Chapter Text
Lan Wangji leaned back in the front seat of the car and watched the changing landscape. Chalk hill walls framed the road. He thought ahead to his college, but could only remember the bare room, and his nerves at the interview all those months ago. There was only an echo of it now, in the sensible cocoon of his brother’s hybrid.
“Are you certain, Wangji?”
He groaned inwardly. They hadn’t spoken for a while, but he knew what Xichen was asking. He pressed his head further back into the headrest, staring out of the window. It was hard to explain why things were different for him than they were for Xichen. “Yes.”
“Don’t you think you should give yourself some space with this.”
Wangji sighed, a warning signal. “No.”
His brother looked ahead. Took a hand off the wheel to rub his fingers over his mouth, under his chin. “OK.”
Wangji watched the passing cars. “I don’t want it to be like school,” he found himself saying.
Xichen was quiet. Wangji knew he meant to show he was listening, that this was important. He was waiting for Wangji to say something deep, and new. But there wasn’t anything. Xichen had steered his way through the insidious homophobia of school as well, and Wangji knew that was behind this. Xichen thought he had been more successful, and he thought he knew everything. But it depended on how you measured success. It was true that nobody who came to (or with) Wangji at night wanted to be seen with him during the day, but at least Wangji’s honesty meant he got his needs met. Keeping things on the quiet meant Xichen had limited options and mostly out of school. He had no idea how deeply Wangji disrespected his cowardice, and his acceptance.
Wangji didn’t want him to say anything else and he certainly didn’t want to explain his thinking, so he said. “It’s who I am.”
He felt Xichen turn to look at him. Irritation crept under Wangji’s skin, and drifted through his body. Why was he making it a thing. It wasn’t a thing. He wanted to tell him sternly to focus on the road. But he didn’t.
“You should never be ashamed of who you are. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”
But it was exactly what he was saying, and it was because Xichen was ashamed of himself.
“I don’t want to have to come out. I just want to be out. I -” He didn’t have the skills to hide, the competence to navigate telling some, not others. The ability to know when and what to say. “- I’m not like you.”
Xichen let his breath out, blowing through his lips. It was a while before he spoke again.
“Fine.”
“I’m not shouting it out loud.” He said to the window. “I’m just not going to hide.”
He closed his eyes.
“We’re only about half an hour away.” His brother said. “Shall I put some music on?” Wangji shook his head.
They sat in silence for a while. The noise of the indicator ticked loudly as they came off the motorway, and the buildings slowly turned from grey to yellow the nearer they got to the centre of town. Wangji was settled in the quiet. He knew that was his power. He would always win this game.
“How are you going to do it?” Xichen asked.
As soon as he said it, Wangji’s certainty wavered. This had all made sense before. This was why talking about things presented more challenges than it solved.
“Posters.” He said, nodding his head towards the back seat. The box of rolled up offerings wasn’t helping him much. “On my wall.”
He could feel, if not see, his brother’s frown leaking through his placid face, and he squeezed his fist, looking at the white stretches between his knuckles. He thought about the proud energy of the rainbow flag hidden in a tight white roll.
He’d considered so many options. For someone who didn’t like to talk, who knew what he liked, and had zero reason to apologise, this made every bit of sense in every given scenario he had thought through. But now here was his brother, undermining all of his plans. Worse. He didn’t appreciate that Wangji needed different methods because he was so sorely lacking social subtlety. This was how he did things. He thought about options, he thought about outcomes. He weighed them up. He planned. Meticulously. He pulled his fingers further into his fist.
“Posters.” Xichen said.
Wangji turned to look at him as they drew up into a parking spot, eyebrow raised in a challenge. “Posters.” He said.
---
His roommate was settling in when they arrived. A girl lay on one of the beds. She looked comfortable. Wangji stood in the doorway, trapping Xichen behind with his suitcase. The boy came straight towards him, and, from less than half a metre away, shouted directly into his face.
“Hi.” He grinned at him. “I took the bed in the middle without really thinking.” He shook his head. “You choose which one you want, I don’t mind. I really don’t.” He looked between the brothers. “You’re Chinese.” Then, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you two twins? You look like twins. Did they make a mistake and you’re supposed to be rooming together?”
Wangji opened his mouth to speak but the boy had already turned around, gesturing towards the bed. “This is my girlfriend Rachel. She came to settle me in but she’s going soon.”
Rachel turned her head round to look at them, and sat up, slowly. “Hey.”
The insane boy stuck out his arm at Wangji. “I’m Wei Ying.”
Wangji, frozen to the spot, felt his brother push at his back. He looked at Wei Ying’s hand. “Wangji.” He said, stupidly, clutching his box of posters tighter.
Wei Ying stared back, eyebrows raised, dropping his hand. He seemed to be waiting for something more. Wangji felt his brother’s shoulders sag behind him, and the hand on his back pushed him firmly into the room. Wangji put the box down on the bed against the wall, shifting off his rucksack and allowing it to slide to the floor. The act of turning away to do things gave him some relief from the onslaught. He felt a buzzing in his ears as he listened to Xichen fixing his mess.
“I’m Lan Wangji’s older brother, I’m just dropping him off. We’re often told we look alike. I’m Lan Xichen. We’re from London but our family is from Shanghai, what about you?”
Lan Wangji didn’t hear the response, going over the simple phrases Xichen had said. So obvious. Some facts, his actual full name, a friendly question. He felt hot, and embarrassed, an image of him blurting out Wangji, like an inappropriate fool, rocketed through his brain on repeat, bouncing around painfully. Just say some simple facts, then ask a question. It was so easy but somehow it wasn’t. He sat down heavily on the bed and looked up to find everyone looking at him expectantly.
Xichen smiled and moved towards him. “Let’s put up these posters, then.”
Wangji shook his head vigorously. “You must be tired. I can settle in by myself.” He thought, if Xichen stayed, he would probably cry. His shoulders were tense as metal. It felt like there was a deep well of water in his chest that would simply start spilling out of his eyes and nose if he talked to him for much longer. “I’m fine.” He said firmly, widening his eyes at Xichen. His message was clear, please go.
Xichen sighed. “Goodbye, Wangji.”
Wangji stood and moved into his open arms, leaning into the comforting squeeze.
Xichen said, close to his ear. “Love you Zhan Zhan.”
As Xichen pulled away, he squeezed Wangji’s arms. And then he was gone and Wangji felt his absence pull deeply in his heart, a lump burning in his throat.
“Rachel was just going too.” Wei Ying frowned at her and jutted his chin out, and she sighed, pulling herself off the bed.
Their goodbye was far more involved and protracted. It involved a lot of touching. Wangji turned back to the bed, trying to think of something to busy himself with. He pulled the smallest poster out of the box, not registering what it was until he tacked it up against the wall. The same brown walls he remembered from staying here for the interview, hessian, fine to stick through with drawing pins. Troye Sivan looked back at him, judging him silently. The poster idea was stupid.
“Nice to meet you Wangji.” Rachel said from the doorway. The way she pronounced his name was terrible. He looked up. He got the feeling it wasn’t nice at all. The door closed behind them.
---
Wangji realised he’d stayed sitting on the bed like a lump when Wei Ying burst back into the room. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “That cupboard at the end is all yours. I’ve got a separate one, see.” He pointed next to his bed. Wangji hadn’t met anyone who was this excited about cupboards before.
“How amazing is it that we’ve got an en suite?” He went on, doing jazz hands at the bathroom door. “Who’d have thought all this luxury with the cheapest room option?” He laughed, teeth everywhere.
Wangji made himself stand up. He felt weirdly wobbly. Wei Ying walked towards him with a grin spread all the way across his face. “Let’s not waste this light unpacking.” He grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room.
Outside, Wangji drank in the garden quad. His roommate wasn’t wrong about the light. He watched him now, as he stepped forward, eyes closed and turning slowly around in the evening warmth, face bathed in a golden glow. His eyes were drawn to the tiny mole underneath his lips. Xichen had insisted he pick the room sharing option, even when they could easily afford anything he wanted. “You could spend the entire three years not speaking to anyone outside lectures if you don’t.” He’d told him. Wangji had supposed he must know. He knew Wangji better than anyone. And he’d been through it himself. He’d left only last year to do his doctorate at the LSE. He’d had thousands of friends. Loud, brash people who occasionally invaded the peace of their home. Wangji hadn’t considered the possibility that the roommate in question would be so beautiful. It was lucky he was so annoying. There was no reason for him to give it any more thought.
“What are you studying?” Wangji asked. Easy enough, and it would put an end to the sun-soaked rapture that was giving him some trouble.
“Fine Art.” Wei Ying looked at him and smiled, apparently delighted he’d asked. Of course he was studying Fine Art. “You? No. Let me guess - Engineering. No, no. Architecture?”
Wangji breathed in. “ -”
“Law.” He yelled triumphantly. He stared at him, daring him to say no.
Wangji felt terrible. He almost just said yes. “Mathematics and Computer Science.” Then he watched, horrified, as Wei Ying groaned and flopped to the ground.
“Of course. God. Why didn’t I say that?” He looked ruined by despair. Wangji couldn’t fathom how someone could have so many emotions just with their face. He felt a pull deep in his chest. He wanted to fix it. He didn’t want Wei Ying to look like that anymore. He didn’t know how. He sat down stiffly, next to him.
Wei Ying turned to him. “It’s just -, you look like your brain is a computer.”
Wangji couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising as he turned to him.
“It’s just how I think.” Wei Ying waved his hand at him. “Never mind.” He hugged his arms around his knees and looked at Wangji sadly. Wangji wanted to put his hands either side of his face, squeeze his cheeks together hard and then pull his face into a smile. He knew somehow it would make him laugh. He didn’t do it.
Wei Ying sprang up and pulled on his arm. “Come on, let’s go to the bar.”
“I don’t drink.” Wangji said, as he allowed himself to be hauled up.
“They have juice at the bar, my friend. They have juice at the bar.”
Wei Ying winked at him before turning to yank him forwards. Wangji followed.
He seemed to be able to make him happy merely by allowing himself to get caught up in the whirlwind.
---
Wangji checked his phone while Wei Ying went to get them some drinks. His brother had messaged.
Home safe. Love you.
Thank you for telling me. He wrote back. As soon as he pressed send he could see the typing icon. He sighed.
You settling in OK?
Did you do the posters?
Wangji put the phone on the table, screen side down. The table was sticky. He shifted in his seat. Everything smelled of beer. He looked up to where Wei Ying was apparently charming the pants off the surly white haired gentleman behind the tiny bar. With a pang of humiliation, he realised his discomfort about talking to the barman, well anyone really, meant that Wei Ying would have to buy his drink. He froze. It was so easy for him to forget about money. This guy had chosen to share a room, presumably to save costs, and he’d already let him buy him a drink without thinking. He flushed hot thinking about it, looked down. A plastic cup of bright liquid sloshed down in front of him.
“They only had orange juice. I hope that’s ok.”
Wangji looked up, ashamed. “Wei Ying, I -. Can I give you the money?
Wei Ying laughed at him. “You look so serious. No. This isn’t the last time we’ll have a drink together I hope. You get me the next one. I’m going to be far more expensive than you are, baby.”
Wangji cast his eyes down.
“What are we going to do with you?” Wei Ying leaned into the table, sighing.
Wangji’s treacherous brain chose this moment to supply a lot of things that Wei Ying could do to him. This boy, who said he looked like his brain was a computer. No one had said that to him before. But he just smiled gently back at him.
“There we are.” Wei Ying said. “Look at you.”