Chapter Text
Lan Zhan sits properly, his back ramrod straight and his feet planted firmly on the floor. His fingers are laced together, his hands resting comfortably in his lap, but he's cradling a tension now that wasn't there a moment ago. Seated across from him, his brother is practically beaming, and Lan Zhan wonders, not for the first time, if Lan Xichen properly understands facial expressions. The baleful look that Lan Zhan is giving him can hardly be up for interpretation, but Lan Xichen remains entirely unaffected, taking a small, satisfied sip of his overpriced matcha latte.
"You must be joking," Lan Zhan says. His voice is flat, just like the glossy brochure that's lying untouched on the table in front of him.
"Why would I be joking?" Lan Xichen asks, affecting confusion with a tilt of his head. "This is a wonderful opportunity for you to meet some appropriate people."
"Appropriate," Lan Zhan repeats, his tone growing curt and frosty. "You mean eligible."
"A-Zhan," Lan Xichen chides, setting his cup down on its saucer. He's giving Lan Zhan that benevolent smile—the one Lan Zhan hates, because it's soft, and generous, and so thoroughly condescending. "You turned thirty today. Don't you think now is the perfect time? Why close yourself off from the possibility without even giving it a try?"
Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, inhaling and then exhaling steadily through his nose. He's not angry, but he's definitely annoyed, and it's slowly transforming into a flicker of indignation that's lurking near the base of his throat. Lan Zhan carefully swallows it down; he can't allow any of it to escape into his voice. This is not what he'd expected from an afternoon coffee break with his brother. They haven't exchanged birthday gifts since they were children, and so, Lan Zhan had assumed that a simple greeting and the price of his tea—an unsmoked zheng shan xiao zhong brewed at precisely 90 degrees for exactly three minutes—would be the extent of any birthday felicitations.
But now, Lan Xichen is reaching across the table, smoothly retrieving the brochure he'd triumphantly placed there just minutes ago. He eagerly flips it open to display its glossy contents, and Lan Zhan resists the urge to lean back and away, fixing his brother with another bitter glare. It has exactly the same effect as the last one.
Which is to say, none.
"Look," Lan Xichen says, eyes on the perfectly unnatural smile of the woman in the brochure. "It's a very exclusive group. It's only open to working professionals, there's a strict age bracket of 25 to 35, and all the participants are hand-selected by a panel of professional matchmakers and marriage counsellors who run the event. Everything depends on the strength of an application."
"And are you saying," Lan Zhan grits out, "that you have already submitted mine?"
"I have," Lan Xichen smiles. "You were selected, of course, so I've gone ahead and completed your registration. Oh, and the application included a photograph," he adds. "So not to worry, a certain standard of physical attractiveness has been taken into consideration. No doubt they saw your picture and approved you immediately," Lan Xichen winks.
Lan Zhan's acrid glower remains unbroken. "Did you just compliment yourself?"
Lan Xichen's answering laugh is delighted, laced with a touch of surprise. "I suppose I might have," he admits. "But A-Zhan, truly, you have a very different quality about you that distinguishes you from me completely. Any physical similarity we share is lost to it, especially if someone takes the time to speak with either of us. Which," he adds, flipping over the next page in the brochure, "will be the evening's primary objective."
"Ge—" Lan Zhan begins, but Lan Xichen raises a hand, forestalling any protests.
"I know this is out of your comfort zone," he says gently, and Lan Zhan bristles at the vaguely patronizing lilt in his tone. "But that's exactly why I believe you need to take this opportunity and try. Really try, A-Zhan," his brother insists. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"Would you like an itemized list?" Lan Zhan deadpans.
Lan Xichen lets out a sigh with a shake of his head. "What objections could you possibly have—and don't say everything!—to such a well-curated group? Each conversation is only five minutes. Surely you can handle that with grace?" He leans forward in his seat, splaying his fingers across the brochure. "You won't find a better speed dating experience in Shanghai. I know, because I've looked. I've done extensive research on your behalf," he says, and his voice sounds slightly miffed. "The least you could do is try not to look so horrified about it."
Horrified, Lan Zhan thinks.
Is that what he's feeling? He's certainly a little shocked; he never would have expected his brother to be so presumptuous. Lan Zhan has never dated, nor has he expressed any interest in doing so. Presenting him with an evening of speed dating for his birthday seems like a preposterous choice, and yet, his brother has made it. His application, his registration—everything has been taken care of. What, exactly, had Lan Xichen put in that application? What type of person does he think Lan Zhan should be in order to appeal to these eligible people?
"It's a relatively small group." His brother is still trying. "And of course, it's perfectly split. There's an equal number of men and women, so you'll always have someone to talk to. No standing around awkwardly in a corner, see?" He looks at Lan Zhan almost pleadingly, and Lan Zhan's heart cracks a little, at last.
But not in any way that Lan Xichen would expect or understand.
Lan Zhan is not immune to the occasional pang of regret. It's not his brother's fault that Lan Zhan has never divulged this particular truth. The master key component to the deepest chamber of his heart remains well hidden, and in moments like these, Lan Zhan is quick to acknowledge the role he plays in keeping it that way. He chooses not to speak. He chooses not to tell. He gives no hints, and he leaves no evidence; no photographs, no fingerprints. He's untouchable, so he remains untouched. He's opted out. This is enough.
In his less certain moments, which are few and far between, he pauses to consider the hypothetical. What if?
Could he?
Should he?
Perhaps.
But the simple truth remains. Lan Zhan dislikes most people, and he's quick to pass his immutable judgement on them. He is extremely particular about his environment, and the thought of having anyone besides his uncle, his brother, or the occasional infant cousin in his home fills him with revulsion and dread. He likes his space spotless and perfectly lit, and he treasures his peaceful solitude. He's never met anyone attractive or engaging enough to compromise any of those things.
He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, studying Lan Xichen's hopeful expression. His brother's smile is so genuine, so earnest, and Lan Zhan wonders if he's being unfair. He's never considered himself dishonest; he lives his life with integrity. If he were to start a relationship, he'd never consider keeping it a secret. That would be entirely out of the question. He's not afraid, and he's not ashamed. He's not even necessarily hiding.
He just doesn't want to talk about it.
"I'm surprised," Lan Zhan finally admits. "I would not have expected you to go to such trouble. Wouldn't you rather go yourself?"
Lan Xichen blinks, his smile dissolving into a look of pure confusion. "Why on earth would I do that?" he asks. "You know I'm with Qin Su," he practically scolds. "It'll be two years soon. Just after the Spring Festival, actually."
"Hmm," Lan Zhan offers in reply. He can think of several pointed things to say about his brother's relationship, but he decides that being pointedly noncommittal is likely to provoke the best response.
"Hmm?" Lan Xichen echoes, sitting up straighter as he rises to the bait. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Lan Zhan hedges. "When was the last time you saw her?"
"You are far too judgemental for that suspicious little intonation to mean nothing," Lan Xichen sniffs, but his smile is cheerfully back in place. "I saw her the Sunday before last. We met for a lovely dinner at Taian Table."
"Two weeks," Lan Zhan says flatly. "You haven't seen her in two weeks."
"Not quite," his brother smoothly deflects. "We're still three days shy of two weeks," he points out. There's nothing Lan Xichen does better than nitpick Lan Zhan on the details. "We're both very busy people, A-Zhan."
Lan Zhan's voice is cool and smooth, placid as a cloudless twilight sky. "When was the last time you saw her brother?"
"A-Yao?" Lan Xichen blinks in genuine surprise. "Just yesterday," he says. "Or was it the day before?" he muses. "I did see him for a few days in a row last week, so I must be getting my wires crossed," he decides. "He was the one who recommended the restaurant, you know. It was very thoughtful of him to let me know it's Qin Su's favourite. Why?"
"Hmm," Lan Zhan says again, gratified when Lan Xichen slaps both palms on the table.
"A-Zhan—"
"I apologize," Lan Zhan is quick to interject. The sentiment is mostly sincere; he does feel a little bad about using Jin Guangyao to trip up his brother. It's been almost two years since Qin Su had introduced her half-brother to Lan Xichen, but much to Lan Zhan's perpetual bewilderment, Lan Xichen doesn't seem to understand that Jin Guangyao is obsessed with him. "I'm only wondering, why worry about me? I'm not lonely," Lan Zhan insists. "I'm not afraid of being alone. I prefer it. I'm not unhappy, ge."
"Happy and Not Unhappy are very different things," Lan Xichen declares. "And there's the family to think about," he continues. "Uncle would love to see you settled. You're thirty now—"
"You're thirty-three," Lan Zhan retorts, feeling tart all over again. "Don't talk to me about this until you're married."
Lan Xichen gives him a piteous look. "A-Zhan," he sighs, and Lan Zhan considers slapping him with the brochure. "You know that's inevitable soon enough, so I just thought—"
"You're not even engaged," Lan Zhan testily points out. "Do you even have a plan to ask her?" He's suddenly feeling especially petty. "What will you do if she says no?"
"Why would she say no?" Lan Xichen laughs. "But enough about me, let's be clear about you." He locks eyes with Lan Zhan, holding his gaze with a sudden solemnity that catches Lan Zhan a little off guard. "Promise me that you'll attend," Lan Xichen implores him. "Promise me that you'll give it a chance. Promise me that you'll try."
Lan Zhan can feel his resistance collapsing under the inexorable pressure of his brother's misapprehension. There's something almost painfully innocent about it, and perhaps for the very first time, Lan Zhan feels some guilt for what he chooses to withhold. But a greater part of him remains bitterly defiant; why should he be forced to divulge what is truly no one else's business? He will not be compelled to reveal himself like this.
Slithering under his hardening resolve, the unfortunate truth he refuses to examine is this: Lan Zhan would rather commit to a tedious evening of vacuous small talk with women for whom he feels no attraction than come out to his brother.
His relationship with Lan Xichen is overwhelmingly positive; Lan Zhan knows it is the strongest bond he has. His brother's uncanny ability to read Lan Zhan's moods, to understand his silences and intuit his honest intent—where were those preternatural abilities today? Where were they when Lan Xichen was struck by such a woefully unsuitable idea in the first place?
Lan Zhan is a little unmoored. How does his brother really see him? Does Lan Xichen see him at all? And how much of that is Lan Zhan's fault? Is it fair to feel bruised by such an ill-suited gift when Lan Zhan has so carefully shielded Lan Xichen from any inkling of the truth? But even if Lan Zhan was actually straight, surely his dour and taciturn disposition ought to be enough to dissuade anyone from believing he might appreciate a speed dating event.
His mood is growing sombre as resignation sets in, a shadow falling over his heart. He doesn't believe he's holding any grudges, but perhaps he harbours some deep-seated bitterness after all, some stubborn resentment tucked behind his ribcage. Something he thought had been killed in childhood, something eviscerated by the death of his mother, is clawing its way back to the surface, desperate to breathe and begging to be understood.
If all of his deepest agony must be spoken out loud to be known, Lan Zhan will remain silent.
It's an effort to extract himself from his mental quagmire, but Lan Zhan perseveres. He settles back into his body across from his expectant brother. Lan Xichen's smile is earnest, open, and hopeful.
No, Lan Zhan decides. Neither of them is entirely to blame for this humiliating culmination of events, but he's not so sure the lion's share belongs to him. He thinks about Jin Guangyao, about his honeyed words and his obsequious manners, and he thinks about how his brother graciously accepts them all—without, apparently, any comprehension of what they might mean. It should be impossible; Lan Xichen is clever, perceptive and kind. How is he also so blind? If Lan Zhan didn't find Jin Guangyao to be such an unsettling social climber, he might almost feel sorry for him.
"Well?" Lan Xichen prompts. "Do I have your word?"
Lan Zhan sighs, closing his eyes in final surrender. When he opens them again, his gaze is clear and resolved. "I promise," he intones. "I promise to attend." He sweeps the brochure off the table and tucks it into his suit jacket. "Please stop looking at me like that."
Lan Xichen does not stop. His smile only grows wider as he clasps his hands together in victory. "I'm very proud of you," he gushes. He takes out his phone, clearly elated. "I can't wait to tell A-Yao!"
Three days after the Lantern Festival, Lan Zhan finds himself standing inside an airy, softly lit lounge. Twenty small tables flanked by two chairs apiece have been staggered around the room. They sit close enough to feel cozy, but far enough apart to seem private. Lan Zhan is skeptical; the acoustics in a room with such a high, slanted ceiling will encourage echoing, and they'd do nothing to deter an especially dedicated eavesdropper.
Lan Zhan had been the first to arrive. He doesn't want to be here, but he hates being late, and if nothing else, he can scrutinize the other participants as they enter. Lan Xichen had been right about the selection process; these people look expensive. Everyone is well-groomed and fashionably dressed, and everyone could easily be described as above average in appearance. It's tedious, and monotonous, and eventually, he stops paying attention, bored and thoroughly indifferent. He lets his eyes drift to the long, lone skylight in the middle of the ceiling. The last hint of daylight disappeared at least an hour ago, but the raindrops streaking down the glass are still visible, glittering under the myriad city lights.
40 participants, Lan Zhan thinks. 20 conversations, 5 minutes each. 20 subsequent minutes to exchange contact information. Exactly 2 hours he must suffer through this farce. 2 hours before he can escape.
They are down to the last few minutes before the event is scheduled to start. Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, steeling himself to endure the worst of this charade, but his focus is soon disrupted. Just as the facilitator begins to close the door, she jumps back in alarm, and two breathless, rain-kissed men tumble gracelessly into the room. Lan Zhan blinks, startled into staring. Both men are tall and incredibly handsome, but as they work to collect and compose themselves, their demeanors could not be more different.
The first man through the door is seething, his eyes alight with indignant rage. His dark brows are furrowed, and his pale lips are pressed into a thin, bitter line. It's too scornful to be a frown, but too passive to be a sneer. Once he's finished knocking the rain off his jacket with loud, violent slaps, his arms fall stiffly to his sides, and his hands clench tightly into fists. He looks ready—and eager—to start a fight.
But the second man is radiant, shimmering with leftover raindrops. He's laughing a little sheepishly, but he's clearly relaxed and cheerful. He moves with an easy confidence that's so smooth, so certain, that when he claps his hands together in apology, the sound is like a cymbal crash—triumphant, climactic, and Lan Zhan finds himself chasing its echo. The man appears to be begging forgiveness, apologizing for his companion as well, but the facilitator is already laughing. She waves away his penitent appeasements, obviously charmed.
"Never mind all that," she says warmly. "Go stand with the rest of the group, and we'll get the evening started. Gather round," she calls across the room. "We need to review a few housekeeping details before we dive into the main event."
Lan Zhan edges forward, but he remains on the outskirts of the crowd, lingering just a few steps behind the nearest eager participant. As long as he can hear what the facilitator has to say, Lan Zhan needn't move any closer.
"First of all, cell phones are forbidden for the first part of the night. We want everyone to be fully engaged," she explains. "You will have five minutes to chat with your partner before the bell rings to signal a switch. Choosing your next table is entirely up to you. We want you to feel free and spontaneous, which is why we're not sending you straight down a rigid line. However," she says, sweeping the room with a commanding look. It's reminiscent of a stern elementary school teacher. "While it's not against the rules to speak with someone multiple times, please try to chat with more than just one person."
A smattering of gentle laughter ripples through the crowd, and the facilitator nods in approval.
"Now, I do have one unfortunate piece of news to share." Her voice is chipper, her smile benign. "Two of our lady participants happen to be very close friends, and both were forced to cancel last minute. They've unexpectedly come down with food poisoning from the meal they shared this afternoon." She pauses to gauge the crowd's reaction, scanning for discontent. "Regretfully," she continues, "this does mean that two of our gentlemen participants will have to sit out each round. But don't worry," she assures the men. "The time goes by quickly, and you'll have plenty of opportunities to slide into the next available seat."
While the mood among the men is now slightly subdued, dampened by mild disappointment, Lan Zhan is revitalized, suddenly optimistic, grateful for this stroke of good luck. After all, he'd only promised to attend. He had not, as his brother had implored him, promised to try. He wonders how often he can feasibly sit out before somebody calls him on it. The other participants are likely to ignore him; the men will be happy with less competition, and the women will be too sought-after to approach someone who won't approach them. If anyone is going to confront him, it will probably be the facilitator, and as Lan Zhan stores his phone inside his designated locker with his coat, he's already formulating a reasonable reply he can use to justify himself.
"Everyone, please find a seat," the facilitator calls, urging the crowd toward the tables. "I know it's difficult to turn off your cellphones, but please make sure to leave them on silent before putting them away in your lockers. Don't worry," she reassures them. "There will be a twenty-minute mingling period after the speed conversations, so you'll have plenty of time to retrieve your phones and exchange contact information."
Lan Zhan wastes no time, taking up a position against the tallest side wall. It affords him a view of the skylight, and it keeps him as far away from the tables as possible without actually hiding inside a locker. He tilts his head back, lifting his gaze away from the nervous participants milling around the seats. He crosses his arms and counts the raindrops, distantly aware of the facilitator starting the clock. The low, steady hum of cautiously eager voices begins to rise, and Lan Zhan is just beginning to contemplate the efficacy of his forbidding countenance to repel everyone, including the facilitator, when he senses a presence beside him. Suppressing a spike of annoyance, he slowly turns his head, directing his coldest, most superior glare toward whatever upstart is seeking to disturb him.
Lan Zhan freezes, his breath caught in his throat.
The radiant man peers up at him, hovering dangerously close. His body is angled forward, bending slightly at the waist, and his hands are on his hips, one index finger tapping in apparent contemplation. Lan Zhan is immediately winded, sideswiped by how good-looking the man is up close. Smooth, clear skin across a well-chiselled face. Full lips quirked into a cheeky, impish smile. And his eyes, Lan Zhan thinks, struck by their remarkable hue. The man's eyes are dark, deeply, deeply black, but they seem to flash with hints of silver, sparkling with curiosity and shimmering with mischief. His face is only a handful of centimetres away, and his expression seems to brighten now that he has Lan Zhan's attention.
Still, he doesn't seem inclined to speak, so Lan Zhan digs deep to find his own voice. He takes an extra moment to regain control of his breathing before he speaks. "Yes?"
The man studies him a little longer, and Lan Zhan is just about to repeat himself when the man finally breaks his silence. "Do you have a brother?"
Lan Zhan blinks. "Pardon?"
"Do you have a brother?" the man repeats, staring at Lan Zhan expectantly.
"Yes," Lan Zhan cautiously replies. He has no idea where this is going.
"Ahh," the man sighs, standing up straight with a satisfied nod. He fixes Lan Zhan with a conspiratorial look. "Aren't they the worst?"
Lan Zhan blinks at him, completely taken aback, but his awkward confusion is soon overridden by an unexpected need to commiserate, and he's answering before he can stop himself.
"Yes," he says gravely, his voice packed with feeling, and he is immediately rewarded when the man bursts out laughing.
"Right?" His eyes are curved into crescents, glittering with silver mirth. "I don't know about yours, but mine is terminally obstinate," the man explains. "Ungrateful, too!" he continues. "It doesn't matter how thoughtful and patient and benevolent I am, he will find something to complain about. Or get violent about," he adds. "He's probably going to try and beat me up after this…"
Lan Zhan raises one skeptical eyebrow, amused by the man's description of himself. "Is it safe to assume that your brother is the man you arrived with?"
"Pretty safe," the man winks, offering Lan Zhan a lopsided grin. "I'm Wei Ying," he introduces himself, extending his slender right hand. "The awkward homicidal one is my younger brother, Jiang Cheng."
Lan Zhan accepts the handshake, noting the calluses on Wei Ying's fingers and admiring the strength of his grip. He has hands like a musician, Lan Zhan thinks. He wonders very briefly about the different family names. Perhaps they are half-siblings, like Qin Su and Jin Guangyao.
"Lan Zhan," he offers in return, giving Wei Ying's hand one solid squeeze before releasing it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise!" Wei Ying grins. "I'm glad it was two women who cancelled," he says. "Thank goodness it wasn't just one! Otherwise I'd have to stand here by myself, and what fun is that?"
Lan Zhan is careful to hide his amusement, keeping his expression neutral. "Do you struggle to entertain yourself without company?
"Of course not!" Wei Ying laughs. "But there are certain expectations when you pay hard-earned money for the promise of stimulating conversation," he says. "And since I paid the registration fee twice, I think I deserve to be stimulated."
Lan Zhan feels his eyebrow twitch. "Twice?"
"Twice," Wei Ying confirms. "Once for me, and once for Jiang Cheng. The truth is," he confesses, "I signed Jiang Cheng up without telling him, so it was only fair that I paid his fee. Don't get me wrong,' he hastily adds. "He wants to be here. It just took a few rounds of baiju to convince him."
"He doesn't look like he wants to be here," Lan Zhan observes, glancing over to where Jiang Cheng sits, noting the contemptuous twist of his mouth. "He looks murderous."
"Oh, no, that's just how he looks," Wei Ying explains. "Telling him to smile more just pisses him off—which is why I keep doing it, obviously—but it really would help."
"Is that why you're here?" Lan Zhan asks, turning his gaze back to Wei Ying. "To help?"
"Mostly," Wei Ying admits. "I'm really just here so he doesn't chicken out. Anything I plan to do, he'll turn himself inside out trying to do better, so my participation guarantees his. Thank the heavens both of us got selected," he sighs. "He would have been destroyed if I got in and he didn't. In any case, here we both are," he declares. "I obviously can't be much of a wingman in this situation, but I can be his infuriating motivation!"
"Isn't he already infuriated enough?" Lan Zhan asks.
"Not yet," Wei Ying says, dark eyes deeply serious. "He's very competitive, and if you get him angry enough, he'll burn his own guard down and express his honest feelings."
Lan Zhan stares blankly, unable to formulate a response. He chooses to remain silent; he's just going to pretend that sounded normal.
The bell goes off, and the participants stand, eager to find their next partner. Wei Ying pushes himself off the wall and gives Lan Zhan a small wave. His eyes crinkle up with another brilliant smile, and his head tilts slightly to the side. His thick, glossy ponytail bobs with the motion, and Lan Zhan imagines what might happen if he untied the silky red ribbon that's holding it together. Wei Ying's hair would fall to frame his face, the longest strands reaching just below his collarbones.
"Bye for now, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying trills, sweeter than any songbird. "And good luck," he adds with a wink. "But I doubt you're going to need it."
Lan Zhan stands motionless, abruptly conscious of a small, tremulous flutter that's brushing against the inside of his ribcage. He watches Wei Ying take a seat across the room, gracing his partner with another dazzling smile, and Lan Zhan pushes the fluttering down, struck by a sudden uneasiness. What's wrong with him?
When the bell rings again, Wei Ying rises smoothly from the table. He takes his leave with a smile and a nod before scanning the room for his next seat, but when his gaze sweeps over Lan Zhan, his eyes widen in surprise. There's no hesitation as he's crossing the room, weaving in between the tables until he arrives in front of Lan Zhan. There's a question in his eyes, an eager curiosity, and as he places his hands firmly on his hips, Lan Zhan wonders if he is about to be scolded.
"What are you doing?" Wei Ying asks. His voice is brimming with barely suppressed laughter. "You just sat out two rounds."
"Yes," Lan Zhan agrees.
"Are you trying to sit out three?" Wei Ying demands.
"Yes," Lan Zhan repeats.
Wei Ying narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"
"I prefer it," Lan Zhan replies.
"Okay," Wei Ying says slowly. "Again, why?"
"Again," Lan Zhan echoes, "it is just a preference."
"That's not—!" Wei Ying splutters, trying not to laugh. "You have a personal preference for holding up the wall?"
"Very personal," Lan Zhan intones.
Wei Ying's smile twitches. "We've already established it would be silly to pay such an exorbitant fee if you're not going to receive the promised stimulation."
"I didn't pay the fee," Lan Zhan says.
"What?" Wei Ying balks."Then who—"
"You are not the only person who signed his younger brother up for speed dating," Lan Zhan coolly interjects.
There's a beat pause while Wei Ying stares at him, impossibly wide eyes growing wider as comprehension dawns. As the last cagey puzzle piece clicks into place, Wei Ying explodes with delight, the peals of his astonished laughter echoing all the way to the ceiling.
"Oh my—Ha!" Wei Ying wheezes, taking a long, deep breath. He places a steadying hand on his chest, attempting to reel in his glee. "I am so sorry," he manages, genuinely apologetic. "I don't mean to laugh at you, but this is kind of hilarious."
"The coincidence is quite amusing," Lan Zhan assures him. "You may laugh as much as you like."
"I think I should stop," Wei Ying giggles. "I don't think the rest of the room appreciates it." As the last of his merriment fades, he regards Lan Zhan with a serious expression. "You really don't want to be here, do you?"
"I do not," Lan Zhan confirms. "And unlike your brother," he adds, "I do not drink, so I cannot be persuaded with baiju."
Wei Ying snorts, clearly amused, but his voice remains somewhat solemn. "Why'd he do it?"
Lan Zhan can barely prevent himself from cringing. "I just turned thirty."
"Oh!" Wei Ying exclaims. "Ouch."
"Indeed," Lan Zhan sighs.
Wei Ying studies him for a moment, his eyes shining with sympathy. "It's frustrating, isn't it?" he says. "It's awkward when someone wants the best for you, but their best is nothing like your best."
"Yes," Lan Zhan agrees softly. He feels a little short of breath. He continues after a long, fragile moment. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course," Wei Ying replies. His voice is thick with earnest encouragement, and Lan Zhan feels it like a kick to the back of his knees. "Ask me anything."
Lan Zhan holds himself rigid, resisting the urge to sway, blood rushing hotly to the tips of his ears. Is that what's wrong with him? Lan Zhan wonders, blindsided by a sudden thought. Is he supposed to be kneeling?
Wei Ying tilts his head in question, watching Lan Zhan expectantly.
"How can you be certain that your brother truly wants to be here?" Lan Zhan manages. "He looks sincerely miserable, and he doesn't appear to be having much success engaging his conversation partners."
"Ah," Wei Ying smiles. "That." He scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. "I'm not sure how to convince you, but if you're worried I'm torturing Jiang Cheng the same way your brother is torturing you, I can promise you that's not the case."
"It's not so much about torture," Lan Zhan clarifies. "I know that is not the intent. But you're confident that you haven't misread him, despite all evidence to the contrary?"
"Pretty much," Wei Ying shrugs. "I get your skepticism," he concedes. "Jiang Cheng is a pretty misunderstood guy. But trust me when I tell you, if he really, truly doesn't want to do something, there's no power on earth that can make him do it. Well," he amends. "Maybe there's his mother."
"His mother?" Lan Zhan repeats, alert to the specific wording. "Not yours?"
"Nope," Wei Ying chirps, sounding slightly pleased. "Nice catch," he winks.
"I apologize," Lan Zhan says, belatedly recognizing where he might have overstepped.
Wei Ying dismisses his apology with a wave. "It's no big deal, I promise. I have no shame about plenty of things, and this just happens to be one of them," he explains. "Sometimes I like telling people that I'm kind-of-maybe-sort-of-unofficially-but-not-really-adopted."
"I see," Lan Zhan says, although he very clearly doesn't.
"But Jiang Cheng's my real brother," Wei Ying is quick to add. "And we have an older sister. It's her fault I turned out so well," he preens. "But to further answer your question, one thing Jiang Cheng likes to do is pretend he doesn't want something that he really, really wants. And what he really, really wants right now? Is a girlfriend."
"A girlfriend," Lan Zhan echoes, his gaze sliding sideways, landing on Jiang Cheng in the middle of his disastrous round three.
"Yep," Wei Ying is saying, also watching Jiang Cheng's table with a look of affectionate pity. "He's completely useless, though, which is why I coaxed him into this. He's super impatient, so five-minute convos are probably all he can handle, and since it's so exclusive," Wei Ying says, more than a little snidely, "I won't have to hear him complain about people being ugly."
The bell begins to ring, and Wei Ying tears his eyes away from Jiang Cheng, turning to grin at Lan Zhan instead. Lan Zhan, for his part, has already shifted his gaze; he's been watching Wei Ying for at least the last thirty seconds.
"Congrats!" Wei Ying quips. "You've managed to sit out for three rounds in a row."
"You sat out this last one with me," Lan Zhan points out. "That makes two for you."
"Well, yeah, of course I did," Wei Ying drawls, rolling his midnight eyes. "I had to find out why the most beautiful man in the room wasn't participating!"
This time, the kick lands directly in the middle of Lan Zhan's windpipe.
"Anyway, I'd better go claim the table closest to my brother," Wei Ying says. "I'm going to eavesdrop on his valiant efforts so I can give him pointers later."
Lan Zhan struggles to find his voice, forcing himself to breathe. "I thought you said you weren't torturing him."
"I'm not," Wei Ying laughs. "Besides, isn't the real torture being misunderstood?"
Another kick. Another stunned, breathless silence.
Wei Ying laughs again, already darting away. "See you in a few more rounds, maybe!"
Lan Zhan is stricken, unable to tear his eyes away as Wei Ying settles down at his chosen table. He watches with no small amount of envy as Wei Ying clasps his partner's hand between his own. Just as he releases her and she begins to withdraw, Wei Ying reaches toward her shoulder. He pauses for a moment, acquiring her permission, and then his nimble fingers catch the edge of her cashmere cardigan, stopping it where it's slipping down her arm. He deftly pulls it back into place before patting her shoulder with a smile. The woman laughs, her hand curled self-consciously over her mouth, and then Wei Ying is leaning forward, easily coaxing her into spirited conversation.
This is a disaster, Lan Zhan thinks.
This is no longer a trial of passive endurance. This is a storm. This is a tsunami. This is an earthquake rattling up his spine. He's never been so confused by his own traitorous reactions, and he's never felt quite so out of control. He has to get a hold of himself, he thinks. Perhaps most importantly, he must remember how to breathe. He wills his thoughts to settle. He commands his pulse to slow down. He feels his calm returning like the first of winter's snow.
Across the room, Wei Ying laughs.
And Lan Zhan's heart crashes helplessly against his ribs.