Work Text:
It’s a stormy Tuesday, just after dawn, the wind lashing heavy raindrops against the windows of the cab. Wei Ying drops off his first fare of the day, an anxious-looking American man, middle-aged, probably in town on business, at the Hyatt. He’s clearly been to China before, as he handles the money confidently and peppers their interaction with phrasebook Mandarin. Wei Ying knows a good deal of English, actually, but he only busts it out in emergencies. Foreigners enjoy showing off in these little ways, it’s fine.
He picks up another fare from the taxi stand at the hotel, a fashionably dressed older lady with traces of a Chongqing accent, going to the train station. She looks at her phone for the whole ride.
At the train station, he waits in the queue for a couple of minutes, idly scanning the crowd, largely anonymous with their dark coats and umbrellas. His attention is caught by a tall young man, long-haired, dressed in khaki trousers and a light blue shirt, who is dodging the crowd to jog down the escalator, phone in one hand and a small roller bag held aloft in the other. His coat is bundled over his arm, as though he’d been in too much of a rush to put it on, even though he’s going to get really wet as soon as he comes out from under the station roof. The man reminds him of — he almost looks like — holy shit, he is. The realization makes Wei Ying’s hands go clammy. The last person he wants to see. The only person he wants to see, really, but not like this.
And it’s not that Wei Ying is ashamed, are you kidding? Driving a cab is real, honest work, and anyone who looks down on that can fuck right off forever.
It’s just that the last time they saw each other, Wei Ying had just graduated high school fourth in his class, on his way to University on a full scholarship, still debating whether to major in physics or art. He was part of a good, well-connected family. Everyone thought he was going places. Then he got involved with the non-shady half of the Wen family, made a stink to get them out of trouble, which brought trouble on the Jiang family, to whom Wei Ying owed everything. So he gave up everything. Which brought him here.
On top of that, he’s still angry with Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan who was his friend, who was supposed to go to the same university, Lan Zhan who let his stuffy uncle make him change to a foreign music school at the last minute. Lan Zhan, whose absence cut deeper than any slander Wei Ying endured when everything was going to shit.
Although, if he had been there, Lan Zhan would have been dragged into the mess. Which Wei Ying would never want. Sure, he thinks about it sometimes, about how it would have been to go through all that with at least one person even a little bit on his side. But he would never be so selfish as to want it.
So when he sees Lan Zhan, still brain-crashingly beautiful (and oh, by the way, that is not aesthetic appreciation, thanks, another thing Wei Ying figured out since they last saw each other), running like hell to be on time to something (probably a flight, going by the bag), Wei Ying experiences a moment of paralysis. Wouldn’t it be best if they just…missed each other? After all? Wouldn’t that be better than having his entire past punch him in the face?
But. Lan Zhan gets in the taxi line, and he is frazzled. Lan Zhan is never frazzled, he’s unfrazzlable, in Wei Ying’s experience. Yet he’s nearly bouncing on his toes, his grip on the roller bag so tight it hurts to look at. He looks down at the phone and presses his lips together in a way that suggests to Wei Ying that the emotion he’s struggling not to express is quite a big one. He’s getting rained on.
Ah, Wei Ying thinks, fuck it. He rolls down the window and yells out, “Lan Zhan!” Lan Zhan looks up, startled, and Wei Ying yells again and waves him over. Lan Zhan looks around, as though uncertain whether to give up his place in the queue, looks at Wei Ying again, and then jogs over, pulling the roller bag. He also has a long, black case strapped to his back, which Wei Ying recognizes as his guqin.
“Wei Ying?” he says, surprised.
“The very same. You going somewhere? Need a ride?”
“I—yes. The airport.”
“Yeah, cool. I got you. Let me help you with your stuff.”
Wei Ying hops out and opens the trunk for his bags, and Lan Zhan gets into the back seat, which is so normal and yet somehow so strange. By the time Wei Ying gets back into the driver seat, Lan Zhan is looking down at this phone again. Wei Ying hears him inhale sharply through his teeth as he pulls out into traffic.
He glances at Lan Zhan in the rearview. His face is wet, a few wisps of hair stuck to his forehead.
“So, hey, it’s been a while,” he tries.
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, eyes still fixed on his phone.
“How’ve you been? How was college? Are you living in the city?”
Lan Zhan gives a hiss of what sounds like frustration, but a quick glance shows that it’s not directed at Wei Ying but at the phone.
“L…Lan Zhan? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” says Lan Zhan, but he sounds very much not okay, he sounds like his foundations are crumbling. “I—Wei Ying. I’m sorry, I can’t—just. Hang on.”
So Wei Ying hangs on, tries to watch the road instead of watching his high school crush fall to pieces in the rearview mirror. Lan Zhan dials a number on the phone; Wei Ying hears his clipped single-word responses to the voice recognition section of the phone menu, hears his carefully steadied breathing as he waits for human contact, hears him practically begging the airline agent to get him onto another flight, as soon as possible…at least today? Is that absolutely the soonest available? He clearly doesn’t like the answer, but he says “thank you”, and then he dials someone else…his uncle. A tense conversation follows, and Wei Ying gets the gist pretty quickly. After Lan Zhan hangs up he takes a deep breath, then leans forward, out of Wei Ying’s view, and Wei Ying thinks…he’s pretty sure…yep, that is definitely crying going on, back there. It’s not the first time someone has cried in his cab, but it’s the first time Lan Zhan has cried in his cab, or, as far as Wei Ying knows, anywhere at all, ever.
“Lan Zhan?” he says.
Lan Zhan takes a deep, wet-sounding breath.
“My mother is in the hospital,” he says.
That was, indeed, the gist.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” says Wei Ying. He says this instead of the first thing that comes to mind, which is since when do you have a mother?
If there’s any reply, Wei Ying doesn’t hear it.
“And your flight?” he asks.
“Canceled due to weather. They can’t get me on another one until nine thirty tonight.”
“Shit,” says Wei Ying. “Is she…I mean…is that—?”
“I don’t know,” says Lan Zhan. “Nobody can promise anything.”
They drive in silence for another minute, and then Wei Ying reaches up and turns off the fare meter with a click.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asks.
***
They’re not far from Wei Ying’s own neighborhood, so he takes Lan Zhan to a place he knows, a hole-in-the-wall, out of the rain, with table service and good egg pancakes. Lan Zhan looks dazedly out the window for most of the ride there, and then allows himself to be herded into a seat in the narrow restaurant. Wei Ying orders for him, mindful of his mild palate and vegetarian diet, which he can only assume are still the same. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that would have changed, but he hasn’t spoken to Lan Zhan in years. For all he knows, Lan Zhan might be living entirely on pork ribs and hot peppers these days, but he doesn’t correct anything that Wei Ying says to the waitress.
Once the food is ordered, there’s nothing to do but sit together. If this were the old days, Wei Ying would be the one to fill the silence, but Lan Zhan looks so despondent, all his teasing questions die on his lips. What he’d really like to do is touch him. Their hands are mere inches apart on the small table. But what would touching him achieve, anyway? It’s a selfish urge, really; he just wants Lan Zhan to look at him, to come up out of his anxious grief and acknowledge his presence, for him to be as amazed as Wei Ying that they’re suddenly together again, after all this time. And that’s not what Lan Zhan needs, is it, to be poked, to have his attention demanded? It’s just that there’s some part of Wei Ying that hopes this chance meeting might be allowed to mean something, that when they next go their separate ways, it won’t be just their final real goodbye.
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, suddenly, quietly. He lifts his eyes up at last, and Wei Ying tries to meet them with mere friendliness. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Lan Zhan.”
“I’m sorry to be like this. If it weren’t for…” He shakes his head, as though unsure how to finish.
“Hey, no, of course,” says Wei Ying, and he—ah, what the heck, it’s happening—he puts his hand on Lan Zhan’s hand. “Whatever you need. However you need to be. It’s okay.” Lan Zhan’s hand stays where it is for a moment, palm down under his own, and then turns over so they’re palm to palm and holding onto each other. Wei Ying’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. They stay like that until the waitress comes back with their food.
Lan Zhan picks up his chopsticks, but he pushes the food around without eating any, which is another sign of how upset he is. Wei Ying thinks of all the times Lan Zhan scolded him for eating and sleeping irregularly.
“You’ll feel better if you eat,” he says.
Lan Zhan eats, under Wei Ying’s watchful eye. Since Lan Zhan has always preferred not to talk while eating, this gives Wei Ying plenty of time to wonder what, actually, the fuck is going on? Lan Zhan’s mother was not in his life when Wei Ying knew him. He’d never gotten the full story, but he had the sense it was a permanent thing, an irrevocable thing. A…”took the only way out of an intolerable situation” kind of thing. Which he’d always assumed meant that, like Wei Ying’s birth parents and, now, his adoptive parents, she was—
“I always thought my mother was dead,” says Lan Zhan, after a careful sip of water.
“Yeah,” he says, then realizes how callous it must sound, but Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to notice.
“Then, about a month ago, she got in touch with my uncle. He revealed that he helped her disappear, back then, from the hospital where my father had her committed.”
“Whoah.” Yes, Wei Ying is doing an excellent job with this conversation.
“After my father died last year, she apparently decided it was safe to come out of hiding. She has been ill. She didn’t want to…miss her chance. To see us.”
“Wow,” says Wei Ying, and then, as it all sinks in, “Wow, a month? Did you—did you talk to her?”
“Yes. We’ve been speaking. Over video. We arranged to meet. This was supposed to be that visit.” He looks so raw, saying this. Wei Ying wishes he could hold his hand again.
“Maybe it still can be,” he says.
“Maybe,” says Lan Zhan, in a whisper.
Their breakfast is all eaten, now. It’s time to leave, time to get Lan Zhan to his next destination. For a wild moment he considers offering to drive him back to their hometown, but it would take all night even if they started now. Still--
“Lan Zhan, come back to my place, yeah?” says Wei Ying, because, why not? “It’s not far from here. You have all day before your flight, and I hate to think of you all alone just waiting for news. You can just hang out, take a nap, whatever, and I’ll get you to the airport in the evening. Ok? Sound good?”
Once again, his brain takes a minute to catch up with his words: there’s no reason for him to believe that Lan Zhan would be alone if he went home for the day. Lan Zhan might have somewhere else to go, someone else who will take care of him and keep him company. More than likely he does, it would only make sense! More than likely there are people queueing up around the block for the privilege of taking care of Lan Zhan.
“Aren’t you working?” asks Lan Zhan.
“Oh! Right, good point, let me ask my boss if I can take the day off.” He leans to one side and addresses an imaginary presence beside him. Lan Zhan might be a little too old to fully appreciate this routine, but, whatever, it always makes A-Yuan laugh. “Hey, Boss Wei,” he says timidly, “can I take the rest of the day off? It’s a personal matter.” He changes his voice and switches sides. “Hmm, very well. But you’d better not make a habit of it!” He turns back to Lan Zhan. “My boss says it’s okay, so. Will you?”
“Wei Ying.” Ridiculous, he means, but there’s no heat in it. “Okay.”
Lan Zhan sits in the front seat of the cab for the short drive to Wei Ying’s apartment building. He spends most of it texting intently.
“Anything happening?” Wei Ying asks during an apparent pause, as casually as he can.
“I was updating my brother,” Lan Zhan says. “He says to tell you hello.”
“Ha. Hello to him, too. Is he there with your mom?” So Lan Zhan mentioned him. Lan Zhan updated his brother and he must have said something like I ran into Wei Ying. I’m spending the day with him. The thought feels good.
Wei Ying is taking care of me.
“Yes. He arrived there late last night.”
“Any news?”
“No change.” He leans his head back against the seat, briefly closing his eyes.
The urge to ease his pain somehow is overwhelming, but what can Wei Ying possibly say? He can’t say it will be okay because it may very well not. This might really happen: Lan Zhan getting his mother back unexpectedly and then losing her suddenly, without even getting to touch her hand. There’s nothing anyone in the world could do that would make that any easier. Still—still. He touches Lan Zhan’s arm, just for a moment, because it’s the easiest part of him to reach, unable to offer anything except, for what little it may be worth, his presence.
***
“Uh,” says Wei Ying, holding the door open, “this is the place. Make yourself at home.”
“Wei Ying,” says Lan Zhan, looking around. “You have a child?”
“Oh, ha! No, he just visits. Trust me, it would be a way bigger mess if he lived here. You should see the Wens’ apartment.” He hurriedly gathers up A-Yuan’s toys from the couch and the floor and chucks them into one of the storage bins he keeps for the purpose. “Sorry about the mess. I’ve been working a lot lately, things have kinda gone to hell around here.” He clears some dirty dishes off the coffee table, doing a quick visual scan for any embarrassing laundry or trash that might be lying around. Lan Zhan, he remembers, grew up in a house that was always tidy and clean. They could have easily afforded a maid, like the Jiangs had, but Lan Zhan’s uncle believed in domestic discipline and kept his nephews constantly busy with chores. Between that and classes and studying, Lan Zhan’s free time was scarce, and Wei Ying was secretly proud of how much of it he chose to spend with him. He thought, back then, that it meant something.
“Please don’t worry about it,” Lan Zhan says, while Wei Ying continues rushing around.
“No, no, are you kidding? I can’t let you sit in this pigsty, I want you to be comfortable. Here, you can sit here.”
“I am comfortable,” says Lan Zhan, taking the seat Wei Ying has cleared off on the sofa.
“But you could be more comfortable.” Wei Ying pauses to fill the electric kettle before he starts putting away the dishes from the dish rack.
“Wei Ying. Please don’t.”
Wei Ying stills. There’s a tone there that he’s helpless to deny. He takes a deep breath to quell the sudden reluctance he feels, something like fear at the thought of being alone with just Lan Zhan and the specter of his emotions. He dries his hands and goes into the living room. There’s only the couch to sit on. He perches carefully at the end, giving Lan Zhan plenty of space.
“Thank you for having me,” says Lan Zhan, a little stiffly.
“Of course,” says Wei Ying. “What do you want to do? If you give me a minute to clean up in there, you can take a nap in my room. You must have gotten up early for your flight.”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I don’t think I can sleep.”
“Yeah,” says Wei Ying. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.”
Then it’s quiet for a moment, as Lan Zhan’s thoughts go where they, of course, must go.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs out, not meaning anything by it, or not knowing what he means. Lan Zhan must sense the nature of it, because he doesn’t answer. The kettle has been murmuring, and now it beeps and clicks off. Wei Ying pops up from the couch again and goes to the kitchen.
With a cup in his hand, it’s easier to sit quietly. Lan Zhan is texting again, so Wei Ying plays on his phone for a while. He also texts Wen Qing to ask if A-Yuan can possibly go somewhere else after school, and, since he doesn’t want her to think he’d do that for just any dumb reason, he explains what’s going on. She sends back a thumbs-up emoji, and then understood, I’ll take care of it.
Something heavy settles in his chest, and he sends back Please tell him I really wanted to see him and I can’t wait for next time. The poor kid, Wei Ying hates to disappoint him. But it wouldn’t be fair to him to bring him here, where he’d have to be quiet and wouldn’t be able to have Wei Ying’s full attention.
“Lan Zhan, do you like kids?” he asks.
Lan Zhan blinks, looking up from his phone.
“Mm,” he says. “I teach piano.”
“Really, you do?” The thought of it makes Wei Ying smile, the image of Lan Zhan guiding small fingers over the keys. He would be so patient and good. “Ahh, I hope you can meet A-Yuan some time. He’s the cutest.”
“I’d like that,” Lan Zhan says.
“He’d love you,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan is distracted again and doesn’t answer, so he loses himself in imagining it for a while, two of his three favorite people together. A-Yuan would show Lan Zhan his toys, and Lan Zhan would listen and ask quiet questions. A-Yuan would act up, and Lan Zhan would say We do not run in the house or The sofa is not for jumping or Stay seated during meals, and A-Yuan would listen to him in precisely the way he does not listen to Wei Ying. If Lan Zhan went away, A-Yuan would ask for him, and Wei Ying would have an ironclad reason to ask him to come back.
Lan Zhan’s phone rings.
“Brother,” he says, and then, “okay. Yes. Yes,” and hangs up. He turns big eyes on Wei Ying. “She’s awake,” he says. “We’re going to have a video call.”
“Okay,” says Wei Ying. “That’s great. You just stay right here, I’ll hang out in my room.”
“Thank you,” says Lan Zhan. He’s up already and pulling his laptop out of his roller bag.
“Here, I’ll put in the wifi password.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” While Wei Ying is doing that, Lan Zhan unzips the guqin case. The instrument inside is wrapped in a beautiful blue and white dyed cloth, which Lan Zhan carefully unfolds, revealing gleaming, dark wood. Wei Ying recognizes it as the same guqin he’s had since they were young. He lays it on the coffee table, next to the computer, with its tassels hanging nicely down the side. Lan Zhan told him once that it was his mother’s. It was she who had first taught him to play.
“All set,” he says, standing up. “Take as much time as you need, okay?”
“Okay,” says Lan Zhan, absently, and then, looking at him, “Thank you.”
“No need,” says Wei Ying. “I hope…I hope it goes well.”
And then he has to go and wait in his room.
The soundproofing in his apartment is not great. He clearly hears the voice of Lan Xichen picking up the call, and Lan Zhan answering. To keep himself from listening too hard, Wei Ying decides to tidy up his room. He gathers up laundry and makes the bed, cleans up some random clutter from the bedside table. But there isn’t much else to do. He changes into house clothes and lies down on the bed, glad that his phone at least has a pretty full charge.
There’s a woman’s voice talking, and Lan Zhan answering. A low laugh. A sniff. The voices are quieter for a while. Then come the notes of the guqin, low and serene. Haunting. Wei Ying lets his phone fall to his chest and listens. His thoughts wander with the music, thoughts of Lan Zhan, memories of how he used to be, how they were together. The last time they saw each other. Everything they couldn’t say.
After five minutes or so, the music ends. There’s a little more talking, a very little. And then Wei Ying hears Lan Zhan say, as clear as anything, “Goodbye. I love you, Mother.”
And then it’s quiet.
Wei Ying turns onto his side, resolved to wait for Lan Zhan to come and let him know when he’s ready for company again. That could be a while. He’s just starting to drift into a nap when there comes a soft tapping at the door.
“Yep!” he says, a little dopey with sleep.
The door cracks open, and Lan Zhan peers in.
“Hey,” says Wei Ying. “All done?”
“Mm.”
Wei Ying expects him to head back to the living room, but he just stands there, looking at Wei Ying on the bed. A little shock goes through Wei Ying, as though he’d been touched unexpectedly, and he sits up, moving to the edge of the bed.
“How was it?” he asks. “I heard you playing.”
“It was…good.” Lan Zhan sits down beside him on the bed, keeping a careful distance. “She…” He breathes, in, out, in. “It may not be much longer.”
“Oh,” says Wei Ying, wishing again that he had something less inane to offer. “I’m sorry.” If Lan Zhan would look at him, Wei Ying would take his hand. If he turned to him, Wei Ying would take him in his arms. But Lan Zhan only sits, self contained. After a moment, he rubs his hands over his face.
“Maybe I should lie down for a while,” he says.
“Sure,” says Wei Ying. “Yeah, of course. If you want to sleep, I can keep an ear on your phone, wake you up if anything comes in.”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan. “Thank you.”
“There’s no need, Lan Zhan, I mean it. I’m happy to.”
Lan Zhan goes to get a change of clothes, and Wei Ying turns to straighten out the blanket and fluff the pillow. He refills Lan Zhan’s water and puts it on the nightstand. He casts about for a moment for anything else he can do, and finally settles on folding back the corner of the bedclothes. It looks stupid, and he immediately decides to put it back, but then Lan Zhan comes in holding his folded pajamas, and Wei Ying scurries out to give him space.
Wei Ying gets a beer from the fridge. He turns the TV on, but it feels too busy, too bright and meaningless. He turns it off again. It’s getting on towards noon, now. He should make sure Lan Zhan eats something. There’s not much food in the apartment besides A-Yuan’s after school snacks, since he usually eats on the run while working. He can think of about ten places nearby to get something fast and trashy, but Lan Zhan has always been…not picky…just particular. And anyway, with what he’s going through, he should have something that will really nourish him. Something comforting.
The first thing that comes to mind is unfortunately not vegetarian, and it never comes out right when Wei Ying makes it for himself, anyway. He picks up his phone and searches for a while until he lands on a recipe that Lan Zhan should like, a hearty soup with mushrooms. The one really good feature of this apartment is the good-sized market right around the corner. He takes Lan Zhan’s phone with him and runs out quickly, coming back with his bag full of greens and mushrooms and a block of tofu.
He’s learned by now that the secret to not horrifying other people with his cooking is simply to follow the recipe. It had come as a shock at the time, to realize that people actually did that, just followed the directions word for word, that when it said to use five hundred grams of this and fifty grams of that, you were supposed to take that as the word of law and not just a basis for improvisation. He still prefers to cook the other way, his way, when he does cook, but that’s usually just for himself. For Lan Zhan, he’ll do it.
The cooking keeps him busy until Lan Zhan’s phone chimes. He looks at it in confusion for a moment before he realizes that it’s actually ringing, a voice call from Lan Xichen. He’ll have to talk to Lan Xichen. With his voice.
“Hey, hello, it’s, uh, it’s Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan is napping.”
“Oh, Wei Wuxian, hello. Thank you for looking after Wangji today. Would you mind waking him? It’s…important.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. Just a minute.”
Holding the phone to his chest, he taps on the bedroom door, then opens it. Lan Zhan had been lying with his face toward the far wall, but he stirs and sits up when Wei Ying comes in.
“Lan Zhan, phone call. It’s your brother.”
Lan Zhan takes the phone.
“Brother,” he says.
Lan Xichen says something Wei Ying can’t hear. He turns to go, but Lan Zhan stops him with a hand on his arm. That hand holds tight while Xichen says a few more words. A look passes over Lan Zhan’s face that is so fragile, so naked that it hurts Wei Ying’s heart.
How dare she, Wei Ying thinks, with a fast flood of anger. How dare she do this, reappear like this, only to leave again? How dare she leave in the first place, how could she? When her own sons, her children, needed her? He’s caught the edges of the story, of course, of the kind of man that Lan Zhan’s father was. But still. Still. Lan Zhan has forgiven her, he knows, but Wei Ying won’t. Not ever.
“Okay,” says Lan Zhan, in a small voice, into the phone. His hand grips tighter, and Wei Ying turns his palm up to grasp back, fingers squeezing into the meat of Lan Zhan’s forearm. He cannot bear to look at Lan Zhan’s face, but he will bear being here, in this room, where this is happening, if Lan Zhan needs him to.
Nobody is talking, no voice on the line. They’re just waiting.
They’re waiting.
“Mama,” Lan Zhan whispers, almost too quiet to hear. Almost as though he sensed her spirit passing.
Then Xichen’s voice comes quiet over the line, and Wei Ying is still not looking at his face, but he can hear the tears in Lan Zhan’s breathing.
Carefully, the brothers say goodbye. Lan Zhan promises to be there later that night. The call ends.
What now? thinks Wei Ying. He makes himself look, makes himself see Lan Zhan’s grief-twisted face, the soft and rumpled, naked, beating core of him.
“I’m so sorry,” Wei Ying says, and oh, oh no, he’s also going to cry. What now, what now? He sits down on the bed and takes his love in his arms, Lan Zhan, this boy that was so close for so long and then so far away. Lan Zhan presses his face to Wei Ying’s chest and shudders again and again with sobs that come out soundless, just long hisses of breath that shake with the strength of his effort to not give voice to them. Wei Ying wonders if his uncle, or some other asshole, told him it was shameful to cry. What nonsense. What absolute crap.
“Lan Zhan,” he sighs, because they are the only words he has that can be said out loud right now. Lan Zhan in his arms is solid and warm, and yet it feels like he needs Wei Ying’s embrace to gather up the falling-apart stick bundle of him. He tries and tries, but he can’t do it.
“C’mere,” he whispers. “Hey, c’mere, Lan Zhan.” And he steers and shifts and pulls Lan Zhan to lie down on the bed, just so Wei Ying can hold on to him properly. Lan Zhan curls into him and lets it happen.
It’s a relief to finally stop holding himself back from touching. Stay here, he thinks, rubbing Lan Zhan’s back. She’s already gone, stay here with me. People are always leaving, leaving and leaving, leaving Wei Ying, leaving Lan Zhan, mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers. If only that tide could turn the other way, just for a moment. If only he could keep one thing, one person.
Holding Lan Zhan reminds him of holding A-Yuan, who has also been left aground by that inexorable tide. His parents are gone, and his other relatives are all too deep in their own struggles to truly be there for him. It isn’t right. It needs to end. No more, no more of that. If someone has to fight the current, then fine. Fine, he thinks, defiantly. All right.
It doesn’t take very long for Lan Zhan to summon his discipline and sniff and breathe and blink himself back to an outward calm. He draws back a little from Wei Ying to scrub his hand across his eyes, but he stays inside the curve of Wei Ying’s arm. For a minute, Wei Ying is afraid he’ll say thank you again, but he stays quiet. Wei Ying wants to touch his cheek. He wants to kiss his forehead. He wants to pull him in close again and not let go.
Lan Zhan shuts his eyes. Not like he’s sleepy, just like he wants to not see anything for a while. He puts his hand to Wei Ying’s wrist again, completing the circle of their touch, and then lies still. Wei Ying lies with him. That’s all. A time goes by. Rain shushes against the glass. Maybe he dozes a little.
“What time is it?” Lan Zhan asks, at last.
“It’s getting into the afternoon,” Wei Ying replies, not really sure. “We should probably get you moving. Think you can eat something? I made soup.”
Lan Zhan’s mouth moves wryly. “Made it?”
“Yeah, I made it. From a recipe. It’s edible, I promise.”
Lan Zhan sighs. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet. “Okay,” he says. He opens his eyes and sits up, shaking back hair that has come loose from his braid. He goes to wash his face in the bathroom, and Wei Ying dishes the soup into bowls. It smells okay, if sort of bland, and doesn’t seem to have suffered too much from its long simmer. When Lan Zhan comes out, they sit and eat. Lan Zhan eats his portion slowly, like a task he has to finish, but he does finish, so Wei Ying will call that a success.
Lan Zhan changes and packs his few things back into his bag. He clothes the guqin tenderly and lays it in its box. Wei Ying looks away as he closes the lid.
And then it’s time to go.
Wei Ying thinks, will this be the last time Lan Zhan and I walk out of my apartment together?
Will this be the last time they take the elevator to the garage?
Will this be the last time Wei Ying opens the trunk for him?
Will this be the last time they drive together?
“Well,” he says, once they’ve pulled out into the wet street, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet A-Yuan.”
“Mm. So am I.”
They drive for a long time without speaking. The rain has stopped, but the sky is still heavy. Wei Ying turns on the radio to hear the traffic report, then turns down the volume and lets the broadcast ease the silence. Wei Ying lets the noise pass over him, thinking the whole time, wondering if he has the courage to ask Lan Zhan to stay in his life, the courage to have him there, now, when his circumstances are so different from before. Even if Lan Zhan wants to. Which he might not.
They pull up at the terminal. “Hey,” he says, at the same time as Lan Zhan says “Can you—“
“Yeah?” Wei Ying says.
“Can you give me your WeChat?”
“Yeah, for sure, I was gonna say. Let’s do that.”
When this is accomplished, Wei Ying gets out to help Lan Zhan with the bags.
“Well, hey,” he says. “I’m glad we ran into each other.” He hooks his thumbs into his pockets to keep from doing something dumb like hugging him.
“Me too,” says Lan Zhan.
“Text me, yeah? Whenever. Whenever you want.”
“I will,” says Lan Zhan. But he doesn’t turn to go. It seems they don’t know how to part.
“Ah, fuck it,” says Wei Ying, and hugs him. He means it to be quick, but Lan Zhan hugs him back, and it turns into something tight and sure. When they pull back from it, Lan Zhan meets his eyes, and Wei Ying thinks for a second he might — but, no. Lan Zhan releases him with a last quick squeeze of his shoulders, nods curtly, and departs without a glance, without a word.
Two weeks go by.
A-Yuan is with him at his apartment one afternoon when his phone buzzes with an incoming WeChat message. He lets it sit for a minute in favor of witnessing the finishing touches and dramatic demise of A-Yuan’s latest super-tall block tower, then excuses himself to check it while A-Yuan gets started on the next one.
It’s from Lan Zhan.
Hello, it says, and then, We had the funeral today.
Wei Ying sits down heavily on the couch.
How was it? he sends. But what kind of question is that? Or how are you? he amends.
It was well done, comes the reply. It helped.
That sounds good? types Wei Ying, not sure what is expected of him.
It was good.
There are many things Wei Ying would like to ask. Did Lan Zhan learn more about her? Did he find out why she couldn’t contact him for all these years? Was it worth this grief, to have had this final chance?
Instead he types, How is your brother?
Their conversation limps along throughout the day. Wen Qing comes for A-Yuan at 7:30, and Wei Ying hugs him fiercely, thinking about families, about people who leave and people who stay.
Late that night, when Wei Ying is watching TV and thinking of going to bed, Lan Zhan sends:
I wish you were here.
Wei Ying reads it, turns off the TV and reads it again. It’s past eleven o’clock, long after Lan Zhan’s bedtime. Is he lying awake, alone? Alone, and wishing —
When are you coming back? Wei Ying sends.
My flight is next Friday.
Can I pick you up?
The answer comes quickly.
Please.
I’ll be there. Send me your flight details.
A long time later, when Wei Ying is lying in bed, awake, alone, he sends:
I wish I was there too.
***
It’s raining again on the day Lan Zhan comes home, not the heat-blister pop of a summer storm, but the earnest rain of autumn, a days-long drizzle that paints the whole world gray, fogging up the windows of the cab. Wei Ying puts the defrost on high and spots Lan Zhan easily at the terminal, looking much as he did the day Wei Ying picked him up at the train station, though he isn’t rushing now. The opposite, in fact: he is tall and still among the busy crowd, patient as a tree. It’s because of all that meditating, Wei Ying supposes. But Lan Zhan has always been like this.
Wei Ying steps out to help him with his luggage, and, in a move that surprises both of them, he goes in for a quick, friendly hug. Even more surprising, Lan Zhan accepts it, squeezing Wei Ying’s shoulders briefly.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, I guess I’m still like this,” Wei Ying jokes to cover his discomposure. “Sorry for getting into your personal space like that.”
“It’s all right,” says Lan Zhan, shaking his head. They get the bag and guqin into the car, and then, once they get in and get buckled, and once Wei Ying has navigated back onto the main roadway, Lan Zhan says, “My mother’s family. They are huggers.”
“Must have been rough on you,” Wei Ying says.
Lan Zhan takes a breath before speaking. “In this context it seemed…right.”
The context, Wei Ying supposes, is shared grief. Bitter helplessness. Unhoped-for reunion.
“Makes sense,” he says. “Were they—what were they like? Did you like them?”
“Yes. We are going to keep in touch.”
“That’s good,” says Wei Ying. “Did she have a large family?”
“She had no siblings, but her first cousin was there, with her husband, and their daughter. Also, my mother’s mother was there. My…my grandmother.”
“Grandmother,” Wei Ying mouths, almost silently. “Holy shit.”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan.
“And they’ve just been out there? This entire time?”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan.
“To think you’ve had all this family this whole time. That’s really….”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, agreeing.
They drive in silence for a while, Wei Ying trying to imagine Lan Zhan’s mother’s family. The thought comes to him, bitter, that he doesn’t bring much in the way of extended family to the table for A-Yuan, since his birth parents are dead and they had no family to begin with, his adoptive parents are also dead and Wei Ying is officially considered a menace by their surviving relatives. Then there’s Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli, who are alive, but not…not his anymore. His mind skitters away from the thought of them, trying to protect him from hurt. It almost succeeds.
Lan Zhan directs him to his apartment building, which is modest but located in a nice part of town, with a view of the river on one side.
“Will you come up?” Lan Zhan says. Just like that, no excuses, no deflection.
“Will…I? Oh, yeah. Okay.”
Wei Ying finds a parking space less than a block away, and they go up together to Lan Zhan’s apartment. It’s on a high floor, on the river side, not big but well laid out, modern, tidy, clean-smelling, with a living area big enough to hold an upright digital piano, which Wei Ying supposes Lan Zhan uses for teaching.
Lan Zhan gestures for Wei Ying to sit.
“I don’t have much in the house,” he says apologetically. “I usually drink tea.”
“Tea would be nice,” says Wei Ying. While Lan Zhan makes it, Wei Ying lets his eyes roam around the space. It’s achingly spare in a way that reminds him of Lan Zhan’s childhood home, but there is a peacefulness to it, and there are some little touches that alleviate the cold perfection: a few potted succulents, a framed photograph of mist-shrouded mountains, a little porcelain rabbit on the bookshelf. Lan Zhan always did like rabbits.
Lan Zhan returns with the tea, and they sit together.
“Aren’t you tired from your trip?” Wei Ying asks.
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It was restful, actually.”
“You stayed with your uncle?”
“Mm. He has kept my room for me.”
“That’s nice. Gosh, what a secret he’s been keeping all this time. A whole family.”
“Mm,” says Lan Zhan, and takes a sip of his tea. “I believe my mother wanted us to know them.”
“Oh. You and your brother. You think that’s why she…why she came out of hiding?”
“Yes. A final gift.”
“Oh,” Wei Ying says, and unwillingly his heart softens toward her. But he still remembers Lan Zhan crying in his arms.
“Also,” Lan Zhan goes on, quietly, “it was because of her that I found you again.”
Wei Ying grimaces, not liking the connection. “She died, though. I don’t think that’s a very good trade.”
“A gift,” Lan Zhan corrects him. “Not to be refused.”
“Well,” Wei Ying scoffs gently, “that’s one way to look at it, I guess. Imagine getting Wei Wuxian as a gift, though. Worse than a clock.” It’s a rather stupid joke, but this conversation is getting a little too serious and he doesn’t know what to do.
“Not you,” Lan Zhan says, and it takes a moment for Wei Ying to parse it. “No one could give you to me. The gift is a chance to repair my mistake.”
“Your…mistake?” Wei Ying croaks.
Lan Zhan nods. Looks down. Takes a breath.
“Wei Ying,” he begins. And then he sets down his teacup, and he reaches out to take hold of Wei Ying’s hand. Dumbstruck, Wei Ying looks from their hands back up to Lan Zhan’s face, which is full of a strange, earnest warmth that Wei Ying has never seen on him before.
“Wei Ying,” he says again, and his next words sound composed, as though he’s practiced them many times. “I am sorry. I should not have let my uncle’s ideology dictate my actions. I should have been brave enough to listen to my heart. I had the choice to stay with you and be challenged, or to run away toward what was familiar. The path I chose was the wrong one.”
“Wrong, how?” Wei Ying somehow manages to ask. “Challenged, how?”
“I felt so much for you.” Lan Zhan’s voice tremors, low, like the earth moving. “I was afraid.”
Wei Ying is struck by a sudden memory, a warm night, a golden moon, the frantic way he felt about Lan Zhan, the way he couldn’t help pushing and pushing. He’d insisted that they sneak down to the water, had suggested that they go for a swim, but Lan Zhan refused. Wei Ying pestered and cajoled him, teased him, dared him, but Lan Zhan was immovable. Finally, just to torment him, Wei Ying stripped naked and took a running leap off the end of the dock. Lan Zhan turned and walked away, leaving Wei Ying to sputter and call after him, alone in the water.
“My uncle warned me constantly against you. You were so brilliant, so unrestrained. I believed it was improper to stand out the way you did, never mind the rules you broke. You crossed every line I had been raised to live by. But still.”
His grip on Wei Ying’s hand is tight. He’s never spoken this way to Wei Ying, ever, not even when they were closer than brothers, when Wei Ying made it a personal mission to draw his secrets out of him, gloating privately over each confidence, his little hoard of jewels.
“Still, Wei Ying.” His voice is quiet, soft as a bird’s wing. “Still, I was in love with you.”
“Oh,” the sound comes out of him. “Lan Zhan.”
“You don’t have to forgive me. But I wanted to say it.”
“Lan Zhan. This is good news.” He can feel himself smiling, can feel the great lifting bubble of it underneath him, lighter than air.
“I am braver now,” Lan Zhan goes on, as though he hasn’t heard. “I will do better. I’m sorry that my leaving hurt you.”
“Ah,” Wei Ying sighs, and with his thumb he catches the tear that threatens to spill down Lan Zhan’s cheek. His own chest is aching, even as that lightness wells up inside him. “You don’t need to be better. You’re the best. I love you so much, Lan Zhan. But you don’t — my life is — you don’t want —“
“I do.” Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand in both of his and pulls it to his chest. “Wei Ying, I do.”
He knows he should push him away. He should protect Lan Zhan, keep him clean of the mess of his existence.
But this is a gift. Not to be refused.
“Okay,” he whispers, and then Lan Zhan’s lips are warm against his own, closing the circle that began the first time Wei Ying ever called his name, the tide flowing back at last. As Lan Zhan kisses him the lightness rises up and up and into him, leaving him standing somehow higher than he was before, Lan Zhan’s apartment and the rainwashed city and the sun-flecked river carried up into the sky. Maybe, he thinks, he can be braver, too.
***
***
***
Six months pass.
Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are moving into an apartment together. A-Yuan is moving in with them, too, and it’s a mess of boxes and bins and disassembled furniture, but the chaos is the hopeful kind, just pieces of a puzzle not yet solved. Everything is in the house, at least, and now it’s just a matter of sorting things out into their places.
“What’s in here?” A-Yuan asks, banging his hands on top of a box that’s almost as tall as he is. Wei Ying checks the scrawl of marker across the top.
“It says ‘miscellaneous.’” An awful lot of Wei Ying’s boxes are marked miscellaneous.
“What’s that?”
“It means there might be treasure inside. Come on, you want to help me cut the tape?”
“Be careful,” says Lan Zhan, coming in with yet another stack of boxes. “Wei Ying, did you call yet?”
Wei Ying frowns, not looking up from where he’s helping A-Yuan wield the box knife.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Wei Ying.”
“I know. I’ll get to it. Oh, hey! We found some batteries.”
“Do not be distracted.”
Still, Wei Ying gets through several more boxes and puts together A-Yuan’s new bed before Lan Zhan gently pushes him out onto the balcony, puts his phone in his hand, goes inside and shuts the door.
Wei Ying takes a deep breath and lets it out, his hand shaking a little as he stares at the contact he has open on his phone. It’s been more than two years. Lan Zhan is right that he should call, should have called weeks ago: as soon as they found the apartment, as soon as they decided to look for one. As soon as Lan Zhan kissed him. Sooner.
They’ve set moving day as the deadline.
He’s just pressed Call when Lan Zhan slips out to join him. Through the open door, he briefly hears the sound of A-Yuan’s tablet playing inside. Lan Zhan almost never resorts to the tablet. Lan Zhan catches his eye to make sure he’s welcome, then takes his hand. Wei Ying squeezes it hard as the call is picked up.
“Hello?” It’s her. It’s really her.
“H-hey,” Wei Ying manages around the lump in his throat. “Jiejie. It’s me.”
There’s still a chasm between them, still so much to apologize for and to explain. But he knows, now, about people who leave and people who stay, and he knows which kind he's trying to be brave enough to be.