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The University lawns were vast, lush and emerald green the way everything tended to be when it came into contact with spring’s very first kisses. The air was ripe with excitement, the Freshmen and their enthusiasm during first week orientation lifted the usual dreary spirits of the older students - the ones who wished they were back to studying Introduction To Chemistry - I.
In between all the hustle and bustle, the trees and other shrubs rustled in the breeze, their leaves swaying along to the music of the resounding notes of laughter coming from groups of people making new acquaintances and friends beneath the shade of the conifers that looked to be reborn.
Somewhere within it all, perfectly confident in their long strides, was Wei Ying and Xiao Xingchen walking together side by side, taking everything in before a second unbearably busy year of university was to take everything good away from them. They were accompanying each other in unrequited silence - Wei Ying was blabbering about the dishes he was going to cook when Lan Zhan returned to the dorms on Friday and Xiao Xingchen was listening attentively, adding in a few suggestions about the menu as he saw fit.
Just then, Wei Ying stopped talking abruptly and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the middle of the courtyard where a large water feature stood in all it’s monumental glory. The closer they got to it, the more evident the glint of the thousands of coins that were settled at the very bottom became. All along the fountain, pigeons, people and stray flower petals settled. Some people had their eyes closed and their hands clasped close to their chest in a silent prayer, others were basking in the sun and smiling amusedly at the pigeons that were daring enough to steal pieces of fruits and snacks from those that were preoccupied.
Xiao Xingchen noticed the boy Wei Ying was dragging them both to greet a second too late.
Song Lan was seated on one of the concrete benches placed around the fountain, his raven hair parted in the middle and his fringe swaying in tandem with the flora around him as a slight breeze whisked about. He had a handful of pennies at his side and he looked to be whispering something - probably a prayer… or fifty.
Just as Wei Ying called Song Lan’s name to get his attention, Xiao Xingchen squeaked rather loudly and ran off, but just as Song Lan turned his head and caught sight of an approaching Xiao Xingchen, he fell face-first into the fountain with a rather large splash. Everyone in the vicinity grew quiet in shock, however, the minute Xiao Xingchen noticed what had happened, he rushed forward to see if Song Lan was okay and offered to help him out.
The thing with Song Lan was that Bad Luck and him were bosom friends, attached at the hip with no place to go without the other. Sometimes when he and Xiao Xingchen be in class together, nine times out of ten, Song Lan who was sitting quietly in an empty row would spill his coffee he had just bought all over himself. Other times, he’d just be falling over his own feet for no reason whatsoever. His face would flush in embarrassment and more often than not, he’d run out of the room as fast as possible.
Xiao Xingchen would itch and yearn to have at least a small bit of courage to go up to him and offer him his hoodie, or a tissue or a hand to hold. Sure, Wei Ying, who was at his side would egg him on, but Wei Ying loved gay disasters as much as he loved that bunny he hid from his landlord, so his advice was always a last resort.
He’d whine , like a proper and true 20 year old, “He’s so cute when he’s blushing.”
“There are other ways to make someone blush that doesn’t involve public humiliation, you know,” Wei Ying would say.
“Like what? Lick the coffee right off his scorched skin?”
Wei Ying laughed, offered a deplorable attempt at a wink and stated proudly, “That’s tried and tested.”
“At least we know it’s foolproof.”
Song Lan’s sopping wet clothes were like lead glued onto him, the thick fabric of his clothes absorbing so much water that it took more effort than it was worth to move.
When the crowd noticed he was okay, they continued with whatever they were doing, paying the trio no mind.
Xiao Xingchen was fretting.
He offered him his gym towel that he used when he’d go for yoga classes with Lan Zhan, unwashed and full of sweat, but still Song Lan thanked him and wiped his face down. The sight made Xiao Xingchen miserably optimistic. Soon after, he noticed that Song Lan was shivering and recommended he take off his shirt. Song Lan shook his head profusely.
He was cute when he was blushing. Xiao Xingchen offered him his jersey on a whim which he used to cover his reddening cheeks before anything else.
The silence was too awkward for Xiao Xingchen to bear, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop looking at Song Lan’s trembling figure. Beside him, Wei Ying was vibrating with so much excitement that it meant nothing good was about to happen.
“Hey, Song Lan, you could come and wash up at my place it’s not too far from here,” Wei Ying offered.
Xiao Xingchen was affronted, border-line enraged, despite knowing exactly what Wei Ying was doing. “No!” he shouted, a little too loudly, a little too desperately. He wanted the ground to swallow him up whole.
“No,” he repeated softer, “I live on campus. Come back to my dorm. It’s closer and Wei Ying’s got class soon too.”
Nobody pointed out that classes were to only start the following week. Their silence was Xiao Xingchen’s saving grace.
Without looking away from his feet, Song Lan whispered out a word of agreement and walked behind Xiao Xingchen, Wei Ying’s exuberant goodbye left them each with a small smile and reduced tension in their shoulders.
“It’s not too far from here. You’re still shivering. Maybe we should just go to the gym’s shower and I can run to my room and get you a change of clothes?” Xiao Xingchen babbled.
“Do not worry yourself, I’m fine. Your place is good, it’s just a few minutes. Besides, I did this to myself, quite normal,” Song Lang said. His voice was low and Xiao Xingchen couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything other than the fact that he said to him ‘Your place is good’.
Xiao Xingchen was very much out of his element - when they were walking and he spoke too much or didn’t speak at all, when he fumbled with his house keys, when said house keys dropped and the acrylic keychain cracked. He was tactless and grasping at air for leverage. His God’s weren’t answering to his helpless eyes, not that time, not after the many subconscious dreams of taking a boy in and swallowing him whole. Take it as you may.
Song Lan was immediately guided to the shower when Xiao Xingchen’s trembling hands finally got the door open.
Xiao Xingchen overcompensated. He gave him the fluffiest towels, the ones untouched by bleach and semi permanent hairdye he reserved in a cupboard that Wei Ying never opened when he was around. He gave him his favourite sweater, his best pants, the new socks with the tag still on from last Christmas he was saving for a better day. Not a single day would pass that would be worth more than that very day.
Xiao Xingchen laid down his winter blanket over the sinking couch and lit a floral scented candle, the triple wick with bold notes of jasmine was his favourite. He was trying to get the electric heater to work adequately when Song Lan walked into the room, sauve in the taupe and light neutrals he had laid out for him earlier. Droplets of water pooled at his exposed collarbones, but he made no move to towl it. Xiao Xingchen could only choke on the air that suffocated him and hope for the best.
“Ah, the clothes fit well. You look better in them than me,” Xiao Xingchen laughed nervously.
“Xingchen, nobody looks better in grey knits than you, especially when you wear the velvet chokers with them,” Song Lan replied, his hands making a casual gesture of dismissal.
Xiao Xingchen was standing and then he just wasn’t. He was floating, just as he was six feet under. He could taste the vapour of the clouds and the nuttiness of the earth’s clay. There were the dagger of words forming in his mind, letters engraving themselves onto his heart, each stroke a type of pain that brought someone one inch closer to death. If it was Wei Ying, he’d probably relish in the thought of finally getting to french the Grim Reaper, but Song Lan was mere feet away from him and Xiao Xingchen needed to make sure he was well cared for. The taste of sand could wait until the Witching Hour had him in its clutches.
Song Lan’s hair was still dripping wet, water droplets hitting the tiles silently. Xiao Xingchen watched each of them fall one by one until he couldn’t any longer.
“I’ve put the water on to boil for tea. In the meantime, let me help you dry your hair?” Xiao Xingchen offered.
Ongoing desperation and untimely pining makes a person less likely to think. That’s what Lan Zhan told him during their yoga class one day with his legs curled in such a way that they reached the back of his head. He figured he knew what he was talking about if he could say it with a straight face while doing that .
Song Lan was all types of nervous after that, red and jittery but not-cold-jittery. His voice died in his throat, lips forming words that lacked sound. He nodded, small and shy.
Xiao Xingchen was nimble with his hands, careful with the way he brushed Song Lan’s hair. Drying his hair didn’t take long, at most a few minutes, but to be pressed right against his back was something he’d never forget, it would haunt his dreams. the touch, the way his jersey felt when it was worn by someone he loved. It was dismal, the thought of ever having to leave the space they were in.
Xiao Xingchen was slowly losing his senses. His mind was just song lan song lan song lan song lan, his eyes were just song lan so lan song lan song lan, his mouth, his nose, his hands, song lan. His emotional compass was spinning wildly, there was not a single direction that he could take to in order to step away from the dizzying presence of the boy whom he’d loved from afar.
That was on Xiao Xingchen for being too reserved to do anything about a platonic crush that turned into something more between his sweaty palms that he clutched onto like a lifeline.
Lan Zhan would be the one to console him as they both stretched on their yoga mats that shifted on the wooden floor, but Wei Ying would laugh and call Song Lan over to sit with them during class and talk about a new hair colour, a new song he was working on, or the art gallery that just reopened its doors after a lengthy renovation.
There would never come a better time, a chance more perfectly serene than the one they currently sat in, hands running through hair and minds running all the more further. The air was filled with the warmth of cardamom tea and the expectation of a question of what more.
With every exhale, Xiao Xingchen hoped to inhale a mound of courage. It was little, but it would do. It would most definitely do beside the flicker of the candle lights, bright and soft and orange on Song Lan’s skin.
“Song Lan, perhaps we could skip my stale tea and have a coffee instead,” Xiao Xingchen blurted. “If the mug falls and spills on you I have jerseys piled high enough for you to change into a different one every five minutes.”
Please say yes, please.
“I quite like your jerseys, Xingchen. They feel like they’re dispelling bad luck.”