Chapter Text
Jiang Cheng has three things he needs to do before he graduates and moves to Seoul to take over the South Korea branch of his parents’ business:
1.) Finish all of his going-away gifts,
2.) Find a new roommate for Wei Ying who won’t murder or steal from him, and
3.) Tell Lan Xichen he loves him.
The first is the easiest, because he already retreats to his workroom whenever he’s stressed, which at present is nearly all the time. The second is harder, because while he’s sure there is no shortage of normal people looking for roommates, there is a shortage of normal people who will put up with Wei Ying.
And the third? Well.
Jiang Cheng has five gifts to make: one for each of his siblings, and one each for Wen Qing, Nie Huaisang, and Lan Xichen. He wants to knock out at least three by the end of the first semester, because he knows he’ll be busier his last semester. Since his parents have already decided he’s going to Seoul over spring break to familiarize himself with the office and the area, he’ll have to rely on what little free time he’ll get.
Luckily, he already has the supplies for one. He picked up a small, old piece at an antique store he and his sister went to over the summer, a light, cream color with a sort of woodland, fairy-like floral design painted over it. He’s pretty sure most of the parts in the mechanism will need to be replaced, if not the whole thing, and as of now he has no idea what song it’s supposed to play, because it had come into the shop owner’s possession as is.
Restoring or replacing the mechanism will be easy, because this specific box is for Huaisang, and Jiang Cheng is more concerned about having the aesthetic right than the actual music. He has no qualms with simply gutting the mechanism and putting in a new one. The bigger problem is the body work: the paint has chipped away in quite a few places, exposing the old light wood underneath, and there are a few stains in places where the paint hasn’t chipped. He’ll likely have to sand it then repaint, but he’s not confident in his ability to preserve the quality of the design if it comes to that.
It’s only the first week of class, and Jiang Cheng hasn’t been assigned that much homework, so he figures it’s as good a time as any to get to work on this first music box, so he spends his Friday afternoon and evening examining and diagnosing the problems in the mechanism — a bad spring, a rusted drum, and a couple rusted gears — until around 6 p.m., when his phone rings. It’s Lan Xichen.
Jiang Cheng wipes his dusty hands on a towel and picks up the phone. “What’s up?”
“Hi!” Jiang Cheng can hear his smile through the phone. “Is this a good time?”
“Yeah, I’m not busy.”
“Oh, good! Do you want to see a movie with me?”
Jiang Cheng smiles and starts cleaning up his workdesk. “Is it another nature documentary?”
“Hmm. No, but I did recently watch a docuseries about fireflies with Wangji. Did you know that some species of fireflies aren’t bioluminescent? Mostly out west, fireflies don’t light up, but here, they do. Well, not here in the city, but in the countryside, they do.”
“I didn’t know that. About the fireflies out west.”
“It was a fascinating watch. It would probably bore you, though. Anyway, can you meet me at the cinema on West 9th?”
“How was your first week of class?” Lan Xichen asks when they meet in front of the cinema.
Jiang Cheng is momentarily surprised that Xichen knew when his classes started despite attending another university in the city, but then realizes it’s probably because his own brother attends the same school as Jiang Cheng. “It was fine. Yours start next week, right?”
Xichen smiles. “Yes. That’s why I wanted to come out with you this weekend, before we both get too busy.”
Jiang Cheng hums. It’s a hot night, and Xichen’s wearing loose linen pants and a white, cotton button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The top few buttons are undone, and his collar bones are just in sight. He swallows, his throat dry. “Yeah. It’s a good thing you called. Um, what are we watching?”
At this question, Xichen lights up. “They’re showing The Grudge tonight! Have you seen it before?”
“That’s a horror movie,” Jiang Cheng says, surprised.
“Yes! You’ve seen it?”
“No, but… you don’t like horror movies.”
Xichen cocks his head. “But you do.”
“I—“ Jiang Cheng stares at him. “Okay. Yeah, let’s go. You can’t run out if you get scared, though!”
They go into the theater, and Xichen pays for their tickets after a brief scuffle between the two of them, and then Jiang Cheng insists on paying for their snacks. Xichen asks for a water and claims he doesn’t need any candy, but Jiang Cheng sees him eyeing the cotton candy and adds it to their drinks and his popcorn.
“You didn’t have to get that,” Xichen says, pouting.
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes as he stuffs napkins into his pockets. “Shut up.”
They pick two seats in the back of the theater because Xichen is worried his height will bother anyone sitting behind him, and the previews have just started. “It’s your last year, huh?”
Jiang Cheng sighs and shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth, making Xichen laugh. “That bad?”
“There’s just so much I have to do and the semester’s barely started,” Jiang Cheng says. “This is probably going to be my last fun night in a while.”
The smile on Lan Xichen’s face is sweet, and Jiang Cheng feels it in his chest. He reaches over the arm rest and squeezes Jiang Cheng’s hand, his palm warm and soft. “Then let’s make it count.”
In Jiang Cheng’s first year, he met Lan Xichen, as most college students met other people, at a party, and as Jiang Cheng met most people, through Wei Ying. Wei Ying invited Lan Wangji to a party at Nie Huaisang’s and didn’t want to go alone, which was fine by Jiang Cheng, because he needed to make sure Wei Ying’s new crush was a normal person and not a psychopath. Lan Wangji’s brother must have had the same idea, or maybe he just liked parties, but either way, Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen were both brought along to Huaisang’s house just to be promptly abandoned.
Lan Xichen, who Jiang Cheng learned was Wangji’s older brother two years ahead of them, gracefully fielded Jiang Cheng’s questions about his younger brother. He didn’t seem as concerned about learning Wei Ying’s life story or irredeemable traits, though he assured Jiang Cheng he’d heard much from Wangji. Jiang Cheng couldn’t really imagine anyone hearing very much from Wangji, but whatever.
The thing about Lan Xichen that Jiang Cheng noticed from the very first meeting was that he was extremely attractive. He was taller than Jiang Cheng by a couple inches, which annoyed him because the only person in his friend group who was taller than him was Wei Ying. He was broader, too, wide shoulders that narrowed down to a small waist, even his hands seeming to engulf everything in their grasp. The corners of his lips curved up in a perpetual smile, the parentheses around his mouth distracting from the cut of his cheekbones. Unlike his brother’s, his hair was short, with his bangs just grazing the lower edge of his browbone. His eyes were a dark grey that could only be described as sultry in the dim lighting of Huaisang’s kitchen, and having their gaze directed at Jiang Cheng made his face flush.
Aside from Wei Ying and Huaisang, Jiang Cheng didn’t know anyone, so he stayed with Lan Xichen, who didn’t seem to mind being stuck in the kitchen with Jiang Cheng.
“I don’t like large gatherings with strangers very much,” he eventually confessed to Jiang Cheng. They’d shifted closer together as the night went on and partygoers drifted in and out of the room.
“Me neither,” Jiang Cheng said. “But my brother loves them, and he needs someone to look after him, so.”
For some reason, Xichen smiled at that. “He’s lucky to have you, then.”
Jiang Cheng just shrugged. “We’re stuck with each other.”
“And right now, you’re stuck with me,” Xichen said, his smile turning cheeky.
And Jiang Cheng would never admit it, but his stomach did a little flip at that, and he had a feeling that if Wei Ying’s new relationship lasted, then Jiang Cheng was going to have a problem.
After that first week, Jiang Cheng doesn’t see Lan Xichen often. They text here and there, but their friendship has always been old-fashioned in the way they heavily favored face-to-face interaction. Jiang Cheng finds that one minute with Xichen can lord him over for a week. In his free time, he works on Huaisang’s music box and replays their last night together over and over in his head, grinning to himself like a maniac.
As expected, the movie had been too scary for Xichen. The entire film he was wound up like a toy, startled at the slightest noises, and even let out a few whimpers. After a jump scare made him spill some of his water on Jiang Cheng’s lap, Jiang Cheng sighed and held out his hand, which Xichen took gratefully. As the movie progressed, he ended up pressed to Jiang Cheng’s side, the arm rest pushed up, both feet on the seat as he clutched Jiang Cheng’s hand in both of his.
“Do you want to leave?” Jiang Cheng asked at one point.
Xichen shook his head where it was tucked into Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. “No, I’m okay.”
It was clear after the movie ended that Xichen was relieved. He listened to Jiang Cheng prattle on about the movie with bright eyes as they left the theater, smiling and even occasionally contributing with his own opinions.
By the time they got to the subway station, Jiang Cheng realized they were still holding hands. He flushed and let go, pretending he needed both hands to check the time on his phone. “Thanks for this,” Jiang Cheng said. “I had a really good time.”
“As did I,” Xichen said. “Although, next time maybe we can do something a little less adrenaline pumping?”
Jiang Cheng laughed. “That sounds good.”
Neither of them said anything for a long moment, just stood in front of the entrance to the subway, Jiang Cheng shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Lan Xichen really was beautiful, his short, chestnut-dyed hair complimenting his tan skin, the peak of his cheekbones catching the lights from the city around them. Jiang Cheng found that time only made him more and more handsome, wanted to kiss the already developing crow’s feet and the smile lines around his mouth. Wanted to push back his bangs and feel the hair under and between his fingers. Wanted to feel the way his heartbeat pulsed against his own.
He thought Xichen’s gaze had flickered to his own mouth for a moment, and Jiang Cheng wondered if Lan Xichen was really going to kiss him at the end of his first week of his last year of school in front of the nasty subway stairs and after nearly pissing his pants in the movie theater. Jiang Cheng’s breath probably smelled like buttered popcorn and pepsi, and while he had put on lip balm before coming out, it’s definitely all rubbed off by now.
Someone bumped into Jiang Cheng before he could find out what Xichen was planning to do, if anything, and he remembered they were blocking the entrance to the station. “I should go,” he said. “I’ll, uh, see you later?”
Xichen, like always, smiled, and Jiang Cheng hoped to god he would find out by the end of the year what it would feel like to kiss that smile. “Of course. Be safe, A-Cheng.”
Sometime in late September, Jiang Cheng is working on a paper when Wei Ying gets home from work. “Jiang Cheng! You’ve been studying since I left! That was eight hours ago!” He plops his bag down on the kitchen table where Jiang Cheng is sitting.
“I haven’t finished since you left,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “And I took a break to go down to Mianmian’s for dinner.”
Wei Ying gasps. “You ate with Mianmian without me?!”
“Yes. And it was delicious.”
His idiot brother clutches at his chest as if shot. “Jiang Cheng!”
Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “There’s takeout in the fridge. Paper bag.”
Wei Ying brightens up immediately, jumping from his chair and skipping to the kitchen. “I knew you loved me!”
Wei Ying is mostly quiet when he eats, which is a sign that he really hasn’t eaten in a while. Jiang Cheng makes a mental note to ask if he gets food breaks at work later and continues editing his paper. While he’s working on the conclusion, Wei Ying sets his chopsticks down and groans. “That was so good.”
“I told Mianmian to add extra sauce for you.”
“Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite brother?”
“Shut up.”
A minute later, the couch sinks next to him with Wei Ying’s weight. “When’s that due, anyway?”
“Next Friday.”
“You’ve been working on that all day and it’s not even due until next week?!”
Jiang Cheng sighs. “Not all of us lives off the thrill of turning in our work the minute before it’s due. Besides, if I finish tonight then I can relax this weekend.”
Wei Ying pokes his shoulder. “Why? Hot date this weekend?”
“No,” Jiang Cheng says, swatting the offending hand. “I’m hoping I can finish Huaisang’s shit this weekend, and then I can start Wen Qing’s.”
“Ooh, can I see when you’re done?”
Jiang Cheng shrugs. “Sure.”
“Do you have any ideas for Xichen-ge’s?”
“Who said I’m making him one?” Jiang Cheng snaps, then adds, “No.”
The truth is, Jiang Cheng has been scouring every Goodwill, every Salvation Army, every single thrift store in a twenty-mile radius for the perfect base for Lan Xichen’s music box, for at least a speck of inspiration, and has come up with nothing. Countless hours lost scrolling through Pinterest page after Pinterest page of pretty music boxes, and none of them feel right. He can’t even decide on the material he wants it to be. He chose wooden for Nie Huaisang and his jie, metal for Wen Qing and Wei Ying, but every time he thinks he knows what he wants for Lan Xichen, he starts having doubts.
“I’ll figure it out,” he says eventually, just because he wants to stop thinking about it. “There’s still plenty of time.”
“Whoa, A-Cheng, this is sick!”
“Don’t touch it!” Jiang Cheng snaps when Wei Ying moves to lift the lid on Huaisang’s finished music box.
His brother pulls his hand back, pouting, then puts his hands on his hips. “If it’s fragile, are you sure you should be giving it to Huaisang? He’s not exactly the most graceful.”
Jiang Cheng glares at Wei Ying, albeit half-heartedly, and picks up the cream-colored box. “It’s not fragile, but you’re an idiot, and my luck would just be my idiot brother getting his grubby hands on my box the second I finish it and breaking it.” He runs a finger over the carvings in the polished wood. He decided against repainting the floral design and thought it’d look nicer carved into the wood, especially considering his poor painting skills.
“Wind it up,” Wei Ying begs, leaning in closer.
The crank is still warm from hours of handling and finally able to be wound up with the right amount of friction. He attempted to save the original mechanism out of a sense of deference to the box, but in the end it proved itself unsalvageable and Jiang Cheng just replaced it with a newer one he had sitting around. After winding it up, Jiang Cheng opens the lid, newly sanded and stained, and “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” begins playing.
Wei Ying gasps, staring into the circular mirror Jiang Cheng had stuck to the underside of the lid — there had originally been a little Tinkerbell on a spring inside, but Jiang Cheng removed and stored it — but Jiang Cheng has heard this dozens of times while testing the mechanism, so he closes it after the first run. He places it gently back onto the towel he’s laid over his workdesk and brushes a hand over it, wiping away nonexistent dust.
“It’s so cute!” Wei Ying coos. “You’re getting so much better, A-Cheng. You should sell these, you know.”
Jiang Cheng lightly punches Wei Ying’s shoulder. “It’s just a hobby.”
His brother isn’t the first person to suggest that Jiang Cheng could make money off of this hobby, and this isn’t even the first time Wei Ying has done it. And he’s considered it before, because while his creations aren’t museum-worthy or anything, they’re not terrible, either. Despite only taking up the craft in his first year of college, his skills are probably on par with the average music box seller on Etsy. But once he takes his place in the family business after graduation, he probably won’t have the time to keep up with a side job.
Wei Ying starts talking about something Lan Wangji did that Jiang Cheng doesn’t really care about, then suggests they order pizza and watch a movie since Jiang Cheng finished his weekend to-do list. They argue over toppings for twenty minutes, not because either of them are picky, but just because they can, before settling on a meat lover’s pizza.
After the pizza arrives, they pick a B-list horror movie the sci-fi channel has been advertising, and Jiang Cheng remembers the last time he saw Lan Xichen. It’s already been a month, and a week has passed since the last time they texted. He opens their text thread and discreetly takes a picture of the television while Wei Ying is distracted gulping down half a bottle of coke.
Almost instantly, the typing bubble pops up for a split second, then he receives a 😱 emoji. The bubble pops up again, then disappears, then reappears and disappears again. Jiang Cheng bites his lip, wondering what Lan Xichen is typing. When a full minute passes with no response, he sets down his phone with a sigh and refocuses on Wei Ying and the movie.
Later, when the credits start to roll and Wei Ying is pacing around the living area ranting about what he would have done if it had been his movie, Jiang Cheng checks his phone and pretends to have no expectations. He has one, short message from Lan Xichen: Miss u!
Against Jiang Cheng’s better judgment, Wei Ying puts out a Craigslist ad for a new roommate.
“You’re going to get fucking weirdos in your inbox,” he warns. “No one normal goes on Craigslist.”
Of course, his brother doesn’t listen. He never does. Jiang Cheng is used to it by now. Instead of fighting it — he knows Wei Ying won’t make any decisions on this without consulting him first, anyway — he puts up his own post in a Facebook group for LGBTQ housing in the city.
“Looking for a lease takeover starting next summer. 2Bd 1Br, your bedroom is the largest in the unit. Washer and dryer in unit. Utilities included in rent. You’d be living with my brother, 23, Chinese, currently a first-year grad student. He’s bi and very loud, but spends most of his time at work or his boyfriend’s place, and takes direction well. A decent cook if you like spicy food. Priority to Chinese speakers. No polo shirts or khakis. Absolutely no dogs. Message me if interested.”
There. That’s definitely better than whatever Wei Ying wrote in his Craigslist ad. He attaches photos of the apartment and the bedroom, which is tidy as it always is, as well as a picture of Wei Ying, and sends off the post and heads to class.
He doesn’t expect to find his post blowing up when he gets out of class. He has over a dozen notifications from Facebook, which is at least eleven more than he was expecting. He scrolls through them on the subway.
A few of them seem a little sketchy — just guys who look like dogs, and Jiang Cheng kind of regrets including the photo of Wei Ying. But most of them seem nice enough.
He goes to Luo Qingyang’s cafe and asks her to help him go through the messages. Jin Zixuan is also there. There ends up being twenty-one, including the people who commented on the post but didn’t DM him.
“This guy looks like a psychopath,” she says about a 22-year-old white guy who has a picture in front of his frat house in his profile banner.
“No frat guys,” Jiang Cheng agrees. Wei Ying would hate him anyway.
“She has Attack on Titan in her likes,” she says about a 24-year-old white woman whose bio is in Korean. “Wei Ying hates Attack on Titan.”
They’ve gone through about two-thirds of Jiang Cheng’s prospects when the bell on the door jingles, and Luo Qingyang straightens up, the jovial look on her face shifting into her serious, professional look. But almost as quickly as her expression changed, it softens a bit. “Oh! Lan Xichen.”
Jiang Cheng nearly breaks his back twisting around in his seat. “Lan Huan?”
Lan Xichen is wearing his trademark friendly smile, and Jiang Cheng thinks — hopes — it brightens just a little bit when he spots Jiang Cheng. “Hello,” he says, first greeting Qingyang with a slight bow. “I’m just here to see Jiang Cheng. Could I get a cup of tea?”
“Sure,” Luo Qingyang says, pulling out a pot and cup from under the counter.
Lan Xichen slides into the bar seat between Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan, who gives Jiang Cheng a look that says Your sister will be hearing about this. Whatever. Let him run his mouth to her. There won’t be much to tell.
Jiang Cheng stews a little while Lan Xichen ignores him to exchange pleasantries with Jin Zixuan. The latter asks Xichen how his thesis is going, which Jiang Cheng wants to take offense to because Jin Zixuan has never asked him how his schoolwork is going, except he’s also grateful that Jin Zixuan has never asked him an unnecessary question.
He hopes he’s not pouting when Lan Xichen finally turns to him, a knowing grin on his face. Bastard. “How have you been?”
I hate you, Jiang Cheng thinks. I hate you. “Fine.” Fuck you.
Jiang Cheng doesn’t ask how Lan Xichen has been, but he says anyway, “I’ve been horribly busy, unfortunately.” It sounds like an apology.
Jiang Cheng huffs. “I’m screening potential roommates for Wei Ying,” he says, turning his laptop on the counter toward Lan Xichen.
He’s aware that the space between them is very, very small when Lan Xichen leans in to get a good look at the person’s profile. He leans so far forward that he puts a hand on Jiang Cheng’s leg, right above the knee, to anchor himself. Jiang Cheng can see a mole under Xichen’s ear where his hair is tucked behind it. Luo Qingyang raises an eyebrow at him, and he can’t even blame her, because how shameless is Lan Xichen?!
Finally, Lan Xichen sits back and says, “He looks nice.” He wasn’t even looking at it.
Luo Qingyang sets down Xichen’s pot of tea and takes one look at the screen. “He’s a fucking Marine.”
“Oh,” Xichen says. “I didn’t notice.”
Jiang Cheng looks at the guy’s profile picture. He’s literally in his fatigues, and Lan Xichen’s hand is still on Jiang Cheng’s thigh.
Lan Xichen’s birthday is a quiet affair, limited to his brother and close friends. Jiang Cheng isn’t really sure when that began to include him.
Obviously, Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a music box for him. It’s supposed to be a going-away gift, anyway, and he wants it to be perfect. But Xichen is being exceptionally dodgy about what he’d like as a gift, and Jiang Cheng would rather die than have to ask Lan Wangji, so he consults Huaisang.
“I need you to ask your brother what Lan Xichen wants for his birthday.”
“Show up in a tight skirt and I’m sure it’ll make his entire year.”
They’re at Luo Qingyang’s cafe, because this is where their friends spend most of their time now. She hears Huaisang’s suggestion and snorts. Jiang Cheng wishes he’d just texted.
“Oh my god. Just give me his number and I’ll ask him myself.”
“I don’t think this is something you should take counseling for. Er-ge would prefer something from you, not my brother.”
Jiang Cheng stares at him. “Like what.”
Huaisang shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not you.”
“Fine. What are you getting him?”
“Flavored lube and condoms. By the way, do you like strawberry or cherry?”
Jiang Cheng knows everyone at Lan Xichen’s birthday, but he’s not close to everyone. He knows Nie Huaisang, Wei Ying and Lan Wangji, of course, and he’s pretty well acquainted with Nie Mingjue, being long-time friends with Huaisang, but he doesn’t really know much about Xiao Xingchen, Song Zichen, or Jin Guangyao. He knows that Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangyao are half-siblings, but not close at all.
When he and Wei Ying get to Xichen’s apartment, everyone else is already there. Xichen graciously accepts the wine that everyone knows is for Wei Ying, given that Xichen doesn’t drink. Jiang Cheng is grateful for Huaisang’s presence when Wei Ying immediately abandons his side to go sit next to Wangji and makes to go sit next to him, but Xichen gestures for Jiang Cheng to come sit with him instead.
It’s a pleasant but slightly awkward get together, small enough to be intimate, but with enough people who don’t really know each other for Jiang Cheng to feel a little shy. Thankfully, between Wei Ying, Huaisang, Xichen, and Mingjue, there’s hardly a second of awkward silence the whole evening.
At first, Jiang Cheng is hyperaware of Xichen right next to him, pressed together arm to thigh on the couch. Xichen doesn’t move very much even when talking — unlike Wei Ying, who converses with his entire body — but Jiang Cheng can feel every laugh, even the ones too quiet for anyone else to notice.
While Wei Ying is carefully regaling everyone with a story from a crazy night at the club without indicating Huaisang’s involvement to Mingjue, Xichen leans into Jiang Cheng even more an dips his head down to whisper in Jiang Cheng’s ear. “I’m really glad you came.”
Jiang Cheng huffs, his mind muddled by how close Xichen’s lips are to his face, so close he can feel the hot breath on his neck. He turns his head slightly, so he can see the soft smile on Xichen’s face. Xichen’s eyes do this thing, Jiang Cheng’s noticed, where they seem to smile brighter than his mouth does. “Of course I came.”
Xichen’s smile widens, and his hand moves over Jiang Cheng’s on his lap. Jiang Cheng forces his fingers not to twitch as Xichen’s thumb strokes the back of his hand.
Across the room, Jiang Cheng makes eye contact with Jin Guangyao, who gives no indication that he sees Jiang Cheng other than a nearly imperceptible tilt of his head to the side. Jiang Cheng looks away and pretends to pay attention to whatever Wei Ying is talking about while his cheeks heat up.
He doesn’t know what Xichen has told his friends about Jiang Cheng. As for Jiang Cheng’s friends, they’ve long figured out Jiang Cheng’s feelings, because he couldn’t hide his affection for Xichen even if he tried. He’s notorious for not liking people, so the first time he hanged out with Xichen alone had been a dead giveaway for his feelings. Xichen is nice to everyone, so his aren’t as obvious. But would he hold hands with his friends? Jiang Cheng is pretty sure Xichen isn’t touchy with friends, or anyone, really; an effect of his reserved upbringing.
Song Zichen must be sick of Wei Ying’s prattling, because at some point he claps his hands and declares, “Let’s do presents.”
Nie Mingjue nods and starts to arrange the gifts on the coffee table in front of Xichen. Jiang Cheng sees his gift, a small, tiffany blue gift bag tied with a white ribbon, next to the large, wrapped box he knows came from Wei Ying and Lan Wangji.
“Ours first, er-ge!” Wei Ying insists, pushing his present closer to Lan Xichen. “This is from me and Lan Zhan.”
Xichen smiles and nods, ever agreeable, and places the gift in his lap. “All right. Wei Ying and A-Zhan’s first.”
He unwraps the present carefully, keeping the gift wrap intact, much to most of the party’s dismay. “Ah!” he says when he’s finished. “A new blender. Thank you very much, A-Zhan, Wei Ying.”
“Now don’t put whole mangos in this one,” Lan Wangji says, his face blank.
Xichen laughs, then blushes when he makes eye contact with Jiang Cheng.
Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen are next. They give Xichen a sewing kit, and it seems to delight him. Nie Mingjue’s gift is a book about gardening, and Jin Guangyao’s is a ticket to a symphony orchestra concert in a few months. Jiang Cheng has to hold his breath when it’s Huaisang’s turn, but thankfully he’d been joking about the lube and condoms and just got Xichen a nice wok.
Jiang Cheng wonders if Xichen intentionally saved his for last, and he wishes he hadn’t. Now that everyone else already got to see him receive their gifts, the attention is all on Jiang Cheng and Xichen.
As Xichen unties the ribbon keeping the bag closed, Jiang Cheng suddenly regrets his choice in gift. Everyone else had gotten Xichen something practical; maybe he should have, too? It’s likely that Xichen prefers practical gifts over the sentimental kind, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t think of anything Xichen would need to use that would still convey what Jiang Cheng wanted to convey with his gift.
This close to each other, Jiang Cheng can hear the way Xichen’s breath catches when he pulls out the small box and opens it. He looks up at Jiang Cheng. “Will you put it on for me?”
Jiang Cheng swallows thickly and nods. Xichen holds out his wrist and Jiang Cheng takes it in his hand. Xichen is so generally broad that the small size of his wrist takes Jiang Cheng by surprise, even though he’d gotten Xichen’s measurements before buying his gift.
Jiang Cheng puts the cuff on for Xichen. The silver dragon wraps itself around Xichen’s wrist, its snout not quite making it to its thin tail. It glimmers a little even in the dim lights of Xichen’s apartment, glinting on Xichen’s tan skin. Jiang Cheng is loathe to let go of Xichen, and instead runs the pads of his fingers over the dragon, feeling the way it curls over Xichen’s skin. It hadn’t been his intention, but it feels like he’s made a claim on Xichen, like this is how he makes it known that Xichen is spoken for, that someone already wants him, has him.
Does he have him?
Slowly, Jiang Cheng lifts his head to look at Xichen’s face. He’d avoided meeting his gaze while putting on the cuff, was afraid whatever Xichen saw in his eyes would give away the depth of his feelings. Now, he wonders why he’d ever been worried.
“Thank you,” Xichen says, his eyes soft, his smile gentle. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad it fits,” Jiang Cheng says lamely.
The rest of the party goes by in a blur. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng isn’t able to stay after the party, as much as he wants to talk to Lan Xichen, because both Lans are on the verge of passing out by midnight. Lan Wangji knocks out within seconds of receiving a good night kiss from Wei Ying, and Mingjue sees Jiang Cheng to the door and promises to make sure Xichen gets to bed.
“He wanted to kiss you so bad,” Wei Ying says on the subway home.
Jiang Cheng groans and hits his head against the window behind him. “He’s a tease. I hate him.”
“Next time.”
“Next time, he’s not getting away.”
Jiang Cheng never claimed not to be a coward.
As it is, Wei Ying’s birthday party is tonight, and of course Lan Xichen is invited, which means he and Jiang Cheng will finally see each other for the first time in about four weeks.
It’s not even like Jiang Cheng hasn’t had any free time. All of those hours he spent in bed facing the ceiling and thinking about the night outside of the subway where he’s pretty sure Lan Xichen almost kissed him could have been spent with Lan Xichen, if only Jiang Cheng had the courage to contact him. About Lan Xichen’s hand on his thigh back at Luo Qingyang’s cafe, the overwhelming and high-inducing feeling of having Xichen’s hands on him. About whatever it was Xichen was going to do or say to him before he passed out at his own birthday party.
It’s fine.
Wei Ying’s birthday party is tonight, and there’s going to be a lot of alcohol, and Jiang Cheng is going to dress up in his sexy but classy doctor costume and drink just enough to give him the courage to enact the third task on his list.
And if Lan Xichen tells him that sorry, but he doesn’t feel the same way, and can they still be friends? There will be enough alcohol on the premises for Jiang Cheng to drink away his heartbreak. He’ll get drunk and feel bad for himself for one night, and then forget all about it and work on getting over Xichen so they can spend their last year together happily. As friends. And Jiang Cheng won’t have to wonder whether all of the moments between them were real or imagined, because he’ll know. It’s almost a foolproof plan.
Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng failed to predict Lan Xichen not showing up.
“Where’s your brother?” Jiang Cheng asks when Lan Wangji shows up at Nie Huaisang’s house around 7 p.m., alone. He figures Lan Wangji has come early to maximize his time with Wei Ying, and that his brother probably plans to arrive later.
“Brother isn’t well. He won’t be coming tonight,” Lan Wangji says, his fake vampire fangs peeking out from between his lips.
Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks, and suddenly, the old stethoscope he borrowed from Wen Qing feels heavy around his neck. “He’s sick?”
“Mn. He sends his regrets.” Lan Wangji tries to slip around Jiang Cheng, presumably to find Wei Ying, but Jiang Cheng steps back in his way.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
Lan Wangji never has been an expressive person, but somehow now, in the dimly lit entrance of Nie Huaisang’s small mansion, his eyes seem even more uncaring than usual. “Why would he?”
Needless to say, Jiang Cheng reneges on his plan. His jittery mood dampens into something dour and pitiful, and worst of all, everyone can tell it’s because of Lan Xichen. Huaisang gives him a pitying smile and gentle pat on the shoulder in the kitchen; Wen Qing isn’t nearly as mean to him as she usually is; Lan Wangji sends him weird, challenging looks whenever they make eye contact; and Wei Ying — Wei Ying is too busy being a little slutty witch for his boyfriend to care about Jiang Cheng’s love life on his own birthday.
“What is your problem?” Luo Qingyang asks him at some point.
Wen Qing bumps Qingyang’s shoulder with her own, the two of them peering at Jiang Cheng, who is curled up at the end of a couch in the corner of Huaisang’s living room and nursing a beer. “His man crush didn’t come.”
“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng says. “He’s not my man crush anymore. I hate him. And he’s stupid.”
“Isn’t he sick?” Qingyang says, while Wen Qing nods and says, “Men are stupid.”
The pounding music, some shitty EDM that someone must have hijacked Huaisang’s stereo to turn on, hurts Jiang Cheng’s head a little. Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing are murmuring to each other, but the music is too loud to hear them, and if they wanted to include him in their conversation they probably would have.
No one addresses him for a while until he sighs loudly, and suddenly Huaisang is at his side saying, “I know you’re depressed and all, but you’re really putting a damper on the mood.”
Jiang Cheng glares at him, not unlike a cat being disturbed by its owner. “Iggy Azalea is putting a damper on the mood.”
Huaisang pouts, then sighs. “Touché. I wonder who keeps changing my playlist. No one appreciates the effort it takes to curate my party playlists, you know.”
“An unknown laureate.”
The couch sinks as Huaisang plops himself down next to Jiang Cheng. “You could just go see him.”
“Like right now?”
“Yeah. I mean, you went to all the trouble to make yourself look nice. Did Wei Ying do your makeup?”
Jiang Cheng kicks a socked foot out in Huaisang’s direction. “I do know how to do my own makeup.”
“That must have taken so much effort. You wouldn’t want it to go to waste, would you?”
Jiang Cheng thinks about it. He really wouldn’t have dressed up if he hadn’t thought Lan Xichen would be here, and he doubts Wei Ying would even notice if he left, as preoccupied as he is with Lan Wangji. “Do you think he wants to see me?”
Huaisang shrugs. “Why wouldn’t he?”
Fortunately, Jiang Cheng is still sober enough to take the subway to Lan Xichen’s apartment by himself. He flounders a bit on the apartment number, and when he’s greeted with silence for thirty seconds after knocking on a door, he thinks he’s got the wrong place. Then, the door opens.
“Wanyin?”
Lan Xichen’s voice is the kind of hoarse you only get with a really bad cough. His typically tidy appearance isn’t much better: his hair is a mess, his face is splotchy, and his eyes are red with exhaustion. He’s wearing linen pants and an oversized sweatshirt with the name of Nie Mingjue’s alma mater on it, and if Mingjue weren’t in a long-term relationship, Jiang Cheng would have half a mind to be jealous.
“So your brother wasn’t lying,” Jiang Cheng says, half to himself.
“Ah, Wanyin,” Xichen says, “I would invite you inside, but—“
With a roll of his eyes, Jiang Cheng shoulders himself in. “Of course I’m coming inside.”
“But you’ll get sick!” Xichen protests, though he’s already closed the door behind Jiang Cheng.
“I’ve never been sick in my life,” Jiang Cheng says with an air of dramaticism that reminds himself a little too much of Wei Ying. “In any case, that’s not important.” Jiang Cheng sniffs. “What is that smell?”
“Ah.” Xichen rubs the back of his neck. “I haven’t had the strength to take out the garbage, and da-ge hasn’t been by to do it for me. I’m sorry, it must be horribly unpleasant for you.”
“For me?” Jiang Cheng says incredulously. “I’m not the one living here!”
Having completely forgotten his plan to cuss out Lan Xichen for ruining his original plan, Jiang Cheng stalks through each room, gathering the overflowing trash bags. Xichen’s bare feet pit pat against the floor behind him while he insists that Jiang Cheng let it be.
“You’re never going to get better living like this,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “I’ll be back.”
He fully intends to grill Xichen when he gets back, but when he re-enters the apartment, there’s an awful, hacking sound coming from the bedroom. He finds Xichen back in bed, a fluffy white blanket pulled around his shoulders as he coughs. He sits one knee on the edge of the bed and rubs Xichen’s back through the worst of it.
“If Mingjue-ge was busy then you should have called me, or at least your brother.”
“Ah, but I could never,” Xichen says, wringing his hands nervously. “It wasn’t that bad, really.”
“You’re impossible, you know that? I came here to yell at you for standing me up but you’re so pathetic right now that I would just feel worse.”
Xichen pouts, and Jiang Cheng has to stop himself from laughing at the sight. “I’m sorry, Wanyin. If I’d known how important it was to you then I would have tried harder not to get sick.”
“Idiot. It doesn’t work like that.”
Xichen sighs and pulls the blanket tighter around himself. His eyes dart up to Jiang Cheng’s, then sweep down over his body, gaze unfamiliar. Jiang Cheng finds himself heating up regardless. “You look nice.”
“Shut up.”
Xichen leans against his headboard. “Did you dress up for me? Is that why you’re upset?”
“I’m upset that you’re living in squalor.”
“You look really nice.”
“Stop that!” Jiang Cheng snaps, but Xichen is smiling at him dopily. “I’m mad at you. You should have told me you were sick. You think I care about looking good for all those other people? You think I’m trying to impress Huaisang? While you’re over here coughing up your internal organs surrounded by overflowing trash bags?”
At least the asshole has the shame to look sheepish. “Well, coughing up organs and living in squalor isn’t very attractive, is it?”
“Do you think I care about that? You look fine.”
Xichen smiles wryly. “Really?”
“No. You look like shit. I’m getting you a glass of water.”
He hears Xichen chuckling behind him as he heads to the kitchen. The apartment is actually relatively clean after Jiang Cheng took out the trash, but when he gets to the kitchen there’s a few dishes in the sink and a bowl of half-eaten strawberries on the counter. He finds a brita filter in the fridge and replaces the water. While it’s filtering, he tosses the fruit into a garbage bag and puts the dishes in the dishwasher.
Xichen is still sitting in the same position when Jiang Cheng comes back with a glass of water. He accepts it gratefully, taking short sips while Jiang Cheng sits on the edge of the bed again.
“Next time you get sick and I find out you’re living like this, I’m gonna be pissed.”
The way Xichen holds the glass in both hands and looks at Jiang Cheng over the rim is too cute, it almost makes Jiang Cheng’s resolve to be mad crumble. “I’m serious!”
“I will simply never fall ill again.”
“You—that’s not what I meant, asshole!”
Xichen suddenly clutches his chest in pain, and Jiang Cheng’s stomach drops as he hurriedly takes the glass of water from him and places a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
“I—I think…” Xichen makes a coughing noise, and he looks up through his eyelashes. “My heart is broken. Doctor, will you check it for me?”
Jiang Cheng stares at Xichen, dumbfounded. “You—that—“ was the corniest thing anything has ever said to him, he wants to say. “Lan Xichen, do you want to die?!”
The man in question dissolves into a fit of giggles. “The look on your face, you’re so precious. Wanyin.”
“Shut up.” Jiang Cheng shoves the glass of water back into his hands. “Finish your water, then go to sleep. You need rest.”
The smile on Xichen’s face falls, and the genuine disappointment in his eyes tugs at Jiang Cheng’s heart. “But I want to stay here with you. We haven’t seen each other in so long.”
Jiang Cheng sighs. “Fine. What if I stay the night, then?”
“You mean you’ll be here when I wake up?”
“Sure.” Jiang Cheng doesn’t have anything he needs for a sleepover, but one night without brushing his teeth or comfortable sleepwear won’t kill him. And even though he’s probably already caught whatever Lan Xichen has, he adds, “I’m sleeping on the couch, though.”
“I’ll get some blankets,” Xichen says, and he makes to get up, but Jiang Cheng stops him with a hand on his shoulder.
“No, I’ll get them. Where are they?”
“Hallway closet.”
“Okay.” He squeezes Xichen’s shoulder. “Get some rest, okay?”
Xichen smiles sleepily and nods. “You’ll be here in the morning, right?” He repeats hopefully.
“I said I would. Good night, Xichen.”
“Kiss good night?” Xichen asks, his eyes big and shining in the light from the window.
Jiang Cheng chuckles under his breath. “Sure.” He leans in and presses his lips to Xichen’s forehead, the skin under his warm and soft. Xichen’s eyes flutter shut and Jiang Cheng hears him sigh dopily.
Xichen shimmies under the covers, and Jiang Cheng pats his shoulder one more time before getting up and walking to the door.
“Good night, A-Cheng,” Xichen says softly.
Jiang Cheng stands in the doorway and takes another look at Lan Xichen, who’s lying on his side facing Jiang Cheng, his nose red and eyes swollen with congestion. Something stirs in Jiang Cheng at the sight, and the domesticity of taking care of the man he loves while he’s sick brings him an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.
“Good night, Xichen,” Jiang Cheng says, and then he closes the bedroom door and goes to make up Xichen’s couch.