Chapter Text
“I have no idea how I let you convince me to go study on a Saturday.” Wei Ying whines into the car’s passenger window. “I’m a beautiful young omega with her equally young beta best friend. We should be out there brunching. Getting some hotties to pay up for our margaritas or something. Not going to our junior’s house for a project.”
On the driver’s side, Mianmian—the aforementioned beta—scoffs. She’s Wei Ying’s university peer and friend, even if she likes to deny it from time to time. They first met during junior year after being paired together for Linear Algebra. At first, she used to be so fed-up with him, avoiding his presence at all costs, until he proved to be a valuable asset in both class assignments and real life. She still gets displeased with him once in a while—over his endless chatter and/or questionable study habits—but Wei Ying can bet his left kidney on the fact that she absolutely loves him. Buried very deep beneath her death stares and relentless sighs of disappointment. But she loves him.
“First of all,” she grumbles, “Take your dirty ass shoes off my dashboard.” She shoots a quick hateful glance towards his platform boots. Wei Ying whines a ‘They are almost as good as new jiejie’ but moves to put them down regardless. “Second of all, equally young and beautiful beta best friend, you asshole.”
Wei Ying flicks his Starbucks’ straw wrapper towards her and takes a sip. Mianmian rolls her eyes but continues to expertly steer through the neighborhood roads. “Third of all, you’re the one who told Sizhui to leave the project until after the midterm exam. That poor kid was practically sweating trying to convince you otherwise. He’s definitely the type to finish it the same day it’s assigned.”
Wei Ying groans, letting his head fall against the passenger window. “He’s such a sweet kid. He shouldn’t have listened to his awful, unreliable senior. That’s where you should have intervened! You are the functioning adult of our duo! You were supposed to teach him to know better than that.”
Mianmian scoffs. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Put the blame on me as always.”
Wei Ying pouts and deliberately ignores her, continuing to stare out from the window. They had been driving all the way from central Shanghai to a more secluded, nicer, part of town. Sizhui had kindly offered to host their work session weeks ago—a gesture that sounded innocent enough—until he’d gone on to describe the monstrous complexity of how to get there. Between Google Maps rerouting them twice, three separate gated checkpoints, and a request for their names and license plate, Wei Ying is convinced that this place has higher security than some airports.
The omega gets to see (for the nth time) yet another bunch of perfectly pruned grass statues and intimidatingly polished front gates before the car's display map suddenly pings, indicating they had arrived at their final destination.
“Wow,” he whistles, feeling suddenly lively. “Now this is a nice house.”
The house itself is sleek and modern, all sharp lines and wide windows that reflect the early afternoon light like a polished mirror. The front yard feels carefully curated with low hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives, smooth slate walkways and a minimalist rock garden that clearly hasn’t known untidiness a single day.
Wei Ying leans forward against the window, eyes wide. “Damn,” he murmurs, nose nearly pressed to the glass. “My hunch was so right. That kid is wealthy as heck.”
Mianmian parks the car with a snort. “You say it as if you don’t have money yourself.” She turns the engine off and puts away her sunglasses. “Try not to act like a stray the moment we get out, okay? No sniffing around.”
Wei Ying rolls his eyes as he pulls down the vanity mirror. “Ugh. Don’t compare me to a dog. You know I hate dogs.” He half-heartedly reprimands as he double checks his lipgloss and hair. “And don’t you worry, I’m trying to make a good impression. Sizhui said he has a younger brother, did he not?”
Mianmian fixes him with a disgusted look. “He’s sixteen, you freak.”
“Well then,” he says, loudly snapping the sunvisor up, “I’ll just have to seduce his 50-year-old, balding dad.” He winks. “You know I have always wanted to marry rich.”
Before Mianmian has the chance to properly lash out at him, Wei Ying gets out of the car. Gravel crunches underneath his boots as he walks towards the main entrance. He’s barely halfway up the stone path when the door opens up and Lan Sizhui appears on the threshold, cutely dressed up in a baby blue argyle sweater and white trousers.
“Good afternoon,” he beams and bows politely, “I’m glad you made it safe. Please come in.”
He holds the door open—like the gentleman he is—as Wei Ying skips the last few steps and hurries inside.
The interior of the house is unsurprisingly minimalistic yet undeniably homelike. Soft lighting filters through the tall open windows, bookshelves line up the walls and potted plants decorate empty spaces. It smells amazing. Like deep, rich sandalwood, earthy oakmoss and several other notes Wei Ying can’t properly decipher. It’s heady, grounding, warm—and, for reasons he can’t explain, Wei Ying feels oddly at home in it.
“Move, you cow.” Mianmian elbows him out of the way. And it breaks the soft, cozy atmosphere Wei Ying had found himself floating in.
She pulls a face, as if saying ‘What, you got a problem?’, and sits down on the loft bench to take off her shoes. Wei Ying follows her, making sure to step on her toes as he sits down.
”What the hell, you asshole. Don’t stomp on me with your big-ass boots.” She kicks him. Wei Ying only pouts, petty, kicking off his shoes.
“You called me a cow, Mianmian.”
“Well, your fatass was on the way.” She sneers.
“Aww,” the omega coos, “do you really think my ass is fat—?”
“Ahem,” Sizhui politely interrupts both of them, clearing his throat. “Did you find your travel very difficult?”
Wei Ying’s and Mianmian’s heads snap up from their childish banter. Sizhui is standing on the threshold, wrangling his hands nervously, with a tight smile on his face. He keeps sending worried glances towards the hallway and back to them.
Wei Ying smiles, sheepish. “Sorry little A-Yuan. Your Yang-jie is behaving very poorly today.” He sniffs pitifully as she glares at him. “She had way too much caffeine on our way here. Which was awful, by the way—thanks for asking. My ass is so sore from sitting down for too long.”
Sizhui chuckles softly, still sending fleeting glances towards the hall. “Apologies for that. Our neighborhood is indeed quite reclused. Father chose it precisely for that reason.”
Wei Ying groans dramatically. “Noo, don’t tell me your dad is a suburban cryptkeeper.”
Sizhui laughs and Mianmian elbows him on his ribs again. “He is not. But he enjoys the peacefulness of it.” Sizhui tilts his head in the direction of the next room. “He’s probably in his room right now but he said he would briefly come out so he can properly greet you two.”
Wei Ying immediately takes notice of Sizhui’s subtle bashful blush creeping up his cheeks. He grins knowingly. “Oh. Is your dad worried about his little baby alpha bringing two hotties inside his house?” He suggestively waggles his eyebrows. “Is this your first time?”
Sizhui sputters and Mianmian stands, roughly pinching Wei Ying’s nape. “Enough, you prick. Sizhui is politely inviting us inside his house and you are being the most awful guest to ever exist.”
“Ow, ow, ow,” Wei Ying complains, reaching for his own nape. “That hurts, Mianmian. I’m a very delicate omega with a very delicate neck.” He whines.
“Then shut up.” She hisses, letting go. “Really, Sizhui. I’m sorry you have to put up with this joke.” She glares at Wei Ying. He answers by putting his hands up in surrender.
“It’s okay,” Sizhui reassures, though he is redder in the face than before. “Wei-qianbei is sort of right. I have never brought any female and/or omega study partners.” He lowers his voice. “My dad can be quite traditionalist, so he worries about the property of the situation.”
Wei Ying grins mischievously and Mianmian sends him a look. It shuts him before he can say anything.
“We will just greet him briefly." Sizhui finishes, already walking off.
He leads them through the living room and the corridor before stepping out into the dining room. It holds place to the longest dinner table Wei Ying has ever seen and a huge abstract, modern-looking lamp that hangs over their heads. The omega whistles appreciatively.
”Please, take a seat.” Sizhui offers, while pulling out a chair for Wei Ying to sit on. He does, arranging his black skirt so it doesn’t show too much leg. (He’s wearing stockings, so it should be okay). And Mianmian does the same when Sizhui hurriedly turns to pull her a chair next to him.
”So gentleman-y, my little Sizhui,” Wei Ying teases. “I don’t know how you haven’t brought many many omegas home like this.”
The young alpha splutters again, his face going back to a beet-red color. “I—uh. I’m going to go to the kitchen to bring some refreshments. If you excuse me…” He says as he swiftly scurries towards another room.
Wei Ying chuckles fondly, watching him go, and Mianmian sighs deeply. “You are such a lost cause.” She mutters whilst fetching for her bag. She rummages through it until she pulls out her notebook and a pen. “Can we at least pretend we’re here for homework?”
Wei Ying is just opening his mouth to whine about the injustice of academia when someone walks past the corridor Sizhui just disappeared in.
Wei Ying narrowly gets to see him—he has a struggling eyesight and a disgust for glasses—but he’s sure that the man that had just passed by is a wholeass Dad I’d Like To Fuck. Not a balding 50 year-old man.
“Is that Sizui’s dad?” Wei Wuxian squeaks.
Mianmian barely bothers glancing up from her notebook. She only gets a quick peek before the man disappears into the next room. “Yeah,” she replies dismissively, “I thought you had seen him before? He attended Innovation Week last spring. He was a university sponsor.”
“No,” Wei Ying gapes, blinking at the empty corridor the man had disappeared into. “In my mind, he was a 50 year-old with a beer belly and a disappearing hair act. So, no. I had not seen him before.”
Mianmian looks directly at him. She levels him with a blank stare. “Well, that explains your earlier statement at the car. I thought you were just joking,” she raises an eyebrow. “And you don’t have to drool. We all know he’s hot.”
Wei Ying indignantly gawks at her. “Apparently everyone but me!” he exclaims, dramatically flapping his hands around, “Why are you all gatekeeping this hot parental figure from me?”
Mianmian squints at him. Judgingly. “No one was. But now I might have to.”
“Nonono,” he scrambles to grip her shoulders. “Do not tell sweet little Sizhui that I have the actual hots for his dad. I was joking back then but now I’m not.“ He despairs. “And Sizhui is a baby. My future baby, perhaps. I have to safeguard his innocence until I bag his dad.”
It’s Mianmian’s turn to gape. “He’s almost your age, you degenerate!” She whisper-shouts.
“And I’m suddenly old enough to be a mom!” He shots back.
“Is everything okay?”
Wei Ying and Mianmian jolt in surprise as Sizhui approaches them with a tray that holds cute porcelain cups and a teapot. He has his usual adorable little look on his eyes and Wei Ying truly feels his womb get all tender and ready to push fifty more Lan babies.
Mianmian throws him a sharp glance before turning to Sizhui. “Yes dear, Wei Ying was just telling me he hasn’t even seen your dad before. We just saw him cross the corridor.”
Sizhui puts the tray down. There’s a plate with bunny-shaped apple pieces. Wei Ying is going to eat his cheeks. “Oh. Yes. He went in to tell me he’ll be right back. He’s finishing some work first.” He smiles. “Also, I think Wei-qianbei didn’t get to see him at that time because he was busy during the sponsor introduction. I believe he was meeting with Professor Zhao.”
Ah, yeah. Professor Zhao. That bastard. He was making Wei Ying’s life insufferable just because. He hopes he never sees him again. Even more now.
“Well, that explains a lot,” Wei Wuxian sighs with theatrical flair; his fingers mindlessly draw heart patterns across the table surface. “And seriously, stop calling me Wei-qianbei. It makes me feel so old,” he whines. “You already let me call you A-Yuan, it’s only fair you get to call me A-Ying.” Or Mom, he thinks.
Sizhui softly laughs as he arranges the cups and plates. “Surely, but you still remain my senior. I cannot take the liberty to address you so freely. My father taught me to be especially respectful towards omegas until we are properly acquainted.”
Wei Ying tilts his head and chuckles in response. “No worries little A-Yuan,” he grins impishly at him, "We'll get properly acquainted for sure—starting with that introduction to your father, perhaps.”
“Wuxian.” Mianmian hisses, a warning clear in her voice.
Sizhui just blinks at them, totally clueless. A moment later, he brightens up with a smile. “I’m certain he’s very eager to meet you in person. I have told him about your academic achievements and he thinks you are an exceptional student. He likes the idea of you being my role-model for the next few years.”
Wei Ying melts into a tiny puddle.
He’s ready to give this kid a thousand siblings. He will be the perfect mother to all of them. Sizhui’s dad already thinks so. (He doesn’t.)
Mianmian clears her throat and Wei Ying realizes he is clutching his chest like a love-struck Victorian maiden, eyes sparkling.
“Really?” He asks, voice tiny and soft.
“Mn.” He sweetly replies, smiling.
Wei Ying turns towards Mianmian with a look that says ‘See? I can make this work’, and she answers him with one that says ‘You fool, shut up’.
“Do you prefer green tea or black tea?” Sizhui kindly interrupts their silent conversation. “We have Hangzhou green tea and Fujian black tea. Father also keeps some Oolong if you would like.”
Wei Ying bites his lip, twirling a strand of his hair. “What does your dad prefer?”
He doesn’t miss Mianmian's dramatic eye roll in the back. Sizhui only tilts his head slightly to the side in contemplation. “He enjoys Osmanthus tea the most. I’m not as skilled as him at brewing it though, so I can ask him to make some if you want.” He politely suggests.
Skilled, huh. Oh, I’d love for him to show me just how skilled those hands are, Wei Ying’s mischievous mind supplies.
“It’s okay, Suzhui. We will take the green one.” Mianmian cuts in, sending a sharp glance towards Wei Ying. He responds to it with a childish pout and sticking his tongue out to her for good measure.
“If you say so.” Sizhui sweetly smiles as he starts pouring the tea into the cups. His hands are so graceful as if he has done this many many times.
Wei Ying takes a cup with a quiet thanks, sweetie and leans back on his seat. He rearranges his skirt so it’s appropriately covering his front, but makes sure he is showing thighs on the side. You never know when a hot dad might appear at the threshold.
“So…” he starts, sipping on his tea with faux nonchalance. “Your father,” Mianmian sighs and rubs at her temples like she’s starting to suffer from a headache. Wei Ying pointedly ignores her. “He sounds like a very busy man.”
Sizhui finishes pouring his tea and finally takes a seat in front of Wei Ying. He looks at him and nods earnestly. “He’s quite busy, yes.” He briefly drinks from his cup and smiles fondly. “He works all week but tries to get back early to prepare dinner. On weekends, he never really goes out, though. He prefers to stay at home, read, play the piano...”
Wei Ying’s lips curve. “A homebody,” he sultrily muses, “He sounds so grounded and mature. Definitely a very dedicated father.”
Sizhui nods his head enthusiastically. “He raised me and my younger brother Jingyi pretty much on his own,” he hesitates for a beat and lowers his voice, “It’s really just the three of us.”
Wei Ying’s brows lift slightly. Hot alpha with two kids and no wife in sight. Huh. Interesting. “Well,” he chirps, “He certainly did a wonderful job with you. I’m sure your didi is no exception.”
Sizhui chuckles. “He’s more of a handful than I ever was. Father says it’s his adolescent stage, but Jingyi has always liked pushing buttons—so to speak.”
Wei Ying lightly taps his fingers against the porcelain cup as he brings it to his lips. “Do you think he’d ever do it again?”
Sizhui tilts his head, confused. “Hm? Do what again?”
Wei Ying innocently takes a sip. “Having more kids.”
Mianmian sputters and chokes on her tea.
Sizhui immediately grabs a napkin and hands it to her as she coughs violently into her hand. ”Are you okay?” He asks while softly patting her back with a look of concern.
“I mean,” Wei Ying continues, totally unfazed by Mianmian’s near-death experience, “Your dad sounds like great father material. Responsible and handsome. Seems a total waste not to share those genes again.” He twirls a lock of hair around his finger as a subtle blush rises up his cheeks. “Would you be against him finding someone and giving you more siblings?”
“Wei Wuxian!” Mianmian rasps as she wipes her mouth with a tissue. She glares at him, full of murder intent. “You don’t have to answer his stupid questions, Sizhui. He was dropped on his head when he was little.”
Sizhui giggles now that he makes sure Mianmian is not actively dying. “I honestly don’t know Father’s opinion on that. He has not been exactly out there in the dating world for a while.”
“Sure,” Wei Ying sniffs, pressing on, “But you and your brother are all grown up now. He might meet someone, even very soon, who makes him want to try for more. You wouldn’t be against it, right?”
Sizhui blinks, thoughtful. “I suppose so. He turned forty this year but he doesn’t really look his age. I’m not sure how willing he is to uh,” he blushes, “make more children. But I would be very happy if he found someone special like that.”
Wei Ying lights up like a Christmas tree.
“I’m certain he will find someone soon enough,” he bats his eyelashes with faux innocence, “People love a big, handsome alpha man with strong parental instincts.”
Wei Ying surely does—and he has to close his thighs a little bit too tight so he doesn’t leak in response.
Sizhui laughs softly, embarrassment still tinting his cheeks. “I’ll let Father know that. Though he would probably be mortified if he knew we were talking about him like this.”
Mianmian coughs again—on purpose this time. “Maybe we should stop trying to set up Sizhui’s dad with these people,” she lightly kicks Wei Ying beneath the table, to which he answers with an offended look, “And start getting some work done.”
Sizhui straightens instantly, nodding in agreement.
Wei Ying barely has time to sigh mournfully—a complaint poised at the tip of his tongue—when a door clicks and the sound of footsteps echo down the hallway. They all immediately perk up, turning their heads into the direction of the sound.
“That must be dad.” Sizhui chirps.
Wei Ying hears that and promptly fixes his posture, rearranging his skirt once again to show even more thigh. There’s a buzz of anticipation beneath his skin as he waits for the handsome man to appear on the threshold.
Soon enough, Lan Wangji steps into the room. And Wei Ying finally gets a good look at him.
The man is in a fitted dark blue Henley shirt and some loose black lounge pants. His sleeves are slightly rolled up, just enough to reveal the faint blue veins along his pale forearms. The shirt clings a little too much at his chest and biceps—a confirmation to Wei Ying that the man is very much ripped. He also has a book tucked under his arm and his long hair lies tied back in a neat low ponytail, a single loose strand curling against his cheekbone, just beneath his rimless glasses.
He nods politely to the group, voice low and even. “Apologies. I do not mean to interrupt.”
Fuck.
Wei Ying has to clench his legs even tighter, trying very hard not to squirm. Seriously, how can a voice be so damned hot? It rolls out like warm honey and pools down somewhere very low in his stomach. It sounds like it's made to whisper dirty secrets against someone’s neck.
Wei Ying forces a smile. Get a grip, you whore. Mianmian would probably say.
“It’s alright, dad. We were just sharing tea first.” Sizhui chirps again, lightened up and eyes bright.
That hot piece of a man Sizhui calls dad, approaches the table and nods again in acknowledgment. “Hm. I told Sizhui I wanted to properly meet you first. I’m Lan Wangji, Sizhui’s father.” He voices as his gaze flickers between them, lingering briefly over Wei Ying, before moving to the table surface, surveying its contents.
For a split second, Wei Ying’s brain stalls after that fleeting glance. His eyes wander—just for a breath—over the clean cut of the man’s jaw, before he remembers himself. Fluttering his eyelashes coquetishly, he clears his throat. “Good afternoon Mr. Lan,” he says, tone tipping a little too sweet and a little too high, “Thank you for having us over.”
The alpha settles his eyes back on him. “You are welcome,” he replies easily, voice carefully blank. He minutely scans his face, golden orbs piercing through his skin. “You are also welcome to join us for dinner.”
Wei Ying beams. He flashes a smile and bites his lower lip. “I—We’d be delighted to, Mr. Lan.”
Lan Wangji barely fleets a look down to his lips before holding his gaze for a beat longer. He turns away. “I’ll start the preparations. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
Sizhui gives a dazzling smile. “Thank you dad. Let me know if you need help.” Lan Wangji answers with a low hum as he disappears into the kitchen. Sizhui sips his tea, visibly more relaxed. “Father makes excellent vegetarian dishes,” he offers cheerily. “He is also very skilled at cooking meat for guests. He took classes with a famous Suzhou chef a few years back. I’m sure you will like it.”
Wei Wuxian hums distractedly, eyes still stuck on the spot Lan Wangji last vanished at. “I’m sure we will,” he murmurs, lips quirking, “I’m sure I will like whatever he does to me.”
Beside him, Mianmian crosses her arms and pins him with a disdainful look. Wei Ying, immune by now, merely shrugs and tosses her a mischievous wink. She rolls her eyes in response.
Sizhui, ever the innocent child, smiles once again as he opens his notebook. “We could start by sketching a draft for the project,” he suggests, “That way Zizhen won't fall too far behind.”
Wei Ying leans back, suppressing a long, love-sick sigh. He drums his fingers against his bare thigh, head lost within images of Lan Wangji in an apron, sleeves rolled up, forearms taut, and that silent, intense gaze now focused on chopping some veggies.
He’s already halfway through imagining himself bending against the kitchen counter, pretending to offer help, when he realizes he’s smiling to himself.
Sizhui beams back at him, clearly thinking he’s just thrilled about his idea, and Wei Ying’s smile falters just a tiny bit.
Right. Homework. The actual reason he’s here.
Wei Ying sighs for real this time.
Time goes by painstakingly slow.
Wei Ying squirms in his seat for what feels like the hundredth time. He folds his left leg underneath him—then tucks in the right one. He unfolds them both—and does it all over again.
Mianmian has sent him enough pointed stares to drill holes through his head, but he deliberately ignores them, fakely typing on his laptop.
“Ugh,” he dramatically moans, slumping over his keyboard, “I hate coding so damn much. I should’ve married young, popped a couple of babies out and earned my hot pilates mom badge by now.”
Mianmian doesn’t even look up from her notes. “You’re literally twenty,” she replies flatly. “You are young.”
“Coding ages me,” he huffs, “I feel like milk left out in the sun.”
“That’s disgusting to think, thank you very much.” She mutters.
“I think Wei-qianbei hasn’t aged at all.” Sizhui shyly quips. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose—delicate and rimless, just like his father’s. It’s endearing in a way that makes Wei Ying want to pinch his cheeks. “I honestly thought he was my contemporary when I first met him.”
Wei Ying lifts his head, batting his eyelashes towards him. “Do you really think so?” Sizhui bashfully nods. “You are too sweet, my little A-Yuan. Very polite and considerate. You really know how to woo an omega.”
The young alpha flushes and averts his eyes, rubbing his cheek.
Mianmian gives Wei Wuxian a look. “Behave.”
Wei Ying makes a show of being affronted. “What? It’s a compliment!” he banters, a little too loudly, “If I had a husband like Sizhui, I’d cry every morning. Out of pride. And probably exhaustion.” He waggles his eyebrows playfully, making the alpha cough on his tea.
“Sizhui.” A voice cuts in, deep and cold.
Wei Ying yelps and they all startle out of their seats. The three of them turn to find Lan Wangji standing on the threshold, arms crossed and eyes unreadable.
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” he says, expression blank. Wei Ying’s traitorous eyesight is not sure if there’s a tiny crease between the man’s eyebrows. But he vaguely looks… irritated. “And Sizhui. A word.”
The younger alpha practically bolts upright, nodding with awkward obedience. He flashes them a sheepish smile before scurrying after his father, out the door.
As the footsteps faint in the distance, Mianmian turns towards him, pining him with a deadly gaze. “You dumbass, you can’t keep it either in your pants or your mouth.”
Wei Ying blinks, baffled. “What? I was just being nice! I tell him how sweet he is all the time!”
She scoffs. “In that flirty—I’m about to drop my panties—tone of yours! You are harassing his eighteen year old son. Almost a minor, by the way.”
“It’s motherly appreciation!” He insists, whining. “I see that kid as if I birthed him myself. I swear, the moment I look at his face, my womb just imprints. It’s instinctual. Like—bam! Mine.”
Mianmian rolls her eyes. “That’s deeply disturbing. But sure. Next time, try to explain that to his actual biological dad.”
Wei Ying just groans and slumps back into the table, hoping to sink into it.
He’s about to keep whining when footsteps return—light and polite. Wei Ying straightens immediately.
Sizhui reappears at the door, looking as composed as ever, though there’s a slight pink flush still clinging to his cheeks. “Um,” he starts gently, “We’re almost ready to serve. Father is plating the last of the food. He says you can help bring things to the table if you’d like.”
“Of course!” the omega beams, standing up. “I’d love to help.”
Mianmian eyes him warily and Sizhui simply smiles. “Some of the side dishes are on the counter. Just be careful, they might be hot.”
Wei Ying springs from his chair like a man on a mission. “Got it! And—don’t you worry, I’m excellent at handling hot things.” He winks.
He gets to hear the loudest sigh Mianmian has let out yet before he leaves the dining room and heads into the kitchen.
The open kitchen is just around the corner, all in its silver and minimalistic glory. Lan Wangji is at the stove, stirring something that smells utterly delicious, doning a white, spotless apron that hugs his form a little too well. It does things to Wei Ying’s womb—and not in the previous motherly-appreciation kind of way.
There’s a variety of side dishes laying on the marble countertop: steamed dumplings, snow peas, cucumber salad, black rice and what seems to be seaweed soup. The omega softly clears his throat once he reaches the kitchen island. “I come bearing skilled hands,” he chirps, resting said hands on the edge of the counter. “A-Yuan told me I could help set up the table.”
Lan Wangji’s hand stills mid-stir, a faint tautness stretching across his shoulders. For a long second, he doesn’t speak—only continues facing the stove, eyes fixed on the pot with a focus that feels too deliberate. “You can take some of the silverware to the table,” he finally says, voice clipped. Wei Ying can imagine it’s the kind of tone someone would use while furrowing their eyebrows. “The side dishes are hot,” he suddenly adds, words heavy with dismissal. “I will take those myself.”
Wei Ying shrugs, even if the man can’t really see it. “It’s okay. I can handle hot,” he says, voice lilting with implication as he starts a slow, deliberate circle around the kitchen island. His steps are light, almost soundless, and he stops just a few paces behind Lan Wangji, close enough to feel the residual heat radiating from the stove and—perhaps—the man’s back too. “I’m Wei Ying, by the way. I didn’t have the fortune to introduce myself back there.”
Lan Wangji stops and places the ladle down with perfect precision. “I know,” he replies evenly, still not looking up.
Wei Ying’s lips twitch. “Oh? Does little A-Yuan talk a lot about me?” he teases, feigning surprise. “Should I be flattered?”
The slight tension ripples through the man’s shoulders like a tidal wave. He turns around and pins Wei Ying with a glare. “Sizhui talks about all of his classmates.”
The omega bats his eyelashes. “All good things, I hope.” He chuckles, tucking his hair back demurely.
Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow, just slightly. His gaze flicks down and back up again—evaluating. Like a father sizing up a threat.
“Sizhui speaks very highly of you,” he says after a beat. “He admires you as a senior. He says you’re clever. Confident. That you challenge him to think differently.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, thrown slightly off by the unexpected praise. He pauses as the alpha’s gaze weighs heavy between them.
He properly gets to admire the man’s eyes now. Molten gold flowing through his irises. Cold albeit their warm amber-ish color. Wei Ying finds himself a tiny bit in love with them.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He replies, a pause later. He tilts his head, inquisitive.
Lan Wangji thoroughly regards his face for a moment. “It’s not.”
Now, that surprises Wei Ying—he pauses again before offering a quiet chuckle. “Well, Sizhui is truly a wonderful child. He’s sweet, well mannered, a total gentleman. Handsome too.” He smirks as Lan Wangji’s left eye slightly twitches. “He’s a total heartthrob at school. He really turns heads with that dazzling smile and gorgeous eyes of his.”
The alpha doesn’t seem to like how Wei Ying wiggles his eyebrows teasingly because his jaw clenches. “He’s also too young,” he coldly states, “Barely eighteen.”
Wei Ying scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s not so young. I’m twenty and I’m very mature for my age.”
Lan Wangji quirks an eyebrow in the most subtly amused disbelief. Wei Ying gasps and points an accusatory finger towards him. “Hey! I’m serious! I’m an incredibly decisive omega who is top three in his class and,” he pauses for dramatic effect, grinning impishly, “Emotionally mature enough to know I want to marry young and give my spouse many many children.”
Lan Wangji’s nostrils flare ever so slightly in response. “Twenty is still too young. You should be focusing on your studies.”
The man turns around, reaching for the ladle. Wei Ying sniffs, “Well, if I could guarantee my future babies turned out even half as well behaved as Sizhui, I wouldn’t mind waddling around pregnant already.”
The alpha freezes completely at that. The tautness previously melted from his shoulders returns abruptly like a snapped wire. The pot rattles a bit as Lan Wangji turns off the stove.
“I do not require your help in the kitchen,” he cuts, coolly. It takes Wei Ying aback. “Please return to the dining room. I will take everything myself.”
Wei Ying hesitates, startled by the sudden shift. “Oh. Are you sure?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look at him either.
Wei Ying slinks back a step, hands behind his back. “Alright. You’re very territorial about your kitchen. I respect that.” He tries to joke.
The alpha doesn’t answer. Again.
Okay. Wei Ying is taking that as his cue to leave.
He awkwardly turns to exit the kitchen. He feels a bit out of place as he steps away, wondering about the sudden change in the atmosphere. He shrugs—decidedly offended—as he sways his hips in subtle defiance, feeling the weight of the alpha’s stare clinging to his spine.
He doesn’t look back.
When Wei Ying returns to the dining room, Mianmian is furiously scratching something across her notebook. Sizhui is watching her, a nervous smile etched on his face, while picking some of their stuff off the table.
The omega approaches them and plops back down in his chair with a raised eyebrow. “Jesus, Mianmian—are you trying to summon something with that pen or are you just carving your rage into it?” He jokingly inquires.
Mianmian stops her furious scribbling to send him an accusatory glance. “I’m writing your name on it a hundred times like it's a Death Note, you prick.” She bites out. “I was hoping you’d drop dead but it seems like it didn’t work.”
The omega gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “I’m too pretty to die young.”
“Self-delusion is happiness, I guess.” She rolls her eyes as she closes her notebook. “I was brainstorming some of Sizhui’s ideas. I had to write them down before forgetting.”
Sizhui only nods, laying down some placemats on the table.
“Anyway,” she continues, staring at him up and down, "Where's the stuff you were supposed to bring?”
Wei Ying sniffs, closing his laptop and putting it away. “Apparently, my assistance wasn’t needed. Got kicked out of the kitchen.”
Mianmian sends him a suspicious glance as Sizhui looks up from the mats, frowning slightly. “Did something happen?”
“Nope,” Wei Ying chirps, leaning back on his chair. “Everything’s fine. Your father just seems to prefer handling things himself. Such a capable man. Very alpha. Doesn’t want a feeble omega like me to carry heavy plates.”
Mianmian levels him with a long stare, clearly unconvinced. Sizhui, seemingly relieved, just smiles and continues arranging the table mats silently.
Before the beta can accuse him of something else, footsteps sound near the doorway again. Lan Wangji enters, serene and composed, holding a large tray with the kind of poise one could confuse for nobility. His expression is impassive, but Wei Ying swears the temperature in the room dips just a little.
Mianmian squints at Wei Ying suspiciously as she gets up to help unload the side dishes from the tray.
The omega fiddles with the hem of his skirt for a second before deciding to stand up and help Sizhui in whatever he’s doing. As he approaches, the young alpha gifts him a smile that Wei Ying returns with one of his own, softly grabbing onto his elbow.
“What can I help you with, sweetheart?” he coos, “I promise I’m strong enough to handle cutlery.”
Sizhui lets out a small chuckle. “Wei-qianbei can certainly be trusted with the cutlery. He treats everything with such care—it’s hard not to notice.” He subtly teases back. Wei Ying squeals a bit in delight and bumps his shoulder against his affectionately.
The moment he turns around holding the silverware drawer, he’s met with Lan Wangji’s cold stare and Mianmian’s wide-eyed gaze. He blinks, taken aback from the direct attention, before grinning broadly. “I love this kid.” He enunciates, whispering towards them.
Lan Wangji says nothing. But there’s a subtle tension in his jaw again—an almost imperceptible twitch, like his body’s too tightly wound for his own comfort. His eyes flick again to Sizhui—who’s turned away—then back to Wei Ying. Calculating. Protective. A bit possessive.
With a sharp pivot, he turns on his heels and leaves for the kitchen. Probably to get the rest of the dinner. Or probably to curse at Wei Ying.
Wei Ying shrugs.
They finish setting up the table before Lan Wangji returns. Mianmian keeps sending him odd looks while Sizhui—totally unaware—mentions that it’ll only be the four of them tonight since his younger brother is out with friends.
When the older alpha returns, he carries the main dishes with practiced grace, serving them politely and blatantly ignoring Wei Ying’s enthusiastic ‘This looks amazing, Mr. Lan. A-Yuan wasn’t lying when he said you were an amazing cook’.
As they begin to eat, the room fills with the quiet clinks of chopsticks and bowls. Wei Ying takes his time. He hums in appreciation after the first bite, lips curling. “Wow. This is truly delicious, Mr. Lan. Beauty and skills run deep in this family.” He grins coquettishly.
Lan Wangji doesn’t look up, barely acknowledging him with a small hum.
“Father doesn’t really talk during meals,” Sizhui softly intervenes, voice small, “None of us really do.” He glances at him, a tiny apologetic smile on his lips.
Wei Ying warmly smiles back. “It’s okay, A-Yuan. I’m more than enough chatter for all of us.”
So he does. He chatters with easy confidence like he’s making up for a lifetime of quiet dinners. He reminisces about how they met Sizhui back at the beginning of the year and about their class and project advances. He even brainstorms some of his own ideas while Sizhui listens politely, nodding along, and Mianmian looking vaguely entertained.
“But, seriously, A-Yuan,” the omega goes on, pointing his chopsticks at him with a grin, “You’re a total package. Smart, polite, thoughtful, terrifyingly well-adjusted for someone your age. If I had even half your composure back then, maybe I wouldn’t have flunked my Physics final three times.”
Mianmian snorts quietly and Sizhui lets out a bashful laugh, his cheeks going a little pink. “Wei-qianbei is too kind.”
“I’m being accurate, actually.” Wei Ying insists, waving his chopsticks. “Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who is so well-spoken, respectful and ridiculously handsome? You’re practically husband material already.”
Sizhui ducks his head modestly. “I was taught how to take care of others.”
Wei Ying rests his chin on his hand, eyes warm. “And you’re certainly going to make someone very, very lucky one day.”
At that, Lan Wangji—silent until now—sets down his chopsticks with an almost imperceptible click. “Sizhui has always taken responsibility seriously,” he says calmly, his gaze steady on his plate, though there’s a flicker of tension in the air now. “He was taught how to care for others. But that doesn’t mean he’s meant to belong to just anyone who notices.”
Wei Ying freezes for half a second, smile still on his lips—but his brain stutters.
He tilts his head, blinking slowly. “Well,” he says, aiming for a playful tone, “I’m just admiring fine parenting, that’s all.” He gestures towards Sizhui with his chopsticks. “You raise a perfect young man and you’re surprised when people notice? Can’t blame me for having good taste, can you?”
Lan Wangji doesn’t even glance up. “Not everyone notices with the same intent.”
Wei Ying snorts. “Intent? What? Are compliments a threat now?” He taps the rim of his bowl, lips quirking. “I assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable. A-Yuan’s just objectively excellent.”
Mianmian’s eyes flick back and forth between them like she’s watching a tennis match.
Sizhui, bless him, remains blissfully unaware, sipping his soup innocently.
Lan Wangji finally looks up at him—steady, unreadable. “I’m merely stating that admiration and interest are not always the same. And some people speak without considering the weight of their words.
That gives Wei Ying pause.
He sits up straighter, smile slowly thinning at the edges. He studies Lan Wangji’s face—cool, composed, but a little too still. The same way someone holds their breath in a crowded room.
Wei Ying’s mouth opens. Then closes.
Intent. Admiration. Interest. He thinks.
Belong to just anyone.
…
Oh.
Oh.
He realizes.
Lan Wangji thinks he’s flirting with Sizhui. Sizhui. He thinks Wei Ying’s been eyeing up his perfect little alpha son and aiming to charm his way into the good graces like he’s auditioning for the role of omega-son-in-law.
Wei Ying nearly drops his chopsticks.
He has to swallow three times before he can speak. “Right,” he says slowly, pushing his bowl a little farther back than necessary. “Well. I’ll make sure to keep my compliments… strictly father-approved from now on. Wouldn’t want to overstep my welcome.”
Lan Wangji gives him a slow, unreadable look. The kind that might as well be a mirror: polished and hard. Then he noncommittally hums, going back to his food.
Wei Ying leans back with a stunned sort of grin, dragging a hand down his face. Oh, wow. He almost laughs—soft and incredulous. He merely sends Mianmian a glance, which she answers with a ‘What the fuck’ look of her own.
He doesn’t say anything for the next ten minutes.
Sizhui glances between them all with a soft blink, suddenly aware of the silence that fell over the room. “Is something wrong, Wei-qianbei?” He politely inquires.
Wei Ying shakes his head. “Nope,” he replies too quickly. “Nope! Everything’s great. This food? Amazing. The company? Glorious. The silent judgment?” He shoots a look toward Lan Wangji. “Just the right amount of oppressive. Really gives the evening flavor.”
Lan Wangji picks up a dumpling with the grace of a monk and says nothing. But Wei Ying swears he sees a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The omega almost grins.
This is definitely just the beginning.
The remainder of the meal passes without any further perfectly-veiled, razor-sharp remarks from Mr. Lan.
Wei Wuxian—for the first time in his entire life—shuts it and continues to eat his braised tofu in silence, barely making a sound. Mianmian looks like she finally found her inner peace and Sizhui primly nibbles on his food like a prince. It really is endearing. Wei Ying can imagine a tiny, four year old little baby alpha cutting apple slices with silver cutlery and a napkin properly tucked in his collar. He needs one of those in his belly like, right now.
With that thought weighing heavy in his mind, he dares to send a fleeting glance towards Lan Wangji.
The man had actually kept silent for the whole dinner (minus the awkward moment he decided to berate Wei Ying for apparently whoring himself out—which, okay. He was. But not to his son. To him.) and it had given Wei Ying enough time to consult the voices in his head and get a consensus on how to approach the man without accidentally sounding like he wanted to cradle-rob his son.
“We’ll handle the dishes, Mr. Lan.” Wei Ying quips enthusiastically the second the last bite is taken. “You already went through the trouble of cooking a five-star Michelin-level dinner for us. The least we can do is help clean up.” He beams brightly as he stands up, wanting to be on his best behavior.
Lan Wangji glances up from his tea. His eyes are a little bit less cold but still hard and impassive like steel. “You are a guest,” he says evenly, “It’s no trouble.”
Wei Ying huffs playfully, undeterred. “I’m also capable of rinsing a plate, Mr. Lan. I promise I won’t break anything.”
Something flickers behind those golden eyes—something measured, unreadable, but definitely present. Wei Ying makes sure to hold eye contact steadily, refusing to wilt. “Very well,” the alpha decides at last. He shifts his attention towards Sizhui. “I’ll let you all three handle it.”
Sizhui nods, ever agreeable, already reaching to gather the cups. Mianmian throws Wei Wuxian a suspicious glance when the omega makes a direct beeline for Lan Wangji’s plates first. He lifts the tray carefully, stacking the plates with exaggerated precision. He makes sure to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from the man’s side and catch a whiff of his scent.
Yup. He smells as good as he looks: deep sandalwood, amber and something dark and resinous like aged patchouli. Warm, musky and frankly devastating. It makes Wei Ying want to curl in his lap and purr.
As he reaches for the man’s cup of tea, Wei Ying lets himself demurely expose his own shoulder onto the alpha’s sight. The boat neck of his deep red sweater slips open even more, baring more skin than strictly necessary. It’s a strategic tilt—innocent if anyone asks, but entirely on purpose.
“Would you like me to serve you more tea, Mr. Lan?” He coyly asks, bending over for the teapot. The alpha fixes him with a look from the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his head towards his neck.
“No. Thank you.” He replies, curtly and cold.
Wei Ying pouts as he brings the kettle closer. “Then, would you be so kind as to let go of the cup?” He asks, skimming the lightest of touch against the fingers coiled tightly around the delicate porcelain.
The man draws in a controlled breath, as if suddenly realizing the white-knuckled grip on the teacup. His gaze drops to the ceramic as if it had personally offended him, then abruptly releases it like it burned.
Wei Ying grins, all sugar and mischief. “Thank you, Mr. Lan.” He purrs as he picks up the cup and pivots towards the kitchen with tray in hand and an unmistakable spring in his step.
When he finally steps out of the dining room, Mianmian is already waiting for him in the hallway—arms crossed, one foot tapping slowly against the polished wood floor.
He doesn’t even get the chance to ask when she got out of the room before she speaks.
“You’re unbelievable,” she says, flatly.
Wei Ying flashes her his most innocent smile. “What do you mean?”
She arches a brow, unimpressed. “Don’t play dumb. First Sizhui—now his forty-year-old dad?” She whisper-shouts, dramatically throwing her hands in the air.
“I’m merely being polite,” he says, brushing past her towards the kitchen, “Some of us were raised with manners, you know.”
She follows him in. “That was not manners,” she retorts, “That was predatory. I’ve seen subtler mating dances on National Geographic.”
Wei Ying snorts, setting the tray down once they make it to the kitchen. He turns around and leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “I’ve never tried to prey on Sizhui,” he says, slow and firm, like he’s making a deposition. “I’m being one-hundred percent honest when I say I’ve only ever seen him as a child.” He raises his right hand in a solemn little vow. Mianmian rolls her eyes. “Now, as for his dad…” he shrugs, letting his hand fall, “Can you blame me? The man cooks, cleans, wears glasses, raises perfect children and is outrageously handsome. What am I supposed to do? Just sit there like a nun?”
Mianmian throws him a blank look. “Yes,” she deadpans. “Preferably.”
Wei Ying sighs dramatically, tossing his head back. “You’re no fun.”
The beta approaches him with a sigh of her own—though hers sounds more like impending doom. “I don’t know if you are actually serious but, you are very aware he’s Sizhui’s dad, right?”
Wei Ying straightens his head with a smile. “Yeah? No shit. I thought he was just a very attractive forty year old roommate who is coincidentally named Dad.”
Mianmian sighs again, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes. “He’s two times your age” she warns—gentler now—but furiously massaging her head like an upcoming migraine. “You cannot possibly be serious.”
He turns his head toward her, smile dimming just a little. “Well. I’m very known for having parental issues, am I not?”
She opens her eyes and gives him another unimpressed look. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you get to be self-destructive and destructive towards your junior for a petty need to get laid by his dad.” She berates him, eyes hard.
Wei Ying shrugs again, gaze dropping to his stocking-clad feet. “It’s not a petty need,” he murmurs, pouting a little, “I’m actually interested in him.”
He doesn’t get to see her reaction but she doesn’t press anymore. The omega just glances up when she takes a step back and brushes imaginary lint off her jeans.
“Whatever,” she finally says, more dismissive than angry now. “Let’s go. Sizhui’s probably waiting for us to finish gathering the dishes.”
Yet, when they return to the dining room, the table is already spotless, tableware perfectly piled up in a tray that Lan Wangji carries with ease.
“Father and I finished cleaning up,” Sizhui informs, a bit sheepishly. He sends a look towards him. “Dad insists on handling the dishes so we can keep working on the project.”
Wei Ying cocks his head, eyes drifting gleefully to the older alpha. “That’s fine by me,” he replies, mouth quirking into a smirk. “I offered to help earlier, remember? Might as well lend a hand while you two finish figuring out the stats.” He flashes a smile—one that’s far too dazzling to be innocent. The man narrows his eyes just a fraction in response. “I can’t code until they are done, anyway.” He justifies, pouting.
Lan Wangji barely spares him a flat, unimpressed glance before striding towards the kitchen.
Wei Ying takes that as a win.
He shoots Sizhui and Mianmian a sunny smile and a quick thumbs up before scurrying after the alpha.
When he gets back into the kitchen—again, which is kinda giving him whiplash with how much he’s going back and forth—Lan Wangji has already stacked all the plates besides the sink. Focused on rolling his sleeves and putting on some rubber gloves, he dismisses Wei Ying without turning.
“I do not require help.” He speaks, voice flat and cool as winter gust.
Wei Ying hums lightly, undeterred, as he slides next to him. “Well, they don't need mine either,” he counters back, scooting even closer and deliberately brushing their elbows. He snatches a pristine white rag he assumes is for drying dishes, and twirls it once between his fingers before continuing, tone lilting with mock-innocence. “I can already guess what you’re thinking,” he says, voice dipping into playful accusation. “Something like: ‘This shameless omega can’t even pretend to help with homework. He’s clearly here to seduce my barely-of-age son. Someone call Child Protective Services and throw him in heat jail’.”
And that does earn a reaction.
Wei Ying feels it ripple through Lan Wangji’s frame like a taut wire pulled tight—starting at his spine and climbing to the stiff line of his shoulders. Instead of pulling away, he turns to his side, staying close, letting their proximity speak. He leans one hip against the counter, rag in hand, and tips his chin up to regard the alpha fully.
Damn, Wei Wuxian had not accounted for the alpha’s height until now. Lan Wangji is easily two heads taller than him and two times broader. Wei Ying is sure he could get pinned without a fight.
Still, the alpha refuses to look at him directly. He keeps his gaze glued to the silver faucet like he's deciding if he should grab it and spray Wei Ying like a misbehaving cat.
Maybe it would be easier to seduce him while wet, Wei Ying thinks.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he says instead, silver eyes trying to search for gold, “Sizhui is an amazing kid. Sweet, respectful and smart. But my admiration is solely based on his outstanding genes and upbringing.”
Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. But his fingers twitch where they rest against the counter.
Wei Ying watches him for a moment longer—then laughs quietly. “Okay. Maybe he is my type,” he admits, sheepish. “But ever since I met him, I’ve had a bigger motherly instinct towards him than anything else.”
The alpha finally turns to look at him. His gaze has changed—warier, but less harsh. Like he’s trying to figure out whether Wei Ying is a threat or just a chaotic omega with no filter and entirely way too many wandering hands.
Under the weight of that scrutiny, Wei Ying falters just a little. He immediately breaks eye contact and laughs nervously. “I's a bit embarrassing saying that to his actual dad but—it is what it is,” he mutters, glancing at the knives lined up neatly on the counter. “Honestly, I’ve felt like you were about to fillet me alive every time I so much as breathed in Sizhui’s direction, so I figured I should clarify that before you decide I’m a danger to almost-minors.”
Lan Wangji stares. He doesn’t stop scrutinizing him and the stillness between them tightens. Wei Ying is not sure if he’s supposed to be clearer than that.
Fuck it.
He pauses, gathers some courage and tilts his head up, looking through his lashes with a coy smile that borders on sickly sweet. “Besides,” he adds, voice dropping just above a whisper, “Sizhui’s adorable—yes. But baby alphas are not really my speed…” He lets his gaze drag slowly from Lan Wangji’s eyes to the collar of his shirt, “I like mine more grown. If you know what I mean.” He winks.
Thankfully, his bravest staring contest yet is rewarded when the alpha’s eyes twitch a little and his irises flicker to the sides, as if disoriented. For the first time, he looks like his silence is for loss of words and not intentionally cold.
Spurred on by the shift in Lan Wangji’s expression, Wei Ying leans in just a touch, keeping the space between them charged but careful. “I mean, how could I not?” he murmurs, voice still feather-light. “Strong, smart and mature alphas who raise children like that,” his cheeks are hurting from how hard he’s smiling now, “I’d kill for a partner capable of giving me a baby that perfect.”
Something in Lan Wangji’s eyes closes off at that. His gaze, which had been slowly softening, suddenly dims, as if a curtain’s been drawn across it. The crackle of tension that had built between them doesn’t release with heat or hunger—it disappears altogether, yanked away abruptly.
Wei Ying falters, his breath catching in the unexpected chill of it.
For once, the silence hanging between them feels unguarded, as if it has cracked open just enough to let something unspoken slip through.
Lan Wangji turns back to the sink. “You’ve made your intentions clear,” he says evenly, almost without inflection, the words too precise to be natural. “I don’t think there’s anything else to clarify.”
It’s not cruel. It’s not even dismissive—not outright. But it’s distancing. And it’s final.
Wei Ying blinks, the rejection not sharp enough to sting, but hollow enough to leave him off balance. He watches the alpha for a moment longer, weighing the moment. Testing if there’s room to joke his way back in.
There isn’t.
So he exhales, light and short. “Right,” he says. “Well. Thanks for the overprotective dad routine. Very honorable of you.”
Lan Wangji says nothing.
Wei Ying places the dish towel back into its place and straightens. “You are right. I think it’s best if I go see if your son still needs me for the coding.”
This time, Lan Wangji doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t even look back.
Wei Ying leaves, biting his lip.
He returns to the dining room to find Mianmian hunched over her notebook and Sizhui typing down something on his own laptop.
He plops back again into his seat with a theatrical sigh.
“I was starting to think you got swallowed by the kitchen,” Mianmian says, eyes glued on her notes. “We finished the stats. Sizhui started reviewing the code.”
Wei Ying grins, wishing he had gotten swallowed in the kitchen. “I kinda did,” he waggles his eyebrows, “Sizhui’s dad has a glare with its own gravitational pull.”
Mianmian raises an eyebrow towards him and Sizhui huffs a tiny laugh. “Father does have an intense gaze. He tends to give off an intimidating impression sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” Wei Ying drawls as he moves seats next to Sizhui. The omega gets a whiff of his scent this close. It’s the familiar musky sandalwood but this time laced with some fresher accents. Like sea salt and grapefruit. It smells juvenile and crisp.
The young alpha offers him a soft, earnest smile. “He only seems like that,” he says, tone gentle. “But in reality, he’s a very caring person. He does more than he talks. He shows how he feels with actions, not words. Quiet but warm. That’s how he is.”
Wei Ying hums in response, careful to keep his expression neutral and trying not to sulk. Sizhui’s admiration is so sincere it almost makes his chest ache. It’s sweet—really. Endearing, even. The kid clearly sees his father as some sort of otherworldly, emotionally constipated angel.
Completely oblivious to how much actual emotional wreckage he can cause in the span of five minutes if he really puts his mind into it.
He glances at Sizhui’s bright face, all trust and warmth and faith in his dad, and sighs internally.
Right. Maybe he was being dramatic. Probably. A little. Still, no one said getting close to a stoic, knife-cut alpha would be easy.
Wei Ying isn’t sure what to do with that thought.
Instead, he leans over Sizhui’s shoulder to squint at his screen. “You’re doing that loop wrong,” he murmurs absently, pointing to the line. “That bracket should be outside the condition.”
“Oh—right,” Sizhui says, adjusting it. “Sorry. This programming language gives more trouble than the other one we use.”
Mianmian snorts in front of them. “That’s why Wuxian is supposed to be taking care of that. Not leaving his job to you.”
The omega sticks out his tongue to her. “Don’t listen to her, A-Yuan. You are doing amazing, sweetie.”
And just like that, they keep working in quiet tandem for a while—Sizhui focused intently on the laptop while Wei Ying leans in now and then to offer comments, pointing out where to tweak a function or streamline a loop. Mianmian eventually also pulls out her own laptop and starts uploading the stats on the database.
They’re somewhere in the middle of their unofficial emotional support coding session when Lan Wangji appears in the doorway, silent as a shadow. Sizhui and Mianmian don't notice, but Wei Ying does. Mostly because he’s apparently developing a radar for hot, brooding dads (and also because he's been keeping an ear out for quiet footsteps).
“It’s getting late.” Lan Wangji says, carefully measured. Like he’s trying very hard not to sound unwelcoming.
Wei Wuxian glances up at him with little hesitation. He immediately clocks out how the alpha steels his gaze at his proximity to Sizhui—which, fair. He has his knee folded and pretty much in the young alpha’s lap. But Sizhui doesn’t really seem to mind (or even notice, as he’s very diligently focused on his screen to care).
“At eight PM?” Wei Ying jests, looking at the silvery clock over Lan Wangji’s head. “Sometimes I wake at eight PM.” He mocks, holding eye contact with the man.
“You say it as if it were healthy.” Lan Wangji counters back, clipped.
Wei Ying grins, all teeth and intention. “Of course it’s not healthy. That’s what makes it fun.” He shifts slightly, leaning in just enough to let more of his thigh press into Sizhui’s lap—casual and clearly not accidental. “But that’s youth for you,” he adds, voice dropping a shade lower. “We can endure a lot. Late nights. Long efforts. Great tasks…”
Lan Wangji’s expression doesn’t change—but something about the pause afterwards feels more taut and strained. Like he heard exactly what Wei Ying wanted him to hear, and is choosing to pretend he didn’t.
“It’s a long drive back home,” the alpha continues, deliberately sidestepping the innuendo. “You are welcome again anytime.”
Wei Ying perks up immediately. He catches that last part like it’s a tossed invitation disguised beneath layers of stoicism. But he takes it as a warm, open-armed welcome back.
He feels like his smile is going to split his face in half.
“Father is right,” Sizhui politely intervenes and Wei Ying glances back at him. There’s a pink flush across the young alpha’s cheeks, and his left hand twitches nervously—like he’s just realized there’s an omega’s stocking-clad leg resting in his lap. “You both have a long journey back to your apartment. We can continue during the week and finish off next Saturday.”
Wei Ying pouts, tempted to bully the young alpha for his need to shift away so bashfully from his touch.
“He’s right, Wuxian.” Mianmian intervenes coldly. “You are not driving the way back—you are not considering how dark it’s getting.”
The omega redirects his pout towards her. “Okay, okay,” he mournfully resigns, “Only because I know little A-Yuan goes to bed by nine.” Sizhui squeaks as Wei Ying leans over to pinch his cheeks.
Once Mianmian starts gathering her things and tosses him a sharp glance, Wei Ying rises too, making an act of retrieving his bag from the floor—bending just a little slower and deeper than necessary, right in Lan Wangji’s line of sight. Just in case.
Soon enough (and to Wei Ying’s dismay), they are all at the door, father and son bidding them polite farewells at the foyer.
Wei Ying, of course, deliberately lingers, taking his time putting on his shoes and staying just behind Sizhui and Mianmian as they step out.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Lan,” he purrs, as soon as he’s sure they are out of earshot. Turning, he stands face-to-face with the alpha, making sure to look up through his eyelashes at him. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
The man, stoic as ever, just stares down at him. The warm, ambient lighting behind them pools in his golden eyes, turning them a deep, unreadable amber. He crosses his arms, unmoved, and stays back.
“Mn.” He simply replies.
The omega offers him a sickly sweet smile, flutters his eyelashes a little and clasps his hands behind his back. As if stating his need for a better goodbye.
A muscle ticks in Lan Wangji’s jaw. “Take care, Wei Ying.” He concedes.
Wei Ying bites back an even bigger grin. Oh, he thinks. He’s so going to let me flirt with him again next Saturday.
And honestly, Wei Ying takes that as a win.