Archive of Our Own

Wei Ying had been eight when he first met Lan Zhan.

It was fleeting, though, with not enough time for him to even get his name. Wei Ying wasn't supposed to be in the living room that night. He had been strictly prohibited from stepping outside his bedroom because Aunt Yu had planned a very important dinner, and Wei Ying never knew how to behave when the adults were staring at him with that weird look on their faces. But Jiang Cheng and Jiejie were at the dinner party, and he was hungry and bored. He had thought that sneaking out wouldn't mean anything, right? He'd just steal something to eat and run back to his room. That had been his plan, but then he stumbled upon Lan Zhan, braided long hair falling over his shoulder and his brows furrowed as he looked at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying had been wearing his monkey pyjamas, his hair a mess on his head. Lan Zhan was, to Wei Ying's total shock, wearing a suit. He had seen a child wearing a suit before because Jiang Cheng had to be pristine every time Aunt Yu's friends were visiting, but Jiang Cheng had never looked quite like that. Lan Zhan hadn't said a word to him and before he opened his mouth, Aunt Yu appeared at the end of the corridor.  Wei Ying glanced at her for half a second before running in the opposite direction. 

They met again when Wei Ying was fifteen. That had been at summer camp, three insufferable long months, so Wei Ying had time to get used to the sour expression that seemed to always be plastered on Lan Zhan's face. Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying weren't there because they wanted it. It wasn't the fun kind of summer camp – they were there to study, to their total dismay. Lan Zhan's uncle was a filthy rich man who enjoyed the fine arts, knowledge, and discipline; he owned the summer camp. Lan Zhan's older brother was a camp monitor and responsible for their age group. Wei Ying adored Lan Huan – he was sweet and funny, the inverse of his younger brother, who sulked at everything and laughed at nothing. 

Summer camp was fun enough. Lan Huan used to sneak in sweets for them when they had been obedient throughout the whole day, though Lan Zhan always refused his share. If Wei Ying is being honest, at that time he had been obsessed with the idea of getting under Lan Zhan's skin. He used to jump out of bushes to scare Lan Zhan when they were on their mandatory morning exercises, and splashed water at Lan Zhan's face when they were swimming together. He had stolen countless of Lan Zhan's coloured pencils.  

This obsession of his died down when he got older, partially because Lan Zhan had moved across the Earth for college. Wei Ying had to admit that while he was jealous – he wanted to get away from the Jiang family too – he quite enjoyed college in Beijing. He rather liked staying at the dorm and eating sweet and sour chicken in street food tents late at night. He doesn't think he'd have that experience in the States – he couldn't picture himself being friendly to an American. 

But Lan Qiren's health had been declining for a while now, and Lan Zhan, freshly graduated, had to come home. Wei Ying didn't see him for the first few months, busy with university matters since it was his last year. But, for some reason, on the first day of his Art course, Wei Ying walked in to find Lan Zhan there. Older, prettier than Wei Ying remembered him being – okay, Wei Ying remembered him being very pretty, but the older he got the better he looked. That was unmistakably Lan Zhan; the cotton sweater, the soft-coloured pants. His long hair was still long – courtesy of his traditional upbringing, Wei Ying thinks – but there was something different about him now.

Wei Ying walked into the room, sat on the empty seat next to Lan Zhan and stared until he figured out what it was. It wasn’t surprising that the seat next to him was empty. Lan Zhan at twenty-two was still every bit the frosty, stoic guy he had been at fifteen, but now the hard lines of his jaw were more prominent and his aura clearly stated: back off. Not that Wei Ying cared to listen to what Lan Zhan’s aura said. He sat there and watched as Lan Zhan stared at nothing in particular. Easy. Lan Zhan didn’t look at him, though Wei Ying knew his presence had been noticed. He didn’t mind, though, because it gave him time to discover what was so different about Lan Zhan now, after all these years. 

Not the clothing style, very obviously. He was still dressed as an old guy. Not the demeanour, because Lan Zhan still held himself above other people –  just like he did back then. 

Oh.

It was the hair. Although Lan Zhan had kept the long hair, there was an undercut adorning his head. The sides and the lower part of his head were shaved and disconnected from the thick black hair braided prettily and falling on his back. It gave him an edge, a clean and sharp angle. He looked good, Wei Ying thought before biting his tongue. Lan Zhan had changed. The years he spent away had changed him. The Lan Zhan he used to know would never get an undercut. 

Wei Ying had tried to make contact. “Hey,” He said, dragging his seat a little closer to Lan Zhan’s. “Hey, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan didn’t even look at him. What the hell – that awakened something inside him instantly. He hadn’t planned on being on his worst behaviour, but Lan Zhan was clearly begging him to. Wei Ying shifted in his seat, turning his body in Lan Zhan’s direction.

"What did old Qiren think about the haircut?"

Lan Zhan scoffed; it was not actually a scoff, far from it, but it was as much a scoff as it could be, coming from him. 

"Can't believe you're not going to reply to your old friend."

"Not friends," Lan Zhan replied. "Mere acquaintances."

Wei Ying smiled. That was very expected – Lan Zhan had never let himself be called Wei Ying's friend before. "I beg to differ."

Their art professor stumbled into the room, then, and so Wei Ying fixed his posture out of habit and focused, for quite a while, on what he said. It was basic stuff, though, even if he was not an art history snob like Lan Zhan, he knew enough of it, so he ended up letting his mind slip. His brain wandered back to Lan Zhan, of course. Wei Ying hated to admit it but Lan Zhan was pretty, with sharp angles and soft lips. 

He had been a very handsome teenager, different from Jiang Cheng, tall and awkward, and from Wei Ying, who had been tall and purposely messy. If he had been a little nicer, less judgemental perhaps, Wei Ying would’ve harboured feelings for him throughout that entire summer when they were younger. Perhaps Wei Ying would have wanted something more from him – something else entirely. But what he had always wanted from him was a challenge, to get a rise from this boy made of glass. 

Wei Ying reached for Lan Zhan's canvas, touching the border of it with delicate fingers. Lan Zhan looked at him before moving the canvas away from Wei Ying.

In retrospect, it should’ve been a simple task to sit down on an uncomfortable chair next to Lan Zhan for three hours every Saturday for five weeks. It was an expensive class – Aunt Yu wouldn’t let him forget that – and it was finally something Wei Ying wanted to be part of, something he knew he could be good at. But then, Lan Zhan. 

Wei Ying is blessed enough to know Lan Zhan on a deeper level than the rest of their classmates, the ones who are absolutely terrified of asking him to move his canvas an inch to the left so the fruit basket they're supposed to be drawing isn't hidden behind it. He thinks that, were Lan Zhan a warmer and more normal person, they would've been childhood friends. But Lan Zhan isn't warm nor inviting – he's ice-cold and stoic, completely devoid of emotions, dry and uninterested in anything that isn't art or his brother. Wei Ying knows him because of their families, and if it were his choice Lan Zhan wouldn't even be an acquaintance.

That first day – while he still thought of it as easy – he whispered “Lan Zhan!” already feeling dizzy with its entertainment. Lan Zhan glanced at him with a very slight scowl on his face. What happened after that small interaction had clearly been a punishment, Wei Ying can see that now, because their professor looked at them and said, "Oh, it's good to see the two of you are already friends!"

He wanted to laugh, but instead, he stood there silently staring at him. 

"That means we've got one group sorted out! This," He turned to the rest of the class. "This is the surprise I mentioned earlier! While many professors schedule a big project to the end of the course, I have a very different mindset. You guys are going to have a long group project, starting from our first class, all the way up to our last class – five weeks from now." 

So it should’ve been easy, but Wei Ying found a way of making it extremely difficult. 

Working side by side with Lan Zhan isn't horrible. 

Wei Ying can focus when he wants to and Lan Zhan is terribly smart. But it's hard to stand the silence. Lan Zhan, as always, refuses to speak to him and Wei Ying, true to who he is, doesn't shut the fuck up. It's tedious, that's all, to work in complete silence. Lan Zhan hadn't been against music, but his idea of "background music" was classic instrumental stuff while Wei Ying would rather listen to 80’s punk rock music, so that was off the table. 

Their art project was supposed to tell a story – nonlinear if they wanted to, but complete and enchanting. It was supposed to show their true colours, who they were underneath. Lan Zhan texted Wei Ying at seven in the morning. That was against everything he stood for, but he ended up answering. Only because he had woken up from a nightmare and was scrolling through his Instagram feed waiting for sleepiness to come at him again.

The text was simple: Library at 8. Like Wei Ying could ever in a million years be ready at eight in the morning for anything – there’s a reason his classes start at 9. He texted back: unless ur not worried about me focusing, we can’t study at the library. Lan Zhan asked why. Wei Ying smiled at himself as he replied: my house at 9 with his address. He waited – he kind of wanted Lan Zhan to put up a fight, but that hadn’t been the case.

And so here they are, Wei Ying sprawled out on the couch while Lan Zhan sits on the floor with his art supplies surrounding him. There are blank pieces of paper all around the centre table but Lan Zhan had been scribbling on his journal for at least forty minutes now. Wei Ying eats a banana while thinking about their story. Lan Zhan said they could use their first day of work to come up with an outline, though for Wei Ying outlines never worked. 

He sighs. "Do you mind if we tell the story in the third person? I hate creating anything in the first person. Everything feels way too personal."

"That's the purpose of the project," Lan Zhan replies. "It is supposed to be personal."

"Yeah, but not too much, right?"

Lan Zhan doesn't look at him. They had decided on creating a story using six paintings – three for Wei Ying, three for Lan Zhan. Although they were supposed to think as a unity, Wei Ying liked the idea of keeping a little distance between them and their art. Only because art is personal and Lan Zhan had always been attentive to what Wei Ying really meant. When they were kids, Wei Ying thought Lan Zhan knew why he kept bothering him. He often made himself an easy target or maybe Lan Zhan at fifteen was simply too lame for him not to poke fun.

“Aren’t you nervous?” He asks, sliding to the floor. Wei Ying reaches for a blank paper and takes one of Lan Zhan’s pencils. He starts out with something – a boy. It’s just the face at first, with intense eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. “If we are supposed to get personal in this, then I’m going to see who you are underneath the angry face.”

“No.” Lan Zhan says.

“What do you mean? ‘Course I’m going to see you through – that’s what personal means.”

“No,” He repeats. “Am not nervous.”

Wei Ying blinks, paralysed. Then, he gets to work again – the eyebrows now. Thin and perfectly shaped, a little puckered. He takes his time with the slope of a strong, pretty nose. “Oh,” He says, dumbly. “I– I guess we’re past that now, aren’t we? We’ve showered together.”

“We have not showered together,” Lan Zhan says, hand halting the movement on top of his journal. "Wei Ying barged into the shower when I was in there."

Wei Ying stops –  hearing his name coming out of Lan Zhan's mouth makes him dizzy for some reason. Possibly because Lan Zhan had not said his name so far. Not when they met again in art class, not even when they exchanged phone numbers. Wei Ying hasn't heard Lan Zhan say his name in years. Literal years. He had been sixteen the last time Lan Zhan had angrily called out for him. 

It takes him by surprise. Makes him feel seen again – in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. It's stupid because it's only his name, but Lan Zhan says it differently. Wei Ying automatically catalogues how his name sounds now that Lan Zhan's voice is deeper. 

Clearing his throat, he continues as if Lan Zhan hadn’t said anything, “We showered together,” He raises his eyebrow, daring Lan Zhan to open his mouth again.  “And you saved me from falling off a cliff that one time in summer camp. I don’t think you’d save just about anyone. You used to hate being touched.” 

“Would’ve saved anyone,” Lan Zhan says. “Still do.”

“Wait, you still hate being touched?” Wei Ying asks. He’s focused on his drawing. The boy on the paper has long hair and Wei Ying goes out of his way to make sure the strands look thick. He thinks he should focus on the eyes, though. Something is missing. “How will you get a girlfriend if you hate being touched? Women like touching.”

“Don’t want a girlfriend,” Lan Zhan replies. He pauses, breathes out before adding, “Don’t like women.”

Wei Ying’s hand twitches and the drawing gets almost ruined. He swallows whatever it is he was going to say and focuses on fixing the shaky line on the boy’s jawline. “Oh, that’s– that’s cool,” He says after a while because his brain kicks in and he realises the silence might be interpreted some other way. “Me too– I mean– I like women, but I like– I like men, too.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying bites his bottom lip. “Does your uncle know?”

“Yes.”

“Does your brother know?”

“Yes.”

He stares at his drawing. He was supposed to be writing an outline, ideas that he might have, but he’s drawing a boy. A very beautiful boy, but he can’t see how this drawing is gonna be useful to their project. He sighs – there’s still something missing in the eyes. He follows the line of the boy’s neck and shoulders – broad, solid shoulders – and works on the shadowing. 

“Does your uncle know?” Lan Zhan asks, after a few minutes of silence.

“My– the whole family knows,” Wei Ying answers. “I was– uh, outed.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” He shakes his head. “I should’ve been careful but I ended up drunk at one of my uncle’s dinner parties. You remember those. And I guess someone saw me and this guy and– and took pictures. That was– that was a whole circus. Aunt Yu wanted to disown me, but Uncle was cool about it. I mean,” He laughs. “At least it wasn’t his actual son, right?”

Lan Zhan looks at him. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”  Wei Ying runs his hand through his hair, trying to regain focus. The shadowing is complete and he goes back to the eyes. He traces over the lines he drew before, trying to make them look a little narrow; there’s no expression on those eyes, but he thinks, knows what these eyes are supposed to be expressing. 

He makes the lashes longer and pays more attention to the orbs. The boy on the paper comes alive by the time Wei Ying’s satisfied with the eyes; these eyes are steely and he feels exposed just from looking at them. They are heavy and deep, and there’s a glint to them. He took his time on the shading and used the tip of his pinky finger to make it highlighted, and it makes them look inviting. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan starts. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you last week. That was rude of me. We are–” He pauses.

“Friends?”

Lan Zhan nods. 

“Okay,” Wei Ying laughs. “It took me seven years to make you say that. Maybe longer. Did it hurt?”

The tip of Lan Zhan’s ear turns pink, but he doesn’t say anything. Wei Ying goes back to his drawing and adds a slight shadow in the tip of the boy’s ears, making him seem a little flushed.

They don’t meet again for another week. Wei Ying is way too fucking busy with school work. Last year, when he spent three months absolutely incapable of showing up to classes, he fucked up his entire graduation. He doesn’t feel guilty, because he needed that. But now he’s overworked and so he skips Art class and turns down Lan Zhan’s next invite in favour of finishing homework for one of his classes.

Wei Ying works on their project a little bit, though. He sits down on Thursday night with a wine bottle and Call Me by Blondie playing at a reasonable volume and scribbles down a few ideas – nothing too permanent, because he’s never permanent enough when it comes to art. He tries his hands on a few sketches, though none of them looks exactly right for what he’s thinking. 

But he texts Lan Zhan on Friday morning. Do you want to come to my place later today? I’ll be free at 6. Because he’s got a stupidly hard test after lunch, he uses his free Friday morning to do what he does best: cramming before an exam.  Lan Zhan texts him back in minutes. Fine. Then again, Do you want me to bring you something to eat? And that’s shocking. Who would’ve thought Lan Zhan was a double texter? Wei Ying says, please?? That’d be actually perfect. Because he can never be bothered to cook. 

The exam turns out to be easier than he expected, which is almost always the case. Wei Ying tends to make things harder inside his head. It’s late afternoon when he gets on the subway. For a minute there he forgets he’s meeting Lan Zhan in an hour but as soon as he gets home he remembers . It feels urgent, too, the way his brain screams at him that Lan Zhan is coming by. 

Wei Ying looks around his living room and it’s a mess. Art supplies everywhere, empty wine bottles on the centre table – he drank too much this week. Well. He throws his backpack on the floor and grabs the bottles and glasses and takeout boxes and takes everything away to the kitchen. At least his sink isn’t cramped with dirty dishes. Wei Ying throws the whole of it away in the trashcan before arranging the art supplies on the centre table in a way that makes it look like they are there on purpose. 

When the living room is tidy enough, he looks at the full-body mirror hanging on the wall of his corridor. His hair looks greasy, so he runs to the bathroom to take a shower before Lan Zhan gets here. 

There’s a reason why he’s doing all this – he doesn’t want Lan Zhan to think of him as someone who hasn’t grown up. He did; he’s a total grown-up. He’s got ties in his wardrobe and he stopped wearing mismatched socks because he’d lost the right match a month before. So he takes a shower and washes his hair with coconut shampoo – but Lan Zhan chooses that exact moment to ring the doorbell. Wei Ying panics with his head full of foam.

"Hold on!" He tries his best to wash out the shampoo before grabbing a towel and tying it around his hips. He feels awful, but there are only two things he can do. He either leaves Lan Zhan standing outside for as long as it takes him to put on some clothes or he marches to the living room and lets Lan Zhan in looking like this – half-naked and wet, with shampoo foam in his brows. 

Wei Ying was never good at choosing the right things, so he leaves the bathroom and takes a deep breath before he yanks his door open. 

Lan Zhan, true to his character, doesn't say a thing. He barely even moves a muscle on his face. He's wearing a pale cream sweater and his hair is tied up in a ponytail, which makes the undercut really stand out. Wei Ying wants to pay more attention to the shaved portion of Lan Zhan's head, but a drop of foam slides from his eyebrow to his eye making him cuss out. 

"Come in! Sorry I’m like – uh, this, I guess. Wait a minute. I'm gonna get dressed. You– you know what? Mi casa, su casa."

He squints at Lan Zhan, trying to smile at him. Lan Zhan's jaw is set in a hard line, the point of his ears are red and he presses his lips together before saying, "Mn."

Wei Ying darts back to the bathroom, washing his hair properly so there's no shampoo left. He gets to his bedroom and finds comfortable sweatpants and a black shirt with holes on it –  purposeful holes because that's fashion. He's mortified at the thought of stepping out of his room and facing Lan Zhan again, but he's Wei Ying. That has to count for something, right? Besides, Lan Zhan brought food. So he takes a deep breath and– 

Finds Lan Zhan sitting with impeccable posture on his couch. Wei Ying lets his eyes satiate their curiosity as he glances over the perfect line of the undercut. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't mind.  "Sorry about that," He says, bringing one hand to hold his nape. "I hope you're not traumatised!" He laughs. 

Lan Zhan looks at him. Then he says, "Not traumatised."

“Oh, good.”

“Food.” Lan Zhan says, pointing with his head to where the packed lunch rests on the table. 

“This doesn’t look like it was bought on a cheap food chain.”

“It was not,” Lan Zhan replies. “It’s homemade. Eat.”

“Wait,” Wei Ying says. “You cooked this?”

“Mn.”

“You cooked for me?”

Lan Zhan stares at him as if he’s plain stupid. “I said I was going to bring you something to eat.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles, in total disbelief. “Something to eat. I thought you were gonna bring me a hot dog. I don't know. This is," He glances at the packed lunch. "This is homemade food."

"Does Wei Ying prefer over-industrialised food?"

“No,” He rolls his eyes. “I’m just surprised that you’d cook for me.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. “Now eat.”

“Jesus, fine. I’ll grab a spoon. What is it? Are you still vegetarian?” Lan Zhan nods. “That’s fine,” He says, running to the kitchen to fetch a spoon. “I bet this tastes super good.”

“Do not worry,” Lan Zhan says when Wei Ying is back in the living room. “It is spicy. Wei Ying likes spicy food if I remember correctly.”

"I do," He says, looking at the packed lunch in his hands. "Thank you for this... I really didn't think you'd cook something."

"It is no problem."

"Still," Wei Ying says. "Thank you."

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan watches him eat – it’s weird, at first, but then Wei Ying stops caring. The food is delicious: stir-fried vegetables, sticky rice, seasoned tofu, potatoes and peppers. It’s surprisingly spicy and it’s a full meal. Wei Ying hasn’t eaten this well in weeks. He’s tired of ordering pizza and fried chicken every other night; they taste good but homemade cooking tastes different. 

“You made a mistake,” Wei Ying says when he’s done eating. “Now I’ll want your cooking all the fucking time. That was super good.”

Lan Zhan’s ears flush. “Thank you,” He says. “Wei Ying, I won’t mind.”

“You say that now,” Wei Ying teases. “But once you realise I’ve hired you as my private chef–”

“Won’t mind.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says. “Okay– I’ll take these to the kitchen so we can get started.”

“Mn.”

The silence isn’t so unbearable anymore, at least not when they are working. And they do work – a lot. Lan Zhan tells him his idea: to draw the past, present and future. It seems like a good start, so Wei Ying opens his folder to get blank sheets. He stumbles upon the drawing he started last time they were working together; it’s not finished, but it’s a very good drawing - he might paint in watercolours later. So they’ve decided, together, that it’d be the past, present and future. Their work has to be connected, but at first, it might as well be neutral.

What will he draw? Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan starts working. His movements are precise as if he doesn’t need to think twice before he puts the pencil to paper. As if it takes him almost no effort at all to turn his thoughts into art. Wei Ying is the opposite; he thinks too much, he overthinks every idea. Is this enough? Does this make sense? Am I being too much? Am I too basic? He lets his eyes wash through Lan Zhan’s concentrated face. Intense eyes, strong nose. His lips are full but pressed together as he draws. 

Wei Ying sighs, taking hold of a pencil. He thinks back to his past – it wasn’t pretty. The first idea that comes to his head is not using the pencil.

“Do you think I could use charcoal?” Wei Ying asks.

“It is a good idea,” Lan Zhan replies. “The professor did not specify what supplies were not allowed.”

“You’re right, he didn’t.”

There’s charcoal in his kitchen drawer. When he gets back to the living room, charcoal in hand, he sits a little closer to Lan Zhan. It’s not a conscious move – he only realises he slid closer once he’s already seated. But he doesn’t pull back. 

Wei Ying drags the charcoal on the paper until there’s a light coating, a little bit grey instead of black. He tries to make the middle of the paper lighter than the edges. 

“It looks interesting,” Lan Zhan says, watching over Wei Ying’s shoulder.

That takes him by surprise – the boy next to him doesn’t quite feel like someone he knows.  This is not how he imagined working on a project with Lan Zhan would feel like; Lan Zhan had always been so distant and conceited, Wei Ying couldn’t have predicted he’d ever compliment him. He never thought Lan Zhan would take him seriously –  Lan Zhan is a pro when it comes to art and, while Wei Ying knows he isn’t awful at it, he’d never think of Lan Zhan liking his art. 

But it’s clear that he does. It’s clear that Lan Zhan believes Wei Ying has enough talent. He thinks he doesn’t know this Lan Zhan, even though he’s familiar in a lot of ways – but he wants to.

He smiles. “Thank you.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t smile back, but he nods slightly and Wei Ying feels as if that is a smile in his dictionary. He glances at his paper again and starts working on the shades of grey the charcoal left on the sheet. A few moments later, Wei Ying reaches for the pencil again, deciding to draw in the centre of the paper, where it’s clearer. 

He almost hears the sharp tip of the pencil against the paper because it is so silent. But it doesn’t bother him – not anymore. 

Wei Ying believed the art course would be a tad easier than it is in reality. But only because he didn’t think he’d have to put in effort in something other than the project – he and Lan Zhan had been working on it throughout the week –, but he shows up on Saturday morning on time holding two Starbucks cups. Of course, Lan Zhan is already there when he steps into the classroom.

Wei Ying’s hair is a little longer now and it’s dripping rainwater on his nape – it’s drizzling outside and he had to walk two blocks from the nearest Starbucks. His hands are warm because of the cups he's holding, but the tip of his nose feels frozen. 

"Good morning, Lan Zhan."

"Good morning, Wei Ying."

Lan Zhan's hair is down today. Perfectly combed, as expected. "You should really wear your hair down more often, you look gorgeous like this,” He says, getting comfortable on his seat. "Also, I brought you this. I didn't know if you liked coffee or tea. So I bought both. You can choose whichever you want and I'll drink the other one. This one is green tea," He raises his right hand. "And this is a cold brew coffee with coconut milk and two pumps of white mocha sauce. Shaken, not stirred."

Lan Zhan's mouth twitches. "That is very specific."

"Well," Wei Ying smiles sheepishly. "I like coffee."

"Tea is fine," Lan Zhan, reaching for Wei Ying's right hand. "Thank you."

Their fingers graze each other – barely. Wei Ying wouldn't have felt it if his eyes weren't stuck on the way Lan Zhan's big hand curled around the Starbucks tea. But he was and that’s weird and he doesn’t want to do that anymore. He clears his throat. 

"No problem! Uh, that's– I’m trying to repay you, I guess. For the home-cooked dinner, you know."

Lan Zhan is too busy drinking his tea to reply at first, so Wei Ying shifts on his seat and slips the straw in between his lips. A few people are already inside the classroom, but they don't seem to mind the gigantic cloud of awkwardness that seems to hover above his head. 

Lan Zhan licks his upper lip and Wei Ying looks away. "You did not have to worry about paying me back," He says. "And thank you."

"You already thanked me."

"I meant for the compliment about my hair."

"Oh, that," Wei Ying murmurs. He had forgotten about that already; it slipped from his mouth, he didn't even think about the words he was saying. But they were true. Lan Zhan looked gorgeous with his hair loose like this. "I was merely stating a fact."

Lan Zhan's mouth twitches again. "Still." 

“Ah, Lan Zhan– don’t act like you don’t hear that all the time.”

“I do not pay too much attention to compliments.” He answers. 

But you paid attention to my compliment. “It must get repetitive after a while.”

“Mn.”

He decides that this weird feeling – the awkwardness cloud – is Lan Zhan’s fault for not behaving the way Wei Ying had expected him to. Of course, he knew something was different with Lan Zhan, aside from the undercut, because he lived away for a few years, didn’t he? And there’s no way you stay the same person when you’re away from your country and your family.

So Lan Zhan wasn’t the same person he was when Wei Ying pushed him into the lake in summer camp years ago, even if he had wanted to believe he was.

Lan Zhan had him almost convinced with the short words and light scowl, but there's a warmth or perhaps an opening to him now that Wei Ying had never seen before. Unless he counts that one time Lan Zhan vouched for him when Lan Qiren had wanted to expel Wei Ying from summer camp as him being warm and open. 

It might've been Lan Zhan's way of being gentle and considerate. 

They don’t talk anymore, though, because class starts. Today, it is Drawing a Memorable Piece of Art from Memory. Wei Ying tries to remember anything neutral and not filled to the brim with undertones he doesn’t want to think about, but his brain refuses to cooperate. He sighs and gets to work, drawing from memory the only fucking artwork he seems to remember: Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss, from 1908. 

The effort he makes to keep his eyes on his own canvas is formidable, but he fails. Obviously. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan's canvas.

It's just a shape, angular and manly, with not much detail for Wei Ying to guess which piece of art Lan Zhan is drawing. He tries to remember which famous artworks have a naked man as the centre of attention – because that, on Lan Zhan’s canvas, is clearly a man. The body shape is too structured to resemble the soft way artists paint women throughout most art history.

He wants to ask, but he doesn't think Lan Zhan would appreciate the interruption. Though, Wei Ying has never cared about that before.

"What piece of art are you going to recreate?"

"Sleeping Venus," He says. "In my style."

"So it is a man," Wei Ying murmurs. "Why did you choose it?"

"Venus is the epitome of beauty and sensuality. She is untouchable and unreal –  a dream, if you will. In Giorgione's piece, she is the perfect embodiment of his most intimate idealisation. This one," He says, touching the canvas with the tip of his index finger. "Is mine."

Wei Ying swallows. “Got it.”

Lan Zhan turns to look at him. “What about Wei Ying’s choice?”

“The Kiss– uh, self-explanatory I think. If my choice is supposed to say anything  about me, then this says that I’m yearning for something that will ultimately make me feel sacred."

"Perhaps you crave intimacy."

Wei Ying huffs. "Perhaps."

Lan Zhan doesn't look away. He stares at Wei Ying's side profile for what feels like ages before he turns his attention to the male version of Venus. Wei Ying breathes out, relieved.

It takes him twenty minutes to give up again – he glances at Lan Zhan's canvas. The male Venus has black hair stopping an inch from the shoulders and a petulant mouth. Like in the original piece, the eyes are closed, and Lan Zhan seems to be focused on the hand, long fingers with darker knuckles. 

Wei Ying looks away. 

He meets Jiang Cheng and Jiejie for brunch on Sunday. He doesn't let himself be late because he knows Jiang Cheng is awful at waiting. It's a little after 10 in the morning and he's wearing his favourite jacket thinking nothing could go wrong, which is simply him being stupid – it's brunch with his siblings. Many things could go horribly wrong. He was in such a good mood before he stepped into the restaurant. Then he sat down at the table and Jiang Cheng opened his mouth. 

"You're late."

“I am not,” Wei Ying says. “It’s fifteen past 10.”

“And we said 10.”

“That’s fifteen minutes– that’s barely enough for you to be such a pain in the ass.”

“Come on,” Yanli says. “A-cheng, don’t be so difficult.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“Have you guys ordered?” He asks.

“Not yet, we were waiting for you, A-ying.”

“Oh that’s cool– uh, I’m not very hungry, though.”

“You are too thin,” Yanli reprimands. “I’m going to order for you!”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Jiejie! Order for me too!”

“Of course! Pancakes and waffles with lots of honey, what do you guys say?” Yanli laughs. 

“Sounds great, Jiejie!” 

When she gets up to order, Jiang Cheng says, “Listen, Mom asked me to–”

“Jesus Christ,” Wei Ying winces. “ Of course she asked you to do something for her. What is it now? Cut my credit card in two so I can’t spend money on fucking food anymore? Cause that’s all I buy with her money.”

“Aside from school and your art classes, you mean.”

He winces. “Wow, thanks.”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. Look, you got all defensive before I even opened my mouth.”

“Because I know where this is going. Aunt Yu asked you to humiliate me and you are gonna do as she says.”

“I am your brother–”

Wei Ying crosses his arms on his chest.  “Fine, what did she say?”

“Uh–”

“ Out with it already! It’s bad if you had to wait for Jiejie to leave the table.”

“That’s because she always sides with you.”

“That’s because I am her baby.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes again. “Whatever. So– hmmm, listen, Mom says you’re slacking off in school. You know she has friends there and connections, so she says you’re not doing your best. Your grades are average and she  expects you to excel.”

Wei Ying scoffs. “Holy shit.”

“That’s what she says, okay? I know it’s not like that. Listen, I didn’t want to be the one telling you this,” Jiang Cheng sounds sincere. More often than he’d like, Wei Ying can’t shake the feeling that Jiang Cheng agrees with his mother. Right now, though, he doesn’t think so. “Wei Ying, I know you are trying.”

“I really fucking am,” He glances to where Yanli stands, a soft smile on her face as she chats up another customer in line while waiting for her order. He sighs. “I get it, she thinks the money is getting wasted on me. I know I didn’t show up to school for three months last year, but that wasn’t because I wanted to waste her fucking money. I was going through something none of you would ever understand.”

“I get that.”

“So you can tell your mother that I’m doing my best.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t mention his mother again throughout their brunch and Yanli doesn’t seem to catch up to how badly Wei Ying wants to go home. He feels suffocated right now, too small and useless and–  hell, he feels awful. He tries to remind himself that Aunt Yu had never been easy on him, not even when he kept excelling in every aspect. 

When Wei Ying gets home, he sits on the couch staring at nothing for twenty minutes. It’s so fucking easy for Aunt Yu to break him – she doesn’t even need to be near. He hates that, hates himself for letting her get to him, and hates Jiang Cheng for saying those things.

It sucks, that’s all. Because he’s working his ass off every fucking day, he does more than his best to not drag the Jiang family name in the mud inside the academy. But he’s never going to fucking be enough. Wei Ying is just never going to make anyone in that family proud.

The next week, he loses himself. Instead of drinking wine and drawing at night when he gets home after leaving half of him at school, he studies. He spends his days either at the library gathering books or signing up to seminars and lectures that are going to help him feel less like a failure. 

Wei Ying gets home every day completely exhausted, passing out on the couch in seconds. He can’t find the time to reply to Huaisang or Wen Ning and Lan Zhan. He can’t say he doesn’t think about Lan Zhan because he does, he thinks of him in those five seconds it takes for him to doze off. But he can’t breathe without feeling like he’s slacking off and giving Aunt Yu a reason to point fingers at him. So he forces himself to forget anything that isn’t his fucking degree.

And that’s why it takes him days to see Lan Zhan again. 

And he only sees him again because on Saturday at seven in the morning, Lan Zhan knocks on his door. 

Wei Ying is still in his sleeping clothes – loose pyjamas pants tied around his hips with a shoelace and an old shirt that became a cropped shirt at some point in his first year of college –, and his hair is completely tangled. He is indecent and sleepy and Lan Zhan is standing at his doorstep with his hair down and a very beautiful dark grey cashmere sweater.

“Lan Zhan?”

“Why is Wei Ying always half-naked when answering the door?”

He laughs, startled. “I wasn’t expecting a visit.”

Lan Zhan presses his lips together. “You disappeared.”

“Did I?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes out. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, God, of course, come in.”

Inside his apartment, Lan Zhan takes off the cashmere sweater and it’s earth-shattering for Wei Ying to see he’s wearing a sleeveless cotton shirt underneath it. There’s no sleepiness clouding Wei Ying’s brain anymore and he unabashedly checks out the strong muscles of Lan Zhan’s arms. “You–”

“Su casa, mi casa. I remember.”

Wei Ying laughs. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, okay?”

“Mn.”

He does take a shower, but while in the shower his brain keeps giving him numerous tasks trying to convince him he needs to do all of them before he even thinks of enjoying Lan Zhan’s company– and then he realises he’s thinking about enjoying Lan Zhan and that’s enough to make him frown at the tiles.

This probably means something, but Wei Ying can’t quite understand it. He leaves the shower and puts on proper clothes before heading back to the living room.

Lan Zhan isn’t in the living room. Wei Ying bites his bottom lip. “Lan Zhan?”

“Kitchen.”

He closes his eyes. “Please don’t say you’re cooking me breakfast.”

“Alright,” Lan Zhan replies. “I won’t.”

But he is. It’s seven in the morning and Lan Zhan is cooking him breakfast. Wei Ying pushes himself up to sit on the counter. “Is that jianbing ?”

“Mn.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know I had sweet soybean paste in the fridge.”

“Wei Ying doesn’t cook.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Not asking – affirming.”

Wei Ying laughs. “You are different now,” He says. “From how you were when we were kids.”

“Because we were kids. We have grown.”

“But you said we weren’t friends when we met again, you remember that?”

“Mn.”

“And now you’re making me jianbing. That sounds a lot like we are friends.”

“Mn.”

“We could’ve been friends since summer camp.”

“Wei Ying used to stick chewing gum to my backpack.”

“That was just me trying to make friends.”

“Wei Ying pushed me into the lake.”

“Yeah,” He laughs. “I remember that.”

“You were impossible.”

“I wanted to have fun.”

Lan Zhan sighs. “I know.”

“I wanted you to have fun,” Wei Ying says, puffing his cheeks. “You looked like you needed help  with that.”

“Cannot say you didn’t make  those months very memorable.”

“Did you– that’s silly, I know, but did you ever– I mean, did you really hate me? Back then?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Lan Zhan looks at him. “I don’t know.”

“I guess that’s fair. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t make it easy for you to like me.”

“Breakfast’s ready.”

“I should eat quickly so we’re not late.”

“We are not going to class today,” Lan Zhan says as he puts a plate next to Wei Ying on the kitchen counter. “We will skip it.”

“Are you serious? Lan Zhan! Ah, Lan Zhan, how very naughty of you!”

“Wei Ying looks tired,” He continues, and Wei Ying notices as his hand flexes next to him. “Want to know if you are okay.”

“I am fine.”

“Then Wei Ying shouldn’t mind if we skip art class.”

“I don’t mind,” Wei Ying says, mouth full. “But you do, don’t you?”

Shaking his head, Lan Zhan says, “Not anymore.”

Once Wei Ying is done eating, Lan Zhan watches him as he washes the dishes – cleaning the sink under his watchful gaze feels ten times harder. They relocate to the living room. Lan Zhan sits, posture straight against the back of the couch. Wei Ying follows, slower and sleepier, his full belly weighing him down. 

"Tired?" Lan Zhan asks.

"I gotta be honest with you," He pauses, unsure. "It's nothing, actually, I'm just tired because, uh, you know I'm still in college, right?" Lan Zhan nods. "So, that's because when I was outed, I think I dealt with it really badly. I got lost inside my head. Didn't show up in class for months, didn't contact my siblings. They didn't even– they didn't even know if I was alive," Wei Ying chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that I'm stuck in college because of that, for at least two more months and the only reason why I was allowed back in such a renowned university is because of my– the Jiang family. I think you can understand the kind of stress I'm under, right?"

Lan Zhan purses his lips. "Yes."

"Yeah," Wei Ying laughs. "It's fucking awful. Aunt Yu has always demanded perfection, especially from me, I guess. And the fact that I only got a second chance because of her makes her think she can tell me I'm a failure whenever she feels like it."

Trying not to stare dumbly at Lan Zhan’s beautiful face, Wei Ying adds, "I think the worst part is that I let her."

"It is not your fault," Lan Zhan says; he sounds oddly tender. "You shouldn't punish yourself thinking it is."

"It is my fault, kind of. Look, this," He gesticulates vaguely. "I know you don't care about any of this and I know that I'm messing up our project because it's almost due and we aren't finished, but– I haven't felt this peace of mind in weeks. And you cooked for me again."

"I did."

"You were even worried."

"I was," Lan Zhan says. "Still am."

Wei Ying closes his eyes again and he vaguely feels himself moving, but he doesn't register the actual movement until his forehead hits Lan Zhan's chest with a soft thud. Wei Ying breathes in – Lan Zhan smells like fresh laundry and sandalwood and for a minute Wei Ying thinks that he could get addicted to this scent. He rubs his forehead against the soft fabric of Lan Zhan's cotton shirt.  

This is rude, he knows, and it's dangerous because he's starting to understand why he was so obsessed with Lan Zhan when he was fifteen, but Lan Zhan lets him rub his face all over his chest, quiet and calm, and doesn’t push him away. 

"Wei Ying, I care," Lan Zhan says. "I care about you."

An ugly disbelieving laugh bubbles inside his chest because Wei Ying's first instinct is to tell Lan Zhan he should care about something else, something more worthy. But he doesn't say anything like that and he doesn't let the laugh escape from inside his ribcage. He just stays there, face pressed against Lan Zhan's firm body. 

And then he feels as Lan Zhan rests his hand on the small of his back. The shirt he's wearing is too short and doesn't cover the patch of skin Lan Zhan is touching. Wei Ying feels like a bare wire as he thinks about the way Lan Zhan's hand is smooth and warm and touching his skin. 

He falls asleep. 

Wei Ying takes control of his life on Monday.

It's hard to keep the memories of last Saturday out of his mind, but Wei Ying tries his best. Lan Zhan hadn't been there when he woke up, but there was a note with perfect calligraphy on the centre table. It was short and clear: Wei Ying, I'll see you on Tuesday night. Take care.

He knew they had to meet again to work on their project because they only had two more weeks before it was due and, because of Wei Ying's complete inability to hold himself together, they were slightly behind schedule. 

Therefore, on Monday, Wei Ying completes his online quizzes, finishes his papers and gets done with a book he'd needed to read for a  test next week. On Tuesday, he's giddy and anxious –  but he doesn't think about it. It's a busy day, with a group reading and a seminar.

It's late afternoon when he gets home and he hops into the shower before texting Lan Zhan that he can come over. 

It's almost as if Lan Zhan had been waiting outside his building because it takes him less than twenty minutes to knock on Wei Ying's door. 

This time, though, Wei Ying makes sure he’s wearing proper clothes. Okay, the shirt is a little tighter than normal, but that hadn't been a conscious choice. 

"Hi," He says, sounding breathless. "Come in, come in!"

"Good afternoon, Wei Ying. Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah, I guess. What about you?" He closes the door and leans against it with both hands behind his back. "Was your weekend okay?"

"Yes."

"What about your Monday?"

Lan Zhan's mouth twitches. "It was good."

"Oh, and your Tuesday?" Wei Ying asks; he sways his hips a little. 

"It has been okay," Lan Zhan replies. "Better now."

"Ah, Lan Zhan! Charming, if I say so myself." 

"My pleasure," Lan Zhan's ears flush again. It's such a soft, beautiful shade of pink. It's the kind of flush that only really exists in books, precious and probably warm to the touch. "Have you eaten?"

"I  have," Wei Ying says, pulling himself off the door. "You don't have to worry about that."

“Mn.”

“It’s true! Uh, you know what I was thinking–” 

“Yes?”

“We should try to finish the project today. I know it might sound crazy because we are a little behind, right?”

“No, it does not sound crazy. I agree.”

“Ay, great! Let’s get started, wait, do you need anything? I have tea.”

As graceful as ever, Lan Zhan sits down on the floor, unloading his supplies on the small centre table. He places his bag next to him. "No, thank you."

"Okay, okay. I'll get my stuff." 

"Mn."

Wei Ying feels out of his mind. He knows the reason why he offered to finish the project today – ever since Saturday when he first felt Lan Zhan's touch, he couldn't shake off the idea of asking him out for a drink, but he knows Lan Zhan wouldn't accept if they still had work to do. He comes back to the living room with his art supplies. 

Lan Zhan is already drawing. 

He clears his throat as he places his pencils and paper neatly on the centre table; the table is small, their drawing sheets overlapping, but it's enough. "So, I was thinking," He says.

"Mn."

"If we finish everything today, we should celebrate."

Lan Zhan glances at him. "Our ideas of what a celebration means are different."

"Hey! You can't know that."

"Wei Ying likes alcohol."

"Yes, but-"

"I don't drink."

"That's," Wei Ying splutters. "That's completely fine. Lan Zhan! Come on. I thought we were friends."

Lan Zhan looks the other way. "Mn."

"Yeah?" Wei Ying says, checking to see if he's come to understand what Lan Zhan's humming means. "You coming?"

"Yes," He replies. "I'll go with you – to wherever it is."

Wei Ying laughs, flushed. "Oh, That's– that's good."

The prospect of going out with Lan Zhan tonight makes goosebumps rise all over his skin and he forces himself to draw, to focus on literally anything else that isn't Lan Zhan.

It’s an impossible task.

His nose seems to be trained to pick on Lan Zhan's scent even with enough inches separating them; his skin burns and itches and the only thing that could soothe it is Lan Zhan's touch. He looks at the paper on the table and the pencil in his hand. This is supposed to be the future drawing and you never really know what the future holds, but you can sometimes know what you want in your future.

Sometimes it's hard to see that far, to think about the future and imagine something permanent – it's dark and cloudy and you lack the energy to fight the urge to just never think too much about it.

Other times it gets very clear. It gets crystal clear, but only because it's something you desperately want and there's no future for you without it. It's a scary thing –  when the future gets clear because it's only what you want, not what it'll be. But it's enough to make you feel real, to make your hands feel solid, to fill your lungs with air. The idea of having something – or someone – to look forward to. 

Wei Ying draws another boy. Older, with braided hair resting on a broad shoulder.  He draws a man with warm eyes, full of something he can't quite place but knows he wants to touch, to keep with him. He draws a man with long eyelashes and full cheekbones, with powerful eyebrows.

He draws a pretty mouth with a delicate cupid's bow, twitching slightly at the corner –  the birth of a smile he longs to see. He glances at Lan Zhan and his hand follows the pattern of his face with astounding ease; the lines of his forehead placed there because of his judgemental gaze, the soft slope and the round tip of his nose. The jut of his bottom lip. Wei Ying wants to bite on that lip, pull it inside his mouth, suck on it until Lan Zhan has to restrain him. 

Wei Ying sighs. 

"Is everything okay?" Lan Zhan asks.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm almost done with the last drawing."

"Good," Lan Zhan's eyes soften. "You are efficient."

"I did learn with the best," Wei Ying smiles. "Your uncle, I mean."

"I figured."

The sun is setting outside the apartment, the sky is cloudy. Wei Ying finishes the drawing in record time and starts the process of shadowing. He gives depth to the eyes because that's possibly the most important detail of the drawing, his most favourite thing about the man who inspired him –  how much he can demonstrate with just one look. 

By the time he's done with the shadows, he looks up at Lan Zhan. "You done?" 

Lan Zhan nods. "Yes."

"Oh, wow, even with the painting?"

"No, I will paint at home."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, what are you trying to hide?"

Lan Zhan shifts slightly. "Nothing. Wei Ying said he wanted to go out."

"I did."

"We should go."

"It's early, ah, do you have a bedtime? Still?"

"I like discipline."

Wei Ying swallows. "I know."

He has never in his life changed clothes as fast as right now. Instead of wasting time trying to doll up, Wei Ying chooses what he already knows it's going to make him look pretty. Tight jeans and an oversized black shirt that's loose around his shoulders and collarbones. He ties his hair in a ponytail with his favourite scrunchie for good luck before stepping into his red Chuck Taylors.

Lan Zhan is always well dressed, so he politely declines when Wei Ying offers for them to drop by at his house so he can change. He's wearing dark grey high-waisted linen pants and a tucked-in white shirt. He looks tall and strong and Wei Ying knows how firm his chest is. It's maddening. 

He doesn't let Wei Ying pay for their DiDi, but he lets him choose where they are going. It's Lan Zhan so Wei Ying tries to think somewhere fun and sophisticated. They end up at an expensive bar with five out of five rating stars. Lan Zhan lets his hand rest on the small of Wei Ying's back again as they step into the bar, the low lights giving it an exquisite feeling. 

It's safe to say that Wei Ying is not planning on getting drunk, mostly because he doesn't trust his drunk self around Lan Zhan. Drunk Wei Ying is a menace to society. 

But Lan Zhan surprises him when he orders wine – the exact wine Wei Ying loves to drink. He gets a bottle of it plus a bottle of water and one lemon. 

"What's the lemon for?" Wei Ying asks.

"My water."

He scrunches up his nose. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Alright," Wei Ying blinks. "Thank you for the wine, by the way. How did you know that's my favourite?"

"I've seen them at your house."

"Of course! But don't go thinking I'm a drunk, okay?"

"I don't."

"Okay! Oof, that's good. Hey, are you excited?"

Lan Zhan tilts his head in confusion. 

"For our project! I think we did great."

"I think so, too." 

Wei Ying smiles at him. "Your idea was fantastic, Lan Zhan."

"Our idea." He corrects. 

"Hmmm, don't know about that," Wei Ying says, gulping down the rest of his first glass of wine. He slides his tongue against his bottom lip to catch a drop of wine. "I'm pretty sure you thought of that by yourself."

"Doesn't matter," Lan Zhan replies, eyes fixed on the table. "It's Wei Ying's, too."

"You're just too good for me," Wei Ying replies, pouring himself another glass. "I think I couldn't have had a better partner. And I'm glad," He pauses to take a long sip. "I'm very glad we became friends."

"Me too," Lan Zhan says, but this time his eyes find Wei Ying's eyes. And it's too much. It's too fucking much, so Wei Ying looks away. "I am sorry for the way I behaved at first."

"I'm used to that," Wei Ying laughs. "And you're not rude, you're just shy. You're just," He places one finger against his bottom lip, thinking. "You're very unique."

Lan Zhan stares at Wei Ying's finger. He reaches for Wei Ying's wrist and pulls his hand away from his face. "Wei Ying."

"Yeah?"

"Slow down."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, don't be like that, are we not celebrating?"

He lets go of Wei Ying's wrist. He seizes the opportunity to finish his second glass of wine. 

“We are.”

“Then,” Wei Ying pours another glass. “Have you ever tried alcohol?”

“No.”

“Never? Not even in college?”

“No.”

“Don’t you want to know how it tastes?”

“I know how it tastes.”

Wei Ying blinks, confused. 

Lan Zhan sighs. “I’ve kissed people who tasted like alcohol.”

And isn’t that lovely? The image of Lan Zhan kissing someone else playing over and over again inside his head, the knowledge that Lan Zhan tasted alcohol on another man’s lips, that he probably even– that he probably sucked on those lips. Wei Ying finishes his third glass in record time.

“Slow down.”

He’s already dizzy, he’s drinking too fast. “I’m fine. That just– that caught me off guard.”

“Why? Did Wei Ying think I was a prude?”

Hearing those words make Wei Ying pour wine out of the glass for two entire seconds. He takes hold of himself. “No, of course not. You’re so– you’re so fucking pretty. It’s obvious that you have experience. It’s just that–” I want it to be me. 

“Thank you.”

Wei Ying drinks half of his glass before he trusts himself to reply. “Don’t mention it,” He says. “How was it? College, life away from your family?”

“Good,” Lan Zhan says, then his mouth twitches again in a way that makes Wei Ying’s heart flutter. “It was really good, Wei Ying.”

“I like your undercut, you know.  That was the first thing I noticed about you. And it made me think, wow, he really changed. God, I wish that was me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know what it feels like to be myself without feeling like I’m letting someone down.”

“Wei Ying.”

“And I would love to have roots somewhere else, I would like to be someone else. Lan Zhan, do you remember when we met? Not in summer camp, before that.”

“At your uncle’s dinner party.”

“You were in a suit.”

“Wei Ying was wearing a monkey-themed pyjama.”

He laughs. “I miss that– I miss when we met. I could be anyone, I could be anything. But now I’m me, I’m this and you already know. You already know me. And I can’t change that anymore,” Wei Ying stares at his empty glass of wine. “I could be so much better.”

“You are,” Lan Zhan pauses. It’s fantastic to see him searching for the right words because, to Wei Ying, Lan Zhan had always known what to say even before he opened his mouth. “You are perfect.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wei Ying replies. “And I used to think you knew everything.”

Lan Zhan smiles. It’s soft and bewitching and it instantly makes Wei Ying lean in. But then he stops himself and pours another glass – he has already lost count of how many glasses he’s had.

But he drinks, and Lan Zhan watches, and then it’s time to go home because his cheeks get flushed and his eyes get glossy and he can’t think straight anymore. So Lan Zhan pays for the bill and lets Wei Ying’s head fall onto his shoulder on the ride back to his apartment.

He presses his nose against the base of Lan Zhan’s neck. It’s as inebriating as the wine itself. 

His home feels way colder than the world outside. Deep down Wei Ying knows he’s just missing the warmth of Lan Zhan’s embrace – Lan Zhan let go of him when they stumbled into the apartment. He flops onto the couch, kicking off his shoes, and watches as Lan Zhan leans back against the front door.

“Thank you for tonight,” Wei Ying says. “I know it must’ve–” He hiccups. “Sorry, it must have sucked for you.”

“Believe it or not,” Lan Zhan replies, eyes burning with a warmth Wei Ying would’ve recognised if he was sober. “I enjoy your company.”

He blushes. “You’re so charming.” 

“Mn.”

Wei Ying lifts himself up on his elbows. “Come here– come closer.”

Lan Zhan obeys,  tilting his head. “Are you not feeling well? Do you need something?”

“Just– just,” He reaches for the hem of Lan Zhan’s shirt and pulls him down until he’s hovering an inch above him. “I want to do something.”

“Yes?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan– Lan Zhan, please.”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, breathing a little too ragged. His ears are a furious pink and his cheeks are slightly flushed – that’s a first, Wei Ying notices, but his eyes fall to Lan Zhan’s lips and then his brain is completely empty. Such a pretty mouth, such beautiful lips. They must be soft, must feel so good.

Wei Ying lets go of Lan Zhan’s shirt, placing his hand on his nape instead. He knows Lan Zhan must want to open his eyes so he rushes forward before he can do so and slots their mouths together.

It isn’t a kiss because at first, neither of them moves, but then Wei Ying’s eyelids flutter as he drags the tip of his tongue against the seam of Lan Zhan’s bottom lip. Please, he pleads to whoever is listening to him out there – to whatever fucking entity there is –, let me have him. And Lan Zhan presses a hand to Wei Ying’s chest, pushing him away. It’s not a strong push, but it makes Wei Ying realise what he did. 

And then he feels awful.

“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry– I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to do this, I didn’t, I’d never–”

“Wei Ying.”

“I feel horrible –”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, “It’s fine. You’re drunk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He gets up, fixes his hair – Wei Ying hadn’t even noticed his fingers pushing into the base of Lan Zhan’s braid. He doesn’t look mad and once again, if Wei Ying were sober, he’d understand. The look on Lan Zhan’s face would make sense. But he isn’t sober, so Lan Zhan’s expression is indecipherable. “Take care, Wei Ying.”

“Uh,” He says, dumbly. “Yeah, uh, you too. Take care, okay?”

“Mn.”

“I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“Drink water,” Lan Zhan says, hand closed around the doorknob. Wei Ying doesn’t want him to go. “Text me when you wake up.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Lan Zhan nods – then he leaves and Wei Ying runs to the bathroom, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud, the searing pain reverberating through him. 

He barely manages to open the toilet lid before getting sick. 

The next morning comes with a grey sky – the sun making no effort to shine through the thick clouds. It’s fitting. Wei Ying is morose and the dark sky is validating; he thinks about simply not getting up. It would be so easy for him to just close his eyes again and let sleepiness wash over him.

But it’s Wednesday and he’s gotta pull himself together if he’s thinking of showing up to class on Saturday without feeling as if his heart is about to fall off his ass. 

He remembers every single detail of the previous night. He knows he kissed Lan Zhan, no amount of alcohol in his bloodstream would make him forget how it felt. Wei Ying has kissed people before, but it never felt like that – like he was kissing the softest lips a man could possess. It felt as if he was touching the most delicate art piece in the world. There was a thrill, a nervousness, the terrifying thought of fucking up. 

And he did fuck up, didn’t he? Because he doesn’t even know if Lan Zhan wanted him like that. How long did it take for Lan Zhan to want him as a friend? What the hell went through Wei Ying’s head when he leaned in and licked Lan Zhan’s bottom lip as if he had the right to do that – he doesn’t know. Perhaps the desire was too unbearable, perhaps he is weak and the drunk version of him is even more insane than his sober self. 

Wei Ying sits up on the bed; he decides he needs a shower, and then he needs to get overwhelmingly busy so he won't have the time to dwell on his past actions. 

Getting busy turns out to be easier than he thought it would be. After finishing painting the drawings for the project, he goes back to reading and writing and focusing on his academic career. It feels good because that means he can't really feel sorry for himself, not any more than he usually does, at least. 

It’s a rough week; not only because every hour that goes by is an hour closer to Saturday, and not only because his WeChat has been awfully silent, but also because he has come to realise that he’s so used to having Lan Zhan that, for a second, he’s paralysed with the fear of having lost him. And then in a blink, it's Friday night and Wei Ying listens to Taylor Swift songs for two hours. That's what he calls preparation – tomorrow will have to face Lan Zhan.

And worst yet, he'll have to see the look on Lan Zhan's face when he inevitably recognises himself on the drawing that's supposed to represent Wei Ying's future. 

That’s a horrifying thought because for some reason Wei Ying comes up with very rude scenarios, things he knows Lan Zhan wouldn’t ever do nor say, but he’s listening to Taylor Swift and he misses Lan Zhan so badly that when the song says this is me praying that this was the very first page not where the storyline ends, he gets up and turns off the speaker. He’s got enough imagination to make himself suffer – he doesn’t need Taylor Swift’s help. 

Saturday almost feels like a nice, normal and calm day. And then Wey Ying fully wakes up. It’s possibly a little after six which means he can breathe for a few minutes before he has to get up and take a shower and face Lan Zhan.

He had never been nervous like this – especially not because of someone whom he was absolutely sure he used to dislike, at least. But that’s not the truth, is it? He never really disliked Lan Zhan. 

Wei Ying takes a long and hot shower. He’s doing everything robotically; choosing his tight jeans and his oversized shirt, fixing his hair on a high ponytail. He searches for lip gloss, a little less robotically and a lot more anxious, and adds a light coating. He’s almost ready and then he finds the drawing he made that first week when Lan Zhan still refused to talk about anything more than necessary.

Wei Ying forgot to paint it, but it’s a pretty drawing. He shoves the drawing delicately inside his portfolio before he shuts the door behind him. 

Lan Zhan looks breathtakingly beautiful today. He’s wearing his hair down again, brushed delicately to the side – though it hides his undercut, that Wei Ying has come to love so much, he looks a lot less intimidating like this; it’s almost as if he’s reachable, but that’s not really the case anymore. Wei Ying has never felt more incapable of reaching out than he feels right now.

He looks up when Wei Ying sits next to him, and he presses his lips together. Wei Ying opens his mouth, but the professor chooses that moment to walk in. 

The presentation starts, lots of groups talking about their creative process, what every drawing represents. It feels a lot like high school; Wei Ying dries his sweaty hands on his jeans. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers. “Do not be nervous.”

He swallows, tongue heavy and dry inside his mouth. “Sorry I’m just– just feeling, you know…” He trails off.

“You did good.” Lan Zhan says. 

“Okay,” He replies, unsure on how to explain that the presentation isn’t the reason why he’s nervous. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

When it’s their turn, Wei Ying follows behind Lan Zhan like a lost puppy; it’s dumb, but he reaches out for the hem of Lan Zhan’s sweater, holding onto it firmly. He doesn’t let go even when he starts talking. 

“It’s a past, present and future project,” Lan Zhan starts, when the drawings are already exposed. “Our creative process was based on intimacy and reconnection. It is supposed to tell our story.”

“It's a very personal project,” Wei Ying adds. “We thought a lot about what story to tell and ours is– is the only one I’m pretty sure I know.”

Lan Zhan hasn’t seen his drawing yet. Wei Ying’s brain keeps going over the same set of words: please don’t look at it, please don’t look at it. But of course, Lan Zhan turns his head just a little bit and then the drawing is right on his line of vision and Wei Ying can see on his face that he instantly understands that the future Wei Ying drew is him.

Just him – looking so obscenely beautiful that Wei Ying doesn’t even know how he managed to show this drawing to thirty other people.

Wei Ying clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, my past wasn’t the best so I used charcoal, and my present is stable but pressuring which made me use watercolour and the future is– the future is unclear but beautiful. So I used Chinese art style mixed with western techniques, got the ink a little blurry around the edges, a little smudged. But the lines are solid.”

“In my case,” Lan Zhan says. “I used a realistic technique for the past, leaning towards the classic side of art. For the present, I used oil paint. Took the time to make sure they blended well. For the future, I decided it would be best to paint with watercolour because it’s beautiful and difficult– but rewarding.”

He doesn’t look at Lan Zhan’s art, can’t even look at Lan Zhan at all. Wei Ying doesn’t let go of the hem of his sweater, but he can’t even look at him. The professor has a few questions and Lan Zhan answers them by himself. When they are done, Lan Zhan goes back to his seat but Wei Ying runs out the door straight to the bathroom. 

He feels liquid – like water running down the drain. Wei Ying washes his face in the sink, feeling a little less feverish. The door flies open when he’s got his face under the faucet, eyes closed; he pulls back and turns around to dry his face with the paper towels. 

“Wei Ying.”

He freezes. “Oh, Lan Zhan, you scared me,” He laughs, it sounds so awkward that he immediately wants to take it back. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“Why isn’t Wei Ying in class?”

“I needed a break. Um, we did great out there.”

“Mn.”

“Your paintings were amazing. I can’t ever use oil paint, but I guess you’re just very, uh, talented.”

“Wei Ying didn’t look at my paintings.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

He swallows. “Listen, about my– about my painting. I know you saw it, and you probably hated it.”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I never lie.”

Wei Ying crosses his arms on his chest. “Listen, let’s get this done with, okay?” He doesn’t know where the hell the courage is coming from, he’s not sure if he’s being brave or just an idiot, but now that he started talking, it’s not like he can just stop. “I’m sorry I painted you as my future. I know you don’t– Jesus, this is embarrassing, wow. I know how you feel about me so–”

“Wei Ying doesn’t know anything.”

He presses his lips together. Everything about this moment is horrifying; the fact that they are in the bathroom is weird and a little bit gross. Lan Zhan finally closes the door behind him, leaning against it just like he does when he's at Wei Ying's place. "Wei Ying seems to believe I am not interested."

"Well, I-"

"I am," Lan Zhan says, taking a step closer to where Wei Ying stands, frozen and idiotically. "Have been. Will be. For a long time."

"Ah," Wei Ying says. "You can't– that's not how– what?"

"Had Wei Ying looked at my paintings, he'd have seen."

"Seen what?"

"That I drew you in my future, too."

He feels dizzy – the corners of his eyes are darkening. “What?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan takes another step. He’s very close now, too close. Too fucking close. He opens his mouth, but then a girl from their class – short blonde hair, thin lips – pushes the bathroom door open. Lan Zhan takes a step back. 

Wei Ying shifts on his feet, looking away. 

“Uh,” The girl says. “Sorry, I didn’t wanna interrupt anything.”

“It’s chill,” Wei Ying says. “We were leaving, right?”

“Mn.”

The girl looks unconvinced. “Sure.”

Wei Ying reaches for Lan Zhan’s wrist, pulling him alongside. He doesn’t let go of Lan Zhan’s arm until they are very far from the bathroom. “We should get our things and leave.”

“Class hasn’t ended.”

Wei Ying stares at him. “Are you kidding me?” Lan Zhan’s mouth twitches. “Oh, god, you are. Okay, uh, that was– that was irresistible of you. So stop. Let’s make a plan.”

“No need.”

“There’s a need, we have to leave some way.”

Lan Zhan nods. “Go inside, get our things, leave. Simple.”

“The professor is gonna see –”

“Wei Ying, this isn’t high school.”

“Oh my god, who are you? Lan Zhan! You’ve changed.”

“So you’ve said.”

They end up doing exactly what Lan Zhan said. Wei Ying had never bothered with the look his professors used to give him, sometimes he’d tease them just to see the look on their faces, but it’s completely different to see Lan Zhan receiving that kind of look. It’s unreal to even imagine Lan Zhan walking inside a classroom just to gather his things and leave. But that’s exactly what he does – he gets his things and Wei Ying’s things and nods to their professor when he’s leaving. 

Fifteen years old Wei Ying would never think of it – but he’d enjoy it if he could see Lan Zhan now.  

They ride to Wei Ying’s place in Lan Zhan’s car. He didn’t even know Lan Zhan had a car. 

“I didn’t know you had a car.”

“It is my uncle’s car,” He says. “But he is not driving so much anymore.”

“Is he okay?” Wei Ying asks.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replies. “He tires easily, that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

The ride back to his apartment isn’t long; he lives close by and there isn’t much traffic at 8 in the morning on a Saturday. When they are finally inside the apartment, Wei Ying’s brain remembers the words Lan Zhan said when they were in the bathroom; he suddenly feels the urge to see Lan Zhan’s workpieces, but that thought is lost when he turns around and Lan Zhan is staring at him with intense eyes – he feels instantly naked. 

“What?” He asks, unsure of what to do, what to say.“Is everything okay?”

“Mn.”

“Do you want something to drink?”

“No.”

“Something to eat, then?”

Lan Zhan sighs. “Wei Ying.”

“I’m sorry, I’m– I’m very nervous. Maybe I need something to drink.”

“It is eight in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying laughs. “You haven’t changed that much.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head. “Wei Ying.”

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

People often say that, upon seeing yourself in a dangerous situation, a movie with your entire life starts passing through your head. Wei Ying doesn't know if that's true, he'd never had a near-death experience unless that one time he almost fell off the summer camp bridge counts; he didn't see a movie with his life that day.

For some reason, he's seeing one now. Lan Zhan words awake inside him something very broken and vulnerable – he starts thinking about every single moment in his life where he thought he'd never get this. 

By this, he means the idea of someone loving him, wanting him for more than a night. To think someone like Lan Zhan would ever feel such a beautiful thing for him. That's– that's insane. 

“You do? Oh my god–” Wei Ying says, he takes a step closer to where Lan Zhan stands. “Oh my god,” He repeats, falling against Lan Zhan’s chest. This isn’t at all how he imagined things would go. 

“And I have been drawing you for a very long time,” Lan Zhan adds. “Even before art class.” 

“That would mean you’ve liked me for an even longer time,” He murmurs, face still pressed onto Lan Zhan’s solid chest. “And you can’t say that– you just can’t. I’ll explode.” 

“Mn,” He says. “Have liked you for years.” 

Wei Ying shakes his head. “No.” 

“Yes.”

“Don’t say that, I’m such an idiot.” 

Lan Zhan’s hand is warm and soft when it takes hold of Wei Ying’s chin, forcing him to look up. “No. Wei Ying is perfect.”

He laughs. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Am always serious.” 

“But you said– you said you hated me.”

“Perhaps at first,” Lan Zhan replies. “Perhaps only because you made me feel out of control.” 

“You felt out of control? I was the one barging into bathroom stalls and jumping off cliffs to get you to look at me.”

 “Saved you.”

 “You said you would’ve saved anyone.”

 “I lied.” 

Wei Ying giggles. “You never lie.”

“There’s always a first time.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, pushing his face onto the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck. “I like you so much. It’s so wrong of you to make me so in love with you. What am I gonna do when you leave me, gege?” 

He hears the soft gasp that leaves Lan Zhan’s mouth upon hearing the affectionate term, but he can’t tease him about it because Lan Zhan is lifting him up with both hands on Wei Ying’s ass before he can utter a single word.

“Will never leave you. Unless you ask me to.”

It’s hot as hell to be lifted up like this. Wei Ying isn’t small or compact, he’s a strong boy, but Lan Zhan lifted him up effortlessly. And then Lan Zhan starts walking with Wei Ying in his arms as if it doesn’t matter, as if a grown man in his arms doesn’t make walking any harder. Lan Zhan sits on the couch, placing Wei Ying neatly on his lap – he feels like a doll, but it’s undeniably hotter.

And the hot part isn’t even the worst part of what Lan Zhan just did because he said things. He said sweet things and Wei Ying isn’t used to that.

He places his hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “What if I never ask you to leave?” 

Lan Zhan leans closer – so close that Wei Ying’s body starts shaking a little. He is so beautiful. “Will never leave.”

"Stop saying things like that," Wei Ying whines. "You're making it hard for me to breathe."

Lan Zhan smiles. 

"Stop smiling!" He whines again. "God, you're unbelievable," Wei Ying lets his hands slide up both sides of Lan Zhan's neck. His skin is so soft. He leans in, leaving a very small distance in between them. "Lan Zhan."

"Mn?"

"I know I've kissed you before," He says, and instead of closing eyes, Wei Ying glances at Lan Zhan's mouth. "But I didn't do it right."

"Wei Ying–” 

"Can I do it again?" He interrupts. "Let me. Let me kiss you again."

Lan Zhan has a sinful tongue – criminal, even. He doesn't let Wei Ying in control of the kissing for a minute; Lan Zhan opens his mouth, shifts his head just the right way and takes over. Wei Ying has always thought Lan Zhan's mouth was pretty, in every drawing he made of Lan Zhan, the eyes were his main focus, but the mouth had always been a constant worry: there was no way he could ever make them out to be as pretty as they were in real life – but he tried.

His lips are plump and soft and his cupid's bow is heart-shaped and none of these things would ever make Wei Ying think of the filthy and dirty way Lan Zhan moves his tongue.

Lan Zhan is demanding. The way his tongue keeps forcing Wei Ying to give in makes his legs tremble and he's so glad that he's sitting down right now because he's getting weak and Lan Zhan is kissing him in a way that’s probably making it hard for his brain to get oxygen. His tongue strokes along the contours of the inside of Wei Ying's mouth, like he's breaking new ground – as if Wei Ying’s mouth is an unknown precious land and Lan Zhan is the first person setting foot on that earth. 

When Lan Zhan pulls back, Wei Ying whines, but the whining dies out when he feels Lan Zhan pressing a slow open-mouthed kiss on his neck, tongue lightly tracing his neck veins. 

“You have a good mouth.” He breathes out.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmurs. “Wei Ying hasn’t seen anything yet.” 

“Show me, then,” He presses his mouth against the shell of his ear, before latching on to the skin just behind it. “Please.”

Lan Zhan grunts, getting up from the couch with Wei Ying in his arms – again. He could get seriously used to this. "Where's the bedroom?" 

“Second door on your right.” He replies; he sounds so undone already. 

“Mn.”

Wei Ying’s bedroom is tidy enough, but he didn’t make the bed before leaving this morning so his sheets are a mess. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to care. He lays Wei Ying down on the bed, softly, before slotting their mouths together again, more urgent and filthy than before. He bites on Wei Ying’s bottom lip – really bites – and presses his fingers on the sensitive skin of Wei Ying’s waist, under his shirt. He squeezes Wei Ying’s waist, making him cry out.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, be gentle with me.”

Lan Zhan pulls back to look at him; his eyes are full of mirth and he kisses Wei Ying’s forehead before tightening the hold he has on him. “Wei Ying does not want me to be gentle.” As if to prove his point, he presses his hips down and– and, well, Wei Ying is hard. Fuck, he’s right. He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to be gentle, he wants Lan Zhan to destroy him. 

Wei Ying moans, thrashing on the bed until Lan Zhan gets tired of him moving so much. He drops his whole weight on top of Wei Ying, trapping him under his chest; this way, he can’t move, can’t push Lan Zhan away, can’t turn his head. It’s hard for him to breathe, even harder now that Lan Zhan has his sinful tongue inside his mouth again, licking into him as if Wei Ying is the juiciest piece of fruit Lan Zhan has ever tasted.

He doesn’t just get a piece of Wei Ying, he devours him. 

Lan Zhan shifts on top of him and the hand on Wei Ying’s hip grips him tighter, turning him around until his face is pressed against the mattress. He dips his head to kiss on the skin of Wei Ying's nape. God, Wei Ying wants to get naked. 

“Take my clothes off, take your clothes off,” He whines, trying to push against Lan Zhan’s chest, but Lan Zhan presses him back down with one hand in between his shoulder blades. “Please, gege, come on–”

“Slow down,” He warns, but he moves an inch away to take off his shirt – in the end, Wei Ying is winning. “Come here,” Lan Zhan says, pulling Wei Ying up against his chest by his hair. He whines, pain searing through him. “Take off your shirt.”

Wei Ying obeys. When his shirt is on the floor, Lan Zhan orders him around again. “Take off your pants.” 

He does – he takes off his jeans, unsure of what to do next. Lan Zhan didn’t tell him to get naked, did he? He stops, waiting.

“Wei Ying is so good,” Lan Zhan says; he hears Lan Zhan's pants brush against the sheets followed by the satisfying click of his belt getting undone. “Lay down on your back.”

The sight of Lan Zhan's naked chest is enough to make Wei Ying moan embarrassingly loud. "God, you're so fucking hot." He says, whining. He reaches out to touch, but Lan Zhan slaps his hands away. 

“Behave.”

“Mmmmm, fine.”

“Want to see you naked,” Lan Zhan says. “Can you do that for me, Wei Ying? Can you get naked?”

“I can, yes, gege–” He says, tripping on the words like an infant. “Like this?” He asks when his underwear is past his thighs. 

“Yes,” Lan Zhan breathes out. He helps out, dragging the piece of clothing down Wei Ying’s leg quickly. “Perfect.”

“Come here,” Wei Ying begs. “Please.”

The mattress quivers again as Lan Zhan straddles him, his chest touching Wei Ying's body as he dips his head to kiss him on the mouth again. Lan Zhan puts his hands on either side of his head on the pillow. “Yes?”

“Lan Zhan, don’t– don’t make me beg.”

“Want to,” He says, smiling softly. “Want to make Wei Ying beg.”

Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan’s face. “You’re being mean,” He says, sweetly, before he throws both legs around Lan Zhan’s body, pulling him closer.

“Perhaps you like mean,” He replies, leaning down to bite at Wei Ying’s throat. “Don’t you?”

He moans again; Wei Ying tries to kiss him but Lan Zhan doesn’t let him, mouthing his way down Wei Ying's chest then climbing off him so that he can take off his pants. 

“I am sorry,” He starts, and Wei Ying tilts his head in confusion. “For the outside clothes in your bed.” Lan Zhan clarifies.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’m gonna change the sheets soon.” 

“Still,” Lan Zhan says. “Will make sure we are naked before I lay you down on the bed next time.”

“Lan Zhan!” 

“Yes?”

Wei Ying pulls himself up on his elbows. “Take it off! Take it off quickly or I’ll die–”

“Dramatic,” He says, but he takes his pants off – underwear, too. Wei Ying’s throat goes dry. Lan Zhan is fucking huge.

“I don’t think you’ll fit–”

“Do not worry,” Lan Zhan says, crawling on the bed until he’s hovering above Wei Ying. “Will make sure it fits.”

“Gege–”

Lan Zhan kisses him to shut him up – it works. They kiss for a few minutes before Lan Zhan grabs him by the hips and turns him around again. There it is, Wei Ying thinks, the feeling of being a doll moved around effortlessly by its owner. He moans again just from the thought – which, okay, what the hell? –, but Lan Zhan puts his hands on the cheeks of his ass and parts them and the sound he makes is nothing short of obscene – much more embarrassing than any other sound he made up till now. 

“On your knees.”

The back of Wei Ying’s neck flushes with shame, but he rises onto all fours, back arching and his forearms resting on the mattress. “Like this?”

“Mn.”

"Shit," He says with a shudder, as Lan Zhan thumbs press into his rim, dry and so, so hot.

"Said I would make it fit," Lan Zhan murmurs, breath hot and thick against his ass. He leans over Wei Ying on the bed, brings two fingers against Wei Ying’s lips. “Open up.”

Now, this is something Wei Ying never expected, but Lan Zhan shoves his fingers inside his mouth as soon as his lips fall open, he tells Wei Ying to get them wet while his thumb is still catching on his rim – totally dry –, and Wei Ying moans, licks Lan Zhan’s fingers messily until there’s spit running down his chin. 

“Enough,” Lan Zhan says, pulling his fingers back. He touches Wei Ying’s rim with wet fingers and Wei Ying presses his face against the mattress as he flutters around Lan Zhan’s thumb.

He gets fingered almost with no care and it hurts, but it’s good and makes him go crazy on the bed, trying to get Lan Zhan’s finger deeper and deeper and–, fucking hell, he likes this a lot, likes it way too much.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispers, mouth pressed hotly against this nape.

“Yes?”

“Ready?”

He wants to say Yes! I’ve been reading since I was old enough to understand what desire meant, but he’d be lying because it took him way longer than that to realise what he wanted from Lan Zhan was much more than a scowl or a grunt.

He hums, nodding and then Lan Zhan’s cock is ripping him open, splitting him apart and he never wants to stop feeling this – the urgency, the madness, the pain, the liquid pleasure running through his veins.

Each time Lan Zhan pushes in there's a new iron-hot sharp pain rising from the base of Wei Ying's spine up to his neck, and each time, Lan Zhan stops, letting him feel it –  the pain, the weight of Lan Zhan's cock inside him. Inch by inch until he's entirely there. Deep and raw; he feels dizzy, but Lan Zhan doesn't stop once he's in. His cock seeks out the swell of Wei Ying's prostate, his hand open, palm hot against Wei Ying's back as he presses him down on the bed.

He can't move because Lan Zhan is strong, he can only take it; every thrust, every grunt, every slap of Lan Zhan's thighs against his cheeks. 

"Ah, fuck, hold on," Wei Ying pants, his ponytail is getting loose and his hair is sticking to the back of his neck.

Lan Zhan pauses for a minute, only the tip of cock still inside. "Wei Ying?"

Wei Ying turns his face to kiss Lan Zhan's forearm. "Hold on, it's– it's just–” He doesn’t have the breath to finish his thought as he relaxes his body, wincing slightly as he does. “It’s too big," He whimpers.

But Lan Zhan only grunts, pushing into him again and again and again and then Wei Ying stops worrying about the size of Lan Zhan's cock. he focuses on how good it feels, dragging inside him, touching every piece of him.

This is, Wei Ying thinks, really fucking unforgettable. 

Sunday arrives as a cloudy morning. It’s cool enough for Wei Ying to curl into himself under his duvet. He isn’t totally conscious yet – his brain is trying to keep him asleep before he has to wake up and face the fact that Saturday had been a dream. It had to be a dream, right? There’s no fucking way – there’s no way Lan Zhan had said he’s in love with Wei Ying. No way in hell that they ended up in bed for hours, getting familiar with every piece of skin they could touch. 

Wei Ying can’t be that lucky.

But maybe he is. Maybe he is because when he fully awakes, his apartment smells like breakfast – the good and homemade kind of breakfast, and Lan Zhan’s shirt is folded on top of the pillow next to Wei Ying’s head. He doesn’t waste a minute before grabbing it for himself to wear. This might be a new habit, he thinks, stealing his boyfriend’s clothes (his boyfriend! Lan Zhan!).

Wei Ying leaves the bedroom with a soft smile on his face and before he can step into the kitchen, his eyes fall onto his backpack. He remembers the drawing. 

Even if Lan Zhan has seen a bigger and prettier drawing, alongside thirty people, Wei Ying wants to show him this one. This one is smaller, and isn’t even coloured, but it had been the first time Wei Ying wanted to draw something as badly as he wanted to breathe. The one he worked on quickly and swiftly and just from looking at Lan Zhan sitting next to him. This drawing is for Lan Zhan’s eyes only. 

He fetches the paper carefully and walks into the kitchen. Lan Zhan’s naked back greets him and Wei Ying’s first instinct is to trace his fingertips over the almost faded lines on the marked skin. His nails are a little too long and, like him, Lan Zhan enjoys the pain too.

“Good morning,” He says, pressing his mouth in the skin between his shoulder blades. “I’ve something to show you. Turn around.”

Lan Zhan hums. He turns around, circles Wei Ying’s waist with one arm and kisses him slowly and passionately until Wei Ying forgets his own name. “Good morning.”

“Okaaaay,” He says, laughing. “That– that was really good.”

“What did Wei Ying want to show me?”

“Ah, it’s– it’s a drawing. From that first time we met to talk about the project, you remember?”

“Mn.”

“I drew you that day.”

Lan Zhan tilts his head. “Show me.”

He hands the paper over to Lan Zhan. Wei Ying almost can’t look at his face, but then he does and it’s incredible to see the way Lan Zhan’s face lights up, the corner of his mouth twitching once before his lips spread into a beautiful smile. His cheeks and ears are flushed pink. Cute. “Do you like it?”

“It is a very pretty drawing,” Lan Zhan replies. “Can I keep it?”

“Of course! I can paint it if you want.”

Lan Zhan gives him a look. “It is perfect like this.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying says, flushing. “Okay! Then it’s yours.”

“Thank you, Wei Ying. I love it,” Lan Zhan’s eyes soften. “I love you.”

“Lan Zhan!” He whines loudly. “Stop saying that– you have to warn me. I’ll explode into a million pieces, then what are you gonna do?”

“Pull you back together.”

Wei Ying hides his face on Lan Zhan’s chest. “Shut up.”

“Mn.”

“I love you too,” He says. “In case you wanted to know.”

“I know.”

Wei Ying giggles, pressing a kiss to Lan Zhan’s throat. He has always loved art, but the power of manifestation through art is really a surprise. When he spent hours working on the drawing to represent his future, he never really thought he’d have it.

But Lan Zhan is here now.

Wei Ying will keep him here forever.