#hes just a stupid greasy man with matted down ugly hair | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shushmal · 4 years ago

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Written for the MDZS Big Bang!! Shout out to @frankensteinsaway-blog for their awesome artwork, and to @majesticanna for cheering me on!!

Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

He's is their top scorer on the soccer team, gets perfect grades, first place in the essay contest, has a solo piano performance at the school concert. But he also sucks at public speaking, hates talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code. And he smiles at Wei Ying when he starts to grows his hair out into a long ponytail, just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

Growing up is a painful thing, but there are those who make it worth it.

Read it here on Ao3!

the brunt of the storm

Wei Ying doesn’t remember the orphanage. Not in a way that’s concrete, like holding an old frame in his hands, with brittle glass and fading edges and the faces of people he’s long forgotten. And what he does remember, he tries best to shove down far into his heart, where it can’t visit him in the night.

He doesn’t want to remember the feeling of slow hunger of too little food and too many mouths, little bodies sitting elbow to elbow on the back steps of the dirt yard, eating bland porridge with his fingers. He doesn’t want to remember the overworked, harried aunties or the bigger kids that liked to chase them around with sticks. He doesn’t want to remember the faces of all the adults that he had to sit with, to pretend with, that may be his new mother or father. He didn’t really remember the old ones.

He doesn’t want to remember the dogs in the streets behind the yard. Doesn’t want to remember their teeth. Doesn’t want to remember the festering, untreated bite marks.

When the orphanage shuts down and all the kids are scattered about to foster houses, Wei Ying is barely six and all his things don’t even fill a trash bag. The first family he lives with throws it all away and Wei Ying has to sneak into the garbage in the middle of the night to save what he can. The only picture he has of his parents — two faded faces with their arms around each other — is covered in old coffee grounds and rotten vegetables, but he wipes it off best he can, folds it in half, and hides it in his pocket.

In a lot of ways, foster care is worse, but Wei Ying remembers the lessons he learns there better: stay quiet, stay out of the way, and stay out of reach.

Wei Ying doesn’t start school until he’s eight, when his fourth foster family takes him in. He can’t read, can’t count, can’t understand anything written on the board, but he fakes it well enough, memorizing all the new things his teachers say until it all starts to make sense and his grades start to improve. And the kids with good grades get to do things outside of school, and that’s what changes Wei Ying’s life.

He meets Jiang Fengmian on a Tuesday during the only school trip he can remember. The museum is vast and air conditioned, and Wei Ying looks around with wide eyes, trailing the rowdy group of elementary and middle school students.

“There’s real bodies here,” one of the older kids is saying. He’s got an ugly look on his face, but Wei Ying still steps closer as he whispers to his friends. “Like dead people split open so you can see inside of them.”

“Gross,” says the girl he’s talking to. “Let’s go see.”

And Wei Ying falls into step with them when a group of ten-year-olds break away from the tour. They’re caught almost immediately, but Wei Ying is small and smart, and hides behind a display case before anyone even notices him.

Left alone in the collection, Wei Ying wanders, looking at the preserved cadavers with a little awe and a little fear. He wrinkles his nose and stares with wide-eyed fascination at the opened up muscles and peeled back skin.

“Excuse me,” comes a soft voice, and Wei Ying spins around from where he’d had his hands and face pressed to a glass case that held a dissected arm.

“Sorry!” he’s already saying. “I got lost from the—"

But the man, with his graying hair and crisp suit, just gapes at him, brows inching closer and closer to his hairline until he finally says, breathless, “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying straightens, gaping back. “Yeah! How did you know?”

“You look… exactly like your mother.”

“Oh, cool!”

Thirty minutes later, Wei Ying has been fed a soggy tuna sandwich, sitting at a giant, fancy desk. He’s listening to Jiang Fengmian, who happens to be the museum director and curator, talk quickly and softly into a phone.

“I’ve decided,” he says, and his tone is both final and apologetic before he hangs up on whoever is on the other end. “Wei Ying,” Jiang Fengmian asks, this time gentle, coaxing. “Would you like to come live with me and my family?”

And Wei Ying shrugs, because why not.

Yu Ziyuan is nothing like her husband. By the end of the week, Wei Ying is on her doorstep with his familiar trash bag of clothes. She looks down her nose at him, sneering, and her eyes are practically sparking with electricity. Wei Ying shrinks away. Sometimes, if you look pathetic enough, adults won’t even touch you.

Yu Ziyuan is not that kind of adult though.

She takes one look at Wei Ying before grabbing his arm and dragging him to the bathroom, berating him the entire way. Wei Ying’s greasy, matted hair is shaved off that day, and all his clothes are tossed in the trash. But she does let Wei Ying keep the stuffed rabbit, his bookbag, and school supplies.

“Absolutely sickening,” she’s hissing, digging through his things. “Where in the hell did he even find you, I can’t believe he would dare—"

When Yu Ziyuan pulls out the tiny, wrinkled photograph, she stills, frozen like she’d touched a live wire.

Wei Ying’s eyes bounce from her to the photo. “Please don’t throw it away,” he says in a small voice. Even if she does, he’ll dig it right back out.

“I won’t,” she snaps at him. “It’s disgusting though. I’ll clean it and give it back to you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying says meekly. He’s not desperate for this woman to love him, but it would be nice if she didn’t hate him either. “Thank you,” he adds for good measure.

Yu Ziyuan eyes him critically for a moment, her face twisted up like she’s smelt something disgusting. “You’re welcome,” she says anyways.

The next day, it’s returned to him in a frame, the old photo smoothed out and protected behind glass.

The Jiang house is fine. There’s a girl and another boy, but apparently they’re with their grandmother when Wei Ying is moved in. Jiang Fengmian had shown him pictures of them from his wallet: an older girl with crooked teeth in a tutu and a little boy smiling awkwardly at the camera with a violin that’s almost too big for his tiny hands.

He’s supposed to sleep in Jiang Cheng’s room. Jiang Fengmian had already ordered a bunk bed for them, and Jiang Cheng’s pillows are all on the bottom bunk.

“He’s too little for the top bunk,” Jiang Fengmian says encouragingly, with a barely there smile. “So you can have it. Isn’t that good?”

Wei Ying has slept on both top and bottom bunk beds all through his life, and really doesn’t care one way or another. “Sure!” he says anyways, with just the right amount of enthusiasm to make Jiang Fengmian’s ghost of a smile turn real. “Thank you so much!”

Jiang Fengmian beams down at him. “You’re very welcome, Wei Ying.”

So the house is fine. There’s his room with Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli is just across the hall. Down from that is a bathroom and an office, and at the end is Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan’s bedroom. The other way, a big kitchen, an even bigger dining room, and a HUGE living room. There’s even a sun room that leads to a deck that leads to a massive, green backyard. It’s the nicest house Wei Ying has ever been in.

But then there’s the dog.

“What are you doing? She won’t bite you,” Yu Ziyuan snaps the first time Wei Ying sees the dogs and screams. “Shut up, you stupid boy! What—"

Wei Ying attaches himself to her leg, wailing, “Please don’t let them bite me, please!”

They grapple for a moment, the both of them shouting and the dogs barking over his begging, until Yu Ziyuan banishes all three of the puppies to the yard.

“There, they’re gone,” she hisses. “What in the world is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry!” Wei Ying makes himself yell through the choking sobs and snot. He’s shaking, because this isn’t pretending to be pathetic, and Wei Ying knows that sometimes if you’re really, actually scared, adults don’t like it. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Alright, alright!” Yu Ziyuan finally sighs, and very reluctantly pats his head. “It’s done with now, shush already.”

It’s later that night, when she’s forcing him to take a bath, that she notices the bite marks on his arms and legs. She sees the other things as well — the little round burns and jagged edges of scars — and she makes a face that Wei Ying instantly hates. He doesn’t take off his shirt around others after that, for years and years until all those marks have faded away, a distant memory that Wei Ying is glad to forget about.

The first thing Jiang Cheng asks when he walks in the door that Sunday night is, “Where are the puppies?”

Wei Ying hears him from where Yu Ziyuan has parked him on the couch, pulling at his new clothes and scratching at the too short shave of his head. He listens closely when Yu Ziyuan snaps at him and Jiang Fengmian tells his son that the dogs are in the yard.

“They’ll be scared outside,” Jiang Cheng says and there’s a wobble in his voice. Wei Ying hunches his shoulders around his ears, and leans over just enough to catch a glimpse of the other two kids in the hallway, a boy with straight cut, black hair and a girl with braided pigtails and lavender ribbons. “I want them to come back inside!”

“Jiang Cheng, we’ve already discussed this on the phone,” Jiang Fengmian chides. “Wei Ying is scared of them, so they have to live outside, okay?”

“No! Why is he scared anyways! I don’t like him, make him go home!”

Wei Ying chews his bottom lip as Jiang Cheng dissolves into sobs, as Jiang Fengmian sighs and says, “This is his home now. Don’t you want to go meet your new brother?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng sobs. “They’re scared outside, I want them back in!”

“Well, they can’t,” Yu Ziyuan snaps finally, huffing. She’s crouched down next her son, a comforting hand on his back despite the harshness of her words. “They’re outside from now on, so deal with it. A-Li, put those bags down you silly girl, let your brother carry them himself.”

The first thing he hears Jiang Yanli say is a very quiet, “Yes, mother,” her voice soft and demure, gentle. “Come on, A-Cheng, don’t you want to go meet A-Ying?” Wei Ying feels his breath hitch in his throat, and realizes all at once that he’s been crying too, a heavy dread filling his stomach to the brim.

But no one has ever called him A-Ying before.

“Nooo!” Jiang Cheng is sobbing.

Jiang Yanli had looked up at the noise Wei Ying had made and smiled, crooked teeth and braces. “But you were so excited this morning!” she says encouragingly, nudging her little brother a little. “You’re happy to have a brother to play with, right?”

“NOOO!”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Yu Ziyuan says, and scoops up Jiang Cheng. Her son immediately presses his face against her shoulder and wails, and she gives Wei Ying a dirty look as she breezes by. Jiang Fengmian pats his head and follows, before turning off and disappearing into his study.

Leaving Wei Ying alone with Jiang Yanli, who just smiles gently. “Don’t worry, he’s just tired right now. He’ll get used to it. Are you okay?”

Wei Ying quickly wipes his face and swallows back the fear bubbling in his throat. “M’fine.”

Jiang Yanli looks at him skeptically and then reaches down to take Wei Ying’s hands in her own. “It’s okay to cry,” she whispers. “You’re my little brother now, okay? I’ll take care of you.”

Wei Ying nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do with her gentle smile and kindness.

And that’s how he starts his new life with the people that would become his family. Jiang Cheng cries about the dogs for the next week before he finally lets it go. But then he complains about Wei Ying not playing with him outside, or Wei Ying being bad at video games, or worst of all, that Wei Ying still sometimes cries at night.

“He wakes me up,” Jiang Cheng complains at the breakfast table, where all five of them are sitting. Jiang Fengmian awkwardly looks away and Yu Ziyuan just sniffs, glaring.

“Do you have nightmares, A-Ying?” Jiang Yanli asks. She’s piling more food on Wei Ying’s plate.

“If you have nightmares, Jiejie makes them go away,” Jiang Cheng says around a mouth full of waffles. He perks up and kicks Wei Ying’s chair. “I can too! I’ll beat them up!”

Jiang Yanli laughs encouragingly, but Wei Ying just hunches over his food.

“You can come to me if you get scared,” she says, all sweet smiles and gentle words. Wei Ying ignores her, eyes on the plate in front of him. The older kids at the foster homes or the orphanage were not like Jiang Yanli — Wei Ying is used to being chased off or pushed down. He’s not used to the way Jiang Yanli pats his head or smiles or sneaks him candy. He doesn’t know how to act around her.

He doesn’t go to her despite his own whimpering and tears each night, but he’s gotten better at muffling them. Jiang Cheng stops complaining, and that’s good enough for Wei Ying. They won’t kick him out as long as he’s not bothering anyone.

But she still offers like she knows that Wei Ying spends his nights running from biting teeth and grabbing hands. He ignores her until the night he finds himself in front of her door before he’s fully awake, shaking and sweaty. “Jie,” he whimpers and then Jiang Yanli is there, holding him tightly.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmurs, hugging him. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, wrapped up in someone else’s arms, so he just bows his head awkwardly against her shoulder and bites back his tears.

They enroll him into a nearby school, but it’s not the same one that Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli go to. So every morning when the two of them are being packed up into Yu Ziyuan’s car, Wei Ying goes to sit in the front seat of Jiang Fengmian’s.

On his first day, Jiang Fengmian pulls up to the curb and smiles. “Go to the front office, okay? They’ll get you sorted.” And then he drives away.

This school is miles better than his last, the textbooks clean and shiny, the library bigger with new computers. Wei Ying soaks it all in like a sponge, interested in everything. Despite starting in the middle of the year, his teachers all dote on him, and his reports go home to Yu Ziyuan. She sniffs disdainfully, but she never fusses. When the summer break rolls around, she concedes.

“He can go,” she tells Jiang Fengmian at the table, Wei Ying’s report cards and recommendation letters from the school board between them. “But if he loses the scholarship, we aren’t paying for it.”

Crouched just outside the door, Wei Ying feels something bubbling up in his chest and he grins, even when Jiang Cheng grabs his shoulder and pulls him away.

“Maybe you’ll be in my class,” Jiang Cheng is whispering excitedly. “Then we can play all the time.”

Wei Ying, still grinning, ruffles Jiang Cheng’s hair on a whim, making him squawk. “I’m older than you Chengcheng,” he sings. “They won’t put me in the baby class.”

“I am NOT a baby,” Jiang Cheng snaps. But he has his hands on his head where Wei Ying’s fingers had just been, and he’s looking at Wei Ying with a different light in his eyes.

Pinching Jiang Cheng’s cheeks, Wei Ying laughs giddily. “You’re a baby to me!”

Jiang Cheng hollers a war cry, so Wei Ying takes off running, their footsteps thundering down the hallway, catching Yu Ziyuan’s attention.

“No running!” she yells.

“Sorry!” Jiang Cheng yells back, and slams the door to their room where they both collapse, giggling on the floor.

That first day, Yu Ziyuan walks all three of them into the school like the other parents, Jiang Cheng’s hand tucked safely in hers, and Wei Ying clutching to the back of Jiang Yanli’s shirt. Wei Ying is nearly ten, but he still sticks close to her, despite the excitement he feels bubbling in his stomach. Not even Yu Ziyuan’s disdain can dampen his spirits.

“You know where to go?” she asks Jiang Yanli, physically pulling Wei Ying off her.

“Yes, mother,” Jiang Yanli says. And when she turns to Wei Ying, her smile is big and bright, showing all of her teeth. She doesn’t usually smile like this in front of her mother, but today she does for Wei Ying. “Have a good day, A-Ying. You too, A-Cheng.”

“Bye Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng calls.

Yu Ziyuan leads them away then, Wei Ying trailing behind. He turns his head left and right, looking at the rows of lockers and the cases of trophies and the display of awards. The halls are crowded, kids and their parents making their way to find a classroom and greet their teachers. Wei Ying is so distracted by it all that he doesn’t even notice when Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Cheng disappear, his wandering feet carrying him until the hallways are empty and all the classroom doors are shut.

It’s a low melody that draws Wei Ying to the side, peeking through a cracked doorway to a room full of single chairs and small black music stands. But his eyes fall immediately on the boy sitting in the front row, a guitar nearly as big as he is in his lap, focused on strings beneath his fingers.

He’s short, with a round face, his dark hair falling into his eyes. As Wei Ying watches, the boy plucks at the guitar, his hand walking down the strings with ease, playing something complicated but bright. Wei Ying watches for a long moment. He’s listened to Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng practice their instruments enough for a lifetime, but they never sounded this good.

And when the boy finishes, pressing a hand to the strings to silence them, Wei Ying says enthusiastically, “Wow, that was really good!”

The boy’s head pops up startled, and he glares. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Well, neither are you,” Wei Ying shoots back with a pout, and then pauses. “Probably.”

“The music teacher gave me permission,” he says. “He said I could be in here until the bell rang.”

“Oh, it rang a long time ago.”

The kid straightens, and quickly puts the guitar away in its case, grabbing his bag, and goes to hurry past. He pauses, and glares again at Wei Ying. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Wei Ying says, grinning.

Huffing, the boy jerks his head for Wei Ying to follow, and Wei Ying does, matching his long strides at a jog. “What’s your name? Mine’s Wei Ying!” When he doesn’t get an answer, he pouts. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself!”

The boy huffs again. “Lan Zhan.”

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sings, because he’s sure it will annoy him. Judging by the glare, it does.

When they make it to Lan Zhan’s classroom, it’s to find Yu Ziyuan glaring at him. Wei Ying knows he’s going to be scolded within an inch of his life tonight at home, but in front of everyone, she’s silent except for a few sharp words. Wei Ying might have felt worse about it, but he’s given the seat right next to Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying likes school the same way he always has: an escape from the house he’s living in and full of interesting things to know. Most of the other kids here have rich parents, and find him only interesting enough that he’s not as prim and proper as the rest. But this time, Wei Ying has friends.

There’s a girl in his class that turns her nose up at him but at the same time treats him the same way she treats everyone. When they get paired up for a science fair project and he suggests making a full skeleton to size, she actually has a hard time hiding her enthusiasm. Wen Qing spends a lot of time at their house that month making bones out of foam and paper mache, with Jiang Cheng hovering over Wei Ying’s shoulder for absolutely no reason until Wen Qing goes home. Her younger brother comes with her every time, and suddenly Wei Ying finds himself with two very good friends. Wen Ning is in the grade below them, but that doesn’t stop them from eating lunch together every day.

Being friends with Wen Qing means being friends with Luo Qingyang, even though she’d rather beat him up than say they’re friends after Wei Ying calls her Mianmian the first time and then the entire school starts to do the same. But they’re friends regardless, and she makes him join the soccer team with her when she realizes how fast he is.

With Luo Qingyang, unfortunately, comes her cousin Jin Zixuan. Wei Ying is not friends with him, but they do play on the soccer team together, and that, unfortunately, is where Jin Zixuan meets Jiang Yanli. And suddenly Wei Ying is invited to pool parties and birthdays, and “Both your brother and… sister are invited too.” Worse yet, Jiang Yanli happily goes everytime.

Better than all of them, though, is Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who is in Wei Ying’s music and literature classes, who also plays on the soccer team, who very, VERY begrudgingly agrees to tutor him in language when a teacher assigns him. That first year, Wei Ying spends his free period in the library with Lan Zhan and finds out that his classmate is meaner than any of the teachers.

But Lan Zhan is probably the most fascinating person Wei Ying has ever met. He makes the best faces when Wei Ying teases him, wrinkles his nose at Wei Ying’s handwriting, blushes to his ears when Wei Ying reaches out to tug on his hair.

Lan Zhan is their top scorer on the team. Lan Zhan gets perfect grades. Lan Zhan gets first place in the essay contest. Lan Zhan has a solo piano performance at the school concert. Lan Zhan also sucks at public speaking, hates touching or talking to people he doesn’t know, and refuses to cut his hair even when he gets written up for breaking the dress code — that first day that Lan Zhan joins Wei Ying in detention is something Wei Ying remembers fondly for years later.

Lan Zhan doodles bunnies in the margins of his notes and only eats vegetarian food and coughs for ten minutes when he tries Wei Ying’s spicy noodles one time. Lan Zhan teaches him scales on the piano, and then how to sight read sheet music, even though Wei Ying is only in the music classes to hear Lan Zhan play. Lan Zhan lets him press stickers on his guitar while he’s playing, even though he scowls each time.

Lan Zhan smiles at him when Wei Ying starts to grow his hair out into a long ponytail just so he can get written up for the same reason. It’s the smallest, barest of smiles, but Wei Ying is so stunned by it that he walks into the goal post on the soccer field.

So Lan Zhan may hate Wei Ying, but that doesn’t mean he’s not Wei Ying’s best friend.

As the years go by, Wei Ying grows like a particularly annoying weed. By the time he’s sixteen, he’s one of the tallest boys in their grade, a fact that he lords over Lan Zhan for a few months until he gets a growth spurt of his own and manges two centimeters over him. Lan Zhan doesn’t show it on the surface, but Wei Ying can see how smug he is about it.

For his birthday, Jiang Fengmian converts his office into a bedroom for him — mostly to stop Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying from fighting so much. There’s still a screaming match between Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian about it though, so Wei Ying isn’t quite as thankful as he should be.

As teenagers, they stop having pool parties and start having actual parties — the kind held in someone’s basement while their parents are gone so no one catches them with the copious amounts of alcohol. Wei Ying is a frequenter to these as well, though usually only with Luo Qingyang, and rarely with Wen Qing.

Wen Qing won’t let Wen Ning anywhere near alcohol, and she always hesitates to leave him alone at home where they live with their uncle. Wei Ying has met Wen Ruohan exactly once, and he reminds him a little too much of his least favorite foster home memories. But their uncle is often away on business trips, so sometimes she’ll still come out with them.

Jiang Yanli is about to graduate and doesn’t have the time for it. Jiang Cheng wrinkles his nose at loud music and the smell of beer, and not even the promise of Wen Qing’s company can get him to tag along.

“But you looove her!” Wei Ying teases him on his way out the door, laughing when Jiang Cheng’s face turns red and he splutters.

Wei Ying never bothers asking Lan Zhan, but never hesitates to tell him every detail of his weekends, even the ones that aren’t true.

“She was so cute Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, describing something that absolutely didn’t happen. “We made out all night!” Wei Ying had actually passed out around midnight on someone’s couch.

Lan Zhan hums noncommittally, but he has this tiny wrinkle between his brows and his mouth is puckered like he ate something sour. He’s always extra mean on those days, and it makes Wei Ying giddy. Lan Zhan’s hair is down past his shoulders now, laying in straight black lines on the elegant curve of his neck. He’s somewhere between child and adult now, growing into someone beautiful even though his cheeks are still round and boyish. Wei Ying likes to tug on his hair still, just to make Lan Zhan glare at him.

Wei Ying asks Lan Zhan to a party once, and only once, in their last year of high school.

Jiang Yanli has graduated, gone to school with a culinary track only after months of begging her mother. Wen Qing can’t be bothered, studying hard to get into a pre-med program, and Luo Qingyang has a sports scholarship she’s unwilling to blow for an end of high school party. So Wei Ying is alone, unless he asks Lan Zhan.

And Lan Zhan surprises him by saying yes.

Which is how Wei Ying finds himself incredibly drunk in someone’s house, plastered to Lan Zhan’s side and talking his ear off about… something. But Lan Zhan seems to be listening intently enough, looking at Wei Ying’s lips as he chatters, his arm held captive against Wei Ying’s chest, and his ears pink. Wei Ying isn’t really paying much attention to what he’s saying, staring at Lan Zhan’s ears as they redden the closer Wei Ying leans in, until he’s murmuring right into the shell of Lan Zhan’s ear.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes when his lips brush against his lobe.

Backing up, Wei Ying blinks hazily at Lan Zhan, looking at his widened eyes, the line of his jaw, the small part of his lips. He’s already tilting back in, intent on the pink curve of Lan Zhan’s mouth when someone knocks into him, pushing him the rest of the way.

Their lips crash together in a teeth aching kiss, and Lan Zhan immediately jumps away, hand over his mouth, a trickle of blood already dripping down his chin.

“Oh, fuck,” Wei Ying says, immediately sober. “Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry, are you okay?!”

Lan Zhan nods, eyes still wide and fingers bloody, but he lets Wei Ying drag him to the bathroom, shutting them away from the loud music and drunk kids.

“I’m so so sorry, it was an accident, I don’t know what I was doing,” Wei Ying says, wetting a wad of toilet paper and pressing it to Lan Zhan’s split lip. He says it again when Lan Zhan flinches, but he’s perfectly still as Wei Ying wipes away the blood on his chin. “Fuck, it’s on your shirt too. Ugh, Lan Zhan this is the worst.”

But Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything at all, wide-eyed and silent, even when Wei Ying drives him home, still rambling apologies, not even to hiss at him for drinking and driving. The truth is, Wei Ying has never felt more sober, familiar dread pooling in his gut as Lan Zhan opens the passenger door and closes it without a word.

Tugging at the cuffs of his suit under his gown, Wei Ying squints at where the headmaster is giving his speech at the front of the long line of graduating students and pretending like he’s not sweating underneath the hot spring sun. Lan Zhan is three rows ahead of him, his hair falling perfectly down his back, and no matter how hard Wei Ying stares at him, he doesn’t turn around to look.

Wei Ying tries not to feel the sting of the avoidance, tries not to hurt that Lan Zhan hasn’t spoken to him since the party three days ago. He tells himself he isn’t bothered by the unanswered texts.

But after the ceremony is through, Wei Ying rushes towards Lan Zhan to grab him for a photo, only to see Lan Zhan’s retreating back leaving the building.

So he tells himself he’s not hurt, smiling for all the photos Jiang Yanli demands to take, flanked on either side by Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian. He throws his arms around Wen Qing and Luo Mingyang, grinning, and even hooks his arm with Jin Zixuan when the soccer team gathers for a shot. Lan Zhan is absent in all of them.

Wei Ying keeps smiling through all the dinners, through Jiang Cheng’s sour mood, through Yu Ziyuan’s snide comments. Afterwards, Jiang Fengmian takes him to the side and has a whole speech about how proud he is of him, proud that he’s going off to great school on scholarship. Wei Ying smiles through it, his cheeks hurting from the effort.

And when he’s finally back in his room later that night, his face aching and his throat squeezing, Wei Ying sits on his bed and bows his head over his knees, and struggles to breathe.

“A-Ying?”

Gasping, Wei Ying sits up and quickly wipes at his face. “Shijie! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“What’s wrong?” Jiang Yanli asks, sitting beside him and putting an arm around his back. She’s still so tiny, with thin arms and delicate hands, but Wei Ying has watched her lift full stock pots across the kitchen without breaking a sweat. And his sister’s hugs will always be one of the few things that can comfort him. “I didn’t think you’d be this sad to graduate.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Wei Ying hastens to say. “I’m really excited about school!”

Jiang Yanli smiles, her gaze gentle. “You’re going so far away, too. Are you nervous?”

“Not at all,” Wei Ying says with a grin. His face aches with the effort of it, and it falls away when Jiang Yanli tilts her head and looks at him. “It’s just… I may have messed up.”

“Is this about Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying hunches his shoulders, and nods, quiet as he tries to find the words. And when he does speak, he really isn’t ready for what comes out of his mouth.

“I think I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli breathes, and everything falls out of Wei Ying at once.

“I tried to kiss him and I was drunk, and some asshole bumped into me so totally broke Lan Zhan’s face, there was blood everywhere and he didn’t talk to me at all on the drive home—"

There’s an unflattering snort and then Jiang Yanli bursts into laughter beside him. Wei Ying gapes at her, and then all the dread in his chest melts enough until he’s laughing along.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but oh, A-Ying,” she says, still giggling. “Your first kiss was worse than mine!”

“That wasn’t my first kiss!” Jiang Yanli quirks her brow at him, smirking. “Okay it was, but— Wait, who was your first kiss?!”

“Not telling!”

“Ugh, it was that Jin Zixuan wasn’t it. Gross.”

“Hey!” She smacks his arm, but she’s still smiling. “But yes. He kissed me, started crying, and then ran away. I thought for months I’d had really bad breath.”

“Hah, what a loser,” Wei Ying says, cackling. “Oh, that’s why you started having breath mints with you all the time.”

“Shush you, and don’t tease him please.” She leans into him again, resting her head on his shoulder. “It took him forever to approach me again and apologize. Don’t tell mom or dad, but sometimes he takes the train over to see me on the weekends. It’s sweet.”

“Ew,” Wei Ying says, wrinkling his nose. He rests his head on top of her’s, sighing. “As long as he’s being respectful.”

“He could stand to be less respectful.”

“Please change the conversation immediately.”

Jiang Yanli laughs, the sound of it echoing in Wei Ying’s head, her shoulders shaking against his. They’re quiet for a long moment, before she speaks again. “I don’t know Lan Zhan like you do, but he’s a quiet boy. Give him some time, okay?”

Wei Ying shrugs his unoccupied shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, anyways,” he tells her. Because it doesn’t. People leave Wei Ying, so he doesn’t hold on to them. He’s glad that Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng hold on to him instead. They could let him go at any time, but it won’t hurt as bad when they do as long as he’s not holding them back.

Not like the way Wei Ying had started to hold tight to Lan Zhan.

But people leave. And Wei Ying has gotten his reminder not to hold on ever again.

“Besides,” Wei Ying says, chipper again. “I’m going halfway across the country! Who needs him anyways?”

Jiang Yanli sighs, like she can hear him lying through his teeth. “Just give it some time,” she says again. She kisses his cheek as she stands, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “And don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

Wei Ying grins at her, and this time it feels more real. “How could I forget? As long as Shijie loves me, everything is great.”

Snorting, Jiang Yanli rolls her eyes at him. “Good night, A-Ying.”

“Good night, Shijie.”

And that night, under his blankets, Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan to the back of his mind and looks forward to something better.

the flowers that we've grown

Jiang Fengmian dies that summer, on some random Tuesday in July. It’s sudden, a wet tire on a washed out road, but it’s not sudden enough. The three of them sit two nights in a hospital waiting room while Yu Ziyuan smokes herself through pack after pack of cigarettes just outside the doors. They don’t sleep. They don’t eat.

Wei Ying stays right between his brother and sister, and he lets himself go numb, just so that he can sit up straight enough that he won’t be crushed under their weight as they sleep on his shoulders. He doesn’t even falter under Yu Ziyuan’s withering stare each time she checks on them

They spend three days and two nights just like that, until a nurse comes back and tells them that Jiang Fengmian is dead.

The funeral is a quiet, small ceremony. Wei Ying doesn’t really remember most of it. Jiang Yanli had cried in his arms the entire time, but Jiang Cheng was a silent ghost at his mother’s side, as if he could hold her up if she started to fall. They were statues beside each other, meeting everyone’s eyes, but had no smiles for the well wishes and sympathy. Wei Ying had watched them both through the services and after, watched the brittle way they held themselves, so untouchable that they might fall apart.

Yu Ziyuan did not cry at her husband’s funeral.

But that night, when Wei Ying had pulled the covers over Jiang Yanli’s exhausted shoulders and made his way back to his room, he could hear her muffled sobbing from behind her bedroom door.

Barely a month later, Wei Ying is packing his things.

“You could stay here,” Jiang Chen is saying, looming over him as Wei Ying stuffs a few books into a box. He’s scowling, but he always is these days, annoyed with everything Wei Ying does, like he’s doing it in his mother’s stead because Yu Ziyuan can’t even look at him. “You don’t have to live in the dorm, you can keep living with us.”

“I am still living with you,” Wei Ying sighs, snatching his duffle bag out of Jiang Cheng’s hands before he can dump it out for the third time. “I’m just also living in the dorms.”

Jiang Cheng acts like he hasn’t heard Wei Ying even say anything. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “You’re so fucking selfish. It’s a waste of money.”

Wei Ying’s shoulder hunch up to his ears. “I have a scholarship.”

“Yeah but that doesn’t pay for everything! Mom still has to feed you, and buy you clothes—"

“Then I’ll get a job, no big deal,” Wei Ying says as nonchalantly as he can manage.

“Absolutely not,” Jiang Yanli interrupts as she comes through the door with anohter empty box, shooting Jiang Cheng a stern look. “You should focus on your grades, A-Ying, you don’t have to worry about money. Right, A-Cheng?”

“You sound just like dad,” Jiang Cheng sneers under his breath.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Ying snaps, gaping.

Jiang Yanli’s face drains of color and her eyes brim with tears, but she smiles regardless, even as Jiang Cheng goes just as white, arms dropping to his side. “Dad would be so proud of you, A-Ying,” she says, her voice forced as a few tears slip down her face. She quickly wipes them away. “And anyways, I think it would be good for you at the dorms! You’ll meet so many people and make so many friends.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says weakly, eyes bouncing from one sibling to the other. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs and stomps away, slamming the door to his room behind him. Jiang Yanli just gives Wei Ying a wobbly smile, smoothing his hair back, before she leaves him the keys to her car.

“I’m sorry,” she says on her way out, unable to look at him, like she’s apologizing for his decision to ditch the fancy school ten hours away, for his decision to stay closeby, for his decision to change his life completely around.

Wei Ying swallows, takes a deep breath, and finishes packing. He loads it all up in the tiny little sedan, before heading off toward his campus across the city, where he carries it all up to his dorm room by himself. His roommate is already all moved in and unpacked, though he’s nowhere to be seen, so Wei Ying just dumps his stuff and drives home to drop Jiang Yanli’s car off.

By the time he makes it back, Jiang Yanli’s face has regained its color, though her eyes are a little red. Still, she presents him with a large thermos and a large bag of her homemade goodies.

“I know you’ll probably want to get back to hang out with your roommate and get to know them, so I made you dinner with some to share!” she says cheerfully. “It’s your favorite.”

“Thank you, shijie,” Wei Ying says, taking all of it from her. He hugs her tightly, dropping a kiss on her forehead as he does.

No one else sees him off as he leaves, and Wei Ying tries not to think too hard about it as he catches the bus. It’s a long ride, and it’s dark by the time he gets to his dorm. His roommate still isn’t there, so Wei Ying eats his dinner alone, eating of Jiang Yanli’s soup and telling himself that he’s not homesick.

Wei Ying sees him first thing on the first day of classes, climbing elegantly out of a powder blue electric car, taller than Wei Ying remembers and even handsomer, even though it’s been only a few months since Wei Ying last saw him. Startled, he freezes, watching the way Lan Zhan leans down to grab his bag, speaking a few parting words to whoever is driving. When he stands and turns, his eyes land immediately on Wei Ying, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, eyes wide, perfect lips parting just slightly.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says automatically with forced cheer.

“And I’m the queen,” says some grumpy guy behind Wei Ying. “Great, we’ve all met, now can you get the fuck out of the way?”

“Right, yes, of course,” Wei Ying babbles, grabs Lan Zhan’s hand, and dashes away. Lan Zhan follows, jogging to keep up until they’re tucked behind one of the dorm buildings, and Wei Ying whirls on him. “What are you doing here?!”

Lan Zhan regards him for a long moment, before he quirks his brow. “Going to class.”

“Here though?!” Wei Ying shouts, waving his hands. “At a community college?”

“Yes,” he says, and then awkwardly tacks on, “The music department here is… good.”

All the air leaves Wei Ying at once. “Oh, yeah, I remember seeing that.” He swallows. “I thought you were, you know, going overseas to that private institute.”

“Yes. But plans change,” Lan Zhan says, not unkindly, but looking at Wei Ying closely, his eyes understanding. It feels like the first time someone has looked directly at Wei Ying since the hospital.

“O-Oh,” Wei Ying manages. “Yeah, that’s… true.”

The bloody kiss that Wei Ying managed to land on Lan Zhan, that Wei Ying can’t remember whose party it even was, feels like it happened twenty years ago. It doesn’t sting like it once did, but it’s awkward standing in front of a guy he might still be in love with who might still hate him. But then, Wei Ying has never known Lan Zhan to hate anyone really, and part of him isn’t surprised when Lan Zhan offers him one of his rare, gentle smiles and asks,

“Can I walk you to class?”

Wei Ying finds himself waiting at the edge of campus every morning, sometimes as the sun dawns over the city for Lan Zhan’s brother to drop him off. He’s met Lan Huan briefly at soccer games and recitals, but only from a distance or just before Wei Ying would tug Lan Zhan away for one reason or another. Now he sees him every morning, and Lan Huan makes a point to roll down his window if there’s time to chat, conversations that begin with distance that warm up over the passing weeks.

“It’s good to see you, have a good day!”

“Good luck today, hurry or you’ll both be late.”

“Are you eating enough? I’ll make extra tomorrow for you and A-Zhan to share!”

“How’s your classes? A-Zhan says you have exams coming up already, those engineering classes must be tough! Take care of yourself.”

Sometimes they will chat for several minutes, Wei Ying crouched on the sidewalk with his arms resting on the car door as they talk, until Lan Zhan sighs and tugs at Wei Ying’s sleeve.

Lan Huan isn’t like his brother, who will meet Wei Ying’s chatter with his own measured, but no less enthusiastic replies, but Wei Ying will probably always prefer Lan Zhan’s silence and the occasional thoughtful hum as he speaks. And he’ll always cherish Lan Zhan’s observations when Wei Ying has run out of steam, just a few words that sometimes makes Wei Ying contemplatively quiet or that sometimes sets him off on a completely different tangent.

Wei Ying likes that, so much.

Lan Zhan is a bit of a dictator about studying, and he never lets Wei Ying off the hook for whatever block party or late-night dorm mischief Wei Ying gets up to when he’s not on campus. So sometimes he shows up to Wei Ying’s dorm room purposefully at the crack of dawn when he knows Wei Ying is hungover, just to drag him to the library, or, if he’s feeling generous, the little coffee shop down the street.

Wei Ying likes those mornings despite himself though, because Lan Zhan always has a little thermos of coffee that he insists is to share with Wei Ying. Lan Zhan doesn’t drink coffee.

He makes friends with people in his classes, with college kids smoking on ratty couches, the guys on his hall that like to mattress surf down the stairs at midnight, and maybe with his roommate who Wei Ying sees maybe twice a month. Xue Yang is weird like that, and Wei Ying is more worried about the guy pulling a knife on him than how often he’s in their shared dorm room.

But Lan Zhan, like always, is Wei Ying’s favorite. The table they share habitually at the library is his favorite, the latte that Lan Zhan buys him are his favorites, the way Lan Zhan sometimes lets him lean against his shoulder as he talks is his favorite, the way Lan Zhan doesn’t comment when Wei Ying starts sticking stickers on his guitar again is his favorite.

The way Lan Zhan wrapped his arm around his shoulders once, when everything was so overwhelming, is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan shyly reached out, fingers hesitant, to hold his hand on the way to class is his favorite. The way Lan Zhan smiles more and more, each one of them is Wei Ying’s favorite.

It’s a Friday in the middle of the semester when he asks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Wei Ying immediately wants to put his foot in his mouth, and Lan Zhan freezes. He watches, fascinated, as Lan Zhan’s ears burn pink then red, bright enough to match Wei Ying’s own blush. A lot of people think Wei Ying is shameless in all ways, but sometimes it’s really just that he doesn’t know when to shut up.

“Please?” he asks because he really, really doesn’t know when to quit, and waits. Lan Zhan likes to think things through, or maybe his big, beautiful brain has finally decided to blue screen. Wei Ying will miss him.

He thinks that maybe he should get up and go find a hole to fall in, when Lan Zhan hesitantly looks up and meets Wei Ying’s eyes. He nods.

And Wei Ying thinks it would be too excruciating to ask again, so he leans forward, quick as thunder, and presses a kiss to the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. And then he immediately stands.

“Okay!” he says, far too loud for the library. “Awesome! Bye!”

Lan Zhan ducks his head behind his book as Wei Ying beats a hasty retreat.

Their second (third) kiss is much better. They’re squished together on Wei Ying’s tiny bed in his dorm room, and his chronically absent roommate is away for the weekend, and Wei Ying has somehow managed to lay his arm across Lan Zhan’s shoulders as they watch a movie on Wei Ying’s laptop. It has long since migrated over to Lan Zhan’s lap because Wei Ying couldn’t stop fidgeting.

And that’s mostly because Wei Ying is fully distracted by the loose braid at Lan Zhan’s neck, falling neatly over his shoulder. Wei Ying finds himself playing with the end of it, fiddling with it between his fingers. Lan Zhan pays it no mind, eyes so focused on the screen that he doesn’t even notice that Wei Ying’s been staring at him since he pressed play.

Wei Ying doesn’t think he can take it much more.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts.

Lan Zhan stiffens, shoulders ridged under Wei Ying’s arm, and Wei Ying is immediately drawing away, ready to stammer an apology when Lan Zhan grabs his sleeve and pulls him forward.

This kiss is bumping teeth and awkward touches, and it takes Wei Ying a moment to relax into it, tilting his head just a bit. His breath hitches when their lips slot together, just right, and that kiss turns into something slow burning and sweet.

Wei Ying’s hand tangles into Lan Zhan’s hair, sliding up his neck into the loose twist of his braid, and he urges Lan Zhan even closer. Lan Zhan’s arm comes around Wei Ying’s waist, tugging him nearly into his lap and sending the laptop tumbling to the floor. That’s fine though. All of Wei Ying’s things are made for abuse ever since he dropped Jin Zixuan’s tablet in the pool when they were ten.

Wei Ying barely even registers the thump, too caught up in the way Lan Zhan is clinging to him, mouth open against his, the heat of his breath against Wei Ying’s face. He doesn’t want to stop, licking into Lan Zhan’s mouth and feeling Lan Zhan’s fist clutch the back of his shirt.

He doesn’t notice that they’ve laid out across the bed, legs tangled, until Wei Ying is suddenly too aware of the hardness between his legs, and the matching one against his thigh.

“S-Sorry,” he gasps, sitting up, but Lan Zhan pulls him right back down, his arm like a vice around Wei Ying’s waist. He groans into Lan Zhan’s mouth, shaking, his fingers still tangled in Lan Zhan’s hair. And then he whines, pitched high, when Lan Zhan’s hip grinds up against him.

“Okay?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice pitched so low and raspy. The sound of it travels all the way down his spine and up again.

“Perfect, so good,” Wei Ying babbles when Lan Zhan does it again, pulling Wei Ying down to meet him. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening, I have no idea what I’m doing so sorry in advance, holy shit.”

And Lan Zhan tragically pauses, looking up at Wei Ying with his brows furrowed. “I thought…” he says and trails off.

It takes a moment for Wei Ying’s brain, devoid of all thought and blood, to catch on. “OH!” Wei Ying says and sits up completely, straddling Lan Zhan’s lap. He covers his face, and says muffled, “Lan Zhan, I haven’t — you know — ever.”

Lan Zhan’s brows drop even lower. “But you said.”

“Lan Zhaaan! I say a lot of things!”

“So you lied.”

Hands dropping from his face, Wei Ying scowls at him. “So what!”

“So, I thought—" Lan Zhan’s eyes drop to the side, glaring at the wall, like he’s visibly struggling with the words.. “I thought that you wouldn’t— With me, that it wasn’t—"

He gets it then, and he feels all the embarrassment leave him in a sudden rush. “Oh, oh, Lan Zhan, no,” he breathes, and lays himself across Lan Zhan’s chest to press as kiss to Lan Zhan’s frowning mouth. Lan Zhan gasps, his hands coming up to Wei Ying’s hips, and he kisses him back, hesitantly, almost like he wants to turn away.

Wei Ying can’t help but smile, shifting back just enough that he can look into Lan Zhan’s eyes, dragging his fingers through the loose strands of hair on Lan Zhan’s forehead. All that hurt he once felt when Lan Zhan wouldn’t talk to him melts away instantly.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he murmurs, tracing his fingertips lightly across Lan Zhan’s cheek. “You’re my first kiss. Well, my only kiss, actually.”

Lan Zhan’s lips part, eyes widened, and the look of shock on a face that is usually so passive has Wei Ying laughing, pressing his giggling into Lan Zhan’s chest until Lan Zhan flips them over and kisses him again even though Wei Ying can’t stop smiling.

Wei Ying calls Jiang Yanli the next day. They see each other every weekend when Wei Ying takes the bus to meet them for Sunday dinners at Yu Ziyuan’s insistence. He spends most of those days being grilled on his grades, and then grilled again by Jiang Cheng about everything else.

The empty spaces in the house are so loud, that Wei Ying doesn’t know how Jiang Cheng can stand it there by himself with just his mother, and occasionally his sister who drives four hours each day to and from class. But Wei Ying’s texts and calls have gone unanswered for so long that he doesn’t bother anymore, even if it hurts. But Jiang Cheng monopolizes him every Sunday, like he’s wringing Wei Ying out of all his time in just one day so he doesn’t have to think about him for the rest of the week.

So Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli talk as often as they can otherwise.

“Ooh, A-Ying!” she coos, laughing because Wei Ying is a little breathless after his rushed babbling that descended upon her as soon as she picked up the phone. “I’m so happy for you!”

Twisting in his chair, Wei Ying can’t keep the smile of his face, cheeks aching. “Yeah, it’s pretty awesome,” he tells her, elated. “But, whatever, enough about that, how are you? How’s class?”

He can hear Jiang Yanli’s smile in the way she huffs, telling him about her classes with more cheer in her voice that Wei Ying has heard since before the funeral. Graciously he doesn’t interrupt her when she gushes about Jin Zixuan, but his ‘hmm’s and ‘uh-huh’s are more begrudging than hers had been.

They go back and forth, laughing and teasing, and talking around their brother and Jiang Yanli’s mom, and the ghost of a dead man that never had much to say anyways, standing tall over the both of them. Jiang Yanli is getting better at ignoring him enough to be happy again.

And Wei Ying can only do what he always does best: he moves on.

He’s not as interested in the block parties and the kids he had started to smoke with behind the dorms each Friday night, when Lan Zhan is right there instead. He still meets with the other environmental engineering students each week, and sometimes a few of them will sneak into a bar, but Wei Ying much prefers the company of his Lan Zhan instead.

Because dating Lan Zhan — really, actually dating him — makes Wei Ying so excited and so nervous at the same time, and he’s a little addicted to the feeling.

Addicted to the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hand in his, Wei Ying’s arm around his waist, Lan Zhan pressed against his side, their shoulders bumping, Lan Zhan kissing him, Lan Zhan smiling at him.

And then there’s Lan Zhan in his tiny dorm bed, leaning over him and kissing the breath out of him, hands and mouths wandering.

The night Lan Zhan has his hand against the bare expanse of Wei Ying’s belly, Wei Ying looks up at him and asks, “Can we?”

Lan Zhan leans back from where he had been sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck, his long hair, falling over his shoulder and brushing against Wei Ying’s face. Wei Ying’s fingers automatically reach out, tangling through the softness at Lan Zhan’s scalp. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes half lidded and sparkling, before he’s pressed against Wei Ying’s front, and he gasps against his lips, “Yes.”

Wei Ying moans, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and biting at his mouth until Lan Zhan gives, rolling to the side until Wei Ying is on top of him, the both of them stripping out of their clothes quickly.

“How — ?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lan Zhan breathes, sitting up with Wei Ying in his lap and helping him pull his shirt over his head. “Either way. Any way,” he says against Wei Ying’s lips, and Wei Ying moans.

“Okay,” Wei Ying says, dazed, because Lan Zhan’s shoulders are broad and elegant, and Wei Ying shouldn’t be so turned on by that. “Okay,” he says in a groan when Lan Zhan’s hands fall to the fly of his jeans and start working them off his hips.

Lan Zhan tugs until Wei Ying rises up on his knees, pulls Wei Ying’s underwear off his dick, and then swoops down to take it in his mouth. Wei Ying makes a dying whale noise, and buries his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair, tugging.

“Oh my god, stop, stop, I’m gonna—" he chokes, his body tingling all the way to his toes. Lan Zhan pulls back just enough to glare at him. “Please, I want to—"

He pushes Lan Zhan until he falls on his back, shirtless and long legs stretched out over Wei Ying’s bed. His lips are wet, shiny, and a little red where they had been wrapped around Wei Ying cock.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says again, and thinks he might come all over Lan Zhan’s stomach just from that. Quickly, before Lan Zhan can distract him again, he reaches over to the bedside draw and pulls out the bottle of lube. “I want to—"

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying startles into a laugh.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Whatever you want,” Lan Zhan says, his voice soft, reverent in a way that makes Wei Ying both giddy and uncomfortable. He leans down, his bare cock trapped between them, to whisper in Lan Zhan’s ear.

“I want you in me.”

Lan Zhan groans, hands coming up to cup Wei Ying’s face as he kisses him, hot and demanding, growling when Wei Ying starts to laugh again as he struggles to kick his pants off. Wei Ying sits on his hips, naked, and uncaps the bottle.

“Do you want to watch?” he says, coy, excitement bubbling in his belly, because Lan Zhan is looking at him with so much heat and want.

He turns, bending over, his cock dragging across Lan Zhan’s thigh, and reaches between his legs. And Lan Zhan watches him finger himself open, face red and mouth parted as Wei Ying slides in a digit and then another, all the way to the first knuckle. Lan Zhan hands come up to cup his ass, parting his cheeks for him so that he can watch closer as Wei Ying stretches himself on his fingers.

“You know I do this,” Wei Ying says, panting and balanced on his knees with only Lan Zhan’s hands supporting him. “All the time, ah, thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” Lan Zhan says and Wei Ying gasps on a bark of laughter.

Lan Zhan’s thumb slides down, across the heavy weight of Wei Ying balls and his dripping cock, and back up over his perineum until his finger meets Wei Ying’s, sliding in slowly alongside and into Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying groans, arching his back.

“If you do that, I’ll come,” he pants, twitching when Lan Zhan’s fingers dig into the flesh of his backside.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes.

And Wei Ying doesn’t really care if he’s ready or not, his fingers slick with lube as he begins to fumble Lan Zhan’s pants open. Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate to replace him, finger sinking all the way into Wei Ying in a smooth slide. His touch is cold, but when Wei Ying gets his hands on it, his cock is heavy and red. Wei Ying has had Lan Zhan’s cock in his mouth before this, but looking it now, long and curved, he feels weak.

“Off, off,” he says, swatting at Lan Zhan’s thigh until the finger in him slides out, and Wei Ying turns around, crouching over Lan Zhan’s hips. Lan Zhan’s hands fall back to Wei Ying’s waist as he lines himself up, and sinks down over the head.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan gasps, shaking with the effort to hold still as Wei Ying sinks down inch by inch, fingers biting into Wei Ying’s hips. “Oh, fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying can barely hear him against the rush of sound inside his head, the stretch as he takes Lan Zhan slowly in, the burn sparking up his spine until Wei Ying’s head lolls back on his neck and he moans, low and long.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, finally seated in Lan Zhan’s lap, filled to the brim and more. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “Ah, feels so good.”

Beneath him, Lan Zhan trembles, his fingernails biting into Wei Ying’s skin. He chokes on another moan when Wei Ying lifts himself back up, bouncing experimentally, relishing the sparks that turn into a fire as he finds his rhythm on Lan Zhan’s lap. Sweat is dripping down the center of Wei Ying’s back as he moves faster, his cock bobbing in front of him, the sound of Wei Ying fucking himself onf Lan Zhan’s cock filling the room. It’s hot, it’s so hot, and it feels like a fire has lit in Wei Ying’s belly.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, aaah,” Wei Ying rambles, mouth hanging open as he fucks down on Lan Zhan’s lap. His head falls forward as his thighs work, trembling with the effort, and finds Lan Zhan watching him intently, eyes sliding from Wei Ying’s face to where his dick disappears again and again into him. “I can’t,” he breathes. “Baby, I—"

Sitting up, Lan Zhan puts an arm around him and flips them over until Wei Ying is pressed into the thin mattress, and then he moves, hips awkward, but chasing the feeling until his thrusts are even and powerful. Wei Ying arches into it, wrapping his legs around him and digging his heels into Lan Zhan’s ass to urge him faster.

“C’mon, I’m just, I’m right there,” Wei Ying gasps, reaching down for his cock, jerking himself quickly.

Lan Zhan leans over him as he comes, biting at Wei Ying’s gaping mouth and shuddering as Wei Ying tightens around him, before pulling out to come over Wei Ying’s stomach.

It should probably be embarrassing, how fast it was all over, but Wei Ying’s thighs ache and he’s sweaty and dirty, and it’s probably the best thing ever.

He’s still gasping when Lan Zhan collapses on top of him despite the mess between them, mouthing hotly down Wei Ying’s throat as he catches his breath. Wei Ying wraps himself around him, arms and legs, and Lan Zhan grunts when he squeezes, huffing a soft laugh against Wei Ying’s ear.

“You’re the best,” Wei Ying sighs, and Lan Zhan kisses him, long and sweet, and stays the night.

Wei Ying has been in the music building several times over the semester, sitting on the floor outside Lan Zhan’s classes and occupying corners of the practice room, doing math homework while Lan Zhan plays on pianos and guitars, and even a few times on a long wooden guqin, loaned to the department specifically for Lan Zhan to play in an upcoming concert.

But today, Lan Zhan takes Wei Ying’s hand and leads him to an out of the way practice room, motioning him to sit in one of the two chairs available.

Lan Zhan is quiet in the way that tells Wei Ying he’s hesitant. Not nervous, or anxious, but cautious, and Wei Ying is quiet in response, meeting Lan Zhan at his pace. By the way Lan Zhan smiles at him, pulling his worn, sticker covered guitar out of its case, Wei Ying knows that he appreciates it.

“It’s for you,” Lan Zhan says, strumming his fingers along the guitar strings. “For your birthday.”

Jaw dropping, Wei Ying sits up a little straighter.

Wei Ying doesn’t celebrate his birthday much, even when he was younger and Jiang Fengmian still wanted to throw him parties. Wei Ying much preferred trick or treating with Jiang Cheng than think anything about a nine-year-old birthday and presents. By the time Wei Ying had turned thirteen, everyone had well and truly given up on it.

So, Wei Ying had barely had a passing thought beyond the birthday texts from his siblings, until Lan Zhan had begun to play. It’s a gentle chord that turns into a sweet melody, something melancholy, something yearning.

Then Lan Zhan begins to sing.

Watching him, eyes downcast, his lashes as a dark fan across his smooth cheeks, Wei Ying can barely breathe. Lan Zhan’s voice is clear and smooth, a low tenor that’s so soft, Wei Ying sways forward in his seat, hanging on each word.

It lasts for eternity. It lasts for a second.

And when Lan Zhan is done, fingers holding the strings still, Wei Ying realizes that there’s tears on his face. Lan Zhan reaches out, cupping his cheeks, his touch so delicate, like the first snowfall of the season.

“Did you like it?” Lan Zhan asks, a quiet question in a frozen room.

Wei Ying nods, choking on a quiet sob, his hand reaching up to grasp at Lan Zhan’s wrist, fingers trembling. He’s trying not to cry harder when Lan Zhan gets out of his chair and kneels in front of him, both hands on Wei Ying’s face, thumbs swiping away tears as they fall.

“I…” Wei Ying tries, and fails. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lan Zhan says. He smiles up at Wei Ying, that little crescent of his mouth, pink lips stretched thin. He looks at Wei Ying like he understands everything in Wei Ying’s head, even when Wei Ying himself doesn’t know where to begin. “It’s okay.”

“I… I love you, too,” Wei Ying finally chokes, his words cracking on a sob, and he throws himself against Lan Zhan, burying himself in his waiting arms. “I love you, too,” he says again, and again for good measure.

Lan Zhan holds him, arms wrapped tight, and presses his smile into Wei Ying’s neck.

“I love you.”

It’s almost a dream. Wei Ying can’t remember a time when he was happier and even Yu Ziyuan’s increasingly scathing comments about him at weekend dinners can’t phase him. Jiang Yanli just giggles over his mooning, and Jiang Cheng scowls but doesn’t say much.

So Wei Ying’s days are filled with classes and studying and Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan across the table from him in the library, their text books spread out between them, their feet tapping against each other beneath. Lan Zhan waiting outside his dorm building before their morning classes, a thermos of coffee in his hand for Wei Ying. Lan Zhan squeezed into a booth beside him, Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli chattering loudly.

Lan Zhan making out with him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan fucking him on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed. Lan Zhan getting fucked on Wei Ying’s tiny dorm bed.

Wei Ying is ridiculously, incandescently happy.

“C’mon,” Wei Ying says, their chairs shuffled close together, Wei Ying’s ankle hooked with Lan Zhan’s. “Stay a little longer with me? I don’t want to go back just yet.”

The coffee shop is busy and the other two chairs at their table have long been claimed by others, students packed into the warm coffee shop to escape the cooling autumn air. It’s nearly winter, and nearly time for final exams, and everyone is out to leech as much time as they can from each other before the break.

Wei Ying is no different, monopolizing Lan Zhan’s time as long as he can before he’ll take the bus back home when classes are over. He has no intention of suffering Yu Ziyuan on his boyfriend, and Lan Zhan hasn’t ever invited him home. So Wei Ying is bracing himself for weeks without him.

And Lan Zhan smiles at him, the sweet curve of his mouth, and leans even closer where they’re pressed together, shoulder to hip. He kisses Wei Ying’s cheek, and listens to him chatter for another hour before he goes home.

There’s a knock on Wei Ying’s door at nearly one in the morning. He’s still awake watching a horror movie while he’s doodling in his literature textbook, when he should be writing his essay. Xue Yang has only been gone for a few days since he last saw him, so Wei Ying thinks it must be the guys down the hall looking for someone to join a card game when he opens the door.

“Lan Zhan!” he gasps.

Shifting, Lan Zhan stands at his doorway, his shoulders a tight line and his back straight. He’s not looking right at Wei Ying, his eyes focused somewhere around his left ear. He sounds… wrong, when he says, “Wei Ying,” in reply.

Wei Ying has about a hundred questions that begin with ‘How did you get into the building?’ and end with ‘What’s wrong?’ But he asks none of them except, “Do you want to come in?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Wei Ying asks, and he takes Lan Zhan’s hand in his when he nods.

They slip out the dorms and onto the darkened campus, the trees casting trailing shadows from the golden glow of the lapposts that line the quad. Lan Zhan says nothing as they meander through the dorms towards the administrative buildings and nearly all the way to the soccer fields, but Wei Ying does what he does best, and fills the silence.

He’s rambling about some language project when Lan Zhan pauses in the middle of the rec fields, tugging Wei Ying to a stop. His fingers are cold against Wei Ying’s palm.

“My father,” he says, and stops. Wei Ying turns to stand in front of him, his sneakers sliding through the wet grass. He squeezes Lan Zhan’s hand. “My father is dead.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says.

It hangs between them for a moment, and Wei Ying feels his stomach twist uncomfortably in the silence, his head bowed, staring at the point where their fingers are intertwined. He feels something drop, a splash of wetness against his wrist. And when he looks up, Lan Zhan is crying.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes. Wei Ying doesn’t know what to do, twitching forward and then stepping back.

Dropping Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan mirrors him, turning to the side and wiping his face. The sudden space between them yawns open and Wei Ying doesn’t know how to bridge it, how to reach across and make it better.

“H-How— When—" he says, fishing for something, anything.

“This afternoon,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying finally places what’s wrong in his voice, the suppressed emotion sitting tightly in Lan Zhan’s throat. “He killed himself.”

Wei Ying’s jaw drops and he gapes at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan who he’s known since he was eight, who lives with his older brother and his uncle. Lan Zhan who is awkward but fiery, shy but proud, rigid but warm, kind but lonely. Lan Zhan who used to look down his nose at Wei Ying, who would still let Wei Ying hang off his arm. Lan Zhan who forces Wei Ying to do his assignments. Lan Zhan who brings him coffee in the morning. Lan Zhan who kisses him and holds him.

Lan Zhan, who’s father just killed himself today.

With a sob, Wei Ying throws himself against Lan Zhan, arms wrapped tightly around him. Lan Zhan moves like he wants to flinch away, but he makes himself stay still, his arms awkwardly coming up to hold Wei Ying back.

“Fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying is saying, pressing his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

Lan Zhan says nothing. In Wei Ying’s hold, he’s tense and stiff until he’s not, until he’s all but collapsing against Wei Ying, pressing his face into Wei Ying’s hair. And Wei Ying can’t stop himself from crying, loud sobs that burn in this throat. Lan Zhan doesn’t make a sound, but Wei Ying can feel the wetness against his neck, so he just holds Lan Zhan tightly and hopes he’s enough.

He didn’t cry this hard when Jiang Fengmian died.

Eventually, when he’s dried out and shaking, Lan Zhan whispers, his voice a bare rasp, “Thank you.”

Wei Ying swallows and shakes his head, takes Lan Zhan’s hand again. He leads him over to a bench where they sit, Wei Ying’s head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and Lan Zhan’s cheek resting against his hair.

They’re quiet for another moment, and then Lan Zhan starts to talk. He talks about their mother who died when he was a child, and how his uncle took them in when their father couldn’t take care of them. How his uncle raised them, how Lan Huan had raised Lan Zhan. How their father rarely left his room until he grew sick and bedridden. How Lan Zhan had a scholarship to a better school, but gave it up so his brother could keep both his classes and his internship instead of taking care of their father.

How Lan Zhan had taken the bus home this afternoon from the coffee shop. How Lan Zhan had walked into his father’s room and found him.

Wei Ying almost wants to cry again, listening to it, a cold pain sinking into his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, presses his face against the top of Wei Ying’s head.

The sky is just barely lightened, a gray-blue cast when they stand. Lan Zhan walks him back to his dorm building, their fingers intertwined, and he stops. Slowly, he raises their hands and kisses Wei Ying’s knuckles, his eyes looking right into him.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says, quietly.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying starts, but what can he say. Instead he leans forward and kisses him, gentle, sweet, a little warmth between them before he rocks back onto his heels.

The look Lan Zhan gives him is so full of grief, but soft, and his lips twitch up into something that tries to be a smile. “Good night,” he says.

“Good night.” Wei Ying swallows. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply. He lets go of Wei Ying’s hand, his arm dropping lifelessly to his side and he turns away. Wei Ying watches him for a long time, until Lan Zhan disappears into the morning gloom. He doesn’t look back once.

Wei Ying doesn’t know that this will be the last time he sees Lan Zhan for years.

i'll be waiting here

In fact, he doesn’t know it for weeks. The next morning, Wei Ying is standing on the corner with his phone in his hand, waiting to see if Lan Zhan will either show up or text him back. The last thing Lan Zhan messaged him was a bunny sticker rolling its eyes, and everything after that is Wei Ying’s increasingly worried questions from the day before.

Me (2:33 a.m.) - did you make it home?

Me (2:40 a.m.) - let me know that you’re okay

Me (4:02 a.m.) - is there anything i can do? do you need me to get anything on campus for you?

Me (6:52 a.m.) - text me back when you can, okay?

Five minutes before his class starts, Wei Ying glances down the road, hoping to see Lan Huan’s car crawling towards him. He’s nearly twenty minutes late to the lecture.

Lan Zhan never messages him back.

Wei Ying still waits on the corner all that week. And the next.

Lan Zhan never shows.

“You look terrible,” Jiang Cheng says when he steps through the front door that Saturday.

Wei Ying just shrugs. “Is your mom here?” The last thing he wants is to see Yu Ziyuan today.

“Out with Jin Zixuan’s mom,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his brows furrowing low over his eyes. Wei Ying can’t meet his gaze. His throat is already closing up, and the last thing he wants to do is cry in the middle of the foyer. “Hey, seriously, what the fuck is up with you? I’ve never seen you like this. Why are you even home today?”

“Nothing.” He slides past his brother up the stairs, but Jiang Cheng is on his heels. “Just failed a test, it’s fine.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “As if failing a test as ever bugged you. Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What,” Jiang Cheng says, and Wei Ying can hear him rolling his eyes. “Did Lan Zhan break up with you?”

And Wei Ying has no control over the way he suddenly sobs. Jiang Cheng freezes behind him, and normally Wei Ying would want to see what kind of stupid face he’s making right now. He would love to turn around, grin and tell him Just kidding!

Instead, he escapes to his room, slamming the door behind him. By the time Jiang Cheng has recovered, Wei Ying has curled himself under his blankets, trying and failing to stop crying like some broken-hearted teenager. He doesn’t even notice the door open until there’s a weight against his back.

“I’ll kick his fucking ass,” Jiang Cheng hisses, vhenement. But he rubs his hand awkwardly up and down Wei Ying’s back, like Jiang Yanli used to do when either of them got in trouble with Yu Ziyuan.

Wei Ying chokes on a laugh, watery and weak, suddenly all too aware that this is the most they’ve spoken in weeks. “If you can find him, let me know so I can beat him up too,” he says, even though he doesn’t mean it at all.

Jiang Cheng pauses. “You don’t know where he is?”

“No,” Wei Ying says, and the word cracks in two on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears stealing his voice.

“Oh. Oh, fuck, uh, come here,” Jiang Cheng says, stumbling over his words and tugging on Wei Ying’s arm.

Wei Ying goes, sitting up just enough to bury his face on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder as he cries. Jiang Cheng’s hug isn’t like their sister’s. It’s not warm and soft and safe, but Jiang Cheng’s is just as good. When he’s cried as much as he can for now, he finds a laugh bubbling out of his throat when Jiang Cheng sniffs.

“Fuck you,” he huffs, wiping at his eyes when Wei Ying sits up. “I’ll really kick his ass for making you cry.”

Somehow, Wei Ying finds it himself to smile, mopping at his face. “Ah, I got snot on you.”

“Ugh, gross.”

And they both burst into laughter. It’s the best Wei Ying has felt all week. It’s the best he’ll feel for a long time.

That night he goes to a party and gets so drunk, he doesn’t remember getting back to the house the next morning. Yu Ziyuan finds him still in his club clothes at noon and screeches at him for the rest of the day. He does the same thing that night as well. He’s so hungover that Monday, he misses four of his five classes and falls asleep at his desk on the last. There’s a rager at an apartment block down the street from his dorm on Tuesday. Wednesday night is one of the rare days Xue Yang drops by. He takes one look at Wei Ying and grins, saying, “I got just the thing you need.” By the time Saturday rolls around again, Wei Ying really doesn’t remember much of the week.

But he hasn’t cried since he made a mess of Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, so he isn’t very bothered by it.

“A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli sings when he answers the phone. Something that’s been twisting up inside him settles for the first time all day. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he says, and by the way his sister hums, he must not be very convincing. But Jiang Yanli is too sweet to press on fresh bruises.

“How are your classes?” she asks. Wei Ying has to wince, because he really doesn’t know. He hasn’t left his dorm room in weeks except to trail after Xue Yang, who’s around constantly now. “Are you eating well? Finals are coming up, so make sure you’re taking care of yourself!”

“Aaah, shijie, I’m totally fine,” Wei Ying lies through his teeth. “Don’t worry so much about me. Tell me about your apprenticeship! Have you taken over the kitchen yet?” he asks, just to hear her laugh.

He settles back to listen to her, glad for this one thing that anchors him in this moment before he’s adrift again.

He should probably be upset right now. He should probably dread going home. He should probably say something as Yu Ziyuan screams at him. But instead, Wei Ying feels nothing.

“You ungrateful little shit,” she hisses, flinging the letter at him. “Academic probation? You expect me to pay for you now that you’ve lost your scholarship? You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

Wei Ying sits, slouched and still, at the dining table and stares at nothing. Across from him, Jiang Cheng is fidgeting like he always does when Wei Ying is getting punished. If he could meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes right now, he would get a look begging him to say anything, anything to make this better. But Wei Ying can’t make it better, so he stares at the thinning varnish over what was once expensive wood grain and waits.

“Nothing to say at all?” Yu Ziyuan snaps. “Are you so worthless that one little break up is all it takes for you to fuck me over?”

Wei Ying doesn’t say anything, because there’s no way to answer that. There’s no way to tell this woman who raised him that Lan Zhan had been the one teaching him how to breathe right, how to sleep through the night, how to trust someone so wholly for the first time in his life. There’s no way to tell her that he hates himself too, that he detests himself for being so dependent on someone, that he let himself trust that he wouldn’t be left behind.

And he says nothing still, when Yu Ziyuan leans in close and says, “Get your shit and get out of my house.”

Wei Ying spends one cold night outside, his bag of clothes under his head on a tucked away park bench in the corner of the city park. He has only a change of clothes, a few extra socks, and the wrinkled, faded polaroid that had lived next to Wei Ying’s bed for the past nine years. He’d been lucky to grab even that much, Yu Ziyuan looming over him with the police on the phone. As soon as he’d managed to snatch up his wallet, he’d bolted, past his silent brother without even saying goodbye. He even left his phone behind.

It’s better like this, he had told himself on the bus.

It’ll be better like this, he had told himself when he’d laid down on the bench.

He didn’t sleep. He pretends like he wasn’t crying. And when the sun rose, Wei Ying had sat up and reluctantly hunted for a payphone and called a number he barely remembered. Wen Qing picks up on the second ring and listens to him while he sobs his way through the whole story from the side of a run down gas station.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying hiccups. “I didn’t know who—"

“Shut up,” is the first thing Wen Qing says to him since she picked up the phone. Wei Ying’s mouth closes with a click of his teeth. “Where are you right now, give me an address.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying babbles, wiping hard at his face. He lists off the address the best he can guess, some corner street near the freeway. When she shows up, it’s night again, and Wen Ning has to half pick him up to get him into the back of the car.

He doesn’t remember the ride beyond the sound of his own voice, words unintelligible, Wen Ning’s arm around his shoulders, and Wen Qing’s knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Wen Qing’s house is tiny, with only two bedrooms and a small fenced yard in the front. For a while, she had lived here with her great aunt and her two sons’ families, forced together after Wen Qing’s uncle ran his business into the ground and got arrested in their last year of high school. But before long, as Wen Qing’s cousins had gotten jobs and bought homes, it became just Wen Qing and Wen Ning who live here.

And, for now, Wei Ying.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Wen Qing tells him. “As long as you need to. In fact, I’m not letting you move out unless I say it’s okay.”

“A-jie…” Wen Ning says quietly.

Wei Ying tries to smile, but it feels like a ghost on his face — too tired and too transparent to see even at midnight. “Thanks,” he tells them both and then proceeds to not move from their couch for a solid week.

And that’s as long as Wen Qing will let him sulk. Wen Ning starts to ask him to go to the grocery store with him, or Wen Qing will force him to help her with her pre-med homework. They’ll ask him to help cook, or if he’d go grab them something from the store, or to meet them for dinner after their classes.

Both of them are in college and juggling it with part-time jobs and internships, and it isn’t long before Wei Ying wakes up enough to realize how patient they’ve been with him, how much of their time and money he’s taken up.

“You don’t have to,” Wen Ning tells him when he starts circling job adverts in the paper. “It’s… only been a few weeks.”

“Too long to just be mooching off the two of you,” Wei Ying grumbles.

“A lot happened. It’s okay if you’re not ready to just… move on right now.” Wen Ning says it in that gentle way of his, like he’s worried Wei Ying is burying a lot of pain and trauma instead of processing it.

“That sounds like something a therapist would say.”

“Well… You know…”

“Fair enough,” Wei Ying says with some humor. “But I can’t pay for a therapist if I don’t have a job.”

And Wei Ying takes on three, an opening shift at a cafe, an afternoon gig at a small theme park, and nights cleaning and sanitizing at a local gym. It’s nothing grand like he once dreamed of, on a scholarship for forensic science across the country. And it’s not the steady salary he had once hoped for in the environmental science department at the community college. But it’s work, and he manages to rake by enough to pay the Wens rent and buy groceries every third week.

It’s not what he had once thought he could have for himself, but he’s not unhappy.

Five years pass like that in a blink, losing himself in the ups and downs of part time work, still sleeping on Wen Qing’s couch. Wen Ning says they could squeeze another bed in his room, but that would require moving out his desk. Wei Ying adamantly tells him no, that nursing majors need their beauty sleep and the couch is too comfy to give up.

He’s not really lying, it’s a great couch.

These days, he’s working full time at the cafe, managing college-aged part timers, creating new menu items, and taking care of the accounts. Wei Ying may never be a good cook, but the exactness of baking works out fine for him. Every morning before the crack of dawn, he heads for the store to start that day’s pastries, reveling in the stillness just between him and the kitchen. And when it’s time to open, he preps the roaster and the coffee maker just in time for the first customer to step through the door. And he likes it. It’s fine.

He could be something like happy, he thinks. Maybe. And when he’s not, he at least has the Wens, as much as he’ll allow himself to. He doesn’t hang onto them, not in the way he used to with…

Well, he’s learned his lesson twice over. People leave Wei Ying. So Wei Ying won’t hold his breath until they do.

And then, Wen Yuan is there one day, all of a sudden, a baby bag left by the door and a car seat on the table. The kid inside is dark haired and dark eyed, with pudgy little hands that reach out, wrapping around Wei Ying’s finger while Wen Qing is telling him the story, tears in her eyes. There was a car wreck. Her other cousin has kids of his own. Popo is too old to take care of him. Wen Qing will have to drop a few classes, but it’ll work out.

“What, why? You don’t have to do that!”

Wen Qing glares at him. “Of course I do, he can’t take care of himself!”

Pausing, Wei Ying looks down at the baby in front of him, his little hand wiggling back and forth with Wei Ying’s finger still captured in his fist. “I have a lot of free time.”

“What do you know about taking care of babies?” Wen Qing scoffs.

“Probably more than you,” Wei Ying says, raising a brow at her with a smirk. “I grew up in an orphanage after all. One of the aunties hated changing diapers, so she would always make us do it.”

Sighing, Wen Qing deflates. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Sure you could,” Wei Ying says nonchalantly. “You saved my life. Plus, he’s cute, and he likes me.” Wei Ying jiggles his finger to emphasize his point, and Wen Yuan giggles, a little, gurgling laugh.

Wei Ying might fall in love on the spot, meeting Wen Yuan’s waving hands to pick him up, cradling him against his shoulder. In truth, the last time he held a baby was when he was seven, but Wei Ying still remembers how delicate they feel in his arms, the quiet terror that he may break them, and the warmth when they curl close against his neck, rubbing their noses into his shirt.

“You don’t owe us,” Wen Qing says, but she’s watching Wei Ying with a hint of relief in her red-rimmed eyes.

Somehow, Wei Ying manages to wheedle paternity leave out of the cafe owner, and Wei Ying spends two weeks with Wen Yuan on his hip and going through every little thing a baby might need with Wen Qing. Wen Yuan is still so young, not even old enough to crawl. He keeps Wei Ying up with bottle feedings until he’s settled enough to sleep through the night.

They move his crib into Wen Qing’s room when Wei Ying goes back to work. Each morning, Wen Qing drops Wen Yuan off at daycare and each afternoon, Wei Ying picks him up, and Wen Ning in the event that either one of them cannot.

It’s a strange pattern, three parents to one child, but Wei Ying finds himself loving it.

On sunny days, when he picks Wen Yuan up from daycare, he’ll take him to the park and slather him with baby sunscreen and let him roll around a blanket on the grass for a few hours. On others, he’ll pick up a new toy or a baby book and spend an afternoon reading to Wen Yuan, teaching him the words like he already understands all his letters and numbers. His phone suddenly fills with pictures: Wen Yuan’s first taste of ice cream, Wen Yuan covered in noodles, Wen Yuan wiggling around the floor of their living room.

It’s a strange feeling, to wake up after a long sleep to find someone there waiting for you. Wei Ying had been feeling so adrift, like he might float away if it weren’t for this little kid with his big eyes and messy hair.

“You know, I was really worried about you.”

Wei Ying glances up from icing the cake in front of him, a tiny little tier that’s white and blue with a giant number one piped on top. Wen Yuan’s birthday felt like it came fast and hard, but babies don’t really remember birthdays anyways.

“Worried about me?” Wei Ying asks, distracted. He has frosting in his hair and flour on his face. He’s not usually this messy in the cafe, but it’s not like Wei Ying is often making cakes. “I haven’t been sick in years.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes, dragging her finger through a bowl of leftover whipped cream. “I was worried about you, idiot, not your health.”

Finishing one last piped flower, Wei Ying straightens and looks at her with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”

She huffs, looking at him dead in the eye like she sees right through him. “I was always worried one day you were just going to disappear, you know? You’ve been so… absent, since, well, you know.”

And Wei Ying does know, knows that he really hasn’t been all there in the years since he came to live here. He prefers not to think about it, ignoring the homesickness and loneliness and the hurt that’s built up with each passing month, with each passing year. Sometimes, he would wonder if... But most of the time he pretends like that part of his life didn’t exist at all.

“But now,” Wen Qing continues, her eyes dropping to the little cake Wei Ying decorated for the kid he’s a guardian of. “Now I think this is the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

“I was happy in high school,” Wei Ying says, just to defend himself. He’s not that much of a drag, he hopes.

Wen Qing just gives him a flat look. “You were miserable in high school.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wouldn’t if you would have at least a drop of emotional intelligence, you stunted asshole.”

“I resent that. My asshole is just fine, thank you very much.”

Wen Qing socks him in the arm, hard, just as Wen Ning steps into the kitchen with Wen Yuan in his arms. “No fighting, please,” he says, chiding and Wen Yuan repeats after him, babbling, “No no no fighting please.”

“That’s right,” Wen Qing says, cooing at Wen Yuan as she takes him in his arms. “Take after Ning-ge, so you can grow up to be sweet like him.”

“No no no fighting please,” Wen Yuan says, grinning at her. “Asshole.”

Wei Ying is ducking out the door before Wen Qing can start throwing things at him, laughing the whole way around the house as she chases him, Wen Yuan giggling madly in her arms as she goes.

When Wen Qing gets a job nearly four hours away, she almost doesn’t take it. And when Wei Ying and Wen Ning finally convince her — we’ll be fine, between Wen Ning and I, we can take care of him, don’t miss this opportunity, it’ll set you back even further — she sighs forlornly about the commute and they have to spend another hour convincing her that she can afford an apartment.

She goes, rather reluctantly, but she goes. The house is a little emptier without her clutter on the kitchen table, but she makes Wei Ying move all his and Wen Yuan’s things into her room as she goes.

“Don’t keep sleeping on the couch when there’s a whole unused bed, idiot,” is all she says. His clothes had already been tossed into her room.

Wen Ning takes a lighter class load that semester, despite Wei Ying’s attempts at convincing him otherwise.

“You really don’t have to do that, I can handle everything for A-Yuan,” he tells him.

“It’s fine,” Wen Ning says, smiling placidly. “Honestly, I could use a little less stress anyways, and if it makes it a little easier on A-Yuan, then it’s good.”

And so their routines change. Wen Ning goes to class in the morning while Wei Ying drops Wen Yuan off at daycare, and Wen Ning picks Wen Yuan up during Wei Ying’s new afternoon shift and gets dinner ready. That evening, the three of them pile around Wen Ning’s laptop to video chat with Wen Qing, who’s eating microwave dinners around her paperwork and listening attentively while Wen Yuan tells her about his day. And when she’s free, she makes the three hour drive to visit and Wei Ying chivariously gives up his bed for his old couch stand-by.

“This one is mine anyways,” he laughs the first time she tries to refuse. “I’ve missed it so much, why would you separate us again?!”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot. You better have washed the sheets.”

It’s good though, the change. Wei Ying is so fiercely proud of her for following her passion, proud of Wen Ning for taking better care of himself, and proud of Wen Yuan for how well he’s handled the transition, especially for a kid who’s had so much terrible change in his short life.

Wei Ying loves them, these friends and this new life of his. It’s not what he thought it would be, but he’s happy. And he wants to stay that way.

“He deserves a dad,” Wen Qing says one weekend on her rare days off. They’re at the zoo on a Saturday because Wen Yuan begged — he actually just asked in his timid little way, but it’s just as effective as if he’d laid on the ground and screamed — and Wen Ning is crouching low, petting bunnies with Wen Yuan. He’s nearly four now, his hair around his ears, and his eyes bright and excited.

Wei Ying’s smile drops off his face. “Of course he does,” he says, hesitantly. There’s a long pause between them. “I guess, some uncle is wanting to adopt him?”

“Oh my god,” Wen Qing scoffs. “No, stupid. I mean you.”

“Oh.”

Wen Qing raises her brow.

“Oh!” Wei Ying gasps. He feels like the breath has been punched out of him, an unfamiliar emotion soaring through his blood. “Me?!”

“Yes, you idiot!” she snaps, and lists off on her fingers. “You take him to school, you pack his lunch, you pick him up, you play with him, you teach him, you read him stories at night. You are practically already his dad!”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Wei Ying says desperately, because he’s starting to recognize that feeling is hope. Hope is a dangerous thing, but Wen Qing has never given him a reason to be wary of her.

“Yes!” She explodes, glaring at him. Then her face changes. It’s a strange thing to see her uncertain, hesitant. “Unless of course you’re uncomfortable—"

“I didn’t say that!!” he breathes, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets. He feels a bit like he’s panicking, but in a good way, and incredibly aware of what a horrible place this is to be having this conversation. “I just — I mean — GAH! He’s your family! I’d figure you wouldn’t want, you know, someone who’s not, to care for him.”

Wen Qing stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Around them, kids are giggling and shrieking, cooing over the animals. There’s a group of children gathered around one of the keepers, a giant rabbit in her arms as they all gently brush their little fingers over its shiny fur. Among them, settled on Wen Ning’s knee, is Wen Yuan, his face bright with wonder and excitement as he pets one velvety ear. Wei Ying watches him, teetering on the edge of hope and crushing disappointment. Now that it’s been brought up, Wei Ying can’t think of anything that he’s wanted more than this.

“Wei Ying,” Wen Qing says finally, dropping her hand on Wei Ying’s slumped shoulder. Wei Ying turns to her, chewing his lip, and tries to meet the softness in her gaze. “You are family. You’re my family, just as much as A-Ning and A-Yuan.”

Swallowing, Wei Ying finds he doesn’t have any words for that.

“You know that right?” Wen Qing asks.

And Wei Ying can only nod. Wen Qing smiles her small, amused smile that she rarely shows to anyone, and wraps her arm around Wei Ying’s back. In turn, he settles one over her shoulders until they’re tucked together, the two of them watching as Wen Yuan looks up and waves at them.

Wen Yuan becomes Wei Yuan that next spring. They have a little ceremony and everything, Wei Ying in his best slacks and button down, and Wei Yuan in his tiny little suit that Wen Qing had thrifted for him. Wen Ning takes about a million pictures of the two.

Before though, Wei Ying had sat Wen Yuan down and asked him if it would be okay.

“I’d be your dad,” Wei Ying tells him, and finds his throat closing up. Wei Ying never had a father, no one that he can remember, but Wen Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, the same way Wei Ying doesn’t. And here Wei Ying is, trying to be something he’s not, but so desperately wants to be. “If you want.”

“My baba?” Wen Yuan asks, grinning in that sweet way of his.

Wei Ying laughs, tearing up. “If that’s okay with you.”

And Wen Yuan doesn’t call him anything else, repeating “Baba Baba Baba,” for the rest of the day.

make this hole a home

It’s a Tuesday half a year later, and Wei Ying is starting to believe that Tuesdays are cursed.

Fall is just starting to settle over the city, cool breezes and falling leaves and pumpkin everything. Wei Ying smells so much like walking pumpkin spiced latte that he might as well start showering in the shit. He doesn’t hate it though.

And fall means halloween, which means matching father-son costumes. Last year, Wei Ying was roped last minute into trick-or-treating duty and was unprepared. This is Wei Ying’s first Halloween as a father, and he’s more excited about it than Wei Yuan is.

“How about Batman and Robin?” Wei Ying asks.

Wei Yuan makes a thoughtful hum, eyes focused on his feet as he balances on the low stone wall that edges the sidewalk, clutching to Wei Ying’s hand. “How about Spiderman and Robin?”

“You can’t mix universes like that. Ningning would laugh at us.”

“Ning-ge would not!” Wei Yuan says, outraged.

Wei Ying snorts. “Fair enough. Jiejie would though.”

“Jiejie would,” Wei Yuan agrees. “Is she coming, too?”

“Nope, it’s you, me, and Ning-ge. Ooh, we could be the three musketeers!” Wei Yuan makes a face. “Yeah, I’m not too interested in the tights either. Cool swords though.”

“If Jiejie came, she could be Velma and Ning-ge could be Shaggy.”

“What about us?”

“I could be Scooby! And you can be Daphne.”

“I do look great in purple.”

“But I guess we can’t do that,” Wei Yuan says, jumping down from the wall, and looking seriously up at Wei Ying. “Why can’t she come?”

“Awe, kiddo,” Wei Ying sighs, crouching down. They don’t get to see her as often as Wen Ning, who lives now in an apartment building just a few blocks away from their house. “She’s on call that day. Most residency doctors have to be, so it’s important she’s there. Don’t worry, she’ll be here for Christmas.”

“Fine,” Wei Yuan says. “We didn’t have anyone to be Fred anyways.”

Wei Ying ruffles his hair and stands. “Maybe next year, okay? We can probably kidnap that Jingyi kid to be Fred.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, he probably couldn't pull off an ascot anyways.”

And that’s when he looks up, and sees him.

Lan Zhan is stopped, stock still in the middle of the path, and Wei Ying feels himself frozen, caught. Because it couldn’t be anyone other than Lan Zhan: his long black hair falling in perfectly straight lines behind his ears, his shoulders broad and strong, the delicate cut of his jaw, the sweet, heart shape of his face. For a moment, Wei Ying is breathless, drinking him in.

And then Lan Zhan takes a step forward, eyes wide, his lips — full and dusky pink, just like Wei Ying remembers — part as he speaks, “Wei Ying."

Wei Ying graps Wei Yuan and bolts.

He doesn’t stop until they’re clear across the park and Wei Yuan is complaining in his ear. Panting, he stumbles to a stop and sets Wei Yuan on his feet.

“Who was that?” he asks, patting Wei Ying’s sweaty face where he’s bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“No one,” Wei Ying gasps. “I just really hate this park. We’re never coming back.”

“Awe, I liked the swingsets.”

Wei Ying chuckles, glad that his kid is so used to Wei Ying picking him up and swinging him around at any given moment. Nothing like throwing a four-year-old over his shoulder to prepare him for running from his ex. He takes a moment to swallow back the sudden rising emotion in his throat, the hurt, the anger, the joy of Lan Zhan filling him until he might explode like a geyser with too much steam.

It’s fine. It’s a big city, and the odds of running into Lan Zhan again is so small, Wei Ying shouldn’t have to worry. They’ll avoid the park, and that’ll be it. He never has to see Lan Zhan again.

And like most things in Wei Ying’s life, that doesn’t even last to the end of the week.

Wei Ying is glaring before Lan Zhan even looks up, the door sliding shut behind him with a rattle of bells. If it weren’t the middle of the afternoon and he wasn’t the only person on shift to staff the front, Wei Ying would already have ducked into the kitchen to let someone else deal with this.

And the shocked look on Lan Zhan’s face should be gratifying, but Wei Ying is really just too pissed off to laugh.

“What can I get you?” he asks when Lan Zhan opens his mouth, cutting him off harshly.

“Wei—" he starts.

“I recommend our special,” Wei Ying snaps, waving a hand at the little chalkboard on the counter. It’s covered in lopsided sunflowers and butterflies, even though it’s the middle of October and no one’s had the heart to erase it because A-Yuan drew them in summer.

Lan Zhan pauses, and Wei Ying tortures himself by wondering what he thinks of the little chalk decorations his son drew. Odds are, Lan Zhan doesn’t even notice.

“A tea,” he eventually says. “A green tea, small,” he clarifies when Wei Ying’s glare turns frosty.

Wei Ying swipes his card with enough force to snap the plastic and slaps it down on the counter for Lan Zhan to pick up. He doesn’t wait for Lan Zhan to say anything else, and makes the worst cup of green tea he can imagine: luke warm tap water, loose tea leaves, and five healthy dollops of agave syrup.

Lan Zhan’s face doesn’t change when Wei Ying slams it on the counter in front of him, eyeing the cup for a moment before he pulls the lid off and downs it in one go. Wei Ying gapes. It has to taste terrible, bitter and sugary at once, but Lan Zhan’s taste buds have either died in the decade since Wei Ying last saw him or he has an amazing poker face.

“Wha—" he starts, but Lan Zhan pulls a wad of cash out of his wallet, wraps it in a napkin, and shoves it into the tip jar.

“Thank you,” he says, meeting Wei Ying’s eyes head-on for the first time in ten years and it nearly takes his breath away.

He’s out the door before Wei Ying’s brain can come back online.

Immediately, he fumbles for the tip jar, grabbing the neatly folded cash still wrapped in the napkin. There has to be over a hundred dollars there, but Wei Ying just drops it back in, more interested in Lan Zhan’s hasty note, written when Wei Ying’s back was turned.

Wei Ying, it says, I understand your anger. I know I have a lot to answer for. If you would like to speak, please contact me. I won’t bother you at your workplace. I hope that you have been well these past years.

Below is a set of numbers, and beside that, a half-formed bunny. Lan Zhan used to doodle them on Wei Ying’s papers all the time because Wei Ying liked them. It’s enough to make a few tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he crumples the note in a fist before tossing it in the trash.

Good. He better not come back, he thinks resolutely, wiping quickly at his face and glad for the empty cafe around him. I never want to see him again.

Yet, barely a minute pases before he’s digging the note back out, now stained with coffee grounds. He smooths it out best he can, carefully folding it and slipping it into his back pocket, and into the back of his mind as a gaggle of teenagers step through the door.

That night, when Wei Yuan is settled in front of the television with his chicken nuggets and carrots and Wei Ying has collapsed onto the couch, he digs the note back out of his pocket. The ink has run a bit, but Wei Ying still drinks it in with a hunger that almost fills him with shame.

Ten years. It’s been ten years, and still he’s…

He sighs heavily, and throws an arm over his eyes. How stupid, to still be so caught up on a guy he barely dated for half a year, one that had dropped out of his life in an instant. Wei Ying is perfectly aware of his abandonment issues, but ten years!

“Pathetic,” he murmurs to himself.

A little hand smacks down on his forearm. “Babaaa,” Wei Yuan whines. “Baba, are you sick?”

Wei Ying uncovers his face, smiling as Wei Yuan looms over him, his little face pinched in a frown. There’s little ketchup stains around his mouth. “Baba’s fine, baby,” he says, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Did you eat all your dinner?”

“I’m full.” Wei Yuan reaches out and pets Wei Ying’s hair. “Don’t cry, baba.”

“Ah,” Wei Ying starts, registering the wetness on his face. He quickly wipes it away with his sleeves, the wrinkled napkin still between his fingers.

“Are you sad?” his son asks, and Wei Ying almost starts to laugh when Wei Yuan leans down to place a sloppy kiss on Wei Ying forehead, just like Wei Ying does whenever he cries. “Don’t be sad, Baba, I love you.”

Grinning, Wei Ying sits up and sweeps Wei Yuan into his arms. “Well, how can Baba be sad then, if you love me so much!” Wei Yuan shrieks and giggles, his hands on Wei Ying’s cheeks when he begins to peck kisses all over his chubby face.

“Baba, no!! Shh, it’s quiet time!”

“Quiet time!” Wei Ying gasps, glancing at the clock. Indeed, it is past eight, when Wei Ying usually starts to get Wei Yuan ready for bed. “Boring! Who raised you, huh? Let’s eat cookies and stay up ‘til midnight!”

Wei Yuan takes a moment to think it over, before he says, very pragmatically, “Jiejie would get mad.”

Sighing, Wei Ying nods, thinking of how Wen Qing would reach through the phone to strangle him when she inevitably finds out. His son is a snitch. “A-Yuan is right, as always,” he laments, smacking one last kiss to his chubby cheek. “Let’s go get you a bath then, ketchup man.”

He places the note onto the arm rest, chewing his lip, before he follows Wei Yuan’s enthusiastic chattering to the bathroom. When bathtime is over and bedtime stories have been read, it’s just past nine, and Wei Ying wonders if Lan Zhan still keeps the same schedule. If he’s in bed already, or if he’s waiting by his phone for Wei Ying to text or call or whatever.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, Wei Ying pulls out his phone, staring hard at the black numbers and the little rabbit doodle, and Lan Zhan’s ‘I understand your anger.’

Does he? Does he really though? Wei Ying had trusted Lan Zhan in a way he’d never trusted anyone else.

He’s typing before he really considers what he wants to say, a whole long paragraph that rapidly fills the composition frame on his phone, and somehow that pisses him off too. Ten years, and still he’s so mad and hurt about it. Wei Ying has brushed off worse hurts all his life, but somehow this still feels like an open wound, a crack in his skin that won’t heal no matter how many years Wei Ying puts behind him. It still hurts, and it shouldn’t. So Wei Ying pours it out and hits send without reading it over.

And immediately, he’s disgusted with himself. Already he can imagine Lan Zhan reading all of it, imagines how it might hurt him, wonders if it will hurt him. He throws his phone onto the cushion so he doesn’t have to look at it. Tomorrow’s Saturday, he doesn’t even have an alarm set, so he leaves it there.

He pretends like he isn’t crying when he crawls into bed.

Like clockwork, Wei Yuan bounces onto the bed at seven the next morning, and flops bodily onto Wei Ying stomach. “Good morning!” he sings while Wei Ying does his best to catch his breath.

“Sure,” Wei Ying wheezes. His face still feels a little puffy around his eyes, but he manages his usual grin and good morning kiss. “I can’t wait until you’re a teenager and you sleep past lunch.”

Wei Yuan crinkles his nose. “But breakfast!”

“But breakfast, indeed,” Wei Ying agrees, heaving himself upright. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes!”

Swinging Wei Yuan up and squeezing him until he giggles, Wei Ying heads for the kitchen, already half a mind on a mental grocery list when his eyes catch on his phone sitting innocently where he tossed it last night, face down on the couch cushion. He ignores it, dead set on breakfast and the squirming kid in his arms.

They make a huge mess of pancake batter and bacon that morning, Wei Ying too distracted to clean up afterwards. There’s flour in Wei Yuan’s hair, and egg on Wei Yings pajama pants, but they don’t burn anything, and their breakfast is almost picture perfect. He doesn’t dare go anywhere near his phone.

Wei Ying is cutting a stack of pancakes into bite-sized pieces when his phone dings with a new message and he jumps violently, spine straightening and stomach twisting, and nearly knocks a full glass of milk over.

Wei Yuan, his feet swinging back and forth under his chair, looks up at him with wide eyes. “Baba?”

Fumbling, Wei Ying rights everything with shaky hands. “Sorry kid,” he says with a smile. “You good? Want me to put on cartoons?”

“Yeah,” Wei Yuan says, his voice small, and Wei Ying kind of hates himself, hates that his kid picks up on his mood so easily. He drops a kiss to the top of Wei Yuan’s head, pasting on a quick smile.

He picks up his phone and the remote, and takes his time finding a good channel. WeI Yuan stuffs his face with pancakes, just as intent, and starts kicking his legs again when Wei Ying settles on some colorful show to keep him occupied.

Dread sitting heavily in his stomach, Wei Ying picks up his phone, unlocking it to find two new messages.

Wen Ning (8:43 a.m.) - obligatory message to let you know finals didn’t kill me! yes i’ve eaten regularly, yes i’m fine, yes i am going to sleep for another twelve hours, good bye

Wei Ying would laugh, if his eyes hadn’t fallen to the text below.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the stupid message on his phone. The screen goes dark until he taps it again. Wen Qing replies to Wen Ning. Wei Yuan sips his milk noisily, his head nodding back and forth as he glances from Wei Ying to the television.

It’s the sudden thump from their upstairs neighbor that shakes Wei Ying from his stupor. His fingers are clammy and it takes a few tries to unlock his phone.

I do love you, says Lan Zhan’s message still, sent barely five minutes after Wei Ying’s wall of text above it.

“Are you stupid?” Wei Ying asks under his breath. He scrolls up to his, frankly embarrassing, message.

Me (yesterday, 9:54 p.m.) - i don’t really have a lot to say to you. you’re an absolute asshole and i know you know exactly why. you couldn’t have given me a heads up? literally anything? you could have at least broken up with me before you fucked off for the rest of my life, but you just disappeared and i never fucking knew if you were okay or if you were safe or fuck if you were even alive. you were just fucking gone. so fuck you, i don’t have any questions for you to answer for or whatever. i was so goddamn sure you loved me, and i loved you so much, and it hurt like hell that you didn’t even care enough to say goodbye. so no lan zhan, i don’t give a fuck what you think you have to answer for. and for all i care, you can fuck right back off again.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

Wei Ying takes a deep, shaky breath and sets his phone face down on the table. When he turns, Wei Yuan is looking back, his eyes big and worried.

“Aaah, what’s with that face?” he asks, leaning over to rest his hand on Wei Yuan’s head, ruffling his hair. Wei Yuan doesn’t reply, chewing his lip, and tears filling his gaze. Wei Ying feels his heart shatter for the hundredth time, and he stands, gathering his son up in his arms.

He understands so much better than he wants to. First his mother, then his grandfather, and then his father. That’s a lot for a little kid to lose in a year. It made Wei Yuan sensitive, in the same way Wei Ying once could feel the exact moment Yu Ziyuan’s eyes fell on him. The way a silent house would make Wei Ying’s heart beat a little faster. The way long car rides would make his stomach twist until he vomited. Jiang Cheng used to think he got car sick.

Wei Yuan’s therapist says it’s good that his son feels safe enough to come to him for comfort, and Wei Ying can recognize that. He’s so proud he can be a safe haven for his son.

Once, Wei Ying had thought he’d found that too. The thought makes him want to cry all over again.

Instead of breaking down, Wei Ying does what he does best: distract.

Pressing kisses Wei Yuan’s cheeks, they settle on the couch together, cuddling close and watch cartoons for the rest of the morning. Wei Yuan clings to him, arms just barely suffocating around Wei Ying’s neck. Wei Ying rests a cheek on top of his head, gently rubbing his back until Wei Yuan speaks.

“Are you going away?” he asks, and Wei Ying holds him a little closer.

“No, sir,” Wei Ying says, his voice quiet and serious. “I’m staying right here with you.”

Wei Yuan sniffles. “Okay.” And then, after a long moment, he says, “Mama was sad before she left.”

Closing his eyes, Wei Ying breathes in, trying to calm the storm of his heart. He knows they’ll never know what really happened to Wen Mei, that he will never have an answer to Wei Yuan’s questions as he grows up.

“This is different,” Wei Ying says, chewing over his words before he says them. “Someone I used to really love… He really hurt me once. And now he wants to be friends again.”

“Oh,” Wei Yuan says, very seriously. “If he hurts you, he has to say sorry.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “That’s true.”

“Did he say sorry?”

“He wants to.”

“You don’t have to say it’s okay,” Wei Yuan tells him, parroting back Wei Ying’s own words. “Not until it is.”

Snorting, Wei Ying tugs gently at Wei Yuan’s hair. “Well aren’t you smart. How did you ever get so wise, my noble son?”

Wei Yuan sits up, and he’s smiling so brightly that Wei Ying can’t help but grin back. “Baba told me. Can I go play?”

Wei Ying bursts into laughter, relieved that the heavy atmosphere has left them. “Ah, you really bounce back easy, huh? Yeah, yeah, go on,” he says, grunting as Wei Yuan crawls off of him, racing off to his room to play without a second glance back.

For a moment he’s still, and then he’s up, and his phone is in his hand.

+5552387310 (yesterday, 9:58 p.m.) - I do love you.

“Idiot,” Wei Ying says again, and starts to type.

Me (10:33 a.m.) - you’re stupid

Lan Zhan (10:33 a.m.) - I know.

Me (10:34 a.m.) - you’re the biggest asshole i’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting

Lan Zhan (10:34 a.m.) - I know. I’m sorry.

Me (10:37 a.m.) - it’s not okay

Lan Zhan (10:37 a.m.) - I know.

Lan Zhan (10:42 a.m.) - If you are willing, I’d like to make it okay one day.

Me (11:01 a.m.) - you’re going to spend the rest of forever grovelling before it ever becomes okay. It’ll be 80000000 years before i forgive you.

Lan Zhan (11:02 a.m.) - I will for the rest of my life, and for 80000000 years afterwards.

Me (11:02 a.m.) - are you proposing?? what the fuck lan zhan

Lan Zhan (11:03 a.m.) - Not yet.

Me (11:03 a.m.) - OH MY FUCKING GOD

Wei Ying throws his phone down, face on fire and heart pounding, and fuck he must be an idiot to be giddy over the first real conversation that they’ve had in years. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“A-Yuan, do you want to go get ice cream?” he shouts, already putting on his shoes.

Wei Yuan comes running, and frowns at Wei Ying. “Baba, you’re in your pajamas still.”

Wei Ying must be insane.

He’s sitting on a park bench a week later, watching Wei Yuan run, shrieking, around the playground with a gaggle of other kids. It’s chillier today, and Wei Yuan is wrapped up in a jacket and scarf. He’ll probably get hot soon with all his jumping around. Wei Ying bounces his leg and fiddles with his phone and considers that he must be insane.

“Wei Ying,” comes a soft voice to his side, and Wei Ying startles so hard that he has to catch his phone before it clatters to the pavement.

He almost doesn’t want to look up.

But Wei Ying has never fancied himself a coward, so he does.

Lan Zhan is standing several respectable feet away, watching Wei Ying intently, like he’s looking his fill the same way that Wei Ying is doing to him. His hair is pulled back today in a loose braid that lays over his shoulder and he’s wearing a light grey peacoat left open over his chest. He looks so beautiful and Wei Ying almost wants to cry.

Instead, he clears his throat, and still his voice croaks when he says, “Lan Zhan.”

He doesn’t know how he feels about it, the way Lan Zhan is suddenly there.

It’s awkward at first, meeting up at the same park bench and trying to talk around each other. Lan Zhan brings him coffee each time, and the first time Wei Yuan runs up to him, several weeks into these dates, and asks if he gets anything too, Lan Zhan says, “As long as it’s okay with your father. Do you have any allergies?”

Lan Zhan is Wei Yuan’s new favorite person after that, excited each weekend to go meet him.

“Are you trying to bribe my kid with donuts?” Wei Ying asks, chucking over Wei Yuan’s powder sugar grin.

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

After that, it’s easier. Lan Zhan fits into their house like he belongs there, sitting on that same couch that Wei Ying slept on for years with Wei Yuan beside him, demanding he read him books or play games. Lan Zhan is terrible at board games and takes it in stride when both Wei Ying and Wei Yuan bully him for it. Sometimes he stays late enough to see Wei Yuan to bed and then will thoroughly thrash Wei Ying at poker.

He’s there more, and more, to the point that it scares Wei Ying, worry pooling in his belly after every movie night and phone call. Wei Ying has a picture of all of them — Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap, Wei Ying pressed against his side, and Wen Ning leaning across Wei Ying’s legs — crowded on a couch for a movie night. The last time he video called Wen Qing, Lan Zhan had been forced to speak to her over Wei Ying’s shoulder, pleasantly answering all of her questions and asking after her in turn.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning had been worried at first.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wen Ning would ask him. “I’m right here if you need me.”

“Take care of yourself,” Wen Qing would say, vaguely threatening. “Or I’ll take care of him for you.”

But the more Lan Zhan hangs around, the more they ease up to him, forced pleasantries turning into something warmer, until Wen Qing and Wen Ning stop looking at him with so much concern, and more with hope.

“Just take it slow,” Wen Qing says on a night he calls her halfway panicked over everything stewing heavily in his chest. “Take your time, and you know Wen Ning and I are here.”

Lan Zhan is constantly buying them things, new toys, groceries, dinners. Wei Ying doesn’t think he’s eaten so well in a decade, even if it fills him with guilt.

“You have got to stop buying us things,” Wei Ying sighs one day. “A-Yuan’s room is too full.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says in response.

The day Wei Yuan gets so sick that Wei Ying bustles him to the emergency room, urgently talking to Wen Qing on the phone the entire time, Lan Zhan shows up almost the same time they get there, concern etching deep lines on his face. He takes Wei Yuan from Wei Ying, rocking him back and forth as he cries, while Wei Ying talks with the nurse and Wen Qing.

Later, he’ll tell Wei Ying that Wen Qing had texted him since Wen Ning had been in a final exam at the time. “You didn’t have to do that,” Wei Ying sighs.

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying stares at him, watching as Lan Zhan makes chicken noodle soup on his stove, and thinks that he wants to kiss him.

Then there’s the week that Wei Ying comes down with the flu so bad that he barely knows which way is up and if he still has feet. Wen Ning takes Wei Yuan for the week so he doesn’t catch it, and Lan Zhan sleeps on his couch.

“You don’t have to,” Wei Ying says, nasally and gross and hiding under the covers. It’s so hot and so cold all at once, and Wei Ying hates being sick. “I’ll be fine.”

“I want to,” is all Lan Zhan says, wiping away the sweat on Wei Ying’s forehead, his fingers gentle and cool against Wei Ying’s skin, brushing the damp hair from his face.

“You always say that.” And Lan Zhan smiles, the way that makes Wei Ying’s heart start to beat out of his chest. He’ll pretend later that it’s the fever that makes him say, “Stop making me fall back in love with you.”

Lan Zhan pauses, and his touch is hesitant after that. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Wei Ying says, turning over so he doesn’t have to see the gentleness in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “But you should take me on a date if you keep doing it.”

The date Lan Zhan takes him on is the kind of evening Wei Ying could have had without him, and Wei Ying loves every second of it. He takes Wei Ying for hotpot and orders the spiciest dishes, sweating through the entire meal despite Wei Ying trying to hide his laughter. They walk through the streets after, picking up street foods as they go, and stopping briefly for a glass of wine.

Later, when Wei Ying is pressed up against an alley wall with Lan Zhan’s mouth at his throat, he’s suddenly very glad Lan Zhan never drank with him while they were in college.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines, gasping when Lan Zhan bites at his neck, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s pulse. “Lan Zhan, if you do that, I’ll—"

Lan Zhan hums, pressing wet kisses against his skin, his hands sliding down to cup Wei Ying’s ass to pull him tight to his front. There’s a clear bulge pressing into Wei Ying’s hip and he groans, all the blood in his head rushing south as Lan Zhan drags him into a kiss. It’s heated and wet, Lan Zhan licking impatiently into his mouth, and Wei Ying’s fingers automatically find their way into Lan Zhan’s hair.

They kiss there for what feels like hours, Wei Ying’s head swimming with the feel of Lan Zhan against him, his hands roaming him, his knees going weak with how much he missed Lan Zhan.

“Er-gege,” he breathes, panting when they pause, foreheads resting against each other. “Take me home, okay? Take me home, I want to—"

Taking Wei Ying’s hand, Lan Zhan drags him home, where they fall into bed immediately, hands and mouths and teeth. Wei Ying doesn’t hesitate, even though he’s nervous, hands trembling as he unbuttons Lan Zhan’s shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. They struggle, kicking off their pants and sliding out underwear, until they’re both bare on top of the covers.

Sitting back on his knees, Wei Ying’s legs on either side of him, Lan Zhan stares, looking over every inch of Wei Ying, setting Wei Ying on fire with his eyes.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, pleading. “Touch me.”

And Lan Zhan does, crawling over Wei Ying to kiss him, his lips, his cheeks, his nose. He trails kisses and touches down Wei Ying’s chest, and across his ribs, biting at his hips, mouthing at the base of his cock. Wei Ying moans, bucking up into it before Lan Zhan moves down, kissing at the insides of his thighs, his knees.

“Wei Ying,” he says against Wei Ying’s skin, his breath hot and his touch cool. “Wei Ying, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying feels like he could cry hearing the reverence in Lan Zhan’s voice, shaking with each touch, with each kiss. “Lan Zhan,” he says, gasping. “Please, please fuck me.”

There’s the click of the lube bottle, Lan Zhan clumsily spreading it across his fingers, and the moment he slides the first into Wei Ying, he swallows his cock at the same time. Wei Ying tugs at his hair hard in reaction, hips thrusting into Lan Zhan’s mouth, but Lan Zhan just moans around him, sucking him harder.

“Hurry, hurry,” Wei Ying says, lost in the heat of Lan Zhan’s mouth and the feeling of Lan Zhan stretching him open ruthlessly. “Please, I want you fuck me, please, Er-gege.”

Lan Zhan moans again, and it vibrates all the way up Wei Ying’s spine. Wei Ying tugs at his hair, hard, and Lan Zhan pulls off, grabbing Wei Ying at his thighs and pulling him right onto his cock.

Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, gasping. “So good, give me more,” he pants, fingers twisting in the sheets as Lan Zhan lifts him further into his lap and fucks him. “Just like that, fuck, harder, harder.” Lan Zhan does as he says, until the room turns humid, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air.

Reaching down, Wei Ying takes himself in hand, jerking himself as Lan Zhan pounds into him, until he’s coming across his fingers. Lan Zhan groans, low and loud as Wei Ying tightens around him.

“Can I — ?”

“Yeah, baby,” Wei Ying says, eyes unfocused as he watches Lan Zhan still fucking him. “Come in me.”

When Lan Zhan comes, it punches another moan out of Wei Ying, Lan Zhan’s hips stuttering against him. They collapse into each other, gasping for breath, and lay there for a long moment. Wei Ying presses his face into the side of Lan Zhan’s neck, his heart bursting in his chest.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Lan Zhan hums, arms tightening around Wei Ying, and snores. Shaking with laughter, Wei Ying wiggles out from underneath Lan Zhan’s sleeping form, leaning down to kiss the furrow in his brow when Lan Zhan frowns at his absence. He cleans himself quickly, and pokes Lan Zhan until he moves off the ruined covers, grumbling until Wei Ying throws a clean blanket over him and slides into the bed at his side.

“Good night, my Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, curling close underneath Lan Zhan’s arm and throwing a leg over Lan Zhan’s waist. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Being with Lan Zhan is as easy as it had been before, Lan Zhan’s hand fitting perfectly in his, Lan Zhan’s arm around his shoulders. Lan Zhan falling asleep with his head hanging off the back of the couch during movie night. Lan Zhan’s quiet laughter when Wei Ying squishes Wei Yuan between them in a hug. Lan Zhan letting Wei Yuan tug on his hair as he rides on his shoulders through the park.

Lan Zhan staying at their house more nights than not, the two of them curled around each other and talking through the night.

Lan Zhan tells him about the years after his father’s death, the way he had blamed himself, the way his uncle blamed him as well. The guilt he felt when he realized that he’d never replied to Wei Ying’s messages for weeks. The hurt he felt when he’d found Wei Ying’s number had been cut off. The anger he’d felt when he’d reached out to Jiang Cheng to ask about him. The way his uncle made them all move overseas, and Lan Zhan had given up on ever seeing Wei Ying again.

Wei Ying tells him about the drugs and the night on that park bench, about Wen Qing driving all day to get him and all night to take him home. About the years he slept on the couch because he didn’t want anything else. He tells him about Wei Yuan, how perfect and wonderful he is, how Wei Ying needs Wei Yuan as much as Wei Yuan needs Wei Ying. About how proud Wei Ying is to be a father.

“I’m a little terrible at it,” Wei Ying says, laughing wetly in Lan Zhan’s arm. “But he’s so happy, so I have to be doing something right. Right?”

“You’re a wonderful father,” Lan Zhan says. He kisses the top of his head, and Wei Ying can almost believe it.

Sometimes, Lan Zhan is still too much for Wei Ying though.

“If you want to finish your degree, I’ll pay for it.”

Wei Ying nearly drops all the plates in his hands, fumbling with them until Lan Zhan steadies him. He glares at him, shocked.

“Do what?”

“Your degree,” Lan Zhan says, taking the dishes from Wei Ying to put away. “If you want to go back to school, I’ll pay for it. There’s also a forensic science track as well, if you’d prefer that.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs, trying to calm his beating heart. “You can’t do that.”

“I want to.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Wei Ying laughs, poking at the furrow that appears between Lan Zhan’s brows. “You absolutely cannot pay for my tuition. Boyfriend rules.”

“I don’t like that rule.”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “We don’t even live together and you want to act like we’re married! Er-gege, you’ll be the death of me, please have mercy.”

Lan Zhan smiles and wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist to pull him close, kissing him soundly. “No.”

Wei Ying catches him that night on his laptop with a real estate agency on the screen, scrolling through available homes, and screams, “Are you buying a house?!”

Lan Zhan somehow fits half of their things in his tiny little electric car through some kind of tetris magic. Wei Ying had tried to help once and only once with packing, and Lan Zhan had given him such a scathing look that Wei Ying had resigned himself to being the muscle for the move. Still, somehow Lan Zhan trusted him to drive their rented moving truck, so Wei Ying won’t complain.

The house — and it’s a HOUSE — is two stories with a garage and an enormous backyard, and it feels almost too much for living together.

It still makes Wei Ying squirm. They’ve only reconnected last year, and they’ve only been dating for five months. Isn’t this too fast? Isn’t this too much?

What will he do if Lan Zhan leaves again?

He’s thinking about it again as he’s setting another box down in the kitchen — a GIANT kitchen — and Lan Zhan looks at him.

“Nothing,” Wei Ying says, automatically, because that’s all Lan Zhan has to do anymore. He just looks at Wei Ying and sees right through him. Or maybe into him, because Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything. He sets his own box down and then wraps his arms around Wei Ying’s waist and kisses him.

“Ah,” Wei Ying sighs, even as he’s kissing Lan Zhan back. “You can’t just do that every time.”

Lan Zhan hums and just holds Wei Ying, waiting, until Wei Ying finally relaxes into his arms and presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

His words are muffled into Lan Zhan’s chest and he can feel it when Lan Zhan laughs.

“Wei Ying,” he abominishes, chuckling. “I can’t understand you.”

Wei Ying lifts his head and jams his chin into Lan Zhan’s chest. “I said I love you.”

Lan Zhan, when he smiles, always manages to dazzle Wei Ying. “I love you.” He kisses Wei Ying’s nose.

“Do you?” Wei Ying asks, wrinkling his nose and distracted. When he realizes what he said, he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

It makes Lan Zhan pause. Wei Ying never verbally questions Lan Zhan on his feelings, even though he must know Wei Ying is… insecure. Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan knows. Lan Zhan is the only person in this world who has paid so much attention to Wei Ying’s moods and thoughts and feelings. But at the same time, Wei Ying wishes he wouldn’t.

Lan Zhan tightens his hold on Wei Ying, pressing him close and ducking his face down into Wei Ying’s hair to press a kiss against his ear. “I do,” he says gently, and Wei Ying both doesn’t want to hear the way Lan Zhan’s voice is gentle and loving, and at the same time desperate for it. “I love you Wei Ying. I always have.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “I—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts, kissing Wei Ying’s ear again, and a fire ignites at the base of Wei Ying’s spine. His breath hitches, shuddering when Lan Zhan’s teeth drag along the ridge. “I love you.”

Whining, Wei Ying obligingly tilts his head to the side as Lan Zhan’s mouth meets his neck. “N-No fair.”

Lan Zhan hums and then bites him right at the juncture of Wei Ying’s throat and shoulder, and Wei Ying’s gasp echoes in the empty house, still bare of any of their belongings. Lan Zhan’s hands have travelled down from Wei Ying’s waist, over his ass, and to the back of his thighs until he lifts Wei Ying and places him on the counter.

Instantly, Wei Ying’s legs go around Lan Zhan, dragging him close, kissing him heatedly, moaning into Lan Zhan’s mouth. “Ah, ah, Lan Zhan,” he breathes, arching into his boyfriend when he starts unbuttoning his shirt, cold hands trailing along Wei Ying’s heated skin.

“I love you. I love everything about you,” Lan Zhan says lowly, against Wei Ying’s lips, against his neck, his chest, his ribs, kissing his way down until he’s reached the bulge in Wei Ying’s jeans.

He unbuttons Wei Ying’s pants as he says, “I love your laughter.”

He pulls down his underwear as he says, “I love your intelligence.”

He kisses the tip of Wei Ying weeping cock as he says, “I love your resilience.”

Wei Ying, red all the way down to his chest, bangs his head back onto the cabinet, hands clutching at Lan Zhan’s shoulders until Lan Zhan ducks even further down. He looks, the red of his cock against Lan Zhan’s pink lips, and nearly comes right there.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says when Wei Ying tries to look away. “Watch.”

So Wei Ying does, hands trembling on his thighs, as Lan Zhan takes him into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s as he sucks him down all the way to the root. Lan Zhan’s cheeks hollow out and Wei Ying can feel his tongue moving against the underside of Wei Ying’s dick.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying chokes, and his fingers go to Lan Zhan’s hair. Lan Zhan moans, tilting his head back a little more, and Wei Ying’s cock slips further into his throat. “Fuck,” Wei Ying says again, his voice cracking, his fingers tugging at the long, silky strands of that gorgeous hair. He knows there’s no way he’s going to last, still caught in Lan Zhan’s gaze, sharp and heated, like he’s committing Wei Ying to memory, every moan and gasp, the red flush of his skin.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan,” he cries as Lan Zhan bobs his head. “I’m not going to—"

And he does then, almost immediately, and Lan Zhan doesn’t even flinch, even as Wei Ying shudders, fucking into his throat and curling over him, babbling, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, so good.”

Wei Ying is nearly soft when Lan Zhan finally pulls off, his lips fucked red and glistening. He kisses Wei Ying, and when Wei Ying says, “I want you to fuck me,” he pulls Wei Ying to the edge of the counter and slides his pants all the way off.

“Is this,” Wei Ying starts, breathless, because Lan Zhan already has a spit-slick finger sinking into him. “Is this going to be a regular thing now?”

“What?” Lan Zhan rasps as he pulls a bottle of olive oil — OLIVE OIL — out of a nearby box.

“Fucking in the kitchen,” Wei Ying says, distracted by the way Lan Zhan is coating his dick with olive oil. “How is that so fucking hot?”

Lan Zhan snorts, and presses the head of his cock against Wei Ying hole and thrusts in, smooth and clean. “Unsanitary,” he says, voice tight, and his teeth sinking into Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“You’re the one with your dick in there,” Wei Ying whines, head rocking into the cabinet as Lan Zhan fucks him until Lan Zhan’s hand sneaks into his hair so it doesn’t bang against the wood.

“I mean the kitchen.” Lan Zhan is panting, hips rolling powerfully with each thrust, Wei Ying legs around his ears. He leans in further, his other hand pressing into Wei Ying’s back, until Wei Ying is folded in half as Lan Zhan pounds into him.

Wei Ying isn’t paying attention anymore, moaning into each biting kiss Lan Zhan presses against his mouth, his hands in Lan Zhan’s hair and pulling until he’s coming between them again, hot against Lan Zhan’s belly. Lan Zhan groans and practically picks Wei Ying up, fucking into him a moment more before he comes as well, gasping against Wei Ying’s ear.

“What was that about the kitchen?” Wei Ying asks, dazed, as Lan Zhan sets him back down.

“No more fucking in the kitchen,” Lan Zhan says, winded. He hides his face into Wei Ying’s sweaty neck, and Wei Ying presses a loud smooch to the side of his face.

“You started it.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply to that as they stay there, Wei Ying wrapped around him, and Lan Zhan holding him up against the counter until Wei Ying’s back begins to ache and his ass goes numb. He digs his heel into Lan Zhan’s back.

Lan Zhan grunts, pulling back enough to give Wei Ying his favorite bitchy face.

Wei Ying laughs. “If you wanted to cuddle, you should have brought the mattress in first.” He shrieks when Lan Zhan pinches his ass. “Excuse me, sir! I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I am,” Lan Zhan says, and pinches Wei Ying again, smirking when he squirms.

“Lies! The highest of insults! Release me fiend,” Wei Ying hisses.

“No.”

“Trapped! Trapped like a rat!” Dramatically, Wei Ying goes limp, nearly sliding off the counter until Lan Zhan bends down and throws him over his shoulder, Wei Ying’s underwear still hanging off his ankle. Wei Ying heaves with laughter as Lan Zhan tosses him down onto the couch and crawls over him.

They don’t get back to unpacking the moving truck until Wen Ning calls them hours later that he’s on his way with Wei Yuan.

Wei Yuan loves his new school with the immediacy only a five year old could manage. It’s close enough that the two of them can walk, hand in hand, and sometimes Lan Zhan will join them if he feels like it. It’s so perfect, and the dread in his stomach is like acid, bubbling and painful.

He doesn’t think about grad school and Lan Zhan doesn’t bring it up again. He’s happier at the cafe, managing the morning bustle.

And everyday, he gets to come home to Lan Zhan and Wei Yuan, cooking dinner or playing games, Lan Zhan stretched out on his front on the floor, his long legs crossed on the carpet as he listens with a very serious face to all of Wei Yuan’s ridiculous rules.

Wei Ying loves it so much, and he’s terrified that it’ll one day go away.

Wen Qing visits as often as she can, which is maybe once a month. They make Wen Ning stay as well, even though his apartment is only twenty minutes away. Which means that they get to host both of the Wens often, and they never feel like guests. Even if Lan Zhan tries to treat them as such.

“I know where the towels are, Lan Zhan, really!” Wen Qing huffs at him, flapping her hand at him.

Lan Zhan, used to this by now, just nods his head and leaves her to it. Wei Ying would laugh at them both, but they’re scary when they team up on him, so he keeps his teasing for when he can get either of them alone.

But Wen Qing always gives Wei Ying this pointed smile when Lan Zhan’s back is turned, and if Wei Ying didn’t know any better, she’d say she’s happy for him.

“Are you nervous?” Lan Zhan asks, wrapping his arm around Wei Ying’s waist.

Shrugging, Wei Ying continues to fiddle with his tie, doing his best not to be distracted by Lan Zhan. He’s dazzling in his suit, black with a white-gold embroidered filigree that must have cost a fortune. But, it’s not every day that Lan Zhan’s brother gets married.

“Not at all,” he says airily, straightening and re-straightening his tie. “Just another night, right?”

Lan Zhan hums, the corner of his lip quirking up ever so slightly, and he takes Wei Ying’s hands in his, squeezing them gently and then smoothes the wrinkled tie for him. “It is,” he agrees, and kisses Wei Ying’s forehead. “But if you need anything, you can ask Meng Yao. He said he would keep an eye out for you.”

“The wedding planner? Won’t he be too busy to bother with me?”

“He’s a close... friend of my brother.”

“Friend?”

Shiftily, Lan Zhan glances away.

“Nooo, no, you must tell me the drama, Lan Zhan, I demand it!”

“It would be inappropriate.”

“Lan Zhan!! I am your boyfriend!” Lan Zhan’s ears pinken, and his lips quirk up again, pleased. Wei Ying grins triumphantly. “You must tell me these things, it’s a boyfriend rule!”

“Boyfriend rule?” Lan Zhan arches a brow at him. “Ridiculous.”

“It is, er-gege,” Wei Ying whines, wrapping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck. He’ll wrinkle his suit if he’s not careful, but Lan Zhan doesn’t push him away, just rests his hands on Wei Ying’s hips in turn. “Please, baby?”

When Lan Zhan’s ears redden, Wei Ying knows he’s won.

“Meng Yao is… Brother’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

“And Nie Mingjue’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh?!”

“The three of them are still… very close.”

“Oh my god, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathes. “Your brother has two lovers.”

“I don’t know. I’d honestly prefer not to know,” Lan Zhan admits, but he smiles. “Uncle knows nothing of it though. You can imagine.”

Wei Ying has only met Lan Qiren twice since their flight and with Lan Huan always there as a buffer, but, yes, he can imagine it in detail. He mimes zipping his lips, locking it and throwing away the key, and Lan Zhan chuckles, dropping a kiss onto Wei Ying’s pursed mouth.

“Ridiculous.”

Grinning, Wei Ying steals another before Lan Zhan has to take his place near the front as his brother’s best man.

The ceremony is grand and large, the ballroom filled to the brim as Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue say their vows. Wei Ying should probably pay more attention, but he knows literally no one else in the room, and he’s sat, somehow, right behind Lan Qiren. So he watches Lan Zhan watching his brother get married, his eyes a little misty, and his stoic face gone soft and happy. He’s stunning, and honestly Wei Ying can’t look anywhere else.

Their eyes meet during the service, and Wei Ying can’t help but grin at him. Lan Zhan’s head tilts, softening his expression even more.

The reception is even bigger, hundreds of people milling around, some dancing but most chatting. Wei Ying is lost amongst them, sipping on the most expensive champagne he’s ever tasted when Lan Zhan finally finds him.

“There you are,” Wei Ying says, breathing a sigh of relief, laughing when Lan Zhan presses a kiss to the side of his head. He straightens when he catches sight of the happy couple.

Wei Ying has talked several times with Lan Huan over the past year, more so since he and Lan Zhan had moved in together. Lan Huan is nearly as stunning as his brother, and Lan Huan’s husband… Well, Wei Ying isn’t sure how he’s managed to become on speaking terms with the hottest group of people he’s ever seen, but he won’t complain about it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Huan greets, smiling widely. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

“Of course! The wedding was beautiful. Congratulations to you both!”

Lan Huan’s smile grows somehow, and it only makes him handomer. Beside him, Nie Mingjue is beaming, his hand on the small Lan Huan’s back. “Thank you,” he says. “We’re glad you could be here.”

Considering that Lan Zhan had paid for his flight and his suit, Wei Ying really can’t take any credit. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ah, excuse me,” a soft voice interrupts them. A short man with a waterfall of long, dark hair down his back and dressed in fine gold, a perfect match to the wedding colors, smiles brightly at the four of them. “Da-ge, it’s almost time.”

“Right,” Nie Mingjue says, flushing. He turns to his new husband, flustered. “I’ll be—"

“I’ll meet you there,” Lan Huan says, leaning up to kiss Nie Mingjue on the cheek. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Who’s nervous?” Nie Mingjues grumbles, and Lan Huan laughs as Meng Yao leads his husband away towards the dance floor.

“Sooo,” Wei Ying starts slyly before Lan Huan can follow. Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s side, but he ignores it. Wei Yuan’s pinches are harder after all. “What’s going on there?” he asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

Lan Huan’s smile doesn’t falter a bit, and he turns to give Wei Ying a wink that is saucier than it has any right to be, leaving Wei Ying spluttering.

The reception is as lovely as the wedding. Wei Ying meets Nie Mingjue’s little brother, Nie Huaisang, as he flits about the reception like a bird, always with a glass of champagne and often with Meng Yao at his side, keeping him out of trouble. But Wei Ying has seen Meng Yao dance with both of the grooms several times over, that he doesn’t feel awkward about Meng Yao being on babysitting duty.

Plus Nie Huaisang is hilarious when he stops by to chat briefly, hanging heavily on Lan Zhan’s arm. “You must be Wei Ying,” he says, his voice almost a slur, but still managing to sound sly. “Did you know that Lan Zhan pestered me for years trying to find you?”

“Oh?” Wei Ying says, trying to hide his laughter, because Lan Zhan’s face has stiffened.

“Ugh, yeah, it was a pain, because he nagged me constantly. And you!” He points at Wei Ying, somehow managing not to spill a drop from his glass. “Who doesn’t have ANY social media! You weren’t even listed on the site of that cafe you worked at. So frustrating, I finally found you when that paper did a review.”

“Oh yeah,” Wei Ying says. “I actually poured coffee all over that reporter, and she still gave us top marks.”

Behind them, someone scoffs loudly, and Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s face pales.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan says warily, and Wei Ying turns to meet Lan Qiren’s icy glare.

Wei Ying doesn’t talk about it on the flight home and the weeks that pass after, even though Lan Zhan and Lan Huan had both apologized profusely. He feels terrible about it, the whole scene at Lan Huan’s wedding and making Lan Zhan come between him and his uncle. He does his best not to think about all the terrible things Lan Qiren said to him. But it festers, a new wound on top of an old one.

You’ve ruined him, dragged him down, and now you dare think you can show up here.

“Maybe you should go.”

Lan Zhan pauses where he’s putting groceries away in the cabinet, his back stiffening. Wei Ying watches as he clenches his jaw, and his face goes icy, blank. And still his voice is gentle.

“I have nowhere I’d rather be.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying sighs. He swallows around the lump in his throat. People leave Wei Ying, it’s a given, but this is the first time he’s told someone to go. If he’s honest, he doesn’t want to. “You should go back to your uncle and your brother, it would be—"

“I don’t want to,” Lan Zhan says, voice soft and quiet, but when he turns to meet Wei Ying’s eyes, all he can see is the pain shining in them. “Wei Ying, I don’t want to be anywhere where you aren’t.”

His fingernails bite into the palm of his hand as Wei Ying clenches his fist. “You won’t be happy here.”

“I am happy here.”

“But your career…”

“I can write music anywhere. I’d rather write it here, with you.”

“Your family—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, crowding into him suddenly, a hand on Wei Ying’s cheek. “Wei Ying, you are my family. You and Wei Yuan, you’re the most important to me. I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying mumbles, and then presses his face into Lan Zhan’s shoulder to cry.

There’s the sound of guitar music floating through the house when Wei Ying wakes that next morning. Burrowed still in all the blankets in their house, his eyes still aching, Wei Ying sits up just enough to see that it’s light outside, the autumn sun shining bright through the window. He can hear the sound of Wei Yuan giggling underneath the music.

He rolls out of bed, carpet soft on his bare feet as he sneaks into the living room.

Lan Zhan sits with that same old guitar, still covered in stickers and sharpie doodles, and Wei Yuan on his lap with his hands on top of Lan Zhan’s. Slowly, he strums and Wei Yuan’s hands follow his as he walks his fingers down the guitar neck, playing a song Wei Ying recognizes from Wei Yuan’s favorite movie.

Wei Yuan grins. “I’m playing it!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, smiling. “You’re very good.”

“I’m not actually playing it,” Wei Yuan says, giggling. “Don’t be silly, Daddy.”

Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan’s smile grows, his ears turning pink and he drops his face into Wei Yuan’s hair. He must make a sound because Lan Zhan tilts his head, catching Wei Ying leaning on the doorframe, eyes shining.

“Baba!” Wei Yuan says, and wiggles out of Lan Zhan’s lap. “Okay, okay, you have to play.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, eyes never leaving Wei Ying.

And then he plays that familiar tune that Wei Ying still dreams about sometimes. He never asked Lan Zhan to play it again, even when they had started dating, even when they had moved in together. It catches in his chest, a hook in his heart that tugs him closer as Lan Zhan sings that same song.

It’s low and yearning, and it sounds sadder than Wei Ying remembers. Lan Zhan’s eyes never leave his as he plays, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. By the time it’s done, the last note trembling in the air, there are tears threatening to spill down Wei Ying’s face.

“Lan Zhan—"

“Baba!”

Wei Ying looks down automatically, and Wei Yuan holds up a small box to him, black velvet with a small red bow. Freezing, Wei Ying gapes.

And then Lan Zhan is there, kneeling down next to Wei Yuan and looking up at him. He’s smiling, that little curve of his mouth that’s so perfect and beautiful, and he takes Wei Ying’s hand in his and says:

“Marry me.”

there's no place I'd rather be

Wei Ying is getting married. He doesn’t know when or where, but he’s getting married. Dazed, he sits down on his couch that evening, Wei Yuan curled in his lap and dozing while Lan Zhan is making hot chocolate in the kitchen.

Married. Wei Ying is going to get married. To Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan wants to marry him.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says, his voice low. Wei Ying looks up. Lan Zhan is staring at him, a little concerned.

“You asked me to marry you.”

Lan Zhan snorts, setting down the three mugs before he sits close, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s cheek. “I did,” he says, running a hand along Wei Yuan’s back until he stirs and sits up. “Do you want your cocoa?”

“Yes, please,” Wei Yuan says sleepily, his eyes drooping. Lan Zhan hands him his mug, half full and warm, and watches him as he carefully takes a sip. Wei Yuan hums happily, laying back against Wei Ying’s chest as he drinks.

“We’re getting married,” Wei Ying says.

Glancing up at him, Lan Zhan’s lips twitch into a small smile. “If you haven’t changed your mind.”

“No,” Wei Ying says, still a little dazed. “I haven’t.”

Lan Zhan chuckles, his laughter warm and quiet, and he kisses Wei Ying’s cheek again. “Good.”

“Good,” Wei Ying echoes. He grins then, and leans against Lan Zhan’s side, Wei Yuan slurping down his hot chocolate. “We’re getting married.”

“We’re getting married,” Wei Yuan repeats sleeplily, giggling when Wei Ying bursts into laughter.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says one Tuesday a few weeks later. He’s looking at his phone with his brows furrowed, still stirring a pot of soup. Wei Yuan is on the counter beside him, watching his progress, and Wei Ying had been gazing at them from his place of banishment on the other side of the kitchen island for attempting to add too much hot sauce.

“Yes?” he asks. His brows raise when Lan Zhan turns off the burner and picks Wei Yuan up to set him on the floor. Lan Zhan’s face is twisted into a complicated expression, hesitant and concerned. “Did something happen?”

“My brother just messaged me,” Lan Zhan says, looking up. “Someone reached out to ask about you.”

“Oh?” Wei Ying asks, surprised. Lan Huan and he text regularly, so he’s not sure why he didn’t message Wei Ying directly. “Who?”

“Your sister.”

“Wen Qing?” Wei Ying asks, even more confused, before it clicks. “Oh.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, and they watch each other for a long, long moment. Wei Yuan, glancing back and forth between, tugs on Lan Zhan’s pants until he’s picked up again, Lan Zhan settling him on his hip.

“I don’t—" Wei Ying starts, and stops. “How did she…?”

“She has a mutual friend of Brother’s,” Lan Zhan says gently. “She saw you in the wedding photos.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says again. His eyes drop down to the counter. He wonders idly what kind of photo Jiang Yanli might have seen, if Wei Ying had been smiling in it, if he and Lan Zhan had been dancing. “And she wants to…?”

“To get in contact with you. She stressed to Brother that she’d like to see you, but only if you were comfortable with it.”

Wei Ying swallows, swallows again. “I don’t know,” he says, running his thumbnail over the marble countertop. Lan Zhan had loved the marble when they’d first toured the house, a creamy white with a golden grain. “I don’t know,” he says again.

“That’s okay,” Lan Zhan says. He comes around the island and sits on the stool beside him, Wei Yuan in his lap. “You don’t have to know right now.”

“Baba,” Wei Yuan demands, arms outstretched, and Wei Ying automatically pulls him into a hug, pressing his face to the top of Wei Yuan’s head. Lan Zhan puts a hand on Wei Ying’s shoulder, and leans close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll tell Brother that you’re thinking about it,” he says, brushing Wei Ying’s hair back, tucking it behind his ear.

“I should just do it,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then you should wait,” Lan Zhan says. “Until you know for sure.”

Wei Ying feels his chest lighten a little, and he looks up, managing to smile. “Okay. Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

“No need for thanks,” Lan Zhan says, pressing another kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead before going back to cooking their dinner.

Wei Ying’s leg bounces against the leg of the table, his phone set in front of him. Behind him, there’s cartoons on the television, and Wei Yuan is munching on a bowl of dry cereal as he watches. It’s so much like the last time Wei Ying was given a number of someone who used to be a big part of his life, to reconnect with them. Except this time, Lan Zhan is on his other side, cutting up an egg before setting it in front of Wei Yuan.

Lan Zhan blessedly doesn’t say anything, silently buttering and spreading jam over a piece of toast before he sets it in front of Wei Ying. His hand comes down once he’s done, resting against Wei Ying’s bouncing knee with a gentle squeeze.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying says automatically.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Lan Zhan says. “Take your time. Eat.”

Shaking his head, Wei Ying bites his lip. His stomach is flipping in his gut, twisting itself into some complicated knots. “Can’t.”

“Okay.” Lan Zhan stares at him for a moment, his hand a gentle, grounding weight against his leg. “It’s okay,” he says eventually. “I… can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

“Not as hard as texting you was,” Wei Ying admits. He gives Lan Zhan a forlorn smile when he bows his head, as if shamed. He knocks their shoulders together. “Then again, that didn’t turn out so bad, did it?”

Lan Zhan hums, reaching over to take Wei Ying’s hand in his, kissing his knuckles. “Not bad at all.”

“Can I get down?” Wei Yuan pipes up, having successfully eaten his eggs and cereal. Lan Zhan stands before Wei Ying, patting his shoulder before helping Wei Yuan out of his booster seat.

Watching them for a moment, Lan Zhan with gentle hands and Wei Yuan with a sugary grin, some of the dread loosens in his chest. Wei Ying stands and Lan Zhan’s eyes immediately turn, taking in Wei Ying’s wobbly smile and wide eyes.

Straightening, Lan Zhan leans over and presses a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s mouth. “It’ll be okay.”

Nodding silently, Wei Ying retreats to their bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, and fiddling with his phone, typing and retyping the number Lan Huan had sent him.

Wei Ying hits the call button before he can talk himself back out of it. It rings just once, before there’s a click, silence, and then…

“A-Ying?”

Swallowing hard, Wei Ying lets out a shaky breath, his voice wobbling. “Shi… Shijie,” he murmurs.

“Oh, A-Ying,” Jiang Yanli says, and then she’s crying. The both of them are, stuttering out a myriad of apologies and platitudes, until their tears eventually turn to laughter, their voices still wet and choked. Jiang Yanli is a married woman now with a husband and a three year old.

“I bet you were a beautiful bride, Shijie.”

“I… I’ll show you pictures,” she tells him, and then adds quietly, “I wish you had been there.”

“Me, too,” Wei Ying says.

Jiang Cheng is a partner at a law firm with one of Jiang Fengmian’s old friends. He had worked quick and hard through law school like a man on fire, always busy and driven.

“But you should see him with A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli tells him, and he can hear her smile through the phone. “He adores him, he always fought Zixuan to hold him when he was a baby.”

Wei Ying laughs, because he can almost imagine his scowling brother with a baby in his arms. Except he hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in nearly ten years.

“Is he doing well?” he finds himself asking.

Jiang Yanli pauses. “He’s…” she starts, but never finishes her sentence.

“Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says, because there’s nothing else to say.

“A-Ying, listen,” Jiang Yanli says, her voice almost pleading. “Can we come out there and see you? I just… I want to be part of your life. You’re still my little brother.”

“And you’re my big sister,” Wei Ying says. He chews his lip. “Who’s we?”

“Just me, and Jiang Cheng,” she says. “I’d like to introduce you to Zixuan—"

Wei Ying scoffs, “I remember that jack—"

“And A-Ling,” Jiang Yanli says over him, giggling. “I’d like for you to meet more of your family.”

“Ugh, I’ll take the nephew, but you should leave the brother-in-law there.”

“A-Ying.”

Laughing, Wei Ying shakes his head. “Okay,” he says finally. “Yeah, I’d like for you to come out here. Maybe… we can meet somewhere. Unless you want to meet A-Yuan.”

“And Lan Zhan.”

“You’ve met Lan Zhan.”

“But I’d like to see him again. He’s your boyfriend isn’t he?”

“Uh, about that.”

“Oh,” her voice goes soft and gentle. “Did you…”

“No! Oh gosh no, he, uh, asked me to marry him.”

“Oh A-Ying! Congratulations!”

They talk like that for an hour more, and Wei Ying can almost pretend that there isn’t ten years and hundreds of miles between them, that the hurts don’t hurt anymore. And when he hangs up with Jiang Yanli already promising to see him within the week, Wei Ying lays down on the bed, buries his face in Lan Zhan’s pillow, and tries to breathe.

Jiang Yanli is in his doorway by that Saturday, tears in her eyes and hugging him so tightly like Wei Ying might disappear at any moment. She had told him over the week, haltingly, how she had no idea until a week later when Wei Ying had been long gone. That Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t change her mind, that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak to her for months.

“He was hurt,” she had told Wei Ying. “By everything, you know? First dad, and then everything else…”

“I understand,” Wei Ying had said, but Jiang Yanli had made a desperate sound.

“He shouldn’t have blamed you. It wasn’t any of your fault. But I think it was just easier for him, to think you didn’t want to be there.”

And now, Jiang Cheng is here, hovering awkwardly on Wei Ying’s front step, a scowl on his face and looking around with a sneer in his eyes. He doesn’t thaw for the rest of the visit, sitting on Wei Ying’s couch silently while Jiang Yanli grills him about the wedding that Wei Ying hasn’t had a spare braincell to think about.

“A-Ying,” she says, a little breathless, her eyes shining. “You might already have someone in mind, but can I please help you plan your wedding?”

“Uuuh,” Wei Ying says, because he can see that kind of obsessive enthusiasm in Jaing Jiang Yanli’s eyes that she used to get when she was excited about a new interest or challenge. It used to be kind of scary, but now it fills Wei Ying with warmth to see something so familiar about her. “I’d have to ask Lan Zhan, but I’d be happy if you want to,” he says, smiling.

Beside them, Jiang Cheng scoffs and the smile drops from Wei Ying’s face.

Jiang Yanli texts him every day after that, just like she used to when he was in college, and Wei Ying finds himself sliding back into that routine, the words between them becoming easier and easier with each passing day.

He gets a million pictures of Jin Ling and several selfies of Jiang Yanli, sometimes with her husband and rarely with Jiang Cheng. Each time, Wei Ying’s brother is scowling like he’s been forced into the picture. Wei Ying tries not to cringe each time.

He sends Jiang Yanli back a million and one pictures of Wei Yuan, and a few thousand of Lan Zhan just in case, only a handful of himself, usually making silly faces. He sends her latte art and candid shots of strange customers at the cafe. And the first time he sends her an image of a wedding cake, the floodgates open.

Their chats become about venues and food and guest lists, and Wei Ying is so overwhelmed that he pushes her off onto Lan Zhan, who takes it in stride. Thus Wei Ying begins to find his fiance several evenings a week in deep discussion with his sister about wedding planning, a whirlwind affair that Wei Ying really wants no part of.

He’s glad to let Jiang Yanli handle all of it. Just thinking about picking out invitations and napkins makes him want to break out in hives. Lan Zhan’s different though, and lets Wei Ying disappear into the backyard whenever his sister shows up on their doorstep with her — frankly terrifying — wedding binders.

Some things, though, he can’t get out of.

“Did you both want to have a wedding party?”

“Wedding party?” Wei Ying asks, where he’s intently trying to pry his fingers out of Lan Zhan’s hold. “Isn’t that the reception the part?”

Jiang Yanli reaches over and baps him on the head with her pen. “No, you goof. Do you want a best man and groomsmen?” she asks, her tone so chiding that Wei Ying settles back on the couch without a fuss.

“Uh,” Wei Ying says. He looks at Lan Zhan, just in time to catch him turning away to hide the face he’s making. Which means he wants Wei Ying to decide this one, despite what Lan Zhan wants.

He’s only done this twice: once for the date, and once for the guest list. Those were things Lan Zhan considered important that Wei Ying had to express his feelings about, no matter how much Wei Ying assured Lan Zhan that he was allergic to all emotions and would much prefer to just show up the day of. He hadn’t really cared about the date, except Wei Ying doesn’t really like holidays anymore and he’s only had one good birthday his entire life, and would prefer not to curse his wedding day with it. The guest list was harder, because it was Wei Ying who had to champion invitations to Yu Ziyuan and Lan Qiren. Both Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan had scowled at him, but invitations had gone out and now both of them were coming, and Wei Ying absolutely wasn’t regretting his choices.

So now: groomsmen. Or maybe grooms people. A best man. Once upon a time, it would have been no contest and Wei Ying would have bullied Jiang Cheng into it, but now…

Who would Wei Ying even ask? Wen Ning hates being in front of crowds, though he’d do it if Wei Ying asked. Wen Qing might do it, but she’d probably wear a suit and Wei Ying can’t have that kind of competition on his wedding day.

Just then, Wei Yuan comes barreling around the corner, Jin Ling shrieking in his arms, and bops Wei Ying with his toy light saber.

Immediately, the tense atmosphere — that Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed while he was thinking — disappears, and he bursts out laughing, dragging the two kids into his lap. Lan Zhan has to dodge the business end of the light saber as it swings wildly in Wei Yuan’s hand.

Across from them, Jiang Yanli is smiling brightly. “A-Ling, are you having fun?”

Jin Ling, his fingers already tangled in Wei Ying’s ponytail, shouts right into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Aiyah,” Wei Ying winces, working at untangling his hair from Jin Ling’s sticky fingers. Wei Yuan has already abandoned him, crawling peacefully into Lan Zhan’s lap and smacking his shoulder with his toy. Lan Zhan lets him with an indulgent smile. “A-Yuan was never this loud you know.”

“I know!” Jin Ling yells.

Wei Ying laughs, and tickles his nephew’s sides, grinning when he shrieks. Across the table, Jiang Yanli is smiling benevolently, her eyes sparkling. “A-Ling, you love your uncle Yingying, don’t you?” she coos.

“No!” Jin Ling shouts, wiggling immediately out of Wei Ying’s hold, and Wei Ying gasps dramatically.

“My own flesh and blood,” Wei Ying says, falling gently on top of Wei Yuan in Lan Zhan’s lap. “Betrayal! Hurt! Pain! Lan Zhan, my love, I perish.”

Lan Zhan pats his head. “There, there.”

Wei Yuan laughs and copies him, patting Wei Ying’s head just as softly. “There, there, baba!”

“Ah!” Wei Ying gasps, twisting around until he can blow a raspberry into Wei Yuan’s cheek. “I am loved again! All better!”

Grinning Wei Ying sits up. “Aren’t you both the best,” he says, and his eyes light up. “Hey, Wei Yuan, you’ll be my best man right at my wedding right?”

“We’re getting married!” Wei Yuan says, laughing.

“Yes, we are!” he looks up at Lan Zhan smug. “Ha, I get A-Yuan, so I guess you’re stuck with your brother.”

Lan Zhan’s smile is indulgent, his eyes glittering. “Naturally.”

The months before the wedding go by in a blur. Lan Qiren visits briefly with two months to go, to see the venue and, though he turns his nose up on their guest bedroom, his eyes light up when he sees Wei Yuan. Wei Ying watches as his son suddenly has the experience of having a grandfather. Lan Qiren sneers at him any time Wei Ying or Lan Zhan try to keep him from buying Wei Yuan new toys or sweets.

“Well, at least your uncle likes one of us,” Wei Ying says with a laugh, trying to close Wei Yuan’s now overstuffed toy box. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem too impressed with that joke.

Jiang Yanli is in and out of their house almost as much as they are, her notebooks bulging terrifyingly. She takes each of them separately to get fitted for suits, Wei Yuan included. Wei Ying spends a day cooing over the photos she sends him, showing off his dapper son to anyone that will look at the cafe.

They don’t have bachelor parties, instead inviting everyone involved to the house, packing nearly ten people all in while Jiang Yanli and Lan Zhan cook dinner.

Lan Huan and Nie Mingjue brought Nie Huaisang with them, and he and Wei Ying hit it off again, pointedly not speaking about the last they saw each other. Wen Ning has both Wei Yuan and Jin Ling in his arms as he talks to Jin Zixuan. Jiang Cheng has avoided Wei Ying completely since he arrived, sitting in a corner with his back straight and glaring at anyone who dares come near him.

Wei Ying tries not to care. He’s getting married in a week. His fiance and his sister are laughing quietly together as they cook. All the people he cares about in this world are here with him, even the ones that might not want to be.

He’s glad for it.

And still he finds himself outside, trying to breathe.

He almost doesn’t notice when Wen Qing sits down on the back step beside him, and when he turns to look at her, it feels like he’s trying to see her through a mirror, unreal, a face in a shadow. The night around them is dark and cool, and soon he’ll be getting married.

“I’m getting married,” he tells her, and Wen Qing snorts.

“You’re getting married,” she agrees, bumping their shoulders together. “How are you feeling?”

“Kind of like I’m floating,” Wei Ying says. He fingers the silver band, twisting it around his knuckle. “It doesn’t feel real,” he admits, voice quiet.

Wen Qing hums, leaning into him so they’re pressed together. There’s a silence between them that they’ve always shared, two people comfortable with their own thoughts, Wen Qing with her eyes on the cloudy skies above them and Wei Ying’s on the ring on his finger.

When she finally speaks, it’s in a quiet voice. “It is though, Wei Ying. This is real.” She takes his hand in her’s and squeezes. Her fingers are delicate compared to his, but her grip is strong, grounding. Wei Ying focuses on it, trying to ignore the sudden tears in his eyes. “This is real,” she says. “And you deserve it.”

Choking on a laugh, Wei Ying wipes his face quickly. “I don’t know about that,” he says, and his voice sounds raw, jagged in his own ears.

“You do,” Wen Qing says simply. She leans closer, resting her head on his shoulder. “You deserve every bit of it and more.”

Wei Ying is sweating. There’s snow on the ground outside and he’s sweating. Nie Huaisang, who Wei Ying has only met twice, is fanning him desperately with a fake smile plastered on his face.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, Da-ge said he wouldn’t let him.”

“Listen, your brother is a badass, but I really don’t think he’ll be able to stop Lan Qiren from stopping the wedding—"

“STOP THE WEDDING!”

The both of them jump, Nie Huaisang dropping the fan, when the door is slammed open. They gape openly at Jiang Cheng standing in the doorway.

“Don’t marry him!” he screeches, glaring at Wei Ying.

All at once Wei Ying straightens up, standing, livid. “Don’t marry him?! What the fuck, why not?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

“Yeah?” Wei Ying asks, crossing his arms. “I like that about him.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “That asshole will just drop off the face of the earth again, how can you trust him like that?”

Nie Huaisang inches for the door, his eyes bouncing between them as Wei Ying’s face goes from pale to red. “I’ll just… go get… someone?”

“How can I trust him?!” Wei Ying snaps, voice raising with each word, ignoring when Nie Huaisang runs off. “What do you even know about it?! He spent years looking for me because he loves me! He loves me, and you don’t want me to marry him?!”

“He made you cry!”

“So did you!” Wei Ying bellows.

“You left!” Jiang Cheng roars. “You left, even though I needed you. Dad left and Jiejie left and then you left, too.”

All the fight leaves Wei Ying all at once. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did even fight,” Jiang Cheng hisses, rubbing quickly at his eyes, but he’s still crying, cheeks wet. “It was so fucked up, everything was so fucked up, but you didn’t even argue with her. And then you invited her to your goddamn wedding. What the fuck, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying shifts, uncomfortable with the burning in his throat. “I thought that you—"

“Oh fuck, shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, laughing wetly. “You did not invite my mom because you thought it would make me happy.

“I did!”

“God, you’re so stupid.”

“So are you! ‘Stop the wedding,’ it hasn’t even started yet, you stupid.”

“A-CHENG!”

“Uh oh,” they both say at the same time and Jiang Yanli rounds the corner, eyes on fire.

“Jiejie, I—"

“Shijie, it’s fine—"

“I can’t believe that you would pick a fight on his wedding day, are you a child?!”

“Shijie, it’s fine, it’s fine, no more fighting!!” Wei Ying says, patting her shoulders to calm her down. “And please, please tell me you didn’t tell — Oh! Lan Zhan, love of my life, my stars and moon, oh gosh, you know you shouldn’t be here, bad luck to see the bride you know, why don’t you—"

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says from behind Jiang Yanli, intruptting Wei Ying’s panicked babbling, his eyes sliding slowly from Wei Ying to Jiang Cheng and back. Jiang Cheng visibly stiffens under his gaze “Are you okay?”

Breathing a quiet sigh, Wei Ying manages a smile. “As long as your uncle doesn’t stop the wedding, I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow. “He won’t,” he says, finally. He reaches out and straightens Wei Ying’s tie. “I’ll see you out there?”

“I’ll be there,” Wei Ying promises, pressing a quick kiss at Lan Zhan’s jaw, before pushing him out the door. “Okay, seriously, it’s bad luck right? Go go go!”

His eyes shining with amusement, Lan Zhan gives him one parting smile before he leaves.

Jiang Yanli glares at both of them, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. “So you’re not fighting?”

“Not any more,” Wei Ying says, and turns to Jiang Cheng. “Uh, right?”

Snorting, Jiang Cheng refuses to look at him. “It’s fine.”

“You owe me free babysitting for saving your life.”

“What? Babysitting?! Isn’t A-Ling enough?”

“Nope! Two nephews now! Oooh, can you help Wen Ning with him tonight?”

“Absolutely not—"

“Wen Qing will probably be too tired, but she’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Jiang Cheng folds his arms in front of his chest, pointedly ignoring Jaing Jiang Yanli’s sudden coughing fit. “Where would I even sleep? You’re going to make me sleep on the couch?”

“You can stay in our room.”

“Hard pass.”

“We change the sheets regularly!”

“You should burn them,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “But fine, I can do that.”

Laughing, Wei Ying drags the both of them into a hug. “I’m glad you’re scared of my husband, makes it easier to blackmail you into things.”

“Why is he so scary,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “And you’re not married yet, so shut up.”

The hall is filled, packed in with everyone Wei Ying has ever met, people he hasn’t seen since high school all staring at him as Lan Huan is saying something to them from his place beside Lan Zhan. They had rehearsed all of this last night, Lan Huan’s introduction, their vows, the wine and the rings. But Wei Ying can’t remember a word of it, eyes stuck on Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan in his deep blue suit, velvet and embroidered with silver clouds, a match and compliment to Wei Ying’s red. He’s smiling at Wei Ying, so openly and happy, and Wei Ying can feel the weight of it in his chest.

“Wei Ying,” he says, dragging Wei Ying back down to earth. “You know I’m not good with words,” he starts, eyes dropping down to their clasped hands. “And I’ve hurt you in the past. But believe me when I say, I will forever be at your side.

“I want to spend every moment with you, because no one has ever made me as happy as you do. I love you.”

Wei Ying can feel his tears slide down his face, over his cheeks stretched on a grin. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he says, all his vows completely forgotten as Lan Zhan looks at him. “You’re really great.”

There’s a snort from the audience.

Laughing, Wei Ying babbles on, “I like you, I like you so much. I want to sleep with you—"

“Hey!”

“ — I want to listen to everything you have to say forever. I like you, I love you, I fancy you, I want you, I can’t leave you. I whatever you. I everything you.” Lan Zhan huffs a laugh, raising their joined hands to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s knuckles. “In other words,” Wei Ying says, taking a deep breath. “I want to be with you forever.”

And then he surges forward, shaking his hands free to cup Lan Zhan’s face, and kisses him.

Wei Ying is married. He can barely believe it, his head floating in the clouds as Lan Zhan spins him around the dance floor, his suit soft under Wei Ying’s hands. Distantly, he’s aware of the eyes on him, the photographer circling them with her camera, but he feels like he's walking through someone else’s dream. If it weren’t for Lan Zhan hand in his, his fingers cool against his palm, Wei Ying might decide he’d stolen someone else’s life.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls him in a whisper, and Wei Ying looks up from where he had been staring at their feet.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers back. He smiles when Lan Zhan drags him closer, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

The corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth quirks, and he leans in just enough to press a small kiss to Wei Ying’s lips, soft and sweet. He looks at Wei Ying like he knows everything about him, inside and out, and it makes Wei Ying’s heart flutter in his chest.

They’re barely in the hotel suite when Lan Zhan is already backing Wei Ying against the nearest wall, hands cupping his face and kissing him deeply, hungrily. Wei Ying hums, pleased, into his mouth and drops his hands to Lan Zhan’s belt.

“Lan Zhaaan,” he sighs when Lan Zhan breaks away and begins mouthing down his neck. He’s already gotten his hand into Lan Zhan’s pants, palming his filling cock over his underwear. “So greedy, we only just got married!”

Lan Zhan bites him, hard enough to bruise, and Wei Ying moans, hips jerking off the wall. Hands falling to his waist, Lan Zhan pulls in close, pressing them tightly together and grinding himself against Wei Ying’s hips. They rock together for a long moment, Lan Zhan sucking bruises along Wei Ying’s neck and Wei Ying struggling to unbutton Lan Zhan’s shirt.

“Aaah,” Wei Ying moans as Lan Zhan grinds his length against his hip. “Aaah, Lan Zhan — Do you really want to — right here, when there, ah, a bed?” He nips at Lan Zhan’s ear, and Lan Zhan’s hips stutter. He groans low and hot against Wei Ying’s neck.

“Here,” Lan Zhan breathes, dragging his teeth along Wei Ying’s pulse. “And then again on the bed.”

Wei Ying gasps, and then grins. “Awe, but Lan Zhan, you’ll get my present for you dirty.”

Pausing, Lan Zhan leans back an inch, eyes dark and blown out. His gaze is so heated that Wei Ying can feel it stoke the fire in his belly. He rolls his hips against Lan Zhan’s again, rubbing his erection against Lan Zhan’s thigh.

“Don’t you want to unwrap me?” he says, coy and batting his lashes. Lan Zhan’s hand drops to the bulge in Wei Ying’s pants, rubbing him through the fabric. “I’ll give you a hint,” Wei Ying murmurs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “They’re white.”

Lan Zhan’s hands drop to the back of Wei Ying’s thighs and he lifts him easily, Wei Ying tumbling half over his shoulder with a squawk and a laugh. He’s still laughing when he’s dropped onto the bed, breathless as Lan Zhan looms over him, stripping Wei Ying quickly of his shirt before his hands fall back to his waist. Lan Zhan moans deep in his chest as he slides Wei Ying’s pants down his thighs, revealing the white lace lingerie beneath: a thin pair of panties and thigh garters.

Grinning, Wei Ying kicks his pants the rest of the way off and opens his legs invitingly. “Isn’t there some tradition where you have to pull these off with your teeth?”

And Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s beautiful, perfect husband, drags his eyes away from where the white lace lays across Wei Ying’s golden skin, his gaze burning, and says, “I’m going to make you cry.”

Wei Ying’s breath catches deep in his chest, and he can feel the way his entire body explodes with a hot flush, and then Lan Zhan is between his legs, pressing his face against the lingerie and mouthing along the line of Wei Ying’s cock beneath the fabric. His thighs come up automatically around Lan Zhan’s head and Wei Ying moans, hips bucking up, grinding his cock against Lan Zhan’s face. Lan Zhan lets him, hands biting bruises into Wei Ying’s waist, sucking at the spreading wet patch at the tip of Wei Ying’s dick.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying moans, fucking up against Lan Zhan’s lips. “Baby, please, aah—"

“Please what?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice lower and deeper than usual.

“Please, baby, please suck my dick,” Wei Ying begs shamelessly, still rutting up against Lan Zhan’s chin and jaw. “Please, I want to fuck your mouth.”

Lan Zhan groans, hooking his fingers around the edge of the panties and pulling them over just enough to suck Wei Ying down, and Wei Ying practically wails, hips juttering off the bed. He fucks up into Lan Zhan’s mouth, soft and pliant, his head held still as Wei Ying gasps and drags his cock over his tongue. Wei Ying can feel the drool sliding down his length. He wants to wrap his legs around Lan Zhan’s neck and stay right there in his mouth, Lan Zhan’s lips wrapped tight around him.

And when Lan Zhan’s fingers slide down past his balls to rub against his entrance, Wei Ying’s back arches off the bed, hands in Lan Zhan’s hair. The first slide into him is a spit-slick burn, just on the right side of painful. Lan Zhan fucks him slowly with a thumb as Wei Ying thrusts jerkily into his mouth.

Wei Ying is too caught in the heat around his cock and the burn at his hole to notice the sound of an uncapped bottle, but then their are two lubed fingers sliding into him and Wei Ying stops breathing at the sudden stretch. He can feel everything tighten, arching off the bed to bury his cock to the hilt in Lan Zhan’s mouth, trembling.

And Lan Zhan knows him too well it seems, because he presses further into him until his finger brushes against that perfect spot, and Wei Ying comes down his throat with a half sob.

Humming around Wei Ying’s oversensitive cock, Lan Zhan swallows it all down easily, sucking gently as he continutes to fuck his fingers into Wei Ying’s hole, sliding his finger tips across that spot over and over until Wei Ying is whimpering. He squirms, his thighs squeezing around Lan Zhan’s ears, fingers tugging at his hair.

Still, he’s panting, “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” as he hardens again in Lan Zhan’s mouth, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

By the time Wei Ying is back to thrusting sloppily against Lan Zhan’s tongue, he’s well stretched. Lan Zhan presses him to the bed and licks along the length of his cock one last time before he sits up, Wei Ying legs around his waist, and shoves himself in with one, smooth thrust.

Wei Ying jolts, back curving, as Lan Zhan bears down over him and holds him down by the wrist, biting at Wei Ying’s panting mouth.

Lan Zhan fucks him with a slow, tortuous roll of his hips that makes Wei Ying whimper and scowl.

“More, Lan Zhan, please,” he gasps, tugging at Lan Zhan’s hair and twisting his hips to meet Lan Zhan’s thrusts, urging him faster, harder. “Please, baby, don’t tease me like this.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan hums, dragging his teeth down Wei Ying’s ear. “Have I really teased you?” he asks, and licks into Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying can taste himself on Lan Zhan’s tongue. He moans into it, gasping when Lan Zhan picks up the pace just like Wei Ying likes anyways, bending Wei Ying in half until his knees are around his ears and Lan Zhan is fucking into him quick and powerful.

“Yes, yes, just like that baby, aaah,” Wei Ying groans, and he yanks on Lan Zhan’s hair, swallowing his grunt in another biting kiss.

Lan Zhan’s rhythm sputters as he comes with another sharp thrust, pausing only a moment to catch his breath, and then he keeps going, arms holding Wei Ying’s thighs to front as he continues to pound into him, making Wei Ying wail. Wei Ying comes, untouched.

“If you keep fucking me like that,” Wei Ying pants, still seeing stars. “You might put a baby in me.”

Glaring, Lan Zhan pinches Wei Ying’s ass before he collapses beside his husband. Wei Ying, despite the mess across his stomach and between his thighs, crawls half on top of him, resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

They lay there, sweat cooling on their skin, the night deepening outside their window. Wei Ying dozes, Lan Zhan’s hair in his face and the bed a mess, and can’t keep the smile off of his face.

“BABA!” Wei Yuan screeches, trotting through the airport and throwing himself in Wei Ying waiting arms. “Baba I missed you!”

Wei Ying throws his head back and laughs. “You missed me? It was only one night!” he cries, peppering Wei Yuan’s face with kisses. “I guess this means you can’t ever grow up and move away, you’ll just have to be my baby forever.”

Wrinkling his nose, Wei Yuan glares at him in a familiar way. “I’m not a baby!”

“Oh god, you spend one night with your jiujiu, and you’re already taking after him.”

Behind him, Jiang Cheng huffs. “I revoke my free babysitting services,” he grumbles, glaring at Jiang Yanli when she starts to giggle. It’s just the two of them at the airport, dropping off Wei Yuan with his bag. “You’re welcome for driving all the way out here, too.”

“And you’re welcome that we gave you the bedroom at our place. I hope you and Wen Qing didn’t stay up too late.” Wei Ying missed making his brother blush red over his twenty-year-old crush.

“You—"

“Alright, alright, you three should get going!” Jiang Yanli says, clapping her hands together to quickly interrupt their fight. It’s so familiar and unfamiliar, the three of them together, that they pause. She shakes it off quickly, throwing her arms around Wei Ying’s neck for a quick hug. “Congratulations again, A-Ying! Have a good trip okay?”

“I will.” Wei Ying presses a quick kiss to her cheek before she releases him to go fuss over Wei Yuan and Lan Zhan. He turns towards Jiang Cheng and holds his arms open. “You gotta hug me too!”

“Did you shower?”

“Oh my god, of course,” Wei Ying says, laughing, as Jiang Cheng wraps him up in a hug. He’s taller than Wei Ying now, and he kind of wants to kick him for it. Instead, he reaches up on his toes like has to do with Lan Zhan, and smacks a loud, slobbery kiss on his cheek.

“UGH!” Jiang Cheng pushes him away, wiping at his face and gaining the attention of everyone in the lobby. “You’re so gross.”

But Wei Ying has already beat a hasty retreat, swinging Wei Yuan up in his arms, and waving maniacally at Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli as Lan Zhan follows behind with their bags. The both of them wave back, standing in one spot until they’ve turned the corner and out of sight.

It’s still hours later until they’re on their plane, Wei Yuan in the seat between them, eyes already drooping from the excitement of the morning. Wei Ying pushes the hair from his foreheads as he curls up against Wei Ying’s thigh. He looks up to find Lan Zhan watching him, that smile on his face that Wei Ying knows is all love.

“Wei Ying,” he says, voice low under the clamour of the loading plane. But Wei Ying hears every word. “Are you happy?”

Wei Ying feels his face stretch in a smile. There’s a little bruise high on Lan Zhan’s neck, just visible over his collar, and his hair is a little wavy because he didn’t have time to brush it properly before they had to leave for the airport. He’s the most beautiful thing Wei Ying has ever seen.

“I am,” Wei Ying says, leaning over Wei Yuan sleeping between them, to steal a quick kiss. “I’m very happy.”

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