Work Text:
A February evening: quiet click of the heating unit, rain sliding down the windows. Wei Ying on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. Cooling cup of tea beside him, game on his phone. Not thinking of anything in particular, wishing he wasn’t alone. He’ll go to bed soon, so he can get up for work, so he can come home and sit on his couch.
He jumps when a message notification shows up, and taps on it automatically. His jiejie keeps talking about getting back with her ex and Wei Ying has some Thoughts about that idea. But the message is from Lan Zhan, who he works with, who is not quite his friend. Weird, Wei Ying thinks.
Lan Zhan
I need to ask you for a favor.
Wei Ying frowns and takes a sip of now-cold tea. Does Lan Zhan have the right person? He’s debating what to reply when another message shows up.
Lan Zhan
I’m sorry to text so late.
It’s 8:45 pm. Wei Ying stares at this message and then at the first one again. They’re not really helping his dilemma much. He didn't remember that he even had Lan Zhan saved as a contact. He didn’t even know that Lan Zhan had his number.
So he calls on an impulse and Lan Zhan picks up on the second ring. Before he can say anything, Wei Ying blurts out, “Hi, Lan Zhan, this is Wei Ying? From work?” He hates how everything is coming out as a question, but he can’t seem to stop it from happening. “Did you, ah, mean to text me?”
There's some background noise going on for a moment and then it cuts out and Lan Zhan says, in his deep, quiet voice, "Yes, I know who you are, Wei Ying."
Wei Ying rolls his eyes so hard. He picks up the tea and toddles off to the kitchen to make some more. “Okay.” He talks to Lan Zhan a lot at work, but not like this: the odd intimacy of a phone call. “But did you mean to message me?”
Lan Zhan says, “Yes.” A silence that sounds like hesitance. That’s not a trait he associates with Lan Zhan at all.
Wei Ying waits and then, when nothing is forthcoming, says, "Okay. And what exactly did you need from your humble servant?"
It’s a little bit teasing and a little bit mean. Wei Ying knows he can be an obnoxious shit sometimes. Plenty of people have informed him of this. But Lan Zhan doesn’t call him on it. Lan Zhan sighs heavily. “I’ve been invited to a musical weekend with my family,” he starts and Wei Ying gets stuck on musical weekend, because what in the world is that? “And I am hoping you would be willing to pretend to be my long-term romantic partner.”
“Uh,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan said that in the same way he would ask Wei Ying to please include all the documentation for a project at work. “Um.”
“I realize this is an imposition,” Lan Zhan goes on, very calmly, considering what he’s asking. “And if it makes you uncomfortable, of course I will look for an alternative.”
"Hold on." He takes the phone away from his ear and looks at it. Nope, it does say Lan Zhan. "Hold on," he says again, putting the call on speaker and trying desperately to process. Wei Ying pinches himself a little, in case this is a dream or a weird hallucination. But he does seem to be actually standing in his kitchen, still wrapped in his fuzzy blanket, listening to Lan Zhan ask him to be his fake boyfriend for a weekend with his family. “Hm,” he says, for variety. Then, finally managing more than two words: “Why do you need a fake boyfriend?”
“I—told my uncle and brother that I was dating someone,” Lan Zhan confesses. “And now they’ve invited myself and my partner.”
Wei Ying blinks. “But you’re not dating someone? Just to be clear.”
“No.”
“So, break up with your imaginary boyfriend! That seems like the normal thing to do in this situation.” None of this lines up with his sense of Lan Zhan at all. Reasonable, rule-following people don't make up entire fake boyfriends!
Lan Zhan makes a little disagreeing noise on the other end. “My brother recently went through a painful breakup and I don’t want to reintroduce the subject or cause him distress. Also, he would expect me to be sad and insist on watching romcoms together.”
“Aww,” Wei Ying says, extremely charmed by this image. When Jiejie was broken up with, he drove eight hours south to eat ice cream with her and listen to power ballads while she cried. “That doesn’t seem so bad. But sure, I get it, you don’t want to hurt his feelings.” He props his phone against his shoulder and takes a cautious sip of tea before something occurs to him. “Wait, wait. Why are you asking me?”
“I may have—implied that I work with my partner,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds gloomy. “I’ve told my uncle that I’m gay at least once a year since I turned 20, but he kept trying to set me up with his friends’ daughters.”
“Oh, god,” Wei Ying says, faintly horrified at the thought of Lan Zhan being set up. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that he’s unkind about it.” Lan Zhan seems anxious to make this clear. “But I got more and more frustrated, and a year ago, I snapped and told him that I was dating a man from my job, and therefore was doubly unavailable.”
“A year?” Wei Ying asks. “Wow.” He’s weirdly impressed by this feat. Then the rest of it filters in. “Wait, so if you’re dating a guy from work, I’m your only choice!”
“Yes. If you don’t agree, that’s fine, of course. I will simply have to endure Bridget Jones’ Diary, and try to convince my uncle again.”
Wei Ying doesn't know how to feel about this. On the one hand, this situation is, objectively speaking, hilarious. On the other hand, he's not wild about the idea that Lan Zhan wouldn't have picked him had he any other options. On the third hand, he can use this to get his way at work more often than usual. On the fourth hand—
On the fourth hand, Wei Ying has kind of had a crush on Lan Zhan ever since they were seated together at a company dinner two years ago and Lan Zhan proceeded to ignore Wei Ying's invasive personal questions before being baited into a debate about sustainability, during which they scared everyone else at the table away, and which culminated in Wei Ying saying, "Well, you're wrong and I'm gay, which makes me right," and Lan Zhan giving him a magnificent glare and responding, "I'm also gay and that is an extremely specious argument."
Their company has nothing to do with sustainability. This remains only the second most embarrassing way Wei Ying has come out to someone.
“Wow,” he says. “Well, in that case.” He leans against the counter and looks at his quiet apartment. The thing is: he was always going to say yes. He has no impulse control and he’s always good for a laugh and he’s kind of lonely. And since he knows Lan Zhan would never want to actually date him, he might as well take what he can get. “In that case,” he says a little more firmly, “I’m in.”
So that’s how it starts. The worst, best thing to ever happen to Wei Ying.
*
The next day, Wei Ying spends an unusually long time trying to decide what to wear to work before giving up and pulling on his usual hoodie and jeans. It's not like Lan Zhan hasn't seen him in his natural habitat, so to speak.
Still, it feels weird to think about seeing Lan Zhan after their conversation the night before. They agreed that Wei Ying would come over for dinner that evening so they could figure out the details. For one thing, Wei Ying is still fuzzy about the expectations of a musical weekend. Will he be required to play something? Hopefully not. He played flute in high school band, but he was never anything but screechy, and mostly he did it to annoy Jiang Cheng. And piano, of course, but he's years and years out of practice.
He hurries to catch his bus, juggling his bag and travel mug, and wedges himself gratefully into his usual seat. The windows are all fogged up and he amuses himself by tracing a little LZ + WY and drawing a heart around them. Then he blushes and wipes it out with his sleeve.
He and Lan Zhan work for a firm that designs and tests cyber security for state and local governments. Which is, you know, exactly what he thought he'd be doing when he got an engineering degree. But it's fine! He gets to break stuff on purpose, for money. It's just not really a life's passion for him.
And sometimes he breaks stuff he's not supposed to and Lan Zhan scolds him. It's a whole thing. Wei Ying maintains that anything he does break should have been tested anyway. Lan Zhan maintains that it makes his job three times harder and that's obviously not what he meant, so would Wei Ying please stop smirking like he's twelve.
He thinks about all of this, staring out over the city as they get closer to the office building downtown. The mountains across the Columbia River are hidden by the low-hanging rainclouds and the few taller skyscrapers join them. He's lived here for five years now, but he's still not entirely used to it. Sometimes he thinks about getting on a bus and going south to California, going home. He never does.
Instead, he lives in a little apartment in the southeast sprawl. It's cozy, and there's wisteria that grows all over the building so that in late spring the air smells so sweet. It's February now, objectively the worst month, but Wei Ying will keep taking the bus and going to work, and—a new twist in his usual routine—plotting with Lan Zhan to deceive Lan Zhan's family into believing that they are, and have been, dating.
In the end, he doesn't see Lan Zhan at all that day, until he pops up by Wei Ying's desk and says, "Ready?" at precisely 5:02 pm. Wei Ying yelps and skids sideways and Lan Zhan has to catch the back of his chair and reel him in. Lan Zhan owns a Prius, which of course he does, so he drives them both to his own apartment building, just north of downtown on a quiet street. Parking is bad even with a resident tag, but Lan Zhan finally finds something and they both flip up their hoods against the chilly rain: Wei Ying's hoodie and Lan Zhan's waterproof jacket.
Lan Zhan doesn't say anything in the elevator, or when he unlocks the door, and Wei Ying doesn't either. There's just this little bubble of stillness and for once he doesn't pop it.
The apartment looks out over the back of the building, where there's a little garden area with a swing set and sandbox. To Wei Ying's surprise, there are toys scattered on the floor and a child-sized table by the window.
"Uh," he says, and then stops because he's not sure how to ask this question. "Lan Zhan, do you have...a kid?"
“No,” Lan Zhan says calmly, hanging up his coat and handing Wei Ying a pair of slippers. “I regularly babysit for friends.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Wei Ying huffs out a little relieved sigh. He hadn’t really thought that Lan Zhan was concealing an entire child from him, but then he wouldn’t have thought that Lan Zhan would make up a fake boyfriend to get his family off his back about marriage. "Anything else I should know about?" He watches Lan Zhan wash his hands and then pull out ingredients. He's going to actually make a whole dinner right here and now, isn't he? Good grief.
“No, that covers it,” Lan Zhan says. “Wen Qing and Wen Ning will be at the musical weekend as well, and I’d like you to meet them beforehand. We’ll all meet at the park on Saturday morning if you’re free to join us.”
“Uh, sure,” Wei Ying said. “Are those the friends?”
“Yes.” Lan Zhan looks up from chopping vegetables. “They’re siblings. They adopted their nephew a few years ago, after his parents passed away. Wen Qing is a doctor and Wen Ning works two jobs, so I help out sometimes.”
Wei Ying thunks his head gently against the doorframe, despairing. This all seems much more complicated than his initial impression. “So they know the truth? I mean, the whole dating scenario?”
Lan Zhan nods, stirring something in a small bowl and then starts cooking the food. He moves comfortably around the kitchen, at home here in a way that Wei Ying hasn’t seen him before.
"Okay," Wei Ying says. He still leans against the doorframe though. For propping up purposes.
Lan Zhan says, "There's water or juice if you want either. Or there may be some beer left from the last time my brother was here."
"I think I'll skip the possible beer," Wei Ying says. "Water's fine."
Lan Zhan nods and hands him a glass. Wei Ying fills it. This city has the coldest, cleanest tap water he's ever known. It comes straight from the mountains and he swears he can feel the ice melt on his tongue. He sips it slowly while Lan Zhan finishes the food and dishes it up neatly. He hands Wei Ying a plate and gestures to the table.
Dinner is really good, although a bit mild for Wei Ying's taste. He hasn't had fresh food, homemade food, for a while. He doesn't take the time to cook himself. It always feels like a waste when it's just him. He cooked a lot when he lived with three other guys in college, but that was for other people.
Now he eats and Lan Zhan eats and the city gets darker, streetlights coming on and showing the rain-slick wooden fence around the apartment's backyard. This feels startlingly normal, in a way Wei Ying doesn't quite want to look at. They talk a little bit about work, and a museum exhibit it turns out both of them visited recently, but Lan Zhan doesn't try to fill in the gaps between conversations with chatter. Wei Ying usually would, but he doesn’t mind this. It feels—homey. Hah.
When they're done, Lan Zhan takes the plates back into the kitchen and puts the leftovers away. He puts the dishes in the dishwasher. Then he sits down at the table again and takes a deep breath. Wei Ying thinks he seems a little nervous, so he props his chin in his hands and gives Lan Zhan his most winning smile. "All right, spill! Am I going to have to ask my Jiejie to send me my old flute so I can practice?"
Lan Zhan outright shudders. "No, guests are invited but not required to perform."
"But you will be?" Wei Ying tries to picture it. "What instrument do you play?"
"Guqin and cello. The weekend consists of three concerts: traditional Chinese, classical, and freeform. My uncle is in charge and he will be very, hm, stressed."
Wei Ying blinks. "Who is your family, even?"
Lan Zhan shrugs, but he seems a little uncomfortable for the first time that Wei Ying can remember. "It's a three day weekend at the end of March. I assume you have the time to request the Friday off?"
Wei Ying rolls his eyes. "Yes, thank you, I'm not a complete human disaster.”
“You’re not a disaster at all,” Lan Zhan says at once. Wei Ying blinks at him.
“Uh, I kind of am?” He gestures at his hoodie and jeans and then at Lan Zhan’s dress shirt, which has remained immaculate throughout both cooking and dinner even though Lan Zhan didn’t put an apron on.
"Not in the ways that matter," Lan Zhan says.
Which doesn't seem true, but Wei Ying can't come up with a good argument. “Anyway,” he goes on. “We should try to come up with a consistent story, and all that kind of thing, right?”
Lan Zhan nods and pulls out his phone. “I have started a shared document which we can both add to. It includes personal history, preferences, and dislikes. So I don't offer you a banana if you hate them."
Wei Ying stares. "I do hate bananas," he points out.
"I'm aware. You picked them out of your fruit salad at the last all-staff breakfast."
Wei Ying remembers that, partly because Lan Zhan himself had shown up late and messy, both of which were unusual for him. At the time, he had speculated idly about a date night, but—apparently not.
"Haha, you know me too well," he says out loud. He smiles when Lan Zhan gives him a startled look. “I mean! You and your shared documents.”
“If there’s another way—" Lan Zhan starts, but Wei Ying waves his hand and interrupts rudely.
“No, no, that’s fine. Uh, what else?”
He hesitates briefly. "Usually couples share a room at these events. If you're not comfortable with that, we can ask for separate rooms. My family wouldn't find that particularly strange."
It's no weirder than sharing a hotel room, right? And he’s done that plenty of times, although not with Lan Zhan. But it’ll be fine.
Wei Ying shakes his head. "I don't mind if you don't," he says. Lan Zhan nods, so that's settled. “Um, look. I don’t want to pry.” A little bit of a lie, because he’s so curious. “But I think you should probably tell me exactly what you told your family so I don’t slip up and say the wrong thing.”
“That’s reasonable.” Lan Zhan looks down at the table. “As I said last night, I told my uncle that I had a committed partner. I always go to visit at my uncle's house, and he’s never asked to meet my boyfriend until now. My brother lives in Chicago, and the last time he came to visit, I said my boyfriend wanted to give us the weekend to ourselves.” There’s a strange tone to his voice whenever he says “my boyfriend.” Wei Ying can’t quite read it.
“Okay, that seems straightforward enough,” Wei Ying says, feeling slightly faint. He had thought it was just a slip of the tongue one time that grew into something bigger. And perhaps it was, but Lan Zhan has really thought this through since then.
“I’ll send you basic information about them as well,” Lan Zhan promises. He meets Wei Ying’s gaze again. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about my family, or that they don’t care about me. I know I should have—gone about this a different way, perhaps. But at first I spoke without thinking and it made things easier. Now it would cause more pain to tell the truth. In a month or two, I can say that we’ve broken up.”
It's sweet. Wei Ying can see it. Despite the entire plan of deception Lan Zhan has embarked on, he's still Lan Zhan: thoughtful and deliberate and strictly moral according to his own definition of morality. Wei Ying could turn it into a joke, or point out that inventing an entire boyfriend was maybe not the best way to go about this. But in the end, he reaches over and takes Lan Zhan's hand. "Okay," he says quietly. "I'll help. Don't worry, Lan Zhan, I won't mess this up for you."
Wei Ying knows they need to talk about the rest of it. Boundaries and expectations and all of that. But it feels like the important part is done. They've agreed. They're on the same page. It feels good, and suspiciously nice. He shoves that thought away and grins at Lan Zhan.
Details more or less settled, Lan Zhan drives Wei Ying home. He doesn't have to, Wei Ying says, but Lan Zhan insists. The car is quiet except for the swish of wipers. Wei Ying starts to feel sleepy: full of food, and warm, and a little worn out. Maybe this was all a bad idea. He has time to back out, he thinks, if he does it now. But, the thing is, he doesn't want to. He wants to be selfish and cling and take as many of these quiet moments with Lan Zhan as he's allowed to.
When they reach the apartment building, Wei Ying hops out. They say goodnight through the car window and Wei Ying can't help thinking that if they were actually dating, this is when he'd lean in and kiss Lan Zhan good bye. He settles for waving from the sidewalk as Lan Zhan drives off, sure and steady down the road.
*
The next morning, in the middle of poking holes in the Oregon Department of Education website, something occurs to Wei Ying. He goes zooming off to find Lan Zhan, who's sitting as usual at his desk by the window. The desk features one (1) each of the following: electric kettle, delicate white porcelain teaset, spider plant, watercolor map of the city. Wei Ying shakes his head at its absurd neatness, as always, and taps Lan Zhan on the shoulder.
"Hey, so I hate to say it, but there's a flaw in your plan," Wei Ying says apologetically. "They're going to know it's not me, right? I mean, you must have used a name for this boyfriend at some point in the last year."
Lan Zhan, unusually, does not meet Wei Ying's gaze. He stares somewhere around Wei Ying's ankles. His ears have turned slightly pink. "That won't be a problem," he says stiffly.
"Hold on," Wei Ying says, after a moment, putting the pieces together. "Hold on. Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan? Did you tell them that your boyfriend worked here, or that I specifically was your boyfriend? Holy sh-shirtballs, you did, didn't you? What? Lan Zhan!"
Lan Zhan turns around, ignoring Wei Ying's minor breakdown. Wei Ying attempts to swivel his chair back around, but Lan Zhan plants his feet and refuses to be moved.
"Lan Zhan! You can't ignore me! We're in love!" Wei Ying exclaims, forgetting their surroundings. Cheryl, whose desk is next to Lan Zhan's and whose nosiness rivals Auntie Yao's from back home, immediately pops her head up. "Not that kind of love," Wei Ying says hastily. "Professional love."
"That's not a thing," Cheryl mutters, giving them both a curious look.
Sorry, Wei Ying mouths at the back of Lan Zhan's head. Out loud, he says, "Well, you owe me so many favors for this. So many."
"That's fine," Lan Zhan says. "I’ve already accepted that possibility."
"Okay." Wei Ying feels kind of baffled now. Baffled, and also slightly into it if he's being super honest with himself. "Well, I guess I'll see you Saturday, then." Then to Cheryl, who is once again looking suspicious, he says, "Basketball." He waves to Lan Zhan who's giving him a bemused look, like he has a leg to stand on, the fibbing fibber, before retreating to his own desk and his actual job.
*
Once again, Wei Ying finds himself standing in front of his closet, wondering what to wear. It's Saturday morning and he's supposed to meet Lan Zhan in 45 minutes, which is looking more and more unlikely. He doesn't know what kind of outfit would make a good impression on Lan Zhan’s friends, but he wants to try.
In the end, he’s only fifteen minutes late, which Wei Ying counts as a net win. Lan Zhan knows that he’s never on time for work. Surely he wouldn’t expect anything else?
It’s a drizzly, cold day again and Wei Ying shivers as he hurries down the path. This park is a nice one; he’s come here with his jiejie and didi when they’ve visited in the summer. Then, it’s all dahlias and roses. Now, the plants have been pruned back for the winter and the ground is slightly squishy.
Nonetheless, he spots Lan Zhan and two other adults standing by the playground. He waves broadly enough that they’ll notice and speed walks over.
“Sorry I’m late!” he gasps out. Lan Zhan doesn’t respond except to hand him a paper cup, warm in Wei Ying’s chilly hands. “Ah, what’s this?”
“Coffee,” Lan Zhan offers. “Wei Ying, this is Wen Qing and Wen Ning.”
Wen Qing is tiny and Wen Ning is tall, but something about their expressions does make them seem like they're family. Wei Ying juggles the coffee and shakes both of their hands. “Nice to meet you!” he says and smiles, trying to look mature and responsible, even though the whole reason for him being here is kind of the opposite of that.
“You too,” Wen Ning says. He seems sweet. Wen Qing just blinks at Wei Ying, and then at Lan Zhan.
“I still think this is the worst idea you’ve ever had, Lan Zhan,” she says. “And if A-Yuan gets upset over it, I’ll have more to say.”
“He won’t,” Lan Zhan says calmly.
Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Okay, but when this blows up in your face, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” But she pats Lan Zhan’s arm, which is not a thing that Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan would tolerate from anyone.
Just then, one of the kids on the playground goes down the slide and lands with a happy squelch at the bottom. He runs over to Lan Zhan. “I did it, Zhan-ge!” he shouts. Then he notices Wei Ying and goes quiet.
“Hi there!” Wei Ying says promptly, squatting down. “You must be A-Yuan! I’m Wei Ying, one of your Zhan-ge’s friends from work.”
The kid is older than he expected, maybe five or six, although he’s terrible at judging kids’ ages. He once thought Cheryl’s nephew was 10 and he turned out to be 13, which apparently is a big difference. Still, A-Yuan seems old enough to at least be in kindergarten, although young enough to not mind some mud or a runny nose.
“Wipe your face,” Lan Zhan says gently, handing him a handkerchief. A-Yuan scrubs, but mostly manages to spread the mud around.
“Tsk,” Wen Qing says. “Come here.” She turns her nephew around and helps him actually get the mud off.
At Wei Ying’s shoulder, Lan Zhan says, “You haven’t had any coffee.” Wei Ying jumps and turns around. Lan Zhan is right there, in his sensible waterproof jacket, with the hood up against the persistent drizzle.
“Ah, I forgot,” Wei Ying confesses. He sips a bit. It’s perfect; no cream or sugar, but the coffee itself has a natural sweetness to it. “Wow, this is good! I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, huh?”
Lan Zhan blinks. “I don’t know. I don’t drink coffee. I asked the barista for their opinion.”
“You don’t drink coffee?” Wei Ying asks, slightly baffled. “How did you get through college?”
“Scheduling my time properly,” Lan Zhan says, which is teasing, so Wei Ying has to give him a dirty look and sigh.
“A-Yuan seems cool,” he says, for lack of something better to say. It’s hardly a brilliant remark. Lan Zhan still brightens instantly.
“He is,” he says, clear fondness in his voice.
“Um, I don’t know if I ever mentioned this—I mean, probably not, I don’t usually bring it up—but actually I was adopted,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan turns to look at him. “And, well, my parents, my birth parents, had died but Uncle Jiang and Auntie Yu didn’t ever look for anyone else. They didn't mean any harm, just didn't think of it. But still, I found out later that I had a grandmother living pretty close the whole time I was growing up. It would have meant a lot to me to know her.” He takes a deep breath. There’s a reason he doesn’t usually talk about any of this. “Anyway, what I mean is, I’m always glad when kids get to stay with their families.”
“I didn’t know any of that, Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan always speaks quietly, but this has some sort of weight to it, which Wei Ying really doesn’t want to consider.
“Yeah, I mean! I really don’t talk about it much.” He sips some more coffee. “Anyway, how old is A-Yuan?”
“Five,” Lan Zhan says, so score! Wei Ying was right. Take that, Cheryl’s nephew! “He is in kindergarten at a Montessori-based elementary school.”
“Oh, hm,” Wei Ying says.
“He’ll start public school in the fall,” Lan Zhan goes on, so Wei Ying doesn’t embark on any long-winded thoughts about the American education system. Instead, he finds himself smiling helplessly at Lan Zhan, who knows all about his friends' kid's educational path.
“I guess if I’m going to fake date someone, at least I picked the right someone to fake date!”
Lan Zhan blinks at him. “Thank you?”
Wei Ying smiles wider.
“Zhan-ge can we go look at the plants?” A-Yuan asks, running up, with Wen Qing trailing behind him.
“Of course,” Lan Zhan says. “Do you all want to come with us?”
“What plants?” Wei Ying asks, enchanted.
“Dahlias and pine trees and roses,” A-Yuan recites. “And marigolds and—what’s the long one?”
“Delphiniums,” Lan Zhan says.
“Yep! Delphiniums,” A-Yuan says. "They're all dead right now, but they'll start growing pretty soon."
“Wow!” Wei Ying says, impressed. “Do you like plants, A-Yuan? I don’t think I knew any of those names when I was your age.”
“Yes!” A-Yuan says. “I like learning about them, and drawing pictures of them. Do you want to come, Mr. Wei?”
“Sure,” Wei Ying says, laughing a little bit, because it is kind of ridiculously cute: this small, serious child asking him to come on a plant-identification expedition. But he can remember how much he loved learning about dinosaurs when he was about five, so it probably makes sense.
Lan Zhan himself says, “When A-Yuan first started to spend time with me, we liked to visit the park and look at plants together. It was a good way to get to know each other.” Wei Ying stops grinning and looks over at him. “And now he’s a junior botanist,” he adds, just a little bit drily.
They all trail along in the end: A-Yuan running out in front, safe in his boots with frog faces on the toes, then Lan Zhan, then Wei Ying, and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing.
“Don’t mess this up,” Wen Qing says, when they’re far enough behind Lan Zhan and A-Yuan that neither of them can hear.
Wei Ying jumps and turns to look at her. “I wasn’t, like, planning to,” he protests.
“I’m serious. He talks about you a lot, and I don’t want him to end up upset because you were being insensitive.”
Wei Ying gapes at her. He—what? Lan Zhan what? “It’s only three days,” he manages to say. “I think I can handle three days.”
“Mm,” Wen Qing says. “You haven’t met any of the other Lans yet, have you?”
“Ahhhh, no?”
"You'll be fine," Wen Ning says. "They're not as scary as they seem at first. But they'd be upset if you broke Lan Zhan's heart, and so would we."
Wei Ying feels like he has fallen into an alternate reality. He feels like a secret everyone else has always known was suddenly revealed to him and he doesn’t know what to do about it. “I really don’t think—I mean I don’t think I even could,” he says. “But I will do my best. I promise.”
“Good,” they say in near unison.
They catch up with A-Yuan who is enthusiastically telling Lan Zhan about the parts of a tree. Wei Ying hangs back just a little bit. Partly, he doesn’t want to intrude. Partly, he wants some time to think. Why would the Wens assume that Lan Zhan cared anything about Wei Ying’s opinion of him? As far as he had ever been able to tell, Lan Zhan thought he was interesting and good at his job, and appreciated him for the latter quality. Wei Ying didn’t think—has never once thought—that anything he did could actually affect Lan Zhan’s life or happiness at all.
He takes a deep breath and sighs it out. He really hadn’t thought this was going to be complicated. But it’s starting to look like the joke is on him.
Lan Zhan turns and looks around, pausing when he catches Wei Ying’s eyes. He raises his eyebrows a little bit and Wei Ying gives him a hasty smile and wave. But he doesn’t turn around at once. He watches Wei Ying for a moment, his face serious, his eyes dark and wide. Wei Ying feels caught under his gaze, caught by the weight of it. He swallows and blinks. Then A-Yuan tugs at Lan Zhan’s hand, and he looks down, and the moment passes.
*
After that, things go back to normal. Well, mostly. Lan Zhan starts bringing Wei Ying coffee once or twice a week. He protests, but Lan Zhan points out that he is in Wei Ying’s debt and Wei Ying does really like the coffee. Still, they don’t talk outside of work, or discuss what’s going to happen. February drips by, cold and rainy, and March starts with more of the same. Wei Ying thinks that if the weather doesn’t clear up soon, he’s going to start growing moss, like his apartment building. He thinks this every year and it has never happened yet.
In the middle of March, Lan Zhan sends him a message asking to meet up on the weekend to discuss logistics. Wei Ying, who had mostly been planning to shove his nicest clothes in a duffel bag, agrees. For once, Wei Ying is the one who’s on time, sipping an overpriced drink at a trendy juice place. He thought Lan Zhan would like the juice, but when he shows up, he orders green tea and ignores the other options entirely.
Wei Ying offers Lan Zhan the complimentary snacks, but Lan Zhan shakes his head and pulls out a real, genuine binder. It’s marked: Musical weekend, March 26-28.
“Huh,” Wei Ying says, looking at it.
“My uncle is very thorough,” Lan Zhan says, flipping through. “Here are the guest policies.”
“Policies?” Wei Ying asks, horrified, but he takes the binder. The page is neatly divided into sections: allowable behavior, expectations, accommodations, special requests, miscellaneous. “Wow.”
“You may take it with you if you want.”
“Does everyone get this, or am I special?” Wei Ying jokes.
“Mm, I believe everyone gets it. Certainly Nie Mingjue used to complain.” Lan Zhan sips at his tea and makes a disapproving face. Wei Ying isn’t sure if it isn’t up to his standards, or if the thought of Nie Mingjue (his brother’s ex, maybe?) was upsetting
Then he sits up. “Wait. Lan Zhan. Is this the first time you’re bringing a guest to one of these things?”
Lan Zhan blinks and then nods. “I thought that was obvious,” he says. He pushes the tea away so it must have offended him after all. “Also, I added some preferences to the shared document—”
“Okay, but back up,” Wei Ying interrupts. “I mean, maybe this is a silly question at this point, since we’re committed, but at no point did you ever just decide to start dating someone for real?”
Lan Zhan looks up from his phone, which he had pulled out when he started talking about shared documents. “No,” he says.
"Sorry," Wei Ying says. "That was invasive."
Lan Zhan shrugs a little bit. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I’m not opposed to dating, but I don’t like the idea of being casual, at least for myself.”
“Huh,” Wei Ying says. He watches Lan Zhan for a moment: the sleek sheen of his hair, the sureness of his hands, the flicker of his fanned eyelashes. Lan Zhan is...Wei Ying isn’t really sure why no one hasn’t snatched him up off the street, despite his obvious hesitance. Someone must have been interested at some point, right? He sighs and leans back. Not really his problem, after all.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks, and Wei Ying realizes that he’s been zoning out, staring at Lan Zhan for the past five minutes.
“Haha, sorry, I’m a little tired,” he says, trying to cover his fluster up. From the look Lan Zhan gives him, he doesn’t think he succeeded that well. “So,” he goes on. Might as well get the awkward part over right away. “We probably need to talk about, like, what you’re comfortable with. Um.”
Lan Zhan waits for him to finish his sentence in silence.
“Physically?” Wei Ying squeaks out. He doesn’t want to say it at all, but Jiejie took him and Jiang Cheng aside when they were young and gave them a very firm talking to about consent, and honestly Wei Ying thinks she would know, psychically, due to her Jiejie Powers, if he was being gross to anyone.
“Oh,” Lan Zhan says. “If it helps, my uncle is quite traditional and wouldn’t appreciate or expect public displays of affection.”
He says it like it’s Wei Ying who would object instead of the other way around.
“But what are you comfortable with?” Wei Ying asks. “I—that’s the most important part to me.”
Lan Zhan pauses for a moment. “I’m comfortable with whatever you are,” he says. Which is too much for Wei Ying to handle.
“Hands?” He says and then realizes that’s ambiguous. “Holding hands, I mean. And not that I’d drape myself all over you, obviously, but probably sitting next to each other and uhhh, snuggling a bit?” He watches Lan Zhan for signs of revulsion and Lan Zhan watches him back for his own Lan Zhan reasons.
“I already said I’m comfortable with whatever you are,” he points out, when Wei Ying doesn’t say anything else.
“Okay,” Wei Ying says. “Then—that’s settled? I guess?” It feels too easy. Surely one of them ought to kick up a fuss and storm off. Or at least feel kind of tense. When Wei Ying thinks about holding Lan Zhan’s hand, he just feels gooey inside.
“Hey, what was Cathy talking about the other day?” he asks, abruptly. He’s been meaning to ask Lan Zhan this question for almost a week, but hasn’t had a chance to.
“Cathy-with-a-C?” Lan Zhan asks. They also have Kathy-with-a-K and Kathleen at work. Wild times.
Wei Ying laughs. “Yeah, yeah. She said something about ‘while we still have you.’”
Lan Zhan goes utterly still. “Oh.”
Wei Ying slings back the last of his juice. “Lan Zhan?”
“I’ve been.” Lan Zhan bites his lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Thinking about looking for a new job.”
“Oh.” It feels like a gut punch. It shouldn’t. It’s not like they even really see each other outside of work, except for this last month, when they’ve been talking over the logistics of pretending to date each other at Lan Zhan’s family’s musical weekend. Whatever the fuck that actually is, because Wei Ying still doesn’t really get it.
The nice thing about not being twenty any more, he thinks distantly, is that he can actually recognize when he’s spiraling and try to do something about it.
“Do you have something in mind? I mean, are you applying?”
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “It was only an idea. Nothing definite.” He looks peeved. “I don’t even know how Cathy could have heard anything.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying says, a little relieved. “So you’re not going to ditch me before March 26-28.”
Lan Zhan blinks and refocuses on Wei Ying. “I’m not planning to ditch you at all,” he says. “Please don’t worry about it.”
Wei Ying smiles. “I guess I do know where you live now,” he points out and then wonders if that sounded over-the-top creepy or just normal level creepy. Lan Zhan doesn’t react. He nods and then collects Wei Ying’s empty glass and his own mostly-full cup.
“Thanks for coming!” the juice bar person tells them as they open the door. Lan Zhan raises a polite hand, like a grandpa, Wei Ying thinks, and then they’re out in the chilly street. Wei Ying hugs himself a little.
“Do you not own a coat?” Lan Zhan asks, apparently slightly exasperated with Wei Ying’s inability to dress for the weather.
“I’m fine! I’m just hopping on the bus anyway.”
“I can drive you home,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying opens his mouth to protest and then closes it again when Lan Zhan downright glares at him. “Okay, okay. I accept.” The car is warmer than the bus and he’ll be home in fifteen minutes. He can sit around for the rest of the time he’d allotted for transportation. This is why people drive cars, he thinks to himself. They’re terrible, but they’re so convenient sometimes.
“Thanks,” he says, when Lan Zhan pulls up by his apartment building. “I’ll hop out here. Hey, uh, see you Monday!” He waves at Lan Zhan from the sidewalk as the car pulls away and then goes to lie on his couch and stare at the ceiling for a while.
*
And then, suddenly, it’s the week of The Weekend. On Wednesday night, Wei Ying starts to panic. He needs to pack for this weekend, but despite the shared documents and the conversations, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He’s going to mess this up somehow. He stands in his bedroom for a while and then when he can't bear it any longer he calls Lan Zhan.
"Hey, sorry, but what should I bring? I mean, clothes. What clothes should I bring? I do have stuff that's not hoodies, so I won't shame you too much," he babbles and then manages to cut himself off.
"Whatever you want," Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying can hear someone talking in the background. "A-Yuan, can you put that away, please?"
"Oh, sorry, I can let you go," Wei Ying says at once, feeling the hot-cold prickle of embarrassment run down his spine.
"It's not a problem. These weekends tend to be on the formal side, but wear whatever you're comfortable in. If you think you'll want to walk by the river, bring sturdy shoes, though. The trail isn't developed. Let's start with one bowl and then you can have another when you're done."
It takes Wei Ying a moment to realize that Lan Zhan meant this last sentence for A-Yuan. "I'm not going to wear hoodies and jeans though, if everyone else will be dressed up."
"Wear what you're comfortable in," Lan Zhan repeats. "If we were dating—I'd want you to be comfortable."
"Okay," Wei Ying says. He does say goodbye then, and turns back to his clothes. It's easier, with that sentence ringing in his head. If they were dating. He would wear something comfortable, to make Lan Zhan happy, but also something nice, to make his family happy. He picks out his softest sweaters and a couple of pairs of dark-grey jeans that don't look too shabby.
Then he sets aside hiking clothes. He wonders if Lan Zhan likes to go hiking. He used to himself, back in college, but he never picked it back up again. Trying to find a group seems like too much work. Or...that's not it exactly. He learned how to be self-sufficient at some point and he never unlearned it. If he had a friend who was into hiking and he could tag along with them, that would make it easy.
Are they friends now, he and Lan Zhan? He laughs at himself and puts the clothes aside. Goes out to the kitchen and puts some sort of meal together. Eats it on the couch, watching the sun set behind the stringy trees blotting out the horizon.
Tomorrow, he thinks to himself, and then wonders exactly what he thinks is going to happen.
*
They're leaving from work, so Wei Ying gets himself and his duffle onto the bus and then off of it again. He's a little sticky when he reaches work, just as Lan Zhan walks up, cool and impeccable as ever.
"Hey," Wei Ying says. "Big day, huh?"
Lan Zhan is frowning at the bag and doesn't answer. "Did you bring that on the bus?" he asks.
"Yeah?"
"I would have picked you up," he says.
"It's okay!" Wei Ying pulls out his brightest smile. "Right after college—oh boy, you're going to hate this story—right after college, I was living with some guys I really didn't trust and I'd just, like, carry my stuff around with me wherever I went. It took me way too long to figure out that I should probably take that as a sign and get the hell out while I could. I'm just a little out of practice now."
He was right, Lan Zhan hates that story. "I would have been happy to pick you up. If we—I wouldn't mind."
Wei Ying gives him a suspicious look. That was another "If we were dating," quickly cut off. Every time, he starts to wonder what it would actually be like if they were dating. He starts to wonder if Lan Zhan is thinking about the same thing. "Well, too late now," he says. "But maybe I can put it in your car, so I don't have to lug it around all day?"
Lan Zhan walks away, which makes Wei Ying panic until he realizes that he's headed to the staff lot. He hurries to catch up.
"There's room in the trunk," Lan Zhan says, when they reach his Prius.
"Is it really a trunk, in a Prius?" Wei Ying teases. But there is room, carefully kept for him, which makes him feel—it's fine. He slings his bag in and they walk into work together, Wei Ying chatting about the survival show he was watching the night before. At the elevator, Wei Ying says, “Okay, well, bye!” and speed-walks to his desk. Which is a very normal way to end a conversation. Absolutely.
*
Lan Zhan comes by his desk at 5, and Wei Ying grabs his coat. They make their way to the car in an easy silence. It’s chilly out and Wei Ying huddles into the puffy collar of his jacket, feeling like a little turtle.
Lan Zhan doesn’t turn on music when they get in, and neither of them say much. Sometimes Wei Ying does have these moods; moments when he wants stillness so much he aches with it. He sits in the passenger seat and watches the sunset reflected on Mount Hood as Lan Zhan drives northeast, out of the city. They don’t need to say anything, he thinks. If they were dating, he would be content to be here; to be with Lan Zhan; to be in this quiet moment together.
It’s nearly dark when they reach the house, lights spilling out from the windows. Lan Zhan parks under some fir trees. As they're getting out, the front door opens and someone turns on a string of lights hung through the trees. The evening air is cool and fresh on Wei Ying's cheeks, smelling of trees and dead leaves and rain.
"You're here!" the person says, stepping forward. Wei Ying blinks. It's obviously Lan Zhan's brother, even before they hug briefly. Lan Huan. He's smiling quietly, which isn't typical of Lan Zhan, but they have the same air of still, centered gravity.
"And this must be…" Lan Huan says, and trails off.
Right, Wei Ying thinks. Game time. He smiles brightly and steps forward. "Wei Ying. It's so nice to finally meet you!"
Lan Huan shakes hands. "You as well! A-Zhan talks about you all the time, and I was sad I missed you on my last visit."
"Hmm, yeah. We'll have to make up for lost time," Wei Ying says, recovering pretty well, he thinks. Talks about me, he wonders? Or the fake boyfriend? None of it quite makes any sense, but he smiles anyway.
"Uncle?" Lan Zhan asks.
"Preparations," Lan Huan answers. They nod at each other and Lan Huan reaches out to take a bag from Lan Zhan's hand. "I'll take these in if you want to greet him."
"Mm. Careful of the cello."
Wei Ying listens to their conversation, the way they seem to know exactly what the other one is saying. There's a lifetime of trust there, he thinks.
"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan asks. "Come meet my uncle."
They change into slippers in the entryway. Lan Zhan has his own, blue with small white rabbits embroidered on them. He finds a guest pair for Wei Ying.
"No cute animals for me?" he pouts.
Lan Zhan shakes his head and then, as easy as anything, reaches out and takes Wei Ying's hand to lead him through the house.
He can hear people talking somewhere, but they cross a wide living room with picture windows and turn down a dark hallway. Lan Zhan drops Wei Ying's hand and knocks at the door. "Shushu?"
"Come in," someone says. Lan Zhan pushes the door open to reveal a small study with a cozy pool of lamplight. "Ah, Lan Zhan." His uncle doesn't move to get up, although this may be because every surface of the desk is occupied with something: books, papers, musical scores. "I cannot seem to determine the order of the second concert," he says, as if continuing a conversation previously begun.
"I'm sure you'll be pleased with the final arrangements," Lan Zhan says. "Shushu, I should introduce Wei Ying."
The temperature of the room drops perceptibly. Wei Ying swallows hard. If we were dating—he thinks, a little desperately. He'd want to make a good impression. He pulls out his best company manners, drilled into him as a child and never quite forgotten. Lan Qiren seems a little mollified by Wei Ying's politeness, so that's something, surely.
"Well, well, I hope you enjoy your stay with us," he says at last, sighing a little. Wei Ying doesn't think he means to sigh. Likely doesn't mean to sound disappointed. But he does anyway. So when they leave, Wei Ying takes Lan Zhan's hand, warm skin and bone, and squeezes it just a little bit. And after a moment, Lan Zhan squeezes back.
In the living room, Lan Zhan pauses. "Are you tired? Or hungry? There will be leftovers in the kitchen."
He hadn't thought about it, but now he is. "Mm, yeah!" He smiles at Lan Zhan. "What about you? Hungry? Or do you want to check on your cello to make sure it survived being out of your sight?"
Lan Zhan blinks at him. And then, like a beam of light emerging from a cloud, his face softens and he smiles a little. "We can eat first," he says, warm. Laughing.
Oh, fuck, Wei Ying thinks distinctly.
Lan Zhan shows him to the kitchen, a smaller room, but carefully outfitted. Wei Ying sits at the butcher block island while Lan Zhan warms up the food for them. He glances at his phone and is startled to see that it's only 7 pm. He feels as if he's stepped into another world than the bright mundanity of work, which they left only two hours ago.
"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan says, in that soft, warm voice and Wei Ying looks up to find his plate already in front of him.
"Oh, thanks," he says. They're both quiet while they eat, and then while they wash the dishes. This house doesn't have a dishwasher, it seems. But that's okay. This little moment of golden light, Lan Zhan's sleeves rolled up as he scrubs out the pan. Wei Ying hums a little bit as he dries.
They're heading across the living room again, Wei Ying bobbing along in Lan Zhan's wake, when a door opens and a small person runs shrieking across the room.
"ZHAN-GE!" A-Yuan shouts, and Lan Zhan turns at once to greet him. Wen Ning and Lan Huan follow, a little more slowly, smiling at the picture. To Wei Ying's shock, A-Yuan turns to him next and smiles. "Wei-gege!"
"Hi, A-Yuan," he says. This part is easy, at least. He shakes A-Yuan's hand gravely. "I didn't know you'd be here."
"We drove," A-Yuan informs him. "And I thought I was going to throw up, but then I didn't."
"Well, that's good!"
"And tomorrow, Shushu is going to take me to the river to look for eagles. Zhan-ge, will you come too?"
"If I can," Lan Zhan says. "I may be busy." When A-Yuan pouts, he adds, "Wei Ying won't be busy, so maybe he'll go with you."
"Sure!" Wei Ying says at once. "You'll have to show me everything, since I haven't been here before."
"Okay!"
"I'd better put him to bed," Wen Ning says. "See you all later."
"I don't want to go to bed!" A-Yuan says. "I want to stay with Zhan-ge."
"A-Yuan—" Wen Ning and Lan Zhan start to speak at the same time and then stop as A-Yuan starts to cry noisily.
"Okay, little radish, time for bed," Wen Ning says, much calmer than Wei Ying could be. He scoops A-Yuan up and slings him over his shoulder. A-Yuan waves good-bye, but keeps crying as if bedtime is the end of the world.
Left alone in the sudden silence, they all blink at each other for a moment. Then Lan Huan laughs. "He certainly is energetic. But a sweet boy!"
"He is," Lan Zhan says, fondly. "I enjoy watching him."
"Does Wei Ying help out too?"
It's an innocent question. There's no gotcha tone to Lan Huan's voice. But Wei Ying flounders for a moment. "Ah, a little bit. But it's mostly Lan Zhan." He smiles and tucks his hand under Lan Zhan's elbow, pressed close to his side. "A man of many talents."
Lan Huan smiles, a little sadness tucked away in the corners.
"Mm," Lan Zhan says. "Did you put the cello in the music room?" His ears are a little pink and Wei Ying grins at them. They're cute ears, he thinks. But he's starting to realize he might be biased.
"I did." Lan Huan apparently decides to take mercy on his brother. "Are you going to practice tonight?"
Lan Zhan shakes his head. "There's time tomorrow."
They have another one of those silent conversations. Wei Ying can't tell what the background is here, so he just hovers, feeling a bit awkward.
"Well, almost bedtime anyway," Lan Huan says finally and Lan Zhan nods.
Wei Ying smiles. "Ah yes, the famous bedtime." Then he panics a little bit over whether that seems like a normal thing for someone who is definitely living with his boyfriend, absolutely goes to bed with him every night, to say.
"Wen Qing will be up if you don't want to come to bed this early," Lan Zhan tells him. Wei Ying's brain gets unhelpfully stuck on come to bed and he thinks he's blushing.
"No, it's been a long day," he squeaks out.
Lan Zhan looks weirdly satisfied and takes Wei Ying's hand again. Lan Huan looks between them and—Wei Ying will swear to this on his deathbed—smirks.
"Your brother definitely thinks we're running away to have sex!" he hisses at Lan Zhan, when they're safely out of earshot.
Lan Zhan seems to take this in stride. "A lesson in assumptions, then," is all he says. Wei Ying huffs at him.
The room, their room, turns out to be on the top floor, tucked off of a little winding staircase. The bathroom is across the hall and up another short flight of stairs. But being up so high means that no one else is around, the rest of the world dropping away.
In the bedroom, Lan Zhan turns on the lamp by the bed. It's certainly cozy. Intimate even. There's a soft comforter on the bed that looks like it could be raw silk, and the room is painted a light blue-green. An archway of little windows frames the bed, reflecting Wei Ying's face back to him in a ghostly mirage.
"My brother didn't unpack for us at least," Lan Zhan says drily, breaking Wei Ying's concentration. He turns around to find their bags laid out neatly by the chest of drawers. It's cherry wood, he thinks, darkened into a beautiful warm red-brown. He took a couple of woodworking classes in high school because he'd been bouncing off of the walls and Auntie Yu told him that he needed to do something out of the house. He ended up signed up for piano and woodworking and band and even then he had energy to spare. Now he's baffled by that. Where did it all come from, and where did it all go?
Anyway, he used to be good at identifying types of wood, and he's pretty sure this is cherry.
"Wei Ying?" Lan Zhan pulls out a drawer. "There's plenty of room for your things."
"Oh," he says, dazed. "Yeah, of course." He unpacks, still feeling strange around the edges. Lan Zhan goes off to shower and he lets himself slump for a minute. Listens to the raspy whoosh of his own breath. Then he sucks in a lungful of air and shakes himself. He can do this. Lan Zhan surely didn't pick him to be his fake boyfriend so he could mope around. Smile and get through it, Wei Ying.
He slips out when Lan Zhan returns, pink and soft in his flannel pajamas. Wei Ying has to block the whole image from his head. He brushes his teeth in a sketchy sort of fashion and changes into a t-shirt and his softest, oldest sweatpants.
Lan Zhan is sitting in the armchair by the bed, looking at something on his phone. "You really don't have to worry about staying up late," he says.
Wei Ying stretches. "Nah, it has actually been a very long day," he says and, right on cue, yawns. Lan Zhan nods once and turns to plug his phone into the charger. Wei Ying takes the chance to get into the bed while his back is turned. The comforter settles over him like a cloud. It's probably not actually silk. That would be wildly impractical, and he can't imagine a Lan giving in to frivolity.
"Uh," he says suddenly, gripped by a sudden panic. "Which side?"
"Mm?"
"Of the bed. Which side of the bed do you want." What is he doing?
Lan Zhan turns at last. "Either is fine," he says. "Wei Ying, are you alright?"
He manages a smile, but that odd dreamlike feeling is back. "Of course."
Lan Zhan looks dubious, but walks over and flips back the comforter and sits. He and Wei Ying exchange a long look that Wei Ying can't read. His eyes are so dark.
"If you're uncomfortable," Lan Zhan says gently, and all at once it's fine. It's just Lan Zhan.
"I'm okay," Wei Ying says, and means it this time. "Really. Pinky swear." He sticks out his left pinky finger.
Lan Zhan snorts a little inelegant laugh but does pinky swear, his finger warm around Wei Ying's. "Okay," he says. "Good night. I don't mind the light on if you want it."
Then he turns his own lamp off, tucks himself under the comforter, and appears to fall straight to sleep. Wei Ying regards this feat open-mouthed.
"Wow," he whispers. Lan Zhan's eyelids flicker a little, but he doesn't wake up. Wei Ying, feeling very daring, reaches down and moves a strand of hair from his forehead. "Good night, Lan Zhan," he says, and turns out the light.
*
He wakes up alone, still tucked under the soft warmth of the comforter. It really feels like a cloud, he thinks, and stays there for a while, feeling cozy. When he finally sits up, there’s a note by the bed that says, “Gone for a run. Breakfast is downstairs. See you soon. Lan Zhan”
“You didn’t really need to sign it, you goof,” Wei Ying mutters to himself. Then he sighs and wiggles his way out of bed. He showers and gets dressed in his softest sweater, a blue one that’s just a little bit heathered. He fusses with his hair, but despite his efforts it looks just the same as ever, so he gives up and goes downstairs in search of breakfast.
The light from the tall windows turns the living room honey-gold. Wei Ying lifts a hand to block it out and almost bumps into someone. “Ahh, Qing-jie!” he yeps. “Sorry.”
Wen Qing gives him an unimpressed look. “Lan Zhan’s on his run,” she says. “What’s up with you?”
He shrugs. “Looking for breakfast?”
She points to the kitchen and, to his surprise, follows him in. “So, how are things going?” she asks.
“Fine,” he says. Then, “No, really! Fine! I’m great, Lan Zhan is great.”
“Okay,” she says. “Just—be careful.”
He pauses in his quest for bacon. “You don’t seem to trust me at all,” he complains.
She pauses for a moment. “Lan Zhan isn’t the kind of person who’s casual,” she says at last. “If he cares about someone, he really means it. He and Wen Ning were soccer buddies for a while—that’s how we got to know each other. We'd never really spent much time together outside of games and a few dinners. But when A-Yuan came to live with us, he showed up on the second day with a carseat and a bag of groceries and told us that he was going to help. I cried all over him, and then I yelled at him because I thought he wouldn’t really mean it. But he did.”
Wei Ying sets his plate down. “I get it,” he says. “I do. I promise.”
She sighs. “Well, I guess you’re in it now, one way or another.” She straightens and cracks her back a little bit. “I should go practice. I’ll see you later, Wei Ying.”
He stares down at the thinly sliced cantaloupe for a long time, picturing Lan Zhan showing up at the Wens’ door, ready to help them however he could. What would he have done in that situation? Probably donated to a group gift card and not thought anything else of it. He sighs and piles his plate with fruit and eggs.
He’s just finished eating when Lan Zhan comes in, wiping his face.
“Good morning!” he chirps, trying to look like someone a baby-rescuing hero would want to date.
Lan Zhan looks over and then blinks at him. “Wei Ying,” he says. “Good morning.”
Wei Ying gives him a dorky wave, which thankfully no one else is there to witness. “Hey, you probably want to shower. I’ll grab you some food.”
Lan Zhan blinks again. “That’s—thank you.”
Wei Ying nods and squares his shoulders, heading back into the kitchen. He remembers from the shared document, which does seem to be coming in handy after all, that Lan Zhan likes pancakes and oranges, but not melon. He pours himself another cup of coffee and settles in with his phone until Lan Zhan sits down next to him. “Ta da!” he says, presenting the plate with a grand gesture, like a magician revealing the end of a trick.
“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says gravely. He's changed into a grey button-down and a navy blue cardigan and Wei Ying honestly wants to put his head down amongst the dishes and wail.
“Do you want tea? I wasn’t sure,” Wei Ying asks instead. "But if you do, I can make you a cup. Despite appearances, I do actually know how. Auntie Yu drilled it into all three of us. Oh, and I think there's granola if you want some." Lan Zhan shakes his head, but he doesn't seem annoyed with Wei Ying's chattering.
If we were dating, Wei Ying thinks. Would he like this? Morning conversation and breakfast waiting for him? "I saw Wen Qing not too long ago," he says. "She said something about practicing. What does she play?"
Lan Zhan swallows. "Primarily piano. She'll play tomorrow."
A perfect opportunity for Wei Ying to say that he used to play too, but he doesn't. He's not a real musician, after all, and he feels shy about implying he ever was. "Ah. I forgot to ask her what Wen Ning and A-Yuan are up to."
"Playing in the yard," Lan Zhan tells him. "I think they'll take a walk down to the river soon if you want to join them."
"Oh, sure," Wei Ying says, easily. "You'll be busy."
"I have my own practicing to do," Lan Zhan says. "Although I'd rather be with you."
Wei Ying chokes on his coffee. "Ah, went down the wrong pipe," he wheezes, while Lan Zhan thumps him gently on the back.
"Hm," Lan Zhan says.
The front door opens and Lan Huan comes in, saving Wei Ying from having to come up with an actual response. "There you are!" He beams at them both and sits down. "A-Zhan, I hate to tear you away, but we really need to practice that duet."
"We do," Lan Zhan agrees, standing. "Wei Ying, I'll see you at lunch?"
"Yep, of course! Don't worry about me." Wei Ying grins and waves them off.
"I always worry about you," Lan Zhan retorts, which is extremely unfair.
"Bluuuuugh," Wei Ying tells himself and then goes to find Wen Ning and A-Yuan before he disintegrates entirely.
*
The river ends up being a lot of fun. He races A-Yuan until they’re both winded, and then they look for eagles. They don’t see any; it might actually be the wrong time of year. But he doesn’t mind. While they look, he and Wen Ning talk about music. It turns out that they’re both into classic rock, in a semi-ironic but also mostly serious way, which is a nice coincidence. Between them, A-Yuan squats down to build a mud castle.
“Oh, you need a bath, buddy,” Wei Ying says, when he notices how much mud has transferred itself to A-Yuan.
“I could jump in the river!” A-Yuan suggests.
“Nope,” Wen Ning and Wei Ying say in unison.
A-Yuan rolls his eyes. “I’d be careful. I’m not a baby.”
Wei Ying can remember being five and hating to be treated like a little kid, so he does not pinch A-Yuan’s adorable cheeks and tell him that he’s a tiny infant. But it’s a severe temptation. “I bet lunch is starting soon. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I guess,” A-Yuan pouts. But he does let Wei Ying take him to wash his hands in the river, and on the way back to the house he swings between the two of them, shrieking at every upturn.
Wei Ying smiles at Wen Ning. “Hard not to be in a good mood with this guy around,” he says.
Wen Ning laughs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw him first thing in the morning. But yeah, he’s a good kid. We like him okay.” He winks at Wei Ying.
“Shushu!” A-Yuan complains.
They tumble into the house in a cheerful pile. Wen Ning takes A-Yuan off to wash up and Wei Ying slips off his jacket and his muddy shoes. When he turns around, Lan Zhan’s uncle is right behind him, watching.
“Oh, sh—em, excuse me,” Wei Ying says, his heart pounding a little bit.
“Mm,” Lan Qiren says. “Lunch is ready in the dining room. I believe Lan Zhan was looking for you.”
“Aw.” Wei Ying puts his hand over his heart. “That’s sweet. I was down at the river with Wen Ning and A-Yuan.”
At the mention of A-Yuan, Lan Qiren’s face softens. “Ah, I’m sure he enjoyed that.”
“Have you known them for a long time?” Wei Ying asks, trying to be polite.
“Lan Zhan made friends with them a few years ago. I had previously known Wen Ning and Wen Qing’s uncle, but he’s not a respectable person.” Lan Qiren dismisses the uncle out of hand. “This younger generation is quite different, thankfully. I admire their family commitment.”
Wei Ying nods. “It would be a lot to take on,” he says, realizing that it’s true at the same time.
Lan Qiren regards him for a moment. “So you would not be willing to do the same?”
Wei Ying blinks. “Well, my jiejie and didi don’t have kids yet, but—I mean, of course I would, if I had to. In a heartbeat. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be tough.”
“Mm,” Lan Qiren says again, seeming mollified. “I am sure Lan Zhan shared the schedule for today with you. There will be dinner this evening and the concert afterwards.”
“Yes, yep. Chinese music today, right? I’m looking forward to it.” Wei Ying isn’t that into traditional music, but he doesn’t mind it, and he wants to see Lan Zhan play. He smiles and follows Lan Qiren into the living room, where Lan Zhan is quietly sitting on the couch.
“Hellooo,” he says, leaning over the back of the couch to see what Lan Zhan’s reading. This turns out to be a mistake, as it puts their cheeks so close that he can feel the warmth of Lan Zhan’s skin.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan greets him, sounding amused. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Yeah!” He reconsiders his first instinct, which is to vault over the back of the couch, and walks around instead. “Wen Ning took A-Yuan to wash up and change his clothes. He made some mud castles.”
“I see.” Lan Zhan puts his bookmarks in his place and closes his book.
“How was your practice?”
“Fine. We’re a little rough still, but it will come together.” Lan Zhan says this decisively, as if someone has been arguing that it will not.
“I’m sure it will,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re so talented.”
“Are you hungry yet?” Lan Zhan asks, ignoring the praise entirely. Except—Wei Ying checks—his ears are flushed just a tiny bit.
“Lead on!” he says. “I’m starving. Being outside always makes me hungry. Isn’t that funny, Lan Zhan? Do you think that’s how people started eating picnics? If I was out working in a field or something, I’d always be wanting to stop and snack.”
Lan Zhan takes his hand in the middle of this speech, and Wei Ying squeezes their fingers together, almost involuntarily. Lan Zhan squeezes back. If we were dating, he thinks, Lan Zhan wouldn’t mind how much I talk. He’d like it. And I wouldn’t mind that he doesn’t answer all my questions, because I know he’s listening anyway.
They settle into empty seats at the table, which is largely silent. Lan Huan is texting furiously and Lan Qiren is giving him increasingly fulminating looks. There are a few other people present who Wei Ying hasn’t met, and who are introduced to him as Lan Zhan’s cousin from Washington and her husband and son. Wei Ying chats with them a bit. He lived in Washington for six months, but then again, as he says, where along the I-5 corridor has he not lived briefly? Lan Zhan looks at him, a little frown line on his forehead.
“I’m here to stay, at least for the foreseeable future,” Wei Ying reassures him.
“I should hope so!” Lan Xiu says. “It sounds like the two of you are getting pretty serious.”
“Ahhhh,” Wei Ying says, floundering.
“Xiuxiu, don’t be so forward,” her husband says, laughing. “Let them be.” He shakes his head at Wei Ying. “Don’t mind her. If she’s not matchmaking for someone, she’s trying to convince them to propose.”
“Ahahahah,” Wei Ying says. Lan Zhan catches his hand under the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. Wei Ying takes a deep breath. He’s very aware of Lan Qiren at the end of the table, surely eavesdropping on his beloved nephew’s prospects. “I think it’s still a little too early to talk about that seriously.”
Lan Huan stops texting and looks up. Lan Qiren looks up. Lan Zhan doesn’t, because he’s already looking at Wei Ying, who turns to look him full in the face. “Right, Lan Zhan?” he asks, a little bit desperately.
“If we were dating,” Lan Zhan says, a glint of mischief in his eye, “I would certainly have a plan in mind already.”
Wei Ying chokes.
“If we were dating?” Lan Huan asks, confused. “I—what?”
“It’s a joke,” Wei Ying says. “You know. One of those couple jokes. Lan Zhan, back me up here.”
“It is a joke. We used to say that to each other when we were friends,” Lan Zhan says calmly, going back to his lunch like he hasn’t just annihilated Wei Ying’s ability to cope with the world. He’s not even blushing now, and Wei Ying knows that he is. It’s not fair! He’s supposed to be the teasing one! Ugh.
“Anyway,” he says desperately. “How old is Jingyi?”
Most parents love to talk about their children and Lan Zhan’s cousins are no exception. And it seems Lan Qiren has opinions about raising children, which must be discussed at length. Under cover of the conversation, Wei Ying leans into Lan Zhan who turns at once. "Hi," he says quietly and cherishes the little tucked-away smile he receives in return.
"Hello," Lan Zhan says.
"More practicing after this?"
"Mm, maybe. But my brother is going out this afternoon, so I'll be free for a while. Why?"
"Oh," Wei Ying says, feeling weirdly nervous. "Wanna hang out?"
Lan Zhan blinks at him twice, slowly. "Of course," he says. He glances outside, where the rain patters on the leaves. "There's ping-pong in the family room."
Wei Ying can't hold back a cackle. "As amazing as that sounds, I was thinking more like, like drinking tea and reading on the couch?" He wants to say that when he's with Lan Zhan, he feels less frenetic, like Lan Zhan's calm spreads through Wei Ying, making a place in his heart for quiet. That he's now spent two meals and three car rides with Lan Zhan and hasn't felt like he had to say anything unless he wanted to.
"Wei Ying. Anything you like." Lan Zhan squeezes his hand a little bit, his usual reassurance, and Wei Ying sways a little closer, a magnet sticking to metal.
"Yeah, that sounds nice," he says. "If we—I like quiet afternoons with you."
He can't make himself look at Lan Zhan when he says that, but it doesn't seem to matter. He's so aware of his breath in his throat, of his pulse where their hands join. Then Lan Zhan gives him a little tug.
"Go get your book," he tells Wei Ying. "I'll make the tea."
"I see how it is," Wei Ying grumbles, on cue. "Don't trust me to make the tea, huh?"
Lan Zhan just stands and glides away serenely. Wei Ying throws up his hands and laughs. "I'm being ordered away," he tells the Lan cousins. "Nice to meet you both!"
He finds his book, the latest in a long sci-fi series he likes, and runs down the stairs lightly. He pauses at the last landing, looking down into the living room. Lan Zhan, sitting on the couch, sipping his tea and watching the rain fall in the trees just outside the window. He looks like he's never been bothered by anything in his life.
None of this feels real. The quiet house in the middle of nowhere, the gentle sound of rain, Lan Zhan waiting for him. The real world waits outside, circling. It'll pounce sooner or later. It always does. Things always end. But for this afternoon, Lan Zhan is Wei Ying's. So stop moping on the stairs and get on with it, he thinks, and runs down into the living room, flopping on the couch with his head by Lan Zhan's knee.
"Hi," he says, a little breathlessly.
Lan Zhan smiles with his eyes. Wei Ying has never known anyone else who could do that, but here he is beaming down at Wei Ying. "Hello. Your tea is on the end table."
"Oh! Thanks." He sits up, because he doesn't think Lan Qiren would appreciate having tea slopped on his nice couch. "Hey, where did Wen Ning and A-Yuan go off to?"
Lan Zhan shrugs. "Not sure. Sometimes they go into town to get a break."
"Mm," Wei Ying says, around his teacup. He leans back the other way, against the arm of the couch, and pokes Lan Zhan's knee with his socked toe. "Thanks for making tea. And, like, spending the afternoon with me. You don't have to, you know. Tell me to fu—get lost anytime."
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says, chiding that time, so Wei Ying laughs.
"Okay, okay," he says, and sets his tea down, slithering down the couch until his toes are tucked under Lan Zhan's thigh and his head is comfortably propped on the fussy little pillow. He opens his book and, perhaps predictably, falls asleep within fifteen pages.
"I'm glad you're happy," someone is saying when he wakes up. "Although I do wish he wouldn't lie on the furniture."
"Thank you, Shushu," Lan Zhan says, quiet and calm as always.
"Mm," Lan Qiren says, sounding so exactly like Lan Zhan at his most dubious that it wakes a strange tender affection in Wei Ying. A little pause, and then, stiffly, "A-Huan has told me that I caused you some distress. I should apologize."
Not an actual apology, Wei Ying thinks, trained by his Jiejie to tell the difference. But Lan Zhan says, "No apology needed. There was no harmful intent, and as you can see, no lasting consequences."
Wow, Wei Ying thinks, and wakes up all the way. He starts to sit up, but Lan Zhan's hand is on his ankle, a firm anchor keeping him in place.
"Good. I'm glad of that." Lan Qiren nods at both of them and then, apparently satisfied, makes his way back towards his study.
"Sorry," Wei Ying says when he's gone. "I can be proper, I promise."
"No need."
He makes a little scoffing sound at that and Lan Zhan squeezes his ankle just a bit.
"Really no need. I don't mind."
"Okay, but your uncle minds!"
"My uncle is not dating you," Lan Zhan retorts and opens his book. Wei Ying had opened his mouth to say that Lan Zhan wasn't technically dating him either. But the conversation is apparently over, fine, cool. Wei Ying glares at his uncaring ears, and picks up his own book from where it had fallen on his chest. He tries to read, but he's too wound up now.
"Hey, Lan Zhan," he says. Lan Zhan looks over at once. "Do you think—this is really nice. Spending time with you. Do you think we can do this sometime?"
Lan Zhan's face softens at once. "Of course," he says. "Anytime you want."
"Okay." He smiles and wiggles his toes under Lan Zhan's leg a little bit. "Yeah, I'd really like that." He hadn't known how lonely he was until this weekend. He hadn't realized how much he'd pulled away from even the possibility of friendship. Of rainy afternoons and walks to the river. He heaves a big sigh and squirms around until he's comfortable again. He reads until people start laughing in the bright kitchen and Lan Huan bustles in with a diagram to start setting the room up for the first concert.
*
When Lan Xiu and Wen Ning call, they all squeeze around the table to eat. The dining room has windows on three sides, looking out over the wooded hills and the river below. The rain has finally eased up and the sunset glows across the sky, leaving the hills in stark shadow. Night coming, not gently, but beautifully. The stillness of the house and the small pools of light from the fixtures overhead. The sun sinks away and color disappears from the world. Only the river reflects a last silvery gleam before it too is extinguished.
Wei Ying can hardly pay attention to what’s happening in the dining room until Lan Zhan steps on his foot gently and he realizes that Lan Huan asked him a question. “Oh, I’m sorry, can you say that again?” he asks. He feels dazed.
Lan Huan smiles a little. “I was just wondering how you and my brother met.”
"Ah, well, met I don't actually remember, but we were at the same table at a company dinner and that's when we started talking." Wei Ying feels a little startled when he realizes that this is actually the truth. The week after that dinner, Lan Zhan had come by to ask him a question and they ended up talking for half an hour. He doesn't even remember what it was about, just Lan Zhan standing by his desk and saying something sarcastic.
"Mm," Lan Zhan agrees. Their eyes meet for a moment and it feels significant. Wei Ying looks away first. How is he supposed to go back to normal life after this? Three days, no problem. Hah. He rubs his collarbone a little bit because his chest is aching with some feeling too large for him to handle. Too momentous to think about or process. The width of a gold-red sky.
He helps clean up afterwards, while Lan Zhan disappears to get ready for the concert. The living room has been transformed: the couch moved to the side, chairs set up in neat rows, a small wooden stage set up next to the piano, in front of the tall windows. Who does this? He thinks again, but everyone else seems to be used to it. He finds a spot to sit with Wen Ning and A-Yuan, who’s clutching crayons and a coloring page.
And then there’s Lan Qiren, standing at the front of the stage and clearing his throat gently. “Thank you all, family and friends, for attending this year’s musical weekend,” he says. “As you know, these have been a tradition in our family for a long time, and I am grateful to each and every one of you who has helped keep them going. Tonight, as always, the first concert is traditional. We’ll open with Wen Qing on the koudi.”
He steps aside and sits in the front row. Wen Qing, in a red dress that’s perfectly conservative but also somehow very trendy, takes his place and nods. She plays a few songs, and then Lan Xiu plays the pipa, competently. Her husband joins her to play the xiao for the last song. A few more people Wei Ying doesn’t recognize and honestly zones out about. And then, Lan Huan and Lan Zhan.
They take their instruments and move into place. One small nod between them and they ease into a guqin and xiao duet. Wei Ying thinks he’s heard the song before, at some point. Maybe Auntie Yu listened to it on the radio when she was working around the house. It makes him think of that time, anyway, sunny summer days and the smell of lemons. He and Jiang Cheng lying on the paving stones of the patio, reading comics.
Lan Zhan plays the next song solo, and then trades off with Lan Huan. They play the last song together again, a deeper, slower tune this time.
They’re good, he thinks to himself, a little dazed. Really good. Not quite professional level, but not all that far off either.
“Wow,” he whispers to Wen Ning. “I’ve never heard them play together.” Then he remembers that he doesn’t have to pretend about the dating stuff with him. “I’ve actually never heard Lan Zhan play at all.”
“Musical family and lots of practice,” Wen Ning whispers back. “But yeah. Wait until you hear him tomorrow.”
And then the concert is over and someone brings out drinks and turns the lights on low. Lan Zhan finds them and accepts A-Yuan's hug. He leans into Wei Ying a little bit.
"Tired?" Wei Ying asks, taking his hand.
Lan Zhan nods, blinking a few times. When he's sleepy, or content, he blinks like a cat. Slow and heavy. Wei Ying never noticed it, when they were just coworkers, but now he gets stuck on it whenever it happens.
"Want to go to bed?" he asks
"You don't have to," Lan Zhan says, on edge of a yawn.
Wei Ying looks at the crowd of strangers. He used to love a party. Used to talk his way into any group, drop a smile here and there, move on. He doesn't know when or why that changed. "Nah," he says. "I don't think I'll fall asleep right away, but I'll come upstairs with you."
Lan Zhan gathers his guqin and puts it safely away in his uncle's study. Then they sneak up the stairs together, the hush of the quiet house swallowing up the laughter and clinking glasses from the living room. They're holding hands again and Wei Ying feels as if the world is dissolving around them, the only real thing the sound of Lan Zhan's footsteps, the warmth of his skin.
He gets ready for bed in the bathroom, not quite meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Lan Zhan is already in bed, although he isn't asleep yet. Wei Ying slides under the comforter, wiggles his toes in luxurious satisfaction. "Hi," he says.
"Hello."
"You were really good." He's not thinking. He reaches out and strokes Lan Zhan's hair. Lan Zhan makes an odd little noise, bitten-off. Wei Ying jerks his hand back. "Sorry!"
"No." Lan Zhan's tucked into the pillows so Wei Ying can't see his expression. "I didn't mind. I mean—it was nice."
Wei Ying stares. Then he gingerly lays his hand back on Lan Zhan's head. Runs his fingersthrough the silk of his hair. He's blushing. He has to be. It feels more intimate than any sex he's had. He swallows and then clears his throat. "So, what's tomorrow? Classical?"
"Mm," Lan Zhan agrees, sleepy. "In the afternoon, and then a formal dinner."
Wei Ying pauses. "How formal?"
"I mean that my uncle invites guests, so it's not just family." Lan Zhan burrows a little deeper into the covers. "I'm free in the morning."
Wei Ying resumes his petting. "Yeah?"
"We could go on a hike, if you want to."
"That would be nice."
"Mm." He yawns again, delicately. "Good night, Wei Ying," he says and falls asleep.
“Good night, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. He reads on his phone for a while, but he leaves his hand in Lan Zhan’s hair.
*
He wakes once in the night. Lan Zhan has rolled over and his hand is resting on Wei Ying’s chest. Wei Ying puts his hand over it and falls back asleep, content.
It’s raining again when he wakes up properly, and he grumbles about having to be an actual adult and get dressed. If he were home, he’d just throw on his bathrobe and hang around all day. He gets lost in a little daydream where he can do that, but Lan Zhan is also there, and they drink tea together on the couch. Then he looks at himself in the mirror. “Snap out of it,” he says severely. “Get. It. Together.”
Thus admonished, he goes in search of breakfast. Lan Zhan is nowhere to be seen, but Wen Ning waves at him from the living room.
“How’s it going?” Wei Ying asks.
“Okay, okay, can’t complain,” Wen Ning says cheerfully. He’s wearing all black again, and his nails are painted black, but he’s such a sunflower of a person that Wei Ying can’t really take him seriously as a goth. “I let A-Yuan paint them,” he adds, seeing Wei Ying look at his nails.
“A brave man,” Wei Ying says. “Hey, have you seen Lan Zhan?”
Wen Ning points to Lan Qiren’s study.
“Ah. Thanks!”
Breakfast, or Lan Zhan? Wei Ying compromises and grabs a cup of coffee, sipping it on his way to the study. It’s the same as the coffee Lan Zhan keeps buying him. He’s sure of it. He knocks on the open door with his free hand and leans in.
“Ah, Wei Ying,” Lan Qiren says. He has such a good poker face. Wei Ying is full of admiration. He feels translucent as waxed paper these days.
“Hi, sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Lan Zhan says at once.
“Right. Right, right. Um, I might get some breakfast, but do you still want to go on that hike later?”
Lan Zhan nods.
“Okay.” Wei Ying smiles at him and nods at Lan Qiren, because he’s still trying to be polite. “Come find me when you’re done, then!”
He eats breakfast and texts his jiejie and then A-Yuan shows up and they talk about the magic of LEGO, which is a subject they both feel strongly about, and by the time that wraps up, Lan Zhan still hasn’t come by. The river is hidden by mist this morning; the hills only shadowy suggestions of themselves. Wei Ying’s coffee is gone and his breakfast is gone and he’s not quite sure what to do next.
At last he gives up and goes to look for Lan Zhan. He can’t find him anywhere, until at last he tries the bedroom and there he is, sitting on the bed, staring at nothing.
“Hey,” Wei Ying says, startled. “Lan Zhan.” He sits down next to him. “Are you okay?”
Lan Zhan turns his head slowly and looks at Wei Ying as if he hardly recognizes him. Then he reaches out and takes Wei Ying’s hand. “I—I will be.” Just above a whisper. “Sorry.”
“No, no, no, don’t be sorry. You don’t need to be sorry.” Wei Ying runs his thumb up and down the back of Lan Zhan’s hand where it rests in his. “Just—you don’t seem okay.”
Lan Zhan sighs and crumples a little bit. “Families are hard sometimes,” he says. “Even when everyone’s trying.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying agrees at once. “It’s almost worse when they’re all trying, I think.” Lan Zhan’s grip tightens a little.
“Want to talk about it?” Wei Ying asks.
Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I want to go on that hike with you.”
Wei Ying stands up. “Okay! So, let’s do that. We’ve got plenty of time before lunch.”
Lan Zhan hesitates another second and then nods. They find their waterproof coats and hiking boots, and Wei Ying fusses over Lan Zhan a little bit, zipping his zipper and snapping the top closed. Then Lan Zhan leads him down the stairs and turns to open a side door that Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed, at the end of the hallway by the study.
It’s still raining outside, but that’s what hoods are for. The misty clouds turn the forested hill behind the house spooky and mysterious. Lan Zhan seems confident about the path, though, so Wei Ying just follows him.
“What are you playing this afternoon?" Wei Ying asks after a while, when the pressure of silence gets to be too much for him.
"Bach," Lan Zhan says at once. "And Britten"
"Huh," Wei Ying says. The Bach isn't exactly a surprise, but Britten kind of is.
"My uncle dislikes Britten," Lan Zhan says serenely, "but he is not the one playing."
Wei Ying splutters out a startled laugh. "Lan Zhan! So rebellious." He takes Lan Zhan's hand, even though there's no one else out here. Even though they don't have to pretend.
"My mother loved Britten," Lan Zhan says. "She loved these woods too. She took me on long walks out here when I was young. Before she and my father separated."
Wei Ying holds his breath. That's—that's a real thing. A fallen wire, deadly serious. "Is she...did she…"
"She died when I was twelve," Lan Zhan says. His voice is quiet, but he's holding Wei Ying's hand so tightly. "She had cancer. They didn't tell me until she was in the hospital that last time."
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying breathes, horrified.
"I think they meant well," Lan Zhan says. He sounds so far away.
"Hey," Wei Ying says. He tugs on their joined hands a little. "Hey."
Lan Zhan finally turns to look at him. "Hello," he says softly.
"That's so awful and I'm so sorry," Wei Ying tells him. "She would be so proud of you."
Lan Zhan's face crumples a little and then he's crying, in soundless sobs that seem like they're ripping out of him. Wei Ying drops their hands at once and hugs him. "You're okay," he whispers into Lan Zhan's shaking shoulders. "You're okay. Oh, buddy. I got you." He doesn't even know what he's saying. He just holds Lan Zhan and wonders how long he's been carrying this grief around. Who he's let in enough to share it.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says, muffled, into his hair. Wei Ying lets go at once.
"Sorry," he says. Lan Zhan shakes his head. He looks like he wants to say something, but can't quite manage it. In the end, he takes Wei Ying's hand again and squeezes once, twice, three times. And Wei Ying squeezes back.
*
The guests start to arrive after lunch. Lan Zhan, who took a nap when they got back to the house, has disappeared again. Wei Ying finds himself in a small crowd of people who talk in low, cultured voices and shake hands firmly when they meet.
He sees Wen Ning and A-Yuan across the room and waves, but he doesn't try to join them. He finds a seat towards the back of the room.
Once again, Lan Qiren opens the concert with a few remarks. Lan Xiu plays a Mozart sonatina, and Lan Huan an oboe solo. And then Lan Zhan comes out with his cello, Wen Qing following him on her way to the piano.
A hushed moment. Wei Ying thinks he's holding his breath. Then Lan Zhan begins to play.
Wei Ying has heard this Bach piece before, but never in person. Never when watching Lan Zhan's fingers move, sure and steady, across the cello. He puts his hands under his thighs because the sound makes him want to fidget, restless with the power of it.
Another silence when it's over. Then Lan Zhan lifts his head. He catches Wei Ying's eyes for the briefest instant before he begins the Britten suite. For the briefest instant, but it sears.
Then swelling music pushes everything else away. Wei Ying can hardly focus. Lan Zhan is playing this. Lan Zhan is thinking of his mother and playing this. Lan Zhan is thinking of legacies and what it means to make something good out of grief. Lan Zhan is thinking about what it means to not let go.
He held Lan Zhan's hand earlier and now those same hands are making this music.
He can't—he can't—
He can't absorb the rest of the piece. It's barely over when he bolts from the room, down the hallway by Lan Qiren's study, to the side door. He hurries down the path to the river. Maybe he'll see an eagle, he thinks. He's not wearing the right shoes.
He reaches the end of the path. The wide river bank opens out before him and he draws a gulping breath. He sinks down on the rocky verge and hugs his own knees. He watches the river rush by and does not think at all.
Someone’s footsteps on the stones. He’s not surprised when Lan Zhan sits down beside him.
“Sorry I didn’t stay,” he whispers. He doesn’t think he can say anything else.
“Mm. It’s alright,” Lan Zhan tells him. They sit quietly for a moment. Wei Ying rests his chin on his folded up arms and watches the river. “Do you want to talk about it?” Lan Zhan asks.
Wei Ying shakes his head.
Lan Zhan just nods and holds out an arm, so Wei Ying folds himself into Lan Zhan’s side. A gust of air tosses the trees on the far bank and they sigh and creak. It’s almost like music, Wei Ying thinks, and then abruptly he’s crying. He never cries unless he means to, but it’s as if the bubble of emotion that’s been swelling inside him pops and tears run out. Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything, but he hugs Wei Ying a little tighter.
“I’m sorry,” Wei Ying sobs out. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying.” He rubs his chest a little bit.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying sniffs and wipes his face. “If we were dating,” he says. And then swallows. “I used to play piano,” he says. “When I was a kid. Auntie Yu signed us all up for lessons. I really loved it, Lan Zhan. But—I don’t know. When I moved out, I couldn’t exactly take one with me and I didn’t have the money to get a keyboard, and it just wasn’t—I was trying to live, you know? I mean, probably not. I was such a disaster, you probably don’t even know. But—I stopped. I stopped doing everything I liked because I was just trying to live, and now I don’t know how to start again. If we were dating, I mean, if you—if I was someone—I would want to play with you.”
Lan Zhan doesn’t respond to this remarkably incoherent speech at first. Then he says, slowly, like he’s feeling his way through, “I don’t know exactly what you mean, but it’s true that it would have been easy to let music lapse. For myself, I was so stubborn when I was young, and I clung to everything that made me different. I clung to my family’s traditions. It was hard to realize how to make it my own and not simply what I was supposed to do. It would have been easier to let it go. So, I understand a little bit.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, still hiccuping slightly in an extremely attractive way.
“If we were dating,” Lan Zhan says. “I would want you to do what makes you happy.”
“Hah.”
“There’s a piano at the house,” Lan Zhan goes on, ruthless.
“I’m not—I’m not going to play your uncle’s piano!”
“Why not?”
Wei Ying moves enough to look at him properly. “I’m no good anymore! I haven’t played in almost ten years.”
Lan Zhan shrugs. Wei Ying huffs.
“If it would make you happy, you should.” Then Lan Zhan stands up and reaches a hand down to Wei Ying. “Dinner will start soon. Do you want to come back?”
“Yeah, of course I do,” Wei Ying grumbles, taking his hand and dusting off the seat of his pants. “Hey. Thank you for looking out for me.”
Lan Zhan looks at him. The light is fading, but the river still gleams with the reflected sunset. “Of course,” he says, simply. As if it was an inevitability that he would come and find Wei Ying and hold him while he cried and tell him that he should do what makes him happy. As if he is promising that he would do it all again if Wei Ying needed him to. As if he means it.
*
After dinner, there's conversation in the living room. Someone has put on a Mozart record and someone else brings around tea. Wei Ying sits shoulder to shoulder with Lab Zhan on a blue loveseat. He drinks tea and lets the conversation go on around him. He feels unmoored, a little. Like everything he thought about this, the two of them together, has been taken and swirled around and hasn't quite settled. A snow globe, shaken.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan says quietly, and Wei Ying turns to him at once.
"Hi."
That smile, tucked away behind his eyes. "Hello."
"I'm okay," he says, and thinks he means it.
"Mm." Lan Zhan takes his hand and Wei Ying lets himself sway against Lan Zhan's shoulder. One more day.
"Zhan-ge!" A-Yuan pops up and throws himself at Lan Zhan, who catches him. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," Lan Zhan tells him. "Did you like the music earlier?"
"It was long," A-Yuan says, and Wei Ying finds himself laughing.
"It was long, wasn't it? But your Zhan-ge was pretty good."
A-Yuan kicks at Wei Ying. "Zhan-ge is always good. Sometimes he plays for me."
He'd be a good age to start learning piano, Wei Ying thinks. He'd offer to teach A-Yuan, if he were sticking around. "If you could play any instrument, what would it be?"
A-Yuan shrugs. "Shushu shows me his mandolin sometimes, but it's hard."
"Mm, yeah." It's hard to think that he might never see A-Yuan or Wen Ning after tomorrow. He should try to reach out, regardless of what happens. But he knows they're really Lan Zhan's friends, not his.
He's acting like the two of them are going to really break up, instead of just going back to reality. It still feels like the truth.
*
He takes a longer shower than usual that night, zoning out with the comforting drum of hot water on his skin. Lan Zhan has already fallen asleep by the time he climbs into bed. But that's fine. For the best. He turns out the light and lies awake in the dark. He can hear a bird in the trees outside and the soft nighttime sounds of the house. He turns over and then over again.
At last he gets out of bed and creeps into the hall. There’s a little window seat, tucked between the bedroom and the bathroom. Wei Ying curls himself into it and looks out over the treetops. The moonlight bathes everything with a silver serenity; it makes Wei Ying’s heart ache, the way Lan Zhan’s music did. The way everything seems to right now.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan, voice slow and sleep-soft.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.
Lan Zhan sits down on the end of the window seat. The moonlight touches him too. Wei Ying swallows and leans his chin on his knees again.
“Lan Zhan, do you think—after this.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says, wrapping a hand around Wei Ying’s ankle. He’s so steady and reassuring. Wei Ying wants to lean on that strength and grow around it like wisteria grows on a trellis.
He takes a deep breath. “Can we still be friends?” he asks. “After tomorrow.”
Lan Zhan blinks at him. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.
“Never mind,” Wei Ying says at once. “You don’t have to! I don’t—”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan interrupts him. “Of course we can still be friends. I thought—I thought we already were.” He sounds almost hurt.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says. “Oh, okay. I just didn’t want to.” He waves his hand around. “Presume, or whatever.”
“Come back to bed,” Lan Zhan says, instead of answering any of that. “You’ll feel better when you’ve slept.”
“Ugh, fine.” Wei Ying holds out his hands and Lan Zhan pulls him up. When they climb back into bed, Lan Zhan scoots over so their sides are touching. One long line of warmth. Wei Ying feels himself relax a little bit. “Thank you,” he whispers.
“Go to sleep,” Lan Zhan murmurs, but he takes Wei Ying’s hand and squeezes it a little bit anyway.
*
When he wakes up, Lan Zhan is already gone. Wei Ying wiggles himself into the comforter and considers. He doesn't want to face the day, the last day. If he just stays here, wrapped up in this warm cloud, time will surely stop for him, right?
At last he stretches and sighs and rolls himself out of bed. It's earlier than he thought. He gets ready and then sneaks down the stairs as quietly as possible. The living room is full of the clean warm light of early morning, diffused by the trees. He gets a cup of coffee and sits down on the piano bench, watching the wind tossing the leaves. It's going to rain again, because it's March. But the jasmine and viburnum are almost blooming. Soon the wisteria on his apartment building will blossom, and Lan Zhan and A-Yuan will go to the park to look for dahlias and delphinium. The world will go on, riotous as ever. Even if everything else falls apart, the flowers will bloom in their seasons.
Wei Ying takes a deep breath, and sets his empty mug on the floor by the bench, and turns to face the piano.
For a family that takes music as seriously as the Lans, it's an unassuming instrument: a small spinet upright. The keys are odd, ending without the usual lip. Wei Ying runs his index finger down middle C and then presses it, so gently that it makes no sound at all. Then again, a little louder.
One sharp inhale, and then: all ten fingers on the keys, his wrists automatically moving to the right angle, drilled into him by Mrs. Stanton. He plays one scale, and then another, feeling the memory of it move from his head back into his hands, into his fingers.
He pauses then. He doesn't really remember any music, just snatches. He plays a tiny bit of a Clementi sonatina, a scrap of a minuet.
Maybe he'll look for some easy sheet music, he thinks. Maybe he'll buy a keyboard. He smiles, a little bit wryly, and wonders what his life would be like if he had stuck with it all this time.
He turns his head and finds Lan Zhan leaning against the doorframe nearby, watching him.
"Hi," he says.
"Hello," Lan Zhan answers gravely and sits down beside him. Wei Ying scoots a little bit to give him room. "You sounded good."
"Oh, pfft," Wei Ying says. Rude but accurate. "Lan Zhan, these piano keys are weird."
"Mm." Lan Zhan reaches out to run a finger down one, which is now an image that Wei Ying has to live with. "This was my grandmother's piano. My great-grandfather saved up to buy it for her tenth birthday. When my father was young, he got hold of a pair of nail clippers and carefully clipped all of the keys. They had to be filed down flush."
Wei Ying gapes at him and then laughs, bright and astonished, even to his own ears. "Really? Wow." Then he sobers, looking at the piano again. Suddenly the modest instrument makes sense. No, they wouldn't buy anything when they had this piece of their history right there. This was a family piano. He touches it lightly, wondering what it cost Lan Zhan's great-grandfather to save up to buy it. "I take it back," he says. "They're not weird."
He doesn't have any of this: the long span of stories, of things, the everyday fabric of a family. Mostly he doesn't mind it. He loves the Jiangs and he knows they love him, even if it hasn't been easy for any of them. But, still. Still. To have one scrap of memory is almost worse than nothing, he thinks, and then wishes he hadn't. It's not true. He clings to that sunlight afternoon, with his mother swinging him around and around and his father laughing over her shoulder. He wouldn't be Wei Ying without it.
He sighs, not even realizing he has until he notices Lan Zhan's attention on him.
"I'm fine," he says. "Just remembering."
"Mm." Lan Zhan waits for a moment and then says, "Last night."
Wei Ying blushes instantly and rushes in. "Okay, please don't think about it. I was being silly. I mean, what are we in second grade? Do you like me, circle yes or no?" He makes his tone sarcastic at the end, drawing a little check and x in the air. Lan Zhan catches his wrist.
"Yes," he says. "Yes, I do like you. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I thought you knew that already, but since you don't, I'm telling you."
Abruptly, Wei Ying finds his eyes filling with hot tears. "But—okay." He holds up his hands at Lan Zhan's look. "I believe you. That would be—I didn't want to assume, that's all."
Lan Zhan says, "Why wouldn't I want to be friends with you?"
Wei Ying shakes his head. "I'm not. I don't know. I'm annoying!" He laughs, inviting Lan Zhan in on the joke, but Lan Zhan doesn't laugh along.
"I disagree," he says. "You don’t annoy me."
This blatant untruth makes Wei Ying's mouth drop open. "Uh. I hate to tell you, but that's—I've definitely annoyed you!"
"When?" Lan Zhan asks.
Wei Ying tries to think of a good example. "Documentation! You're always annoyed with my documentation!"
Lan Zhan blinks at him. "I don't mean annoyance with the fact that you refuse to fill out the very simple forms that make my job easier."
Wei Ying throws up his hands. "Well, fine, then I don't know! But it's happened! And what're you going to do when it happens again?"
"I don't know, because it hasn't come up," Lan Zhan tells him, apparently serious.
Wei Ying makes a derisive noise and scoots off the end of the piano bench. "I'm going to look for breakfast." Then when Lan Zhan just sits there, he adds, "Are you hungry too? Do you want a plate?"
Lan Zhan’s face softens and he stands up to follow Wei Ying. He holds out his hand when he catches up, and Wei Ying huffs a sigh and takes it.
*
The last day; the last breakfast; the last concert. Wei Ying promises to look after A-Yuan for Wen Ning and Wen Qing, who are playing with Lan Zhan. They all refuse to tell him what they're planning, even though he uses his saddest and largest eyes and most tragic pout. Unfair.
That now-familiar hush as Lan Qiren stands to deliver his introductory remarks.
"Thank you all for sharing this music with us," he says. "Whether you have played or listened, you've been part of something larger than yourself. I am grateful you have given your time and your attention. These weekends are a custom of our family, but without all of you, they would be only a wooden tradition and not the living art that I hope we achieve." He coughs once, slightly overcome, and then recovers. "Some of you have been here many times and some have only joined us this year. I hope that all of you will be with us for many years to come."
Wei Ying, who had been smiling a little, sobers abruptly. Even if he and Lan Zhan stay friends after today, he surely can't hope to be invited back once his family believes they're no longer dating.
But he doesn't have time to dwell on that, because the Wens and Lan Zhan step up to the little stage. A-Yuan claps wildly and Wei Ying whistles. Lan Qiren turns around to give him an appalled look and Wei Ying winces.
They settle, Wen Qing at the piano, Lan Zhan with his cello, Wen Ning standing with his mandolin. Another moment of silence while they gather themselves, while Wei Ying's heart tries to climb out of his chest—and then Lan Zhan draws his bow over the cello and the piano joins in on the next measure, hushed and slow and tender.
Wen Ning takes a breath and sings in a pure tenor, sweet and quiet.
Black is the color of my true love's hair
His lips are like some rosy fair
The clearest eyes and the strongest hands
Lan Zhan joins him on the last line, a soft burr of deeper noise: I love the ground whereon he stands.
Wei Ying's breath is caught in his chest. I didn't know, he thinks. I didn't—
Wen Ning brings his mandolin up and joins in. Wei Ying doesn't know that he's ever heard someone play the mandolin gently before, but the bright notes fit perfectly with the piano and cello, building into a crescendo.
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one.
Then Wen Ning sings the first verse again, with only the cello behind him. When he falls silent, Lan Zhan plays on alone, until at last that fades too and the song is over and Wei Ying breathes.
Then Lan Zhan raises his head and finds Wei Ying's eyes. He looks unutterably smug and Wei Ying has time to think, Oh shit before they all launch into a flawless version of the cantina song from Star Wars. It's so unexpected and so perfect that Wei Ying laughs out loud. He knows it's bad manners, but he can't help it. A-Yuan laughs too and claps along.
"They're pretty good, huh?" he whispers and A-Yuan nods enthusiastically.
They finished with a flourish and bow to thunderous applause. Wei Ying stamps and whistles again and this time Lan Qiren doesn't bother staring. The rest of the concert goes by in a slight haze. Everyone is very good, but no one quite has the magic of that first song.
Afterwards, there's tea and wine and little canapes. Everyone mills around, and Wei Ying sticks close to Lan Zhan, tucking his hand under his elbow. "Don't let him get away, eh?" an older auntie says, laughing, and Wei Ying smiles back.
I love the ground whereon he stands
It's too fucking true, isn't it? He doesn't want to leave this moment, except that he does. Except that he wants it all to be done and the worst to be over with. He itches with impatience.
"I'm gonna—outside," he tells Lan Zhan abruptly, and then rises on his tiptoes to kiss Lan Zhan's cheek. If we were dating. "You were so great," he says, squeezing Lan Zhan's arm before he runs away, as he always does, sinking down on the porch steps and watching the rain fall. It feels dreary today; a damp drizzle that never quite becomes anything.
He gathers himself finally and turns to go inside. The first person he encounters is Lan Qiren, stacking up chairs in a neat line along the wall.
"Oh, let me help!" he says at once.
"Thank you, but no need. These are the last." Lan Qiren pauses. "Well, well, another successful year. I hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Wei Ying."
"I did." Wei Ying bites his lip. "Thank you for inviting me, and—and welcoming me into your home. It's really special, what you do here."
"Thank you." Lan Qiren sighs. "Wei Ying, I—if I was unwelcoming to you at first, I hope you'll forgive me. I was worried about my nephew, but I need not have been. I'm glad to see him so happy."
"Oh." Wei Ying tries to think of something, anything to say in response. Before he can manage it, Lan Qiren's face softens.
"The way you take care of each other is admirable, and a good indication of the strength of your relationship."
"Oh. I." He manages to smile. "Thank you. I'm glad—I know Lan Zhan cares a lot about your opinion."
"Mm," Lan Qiren says, and nods, and leaves Wei Ying with his head whirling.
Because, the thing is: it’s true. They do take care of each other. He thinks of holding Lan Zhan while he cried, and of Lan Zhan telling him to come back to bed. He thinks of plates of food and cups of tea, and tucking his toes under Lan Zhan’s legs.
He’s been telling himself that he can be content with friendship, and maybe he can. But he has to tell Lan Zhan the truth. He can’t keep pretending that he doesn’t—that he doesn’t love Lan Zhan.
He lets out a shaky breath and leans against the wall. Not right away, though. Give it some time. Let the dust from the weekend settle, let reality set in. Maybe it’ll all fade away under the harsh light of humdrum existence. He doesn’t believe it, but maybe.
So he shakes himself slightly and goes in to find Lan Zhan, who is talking to his brother, frowning a little bit. The room has cleared out while he was gone, so it’s just the elegant windows and the family furniture. He tucks his hand back under Lan Zhan’s elbow and receives a squeeze in return.
“If you’re sure,” Lan Zhan says, sounding dubious.
“Oh, I think it will be lovely!” Lan Huan smiles at both of them. “I’m so looking forward to spending a little more time with Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying chokes on air. “To—what now?”
“My brother wants to stay with us for a few days,” Lan Zhan tells him. They exchange a glance that’s ninety percent panic.
“Uh.”
“Mm.”
“Lan Zhan, can I speak to you for a moment in private?” Wei Ying blurts out. “Sorry, Lan Huan, no offense.”
“Oh, of course, of course,” Lan Huan says, still beaming.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying hisses at him, the moment they get out of earshot.
“I know,” Lan Zhan says. “I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.”
“What are we—what are you going to do?”
“I have to tell him the truth,” Lan Zhan says. He sounds bleak, and Wei Ying reaches out to take his hand. “But not here. I’ll tell him when we get back to the apartment.”
“Okay,” Wei Ying breathes. “Okay.”
“Will you stay?” Lan Zhan asks. Wei Ying searches his face, but he can’t quite tell what Lan Zhan is thinking. “Please. Just until it’s all over.”
“Of course,” Wei Ying says. “What...hah. What else are friends for, huh?”
Lan Zhan gives him one more look and nods. “Thank you.”
Wei Ying says, “Your uncle was just really nice to me. I thought you’d want to know that. He said he was happy we had found each other.”
Lan Zhan’s face goes sweet and fond. “That was very kind of him.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says. “You know, when you bring someone here for real, I think he’ll come around as long as they mean it. As long as they take care of you."
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and then doesn’t go on.
Wei Ying smiles at him. It’s all too much: Lan Qiren and then Lan Huan inviting himself back, and the whole thing coming unraveled. But this part, the two of them together, still feels like the resonance of Lan Zhan’s cello, like the hush after music ends. “It’s okay,” he says. “We’ll tell Lan Huan, and even if he’s upset, he still loves you. It’ll be okay, Lan Zhan.”
Lan Zhan looks at him and then nods. “I believe it will.”
*
Even so, the car ride feels excruciating. Wei Ying sits in the back seat and watches the city swallow up the landscape as Lan Zhan drives. He jiggles his foot nervously while Lan Huan makes casual conversation and Lan Zhan barely responds. He’s pretty sure that Lan Huan can tell something's up, but hopefully he won’t know exactly what. To be fair, how could he? It’s not like Lan Zhan is habitually deceitful.
Wei Ying stares out of the window and wishes they were already back. That he was in his apartment, facing the old loneliness, but at least not facing this. Reality is finally pouncing and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get through the rest of this day, however it goes.
They get their bags into the apartment and take their shoes off. It’s quiet today, with the curtains drawn and everything put neatly away. Lan Zhan sets his bag by the couch and says, “Could I speak to you, please?” to his brother.
Lan Huan blinks and glances around, confused. “Me? Of course, but—”
“Please.” Lan Zhan bites the word out, and Lan Huan frowns. They disappear down the hallway to Lan Zhan’s bedroom. Wei Ying forces himself to sit on the couch and not to pace around the room like a panther. He can’t hear anything, only a low rumble of voices and once one of them exclaiming something. He hopes it’s not too bad. He can’t imagine they’d yell at each other, the way he and Jiang Cheng used to when they were upset. They don’t seem like the yelling type. But what if that’s worse? What if they need to yell and can’t? What if Lan Huan comes out and yells at Wei Ying, because he can’t yell at Lan Zhan?
Well, he’d probably deserve it, anyway.
He’s bitten his thumbnail ragged when Lan Huan finally emerges, frowning heavily. The frown deepens when he sees Wei Ying sitting on the couch. “I’m so, so sorry,” he blurts out, before Lan Huan can say anything.
“I don’t understand,” Lan Huan says. “I don’t understand why Lan Zhan didn’t trust me with the truth.”
Wei Ying swallows painfully. “I know it’s—it was—I’m so sorry.”
“But mostly,” Lan Huan goes on, as if Wei Ying hadn’t said anything, “I don’t understand why you haven’t told him you’re in love with him.”
Wei Ying makes approximately the same noise he would if he touched a hot stove.
“Because it seems very obvious to me,” Lan Huan says, inexorable. “And if I don’t even know you very well, then I’m sure it must be obvious to everyone else too.”
“It’s not—I mean, okay, yes, of course I’m in love with Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says. “But I don’t know how he feels and—I couldn’t just blurt it out in the middle of a concert or something. And what if he hates me? What if he’s just not interested? I wouldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t date me, right?”
“I don’t think—” Lan Huan starts, but Wei Ying is in full swing now and cuts him off.
“I said yes to this whole weekend because I knew I couldn’t really have it, so I just—I just took my chance. Even though it wasn’t real, I knew it was the closest I could come, okay? So, I don’t know. I’ll tell him eventually, but I’m not going to say anything right now.”
He hears a noise behind him and swings around to find Lan Zhan standing in the doorway, staring at Wei Ying, his mouth a little bit open.
How long has he been there? Wei Ying wonders, in italics, and throws himself off the couch.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you two to talk. I can take the bus home, no worries,” he says, frantic, headed for the door. But Lan Zhan is standing so still. Wei Ying makes it two steps past him and whirls around. “Lan Zhan, can you say something?” he begs.
“Me too,” Lan Zhan says, nonsensical.
“What?”
“Wei Ying, me too.”
He hesitates for a long moment and then walks back towards Lan Zhan. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I took my chance,” Lan Zhan tells him. “At having what I want and thought I couldn’t have.”
It’s like a buzzing tension all over Wei Ying’s skin. Lan Zhan can’t be saying what it sounds like, right? But he keeps walking anyway, right up to Lan Zhan, hoping that he's not making a mistake. “What is it you want?” he asks.
Lan Zhan blinks at him. Reaches up to catch him at the waist, his hands so warm against Wei Ying’s back. “You,” he says, low and quiet.
Wei Ying gasps a little bit and puts his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders to steady himself. “Why—why would you think you couldn’t have me?”
“I’m not...exciting,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Ying hears himself make a frustrated noise at this utterly ridiculous idea. Lan Zhan, who takes care of A-Yuan and plays music and teases Wei Ying isn't exciting?
“If we were dating,” he says and sees the little hitch in Lan Zhan’s breath. “If we were dating,” he says again, quiet and serious. “I’d tell you that obviously I want to date you. I’d tell you that I’ve had a crush on you for years and this weekend has just made it worse. I’d tell you that I think I’ll never want anyone else again. Even if you weren’t exciting, which I disagree with, I’d still want you.”
“If we were dating,” Lan Zhan says back.
“Yeah.”
“For years?”
Wei Ying shrugs. “That silly argument about sustainability.”
Lan Zhan lets out a little sighing laugh. When Wei Ying raises his eyebrows, he says, “Wei Ying. Me too.”
Wei Ying can’t help it. He hugs Lan Zhan. Warm steadiness all around him, a beating heart. “But—I mean, I’m a disaster.”
“You are not.” He can feel something in his hair. Lan Zhan’s fingers, or his cheek, maybe. “Even if you were, I would still like you. I would still want you.”
Wei Ying squeezes Lan Zhan a little tighter, involuntarily, even though it’s nothing he hasn’t just said himself. He presses a secret kiss to the side of Lan Zhan’s neck. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
Wei Ying smiles. “I love you.” Then he whirls into panic. What. Oh god.
“I love you too,” Lan Zhan says back at once and Wei Ying just seizes up. He can’t imagine letting go; looking Lan Zhan in the eye; seeing whatever expression is on his face when he says those words. Then he remembers something and pulls back enough to see Lan Zhan look at him in mild concern.
“Uh, I kind of forgot your brother’s still here,” he confesses.
“Don’t mind me!” Lan Huan chirps, right on cue.
Wei Ying watches a soft smile overtake Lan Zhan’s face, like the sun rising. “I forgot too,” he tells Wei Ying, and squeezes him a little bit. “Are you hungry?”
“Lan Zhan!” He’s outraged at first that they’ve lost their Moment, and then he dissolves into a laugh. “Yeah, of course I am.”
Lan Zhan kisses the top of his head, like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before, and goes to make lunch, leaving Wei Ying at a loss and blushing fiercely.
*
After lunch, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan wash the dishes, as they had in Lan Qiren’s kitchen. It doesn’t feel the same, though, not in Lan Zhan’s apartment, with the thrumming knowledge of Lan Zhan standing next to him. Knowing that he can want, and be wanted. Wei Ying finds himself smiling at a plate and rolls his eyes at himself.
But it’s hard to not be goofily happy, when Lan Zhan herds him back to the couch and Wei Ying curls up beside him and dozes, listening to Lan Huan and Lan Zhan talk softly over his head. He drifts off and wakes up for dinner. He could go home; he should go home. He doesn’t want to, and in the end, he stays. They don’t talk about it. Lan Huan says goodnight and disappears into the guest room, with the ease of someone who has been here many times before.
“Hi,” Wei Ying whispers, kneeling up on the couch beside Lan Zhan.
“Hello,” Lan Zhan says back, gravely, catching him at the waist again.
“I don’t want to leave,” he says, “but I don’t have clothes for tomorrow.”
“I have a washer and dryer,” Lan Zhan points out.
“Mm, you’re so smart, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying grins at him. “Um, this is going to sound silly, but. Did you mean it?”
“I love you,” Lan Zhan tells him at once, as if he’s been bursting with it this whole time.
“Ahh, okay.” Wei Ying slumps until his face is buried in Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “You really just said it, huh.”
“You started it.” Lan Zhan pulls him in a little more securely and kisses his temple.
“I love you too,” Wei Ying says. “I can’t believe I can say that out loud now instead of chanting it in my head in increasingly frantic tones.”
“Mm,” Lan Zhan says. “Do you want to stay, Wei Ying?”
Wei Ying sits back to watch his face. “Well, of course I want to, but if you need to kick me out I won’t be mad.”
Lan Zhan blinks at him and then flicks his nose gently. “Stay,” he says, while Wei Ying is rubbing it, full of indignation.
“I can’t believe you,” Wei Ying tells him, and yawns.
“I’ll show you the laundry,” Lan Zhan says, and dumps him onto the couch. Wei Ying lies there for a moment, laughing up at him. It all feels so easy, he thinks, catching Lan Zhan’s hand, dumping his clothes into the washer, slipping into bed. Even if it’s Lan Zhan’s own room, painted slate blue, with little knicknacks on the bureau and paintings hung on the walls. Even if it’s Lan Zhan’s own bed, with another cloud-like comforter and soft pillows and a handwoven blanket. Even if it’s Lan Zhan, waiting for Wei Ying to curl up in his arms, giving him a soft kiss that doesn’t feel like their first.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, into the dark room.
“Mm?” Clearly on the edge of sleep, but still there. Still listening.
“I’m so glad you picked me to be your fake boyfriend.”
A quiet laugh, and then a rustle as Lan Zhan turns over to face him. He kisses Wei Ying again, warm and soft, with the promise of more to come. Another time, when they’re not both worn out. When they can take time with each other. “Wei Ying, did you really not realize that wasn’t an accident?” he asks, so fond that Wei Ying can hardly take it.
“Oh,” Wei Ying says. “Oh! Lan Zhan!”
“Go to sleep,” Lan Zhan tells him, even though Wei Ying is buzzing with—with something. Love, maybe, since it hums through his body with satisfaction and affection. “Good night, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying props himself up on one elbow and brushes Lan Zhan’s hair away from his eyes. “Good night, Lan Zhan,” he says, and kisses Lan Zhan’s forehead, just because he can. He expects to be awake for ages, but instead he falls asleep almost immediately, warm and safe, still smiling.
*
A year later
Lan Zhan finds Wei Ying at his desk, just adding the finishing touches on his latest project. “Almost ready, almost ready!” Wei Ying sings. He sends the report off and grabs his coat. “Bye, Cheryl!” he calls. She waves back at him from across the room. A month into dating Lan Zhan for real, Wei Ying might have had a minor meltdown in the staff parking lot and Cheryl might have handed him a packet of tissues and made him come inside and drink some water, so he thinks they’re friends now. He gets homemade cookies out of it, so he’s not complaining.
“Do you have everything?” Lan Zhan asks, with the patient and loving voice of experience.
“Phone, wallet, keys. Sheet music’s in the car. Yep. Clothes? Got those. Phone charger? I don’t know, but your uncle has so many.” He gives Lan Zhan a dorky thumbs up and Lan Zhan laughs at him a little bit, which is expected and fair, but still. He grabs Lan Zhan’s hand as they walk out of the building, swinging it between them.
Lan Zhan pulls up directions and his eclectic playlist that he likes to listen to on long drives, and Wei Ying slouches into the passenger seat and sighs. He’s signed up to play this year, despite his nerves about it. Lan Qiren even said he was welcome to. He and Lan Zhan are playing a duet, and then he and Wen Ning are bashing out some kind of medley/improv session that Lan Zhan says is fine with the expression of one whose ears are about to start bleeding. It’ll be great on the night, Wei Ying keeps telling himself.
They leave the city to the south and turn east, driving into the darkening sky. Behind them, the sun sets and turns the mountains into flame. Soon they’ll reach the warm house and Lan Huan will come out to greet them. A-Yuan and Wen Ning will go down to the river with him to look for eagles. They’ll walk in the forest and drink tea on Lan Qiren’s couch. Jiejie and Jiang Cheng are even driving up for the last concert, and Wei Ying can’t wait to introduce them to Lan Zhan.
But for now it’s just him and Lan Zhan and the quiet blueing sky. Wei Ying leans against the cool window and watches the road pass by. Do you dream of me like I dream of you, the singer asks, tell me darling, please tell me true. And Wei Ying, on his way to make music, his love by his side, riding through the last flush of sunset, feels his heart sing along.
