Outside the deli, Lan Wangji pauses to look through the window. There’s a woman inside, chopping vegetables with brisk efficiency. She notices him and comes to lean over the counter that opens out into the street. Cheerfully, she says, “Good evening! Can I help you?”
“No, thank you,” he says, and bows his head slightly.
Lan Wangji wants to tell her, thank you for taking care of Wei Ying, but obviously that’s no way to speak to a stranger. He’s grateful, though, that Wei Ying has always been good at finding people with big hearts; people who will make sure he eats, make sure he laughs, even when he’s far from home.
❖
Long distance was hard at first, for both of them. Wei Ying first mentioned his plan to move to Taipei one evening last summer. They’d been dating for a few months at this point, and it was still new enough that Lan Wangji was seized by debilitating outpourings of feeling every he looked at Wei Ying; joy that he got to have him, disbelief that it was really happening. On the evening in question, they’d just finished eating dinner, and Wei Ying was lying on the sofa with his feet in Lan Wangji’s lap.
“So,” he said, idly changing channels on the TV. “Remember in May when I went to that big conference?”
“Mm,” Lan Wangji said, turning a page of his book. With his other hand, he absently stroked a thumb over Wei Ying’s ankle.
“And Baoshan Sanren was speaking? You know, the biggest name in quantum chemistry right now?”
“Mm.” Wei Ying had talked about nothing else for days.
“Well, uh, we spoke for a while after her talk and then I sent her an email, and I never expected her to even reply, but she got back to me this week, and said that I had some interesting ideas that she’d like to collaborate on,” Wei Ying said, all in a rush. “She asked me if I wanted to come and be part of her research group for the next academic year. To work with her. Like, a visiting fellowship kind of thing. But, uh, I’d have to go to her university. Which is, um, NTU, in Taipei.”
Lan Wangji put aside his book, then. Wei Ying wasn’t meeting his eyes, staring instead at some variety show on the television. Only the restless motion of his hands, twisted in the hem of his t-shirt, betrayed any indication of how he felt.
“I don’t know what I should do,” Wei Ying went on. “I don’t want to live in Taipei, it’s so far from everyone I love. But it’s Baoshan Sanren. Working with her would be huge. She hasn’t taken on any new students for years. It’s a crazy opportunity, I’d be nuts to turn it down. And it’d probably only be for a year, max.”
He looked at Lan Wangji, finally. Lan Wangji wanted to ask, What about us, Wei Ying? but it was obvious that Wei Ying had already made up his mind, and he simply needed someone to tell him he was making the right decision. So Lan Wangji set his own selfish desire aside and said, “You should accept,” because what else could he say? Wei Ying deserved to have a chance to shine, to do the work that meant so much to him. He held Wei Ying’s ankle tightly and tried not to think about what it would be like, Wei Ying in Taipei, Wei Ying not here.
Wei Ying accepted the position. He told Lan Wangji over breakfast one day, and then they didn’t mention it again, for weeks.
“Are you going to break up?” Lan Xichen asked Lan Wangji, when Lan Wangji finally told him about Wei Ying’s plans.
Lan Wangji said, “No. I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”
Lan Xichen didn’t say anything in reply, but he didn’t need to. Lan Wangji could see what he was thinking: You need to talk about it.
Lan Wangji knew Lan Xichen was right, but every time he tried to speak to Wei Ying about his move to Taipei, the words got caught in his throat and he couldn’t get them out. Wei Ying didn’t mention it either, and so they kept not talking about it, all through Wei Ying buying his plane tickets and finding an apartment to rent in Taipei and packing his things.
They still hadn’t spoken about it when they were in the cab to the airport. Jiang Cheng, Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying were all squished together in the back seat and Lan Wangji was in the front, and it would have been completely inappropriate to turn around and ask Wei Ying, Are we going to break up? so Lan Wangji kept his mouth shut.
At the departure gate, Jiang Yanli cried as she hugged Wei Ying, who was also crying, and Jiang Cheng was rolling his eyes at them, but his voice was decidedly croaky when he said goodbye. Then Jiang Yanli tugged him back a little, allowing Lan Wangji and Wei Ying a modicum of privacy, as much as was possible in the middle of a bustling international airport.
Wei Ying wiped at his eyes and looked up at Lan Wangji. He said, voice breaking slightly, “Well. I love you.”
Lan Wangji assumed that this meant they weren’t going to break up, although he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure. He had to ask. He swallowed and said, “Wei Ying, are we going to stay together while you’re in Taipei?”
Wei Ying stared at him. “What? Yes, of course. Wait, why? Do you want to break up or something?”
“No,” said Lan Wangji, realising that this was entirely the wrong time and place to be having this conversation. He wanted to crawl away into a corner and maybe cry a little.
Instead, he kissed Wei Ying chastely and said, “I love you. Have a safe flight.”
Wei Ying bit his lower lip, opened his mouth, then closed it. He hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulders and said, “Okay,” and then he walked through the gate and he didn’t look back.
For the whole week afterwards, Wei Ying avoided all of Lan Wangji’s calls, and the WeChat messages he sent were brief and devoid of information: i’m fine, got gua bao for dinner, love you, miss you. It worried Lan Wangji, but he figured that Wei Ying needed space and time to adjust. He responded with similarly brief messages, and stopped calling so much. Wei Ying replied even less frequently.
By the next week, Lan Wangji was so heartsick and unhappy that he spent a whole afternoon at work looking up flights between Shanghai and Taipei. He wanted to stand in front of Wei Ying and look him in the eye and ask him what was going on. Then he came home and found Wei Ying on his doorstep.
“Hey,” Wei Ying said, eyes red from crying. “I’m sorry, to turn up on you like this, I just—I don’t know if I can do this without you.”
Then Lan Wangji said what he should have said right from the beginning, which was, “I’ll always be here, no matter where you go.”
Wei Ying stepped into his arms and tucked his head under Lan Wangji’s chin, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Lan Wangji held him and suddenly everything felt manageable: the distance and heartache just another problem they would fix together.
Wei Ying said, voice muffled because he was speaking directly into Lan Wangji’s neck, “I was going crazy, thinking that you wanted to break up, that I was making your life hard—”
“Wei Ying, no,” Lan Wangji said. He pressed his face into Wei Ying’s hair. “You make things good. You always do.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying said, relaxing into Lan Wangji’s arms. “Okay.”
They talked it out properly that evening, about how they were going to make it work, and things got easier after that. They video called every day, usually multiple times, and Wei Ying left him long, rambling voice notes that he listened to on the metro home. Lan Wangji sent Wei Ying pictures he took throughout the day, mostly of the river: the still water at dawn when he went for a run, or the bridges after dark, lit up and glowing.
It helped, too, that Wei Ying settled more into his research as the weeks went by; he and Baoshan Sanren were investigating quantum coherence and photosynthetic systems. Lan Wangji knew very little about quantum chemistry when he first met Wei Ying, but he made a real effort to learn more. He wanted to pay proper attention to Wei Ying when he spoke about it. He still didn’t quite understand all the ins and outs of the subject, but he knew enough to understand that Wei Ying’s work with Baoshan Sanren was going well.
They made sure to see each other in person at least once a month, but Wei Ying insisted on always coming to visit Shanghai, rather than the other way around. Once, Lan Wangji pointed out that it seemed unfair to make Wei Ying do all the travelling, especially with the relative difference in their salaries now Lan Wangji had been promoted to curator at the museum. He offered to come to Taipei instead, but Wei Ying shrugged and said, “No, it’s better this way, because while I’m in Shanghai I get to see A-jie and A-Cheng and Huaisang and the Wens too! And your apartment is way nicer than the shitty one I’m renting here. I don’t even know if you could fit in the tiny bed they’ve given me, your legs are way too long.”
Lan Wangji didn’t push the issue; he knew it was important for Wei Ying to see his friends and family, and he was more than happy not to have to travel, but he couldn’t help but feel that it might be nice to spend a whole weekend alone with Wei Ying. So when Lan Wangji had started planning for their anniversary, weeks ago, he’d decided that he’d surprise Wei Ying by coming to Taipei. Luckily, the day itself has fallen on a Friday: perfect for a long weekend. He’s managed to keep it a secret from Wei Ying, who apparently has forgotten all about their anniversary, seeing as he hasn’t mentioned it once. Wei Ying’s always had a bad memory; on this occasion, it suits Lan Wangji just fine.
On Monday, Lan Wangji called Wei Ying and asked if he had weekend plans. Casually, Wei Ying said, “Nah, nothing much. It’s gonna be an intense week because Baoshan-laoshi and I are trying to get this big calculation done before a seminar she’s giving on Thursday, so there’ll be a lot of late nights this week. I’ll probably get home on Friday and completely collapse. Wild life of a grad student, huh?”
To be certain that Wei Ying wouldn’t be going anywhere on Friday evening, Lan Wangji said that they should video call, around eight. Wei Ying agreed, enthusiastically.
❖
Now here he is, standing outside Wei Ying’s apartment building. It’s just after seven pm, well after Wei Ying should have got home from NTU. Lan Wangji is carrying his small suitcase, the red plastic bag of fruit, and a bouquet of plum blossoms he picked up earlier that day from his favourite florist in Shanghai, carrying them on his lap for the entire flight so they wouldn’t get crushed. Pressing the buzzer, he waits. There’s no answer.
He buzzes again, then checks that he’s got the right number, even though he knows he has. Frowning, he gets out his phone and calls Wei Ying—perhaps the buzzer is broken? It goes straight to voicemail.
There’s no reason to panic. Wei Ying has probably let his phone die; maybe he’s in the shower and hasn’t heard the doorbell. Still, Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps Wei Ying had decided to go out, after all. He calls again. Again, it goes to voicemail.
He is panicking a little, now. He doesn’t know any of Wei Ying’s Taipei friends, let alone their contact details. So he calls the only person he can think of who might know Wei Ying’s whereabouts. He hates calling anybody who isn’t his brother or Wei Ying, but it can’t be helped.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. Someone who is not Jiang Yanli says brusquely, “Hello?”
“Jiang Cheng?” Lan Wangji says, surprised and a little annoyed. “It’s Lan Wangji. I was expecting—”
“A-jie? Well, she’s got her hands full with the baby right now, so I’m what you’ve got,” says Jiang Cheng. “What is it? Did something happen to Wei Wuxian?”
“Not that I know of,” Lan Wangji says. He really does not want to give details about his relationship to Jiang Cheng, but he doesn’t have much choice, so he grits his teeth and continues, “I’m in Taipei, but Wei Ying isn’t answering the doorbell or his phone. Do you or Jiang Yanli know where he might be?”
Jiang Cheng says flatly, “You’re in Taipei.”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says.
“Oh my God,” Jiang Cheng says. “For your anniversary, right?”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says again. Distantly, he thinks that it’s kind of funny that Wei Ying has forgotten about their anniversary, but that Jiang Cheng somehow knows when it is. He imagines teasing Wei Ying about it later.
Jiang Cheng lets out a long sigh. “Oh my fucking God.”
In the background, someone—Jiang Yanli?—asks a question, and Jiang Cheng calls back, “Get this: Lan Wangji is in Taipei right now.” Pause. Jiang Yanli says something. “Not yet.” Pause, more background conversation, louder this time, like she’s shouting. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell him now. I’m telling him!”
Irritated now, Lan Wangji says, “Telling me what?”
“Wei Ying’s not in his apartment,” Jiang Cheng says. “He’s on a flight to Shanghai.”
“He’s what,” says Lan Wangji.
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says. He sounds distinctly unimpressed. “You idiots came up with the same surprise anniversary plan. Congratulations, you’re both stupid and perfect for each other.”
“Please tell me that you’re joking,” Lan Wangji says. It’s unlike Jiang Cheng to joke, but he has to be sure.
“Not a joke,” Jiang Cheng says. “I’ve been hearing about this for literal weeks. He’s been planning it for ages. He’s definitely coming to Shanghai.”
“Fuck,” Lan Wangji says. In the background, he hears Jiang Yanli’s voice more clearly: Take A-Ling and give me the phone, A-Cheng.
Jiang Cheng says, to Jiang Yanli, “Thank God, I can’t take it anymore, they make me sick.”
Likewise, thinks Lan Wangji.
“Hi, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Yanli says. It sounds like she’s smiling. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me what you were planning?”
Lan Wangji had considered telling Jiang Yanli about the surprise, but he’d decided against it, in case she’d accidentally let something slip to Wei Ying; a decision that, in hindsight, seems not only ridiculous but actively bad.
“Well,” Jiang Yanli goes on, “if I ever need someone to help me hide a body, I know who to call on. You’re such a good secret-keeper! You didn’t even let on that you might not be in Shanghai this weekend!”
“I wanted it to be a proper surprise,” Lan Wangji says.
“Oh, you two!” she says fondly. “A-Xian said the exact same thing to me last week. He’s been so excited about this.”
So have I, Lan Wangji thinks. He shakes his head briefly, to dislodge the thought of the romantic weekend in Taipei that they will not be having.
“Do you know what flight he was on?”
“Oh, yes, he texted the number to me,” Jiang Yanli says. “Hold on, I’ll look it up now.”
She gives him the flight number and says, “It should be landing in twenty minutes. What are you going to do?”
“Return to Shanghai,” Lan Wangji says. He’s put Jiang Yanli on loudspeaker so he can book a Didi back to the airport. He had wanted to speak with Wei Ying first, but there’s no time to waste.
Jiang Yanli says softly, “I’m very glad that A-Xian has you.”
This is why Lan Wangji hates phone calls: if Jiang Yanli were in front of him, he could smile or nod, and she would understand, but over the phone line he has to actually say something.
Not sure how to reply, he says instead, “Will you let me tell Wei Ying about the situation myself?”
“Of course,” Jiang Yanli says. “I’ll make sure A-Cheng doesn’t say anything—actually, I’d better go, he’s probably texting A-Xian something horribly rude about the situation as we speak. Have a safe flight back!”
“Thank you,” says Lan Wangji, and hangs up. He texts Wei Ying, Call me when you get this.
He’s in the taxi on the way to the airport by the time his phone rings. The radio is playing that Aaron Kwok song, the one Wei Ying likes.
“Hey, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says brightly. “Is everything okay?”
Lan Wangji says quickly, “I’m in Taipei.”
“I—you—what?” Wei Ying says. “You’re where?”
“Taipei,” repeats Lan Wangji. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Wei Ying says, “Oh my God, Lan Zhan. I’m—”
“In Shanghai,” Lan Wangji finishes. “I know. Jiang Cheng told me.”
“Fuck,” Wei Ying says. He’s laughing, a breathless, shocked laugh. “What the fuck. How did we do this? I literally can’t believe it. This is the worst! We’re the worst.”
“I know,” says Lan Wangji. In the background, Aaron Kwok croons, dui ni ai ai ai bu wan…
“I’m such an idiot,” Wei Ying says, still laughing. “I should have known better than to think you’d forgotten our anniversary. Fuck! I was so relieved that you kept not mentioning it. I was like, he’s never going to see through my devious plan. And all along, you were plotting duplicitous schemes of your own, right under my nose.”
“I’m coming back,” Lan Wangji says. “I’m in a cab on my way to the airport right now. I’ll be back tonight.”
“Wait, Lan Zhan, no, that’ll be so expensive!”
“It’s not important,” Lan Wangji says.
“I—okay. Do you want me to wait here?” Wei Ying says. “I can just, I don’t know, sit in the Arrivals area and wait for you.”
“No, don’t do that. It will be late by the time the flight lands. Go to my apartment,” Lan Wangji says. “Xiongzhang should be there, but if he’s not, you know where we keep the spare key.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. He exhales. “Wow. Oh my God. I can’t believe we did this.”
“I’ll be back as fast as I can,” Lan Wangji says. “The next flight. I promise.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying says. “God, I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been dying to say that all week, but I was worried you’d suspect something if I did. Text me when you land, okay? I love you.” He pauses. “Hey, happy anniversary.”
“Happy anniversary. I love you,” says Lan Wangji.
“I’ll see you at home,” Wei Ying says.
The next, and last, flight from Taiwan Taoyuan airport to Shanghai leaves at 10:10pm. Lan Wangji books himself a ticket on it; it is expensive, but he hardly notices. The only thing he cares about is the fact that it lands at 12:05am, meaning he won’t get to be with Wei Ying on their anniversary. He leans his head back against the smooth leather of the headrest and tells himself that it doesn’t matter. What matters is seeing Wei Ying, and he’s on the way to see him now. He’s waited so long: he can wait a little longer.
❖
Lan Wangji met Jiang Yanli first, before Wei Ying. She was a new hire at the Shanghai Museum; an education officer, the same role as his. Since Lan Wangji had been working there for a while already, he was assigned to take her around, show her the ropes. He liked her at once: she was attentive, thoughtful and kind. After supervising her delivering a workshop for elementary school children, Lan Wangji made a comment about how patient she was with them.
Jiang Yanli laughed. “Ah, thank you! Curse of the eldest sibling, I guess! My younger brothers fought all the time when we were children. I was always having to step in as the mediator.”
“Are you close with your brothers?” Lan Wangji asked, mostly to be polite.
“Oh, really close! We see each other a lot. One of them works as a swimming coach, and the other one is doing a PhD at Fudan University—he actually just got back to Shanghai, after travelling around this summer. I really missed him.” She cast a sideways glance at him. “It’d be nice if you could meet them, sometime. I think you’d like them!”
“That would be nice,” said Lan Wangji noncommittally, again to be polite.
In the weeks that followed, Jiang Yanli became his work friend; at least, that’s what Lan Xichen said she was. She’s not your colleague, Wangji, he said one day after Lan Wangji had referred to her as such. She’s your friend. Or work friend, if you insist. Because he was brandishing a large cleaver at the time, in the middle of slicing spring onions, Lan Wangji just nodded and let it slide.
Lan Wangji supposed it was accurate; he did feel more warmth towards Jiang Yanli after a couple of weeks than he did towards their other colleagues, some of whom he’d worked with for over a year. She had such a gentle presence; it put him at ease. They got into a routine of eating lunch together. Jiang Yanli always made more than enough to share, and soon he started bringing extra too, to give her something back. He liked listening to her talk over their lunch boxes, telling stories about her brothers’ childhood antics or about her husband and how much he was looking forward to being a father.
One evening, they were standing on the steps of the museum after work, talking about the new job opening on the curatorial team. Lan Wangji wanted to apply for it and Jiang Yanli was encouraging him to, when they were interrupted by someone calling up the stairs.
“A-jie! Hi!”
“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaimed, and rushed down the steps to be caught in a hug by a man in a black and red windbreaker, hair tied in a messy bun on top of his head.
The man met Lan Wangji’s eyes over her shoulder. His gaze was clear and bright. Lan Wangji realised, in a moment of startling clarity, that he was going to fall in love with his work friend’s younger brother.
“Lan Wangji, come and meet A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli called to him.
Reluctantly, Lan Wangji descended the steps and went to meet his fate, who was wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt with a picture of a raccoon on it, captioned in English, it is i.
“Hey,” Wei Ying said cheerfully, sticking out his hand. “Call me Wei Ying.”
Surprised, Lan Wangji did something he almost never did. “Lan Zhan,” he said, and took Wei Ying’s hand. Beside him, he could tell that Jiang Yanli was looking between them, but he couldn’t look away from Wei Ying, eyes lingering on the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the soft curve of his mouth.
“Lan Zhan! It’s great to meet you, finally! A-jie’s told me so much about you,” Wei Ying said, still holding Lan Wangji’s hand, longer than was strictly necessary for politeness. He was smiling in that conspiratorial way that Lan Wangji would come to love; the one that let Lan Wangji know he was included in the joke, whatever the joke would turn out to be.
After that, Wei Ying started turning up at the museum a couple of times a week, usually around the time of Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli’s lunch break. The first time, he’d brought boxes of steamed buns, all with meat fillings. Lan Wangji politely declined each of them. Wei Ying hadn’t commented, but whenever Wei Ying brought food after that, there was always something vegetarian. It did stupid things to Lan Wangji’s heart.
Lan Wangji felt awkward about these lunches. He couldn’t help but feel that he was intruding on their sibling time, and it felt somewhat illicit that he spent most of the time fantasising about Wei Ying, looking at the long line of his throat as he threw his head back to laugh, or thinking about how red his mouth was. A couple of times he tried to go for lunch earlier or later than Jiang Yanli, but somehow she’d always sense what he was up to and drag him to lunch with Wei Ying anyway. Eventually, he gave up and just let it happen.
Once, Jiang Yanli had to rush back to deliver a talk after one of their colleagues called off sick, leaving Lan Wangji and Wei Ying sitting across the table from each other in the staff canteen.
Wei Ying leaned back in his chair and said, “You got some time?”
Lan Wangji nodded. In fact, he actually wasn’t on shift that afternoon: he could have left before lunch, but he wasn’t about to tell Wei Ying that.
“Well, now that we’re alone,” said Wei Ying, grinning. Lan Wangji’s heart nearly stopped, thinking that Wei Ying was about to … proposition him. Wei Ying winked, obviously aware of where Lan Wangji’s thoughts had gone, but all he said was, “Want to show me your favourite exhibit?”
Not quite a proposition but the next best thing, in Lan Wangji’s opinion.
He took Wei Ying to the Ancient Chinese Jade Gallery. Wei Ying listened, a bright, interested look on his face, while Lan Wangji talked about the endurance of jade as a deeply significant object throughout history, all the way from prehistoric times until now; something that connected people through the ages, the appreciation and reverence for this one mineral. He showed Wei Ying his favourite item in the collection: a small jade bird, coloured a mottled green, from the Shang dynasty. Over three thousand years old and there it was, right in front of them.
Afterwards, he bought Wei Ying a coffee in the overpriced museum cafe. Wei Ying told him about his PhD, using their empty cups and the salt and pepper grinders to illustrate the concept of quantum entanglement on the table. Lan Wangji didn’t understand any of it, but he took pleasure in the way Wei Ying’s face lit up when he spoke about it, animated and excited. It was nice, spending time alone together. Lan Wangji went home and tried not to think about how much more he wanted from Wei Ying than coffee and a chemistry lesson.
Shortly after that, Jiang Yanli went on maternity leave. On the first day he was on shift without her, Lan Wangji sent her a nice message on WeChat saying that he would miss working with her. It would have been strange for him to mention that he would miss seeing Wei Ying too, so he didn’t.
He didn’t expect Wei Ying to turn up at the museum that afternoon, leaning insouciantly by the door to the Calligraphy Gallery, where Lan Wangji was finishing up a tour. He had one hand in his jacket pocket, and his hair was falling out of its ponytail at the front. His shirt said, lucky me! i see ghosts in English, with bold red letters and a terrible italicised font. He was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.
After his tour group dispersed, Lan Wangji walked over to Wei Ying and stood in front of him. For a long moment neither of them said anything.
Then Lan Wangji said, tentatively, trying to choke down the wild, fierce hope that was swelling up within him, “Jiang Yanli isn’t here.”
Wei Ying said, “Lan Zhan, you seriously didn’t think the reason I kept coming here was to see my sister, did you?”
If there hadn’t been dozens of people around—if Lan Wangji hadn’t been on shift at work—he would have bent Wei Ying backwards and kissed him breathless. He settled for reaching out and taking Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying’s eyes were dancing. He picked up Lan Wangji’s hand, slowly, giving him time to say no, or stop, not that Lan Wangji ever would, and brought it to his lips, pressing his mouth against the back of Lan Wangji’s knuckles.
And that—
Lan Wangji said in a low voice, “My shift ends in fifteen minutes.”
“I know,” Wei Ying said, looking up at Lan Wangji through his lashes. He was still holding Lan Wangji’s hand, agonisingly close to his mouth. “Please give me some credit here, Lan Zhan. I’m not a complete amateur.”
“On the front steps in fifteen minutes, then,” he said to Wei Ying. He did not run back to the office he shared with the other members of the education team, but he walked as rapidly as it was possible to walk. He picked up his coat and his messenger bag and did not stop to say goodbye to his colleagues.
Outside, Wei Ying was waiting. He stepped up to Lan Wangji, took his face in his hands and kissed him.
Wei Ying’s hands were cold, but his mouth was warm and soft and sweet. Lan Wangji clutched at his jacket, coaxing Wei Ying’s mouth open, biting a little at his lower lip. It was a good first kiss. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“We’ll go back to my apartment,” he said to Wei Ying, when they finally broke apart. He didn’t see any point in beating about the bush, now that it was clear what they both wanted.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying said, shocked and delighted. “Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?”
Lan Wangji paused at the top of the steps and said, “Okay. Where would you like to eat?”
“Oh my God,” Wei Ying said. Lan Wangji got out his phone and started looking up restaurants in the area. “No, Lan Zhan, stop, I was joking! Oh my God. Who made you? You’re perfect.” He was laughing, trying to grab at Lan Wangji’s phone. “Stop it. I don’t want dinner, I want to go home with you.” He held Lan Wangji’s forearm and said, “At the risk of sounding desperate: please take me home with you.”
They went home. On the metro, Wei Ying swung deliberately from the handrail so that he leaned all the way into Lan Wangji’s side, playfully teasing. Lan Wangji leaned back into him, thrilled just to be so close to him.
Later, lying next to each other on Lan Wangji’s blue sheets, Lan Wangji combed his fingers gently through the knots in Wei Ying’s hair and said, “I think that we should date.”
Wei Ying laughed, and all of Lan Wangji’s certainty wavered.
Stiffly, he added, “Not if you don’t want to, that is.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying said, serious now. “Hey, no, that’s not—sorry that I laughed. I didn’t mean it like that.”
He pushed up onto an elbow and touched Lan Wangji’s face, lightly, tenderly. Lan Wangji held his breath.
Wei Ying continued, “It’s just that—Lan Zhan, I’ve been trying to date you for weeks. I’m laughing cause I’ve been waiting for you to get with the program.”
Lan Wangji said, “Eating lunch with me while your sister is present does not count as a date.”
Wei Ying groaned, flopping back against the mattress. “I was trying not to pressure you! Give me a break! Also, I thought I was onto something with the whole show me your favourite exhibit thing but I dunno, it was probably super lame—”
Lan Wangji leaned over and kissed him, which was, he was finding, a very effective way of making Wei Ying be quiet. “It was not lame. I was … unaware that it was a date.”
“I’m not very good at, like, intentionally dating people,” Wei Ying admitted. “At least … not good at dating people I really like.”
He went red, like he’d said too much. Lan Wangji kissed him again, threading his hands through Wei Ying’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “I will take you on a proper date. An intentional date,” he said.
“Okay,” Wei Ying said, wide-eyed and breathless. “God. Yes. How’s tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Lan Wangji.
And that had been that.
❖
Lan Wangji finally gets home around one am to a dark, silent apartment. As quietly as he can, he lets himself in and divests himself of his scarf and coat in the entranceway. He can already see the signs of Wei Ying’s presence, the small things that mean he’s really here; his chunky trainers in the shoe rack, the black and red jacket he’d been wearing when they first met hanging from one of the coat hooks. There’s a warmth blossoming in Lan Wangji’s chest as he looks at them.
Too eager to do anything other than leave his suitcase and the flowers and the fruit by the front door, he pads through the hallway and into his bedroom. It’s lit dimly by the nightlight that Wei Ying always needs to sleep, so he gets to see Wei Ying, stretched out on Lan Wangji’s side of the bed. Lan Wangji stands silently by the door for a few moments, drinking in the sight of him, face soft in sleep, mouth slightly parted, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. He’s wearing one of Lan Wangji’s shirts and his own tartan pyjama bottoms.
Lan Wangji doesn’t want to wake Wei Ying, so he moves as quietly as he can around the room, changing into his pyjamas, ducking quickly into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and do his nighttime skincare routine. He comes back and sits on the edge of the bed, debating whether to wake Wei Ying. He wants to so badly, but Wei Ying looks so peaceful and it’s so late. They’ll have time tomorrow to do everything Lan Wangji wants to do.
He’s just about resolved on that when Wei Ying stirs and turns over.
“Lan Zhan?” he says, sleepily, reaching out a hand. All of Lan Wangji’s resolve crumbles in an instant, a sandcastle taken out by a wave. Lan Wangji lifts up Wei Ying, his limbs pliant and heavy from sleep, and settles him in his lap. Then finally, finally, they kiss; soft, sleepy kisses, Wei Ying smiling against his mouth, Lan Wangji’s hand curling through Wei Ying’s hair.
Wei Ying leans back and says, “Hey, let me look at you.”
They gaze at each other in the dim light. Wei Ying touches Lan Wangji’s cheek, his jaw. Softly, he says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Lan Wangji says. He turns to kiss Wei Ying’s palm. Wei Ying’s eyes flutter closed. He opens them again, heavy-lidded with sleep.
“Ah, I’m sorry for falling asleep, Lan Zhan. I did try to stay awake. I had––” he yawns––“all these plans about how I’d get myself ready so you could come straight in the door and fuck me, but I got into bed and went to sleep immediately, like a loser.”
“It’s okay,” Lan Wangji says. He runs a hand slowly up and down Wei Ying’s side. After weeks of video call, it feels so good to be able to reach out and touch, to have Wei Ying where Lan Wangji can hold him.
“You must be exhausted too, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. He slides his hand around to the base of Lan Wangji’s head, stroking the nape of his neck gently. “Way past your bedtime.”
“I’m never too tired for you,” Lan Wangji says, just to see Wei Ying smile, lazy and sweet. “How was your evening with xiongzhang?”
“Mm, good. Well, when he got home he laughed at me for like, five minutes straight,” Wei Ying says, fingers still moving lightly over Lan Wangji’s neck. “But he made me hot dry noodles and he let me put an insane amount of chilli oil on them, so we’re best friends again. And afterwards we watched that street dance reality show. All the judges this year are gay and hot, so obviously we had a great time.”
“I’m very happy for you both,” Lan Wangji says drily.
“Don’t be jealous,” Wei Ying says, teasing, “none of them are as gay or as hot as you.” Then, more seriously, he says, “I’m sorry I couldn’t surprise you.”
“Trust me,” says Lan Wangji, “I was very surprised.”
Wei Ying laughs. “You know what I mean! A good surprise. Ah, it’s lucky I’m here all week, so I can make it up to you.”
“All week?” Lan Wangji says, actually surprised—good surprised!—now. He strokes his fingers lightly over Wei Ying’s hip, the curve of his waist.
“Yeah, I told Baoshan-laoshi I wanted to go home to visit my family and could I take some time off, and she was pretty relaxed about it.”
“You shouldn’t lie to your advisor,” Lan Wangji admonishes, but he can’t help smiling.
Wei Ying frowns and opens his eyes. “What? I didn’t lie! You are family.”
And at that, Lan Wangji can’t hold back any longer. He leans in and kisses Wei Ying the way he’s wanted to all day, all week, all month; with all the desperation that comes from weeks of being apart. Wei Ying cups his face and kisses back, sliding their tongues together and it’s so good, it’s unbelievable how good it feels. Lan Wangji wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s back, trying to pull Wei Ying closer, and Wei Ying moans and grinds down into Lan Wangji’s lap.
“Oh God,” he says breathlessly, as Lan Wangji kisses his jaw, then down the perfect line of his throat. “Thank fuck I took the week off. We can do this all day for a week.”
“I have a job,” Lan Wangji reminds him.
“Ugh,” Wei Ying says. His hands tighten in Lan Wangji’s hair as Lan Wangji bites the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “Fuck. Quit your job. Be my house husband. You can do the dishes and provide me with sexual favours while I’m busy solving the mysteries of the universe.”
“Mm. Tempting.” Lan Wangji tugs at the bottom of Wei Ying’s shirt—his shirt, which drives him crazy. Wei Ying pulls it over his head and emerges with his hair rumpled and askew. Lan Wangji loves him so much he feels stupid with it.
“Yours too,” Wei Ying says. Lan Wangji obliges, enjoying the way Wei Ying’s eyes track down his chest as he unbuttons it.
Shirt dispensed of, he takes hold of Wei Ying’s waist, pulls him forward so that Wei Ying’s knees bracket his hips. Wei Ying moans and threads his fingers through Lan Wangji’s hair. They kiss, hot and hungry. Lan Wangji is achingly, painfully hard and he can feel that Wei Ying is too.
He kisses down Wei Ying’s chest, sucking and biting as he goes; he wants to mark Wei Ying, prove who he belongs to.
“Ahh,” Wei Ying says, gasping with each new bite, thrusting his hips down. The friction against Lan Wangji’s cock is delicious; unbearable in the best way. “God, Lan Zhan—so good, please—tell me what you want from me—I’ll do whatever you want.”
Lan Wangji had wanted them to fuck, has been thinking about it for weeks, but it’s been such a long day and he’s so tired. He looks up at Wei Ying and says, too turned on to filter it, “Just want to touch you.”
“God, yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says breathlessly. “Please, yes, whatever you want.”
“Yes,” Lan Wangji says, and rolls Wei Ying down into the bed, settling his weight over him, pressing him down the way he likes.
“Oh,” Wei Ying breathes as Lan Wangji pulls his wrists above their heads, holding them with one hand. With his other hand, he brushes his knuckles gently against the front of those tartan pyjamas, just touching the hard outline of Wei Ying’s cock through the soft fabric.
Wei Ying moans and pushes up his hips, still talking, always talking, a litany of desperate dirty talk: yes, Lan Zhan, fuck, please, please touch me, God, you’re so good, so fucking good to me.
Lan Wangji knows that Wei Ying loves to be taken apart slowly, brought right to the brink and then back, over and over. He pulls down Wei Ying’s pants, freeing his cock, which bounces against his belly, red and hard. Lan Wangji traces one finger up the underside of it, drunk on the sounds that Wei Ying makes. Lan Wangji is the only one who gets to hear him like this. A year (and a few hours) of it, and he’s still amazed by that simple fact: he’s mine and I’m his.
He releases Wei Ying’s wrists suddenly and clamps a hand over Wei Ying’s hip, a contrast to the soft, gentle, barely-there pressure of his fingers lightly tracing up Wei Ying’s cock.
He says, “Be quiet for me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
Wei Ying clamps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, breathing heavily. Lan Wangji sucks a mark into his neck, holding his cock loosely, the barest touch.
Wei Ying lasts a long time, longer than Lan Wangji expected, but eventually he groans, begs, “Please, Lan Zhan, I’ve waited so long—”
Lan Wangji kisses him firmly then, open-mouthed, stroking his tongue against Wei Ying’s. He grips Wei Ying’s cock with the same surety and starts jerking him off properly. Wei Ying moans into their kiss, clutching Lan Wangji’s shoulders with desperation. Lan Wangji moves his other arm up, so he can touch Wei Ying’s jaw, pull him deeper into the kiss.
Wei Ying throws his head back when he comes, saying, yes, yes, I love you, God, yes. Lan Wangji strokes him through it, presses his forehead to Wei Ying’s.
Desperate now, he pushes his hand down his own pants, but Wei Ying grips his hand tightly and says, “Oh, no, no.” He rolls up onto one arm and pushes at Lan Wangji’s chest until he’s the one lying on his back. Wei Ying smiles and says, “I’m the only one who gets to touch you, okay? You’ve done so much today; let me take care of you now.”
Lan Wangji is rarely loud during sex, but he can’t help but gasp out, yes, yes, yes, as Wei Ying wraps his long, slim fingers around Lan Wangji’s cock. He’s so turned on that he’s wet and dripping. He feels Wei Ying smile at that, before he noses up to kiss Lan Wangji through it, stroking his cock as hard and as fast as Lan Wangji likes it.
“Come on, come on,” Wei Ying is saying, “yeah, so good, you always look so good. I love seeing you like this, love you, love you, love you.”
Lan Wangji comes as Wei Ying’s telling him he loves him. It’s ridiculous that a simple handjob can make him feel like this—weightless, dizzy with sensation—an unforeseen consequence of being absurdly in love.
The exhaustion from the long day, his two flights, hits Lan Wangji all at once. He lies back while Wei Ying goes to the bathroom, comes back with a towel to clean them both up. He wills himself to hold onto consciousness a little longer, so that when Wei Ying crawls into bed, he can roll onto his side and take Wei Ying in his arms, pulling up the sheets over them. After a year of sleeping together, he knows how Wei Ying likes to be held: facing each other, Lan Wangji’s arm resting on the curve of Wei Ying’s waist, one of Wei Ying’s thighs between both of his. Layered like lasagna, Wei Ying said once, and of course the nonsensical metaphor has stuck in Lan Wangji’s mind, like every other thing Wei Ying has ever said or done.
“Mmm,” Wei Ying says. His eyes are closed. “Missed you.”
Lan Wangji leans in, kisses his forehead. He says, “Happy anniversary, Wei Ying.”