Archive of Our Own

So far, the first official soccer practice of Wei Wuxian’s college career was starting out great. He’d managed to rustle up a clean shirt and pair of athletic shorts from the mountain of practice clothes that he and Jiang Cheng had dumped in the center of their dorm room for both of them to grab from — like if a Little Free Library was sponsored by Adidas.

He hadn’t gotten lost on his way back from his afternoon class, and so he’d had enough time to grab a snack before practice.

And best of all, when he’d run into one of their teammates on the way to the pitch, he had remembered their name without prompting and had not made an enemy out of a senior player.

So Wei Wuxian trotted onto the soccer pitch that afternoon feeling pretty confident that he was crushing this whole “go to college and socialize with strangers” thing.

It had admittedly been an adjustment at first. He’d been playing soccer with the same group of boys ever since he’d been adopted by the Jiangs, and they’d realized he was a chaotic ball of energy who needed to spend at least three hours a day running around outside before he was fit for human interaction. He wasn’t used to learning how to play with others.

At least Jiang Cheng was here with him. That was still familiar.

Speaking of whom…

“The flashcards paid off!” Wei Wuxian announced as he launched himself onto his brother’s back. Jiang Cheng squawked and stumbled but did manage to stay upright. Shame. “I just saw Song Lan in the locker room and I did not mistake him for Wen Zhuliu again, so I really feel like I’m finally getting the hang of — who is that?”

Another player was following their coach, Nie Mingjue, as they rapidly approached the lazy huddle that the team was waiting in. Wei Wuxian didn’t need his flashcards to tell him that he’d never seen this new guy before in his life.

He would have absolutely remembered someone who walked around like that. The new guy was tall and skinny — a little gangly even — like he was still finishing up a pre-college growth spurt and hadn’t completely gotten used to his new height yet.

His hair was just a little too long to be fashionable, but too short to pull back into a ponytail like Wei Wuxian’s was. He was holding it out of his eyes with two little hairclips in the shape of Treble Clefs. Wei Wuxian was doing his best not to Feel Anything about that detail.

And despite the slight awkwardness of his movements, his posture was impeccable. He looked more like a dancer than a soccer player, if dancers wore $200 windbreakers and boots that Wei Wuxian could tell at a glance were worth more than their college’s endowment.

Wei Wuxian had met plenty of spoiled rich kids in his life. Some of them were currently even on this team (looking at you, Jin Zixuan). In Wei Wuxian’s experience, most of them had a subtle air of self-assurance to them, like they believed, somewhere deep in their hindbrains, that no matter what, nothing truly bad would ever happen to them.

Treble Clef looked…tense. Watchful. His face was completely impassive as he surveyed the pitch, but there was something about the way he carried himself that sparked a flare of recognition in Wei Wuxian.

Treble Clef believed that bad things happened. Wei Wuxian would bet his own soccer career on it.

Nie Mingjue and Treble Clef reached them just as Wei Wuxian said — too loudly — “New Guy is gonna be a delight, I can already tell,” and Jiang Cheng snickered like he thought Wei Wuxian was being sarcastic.

Oh well. Genius was often misunderstood in its time; Wei Wuxian would just have to wait until Jiang Cheng caught up with what he already knew — namely, that Treble Clef was probably the most fascinating person that Wei Wuxian had ever seen, and was therefore destined to become his best friend.

Treble Clef slowly turned his head until he was staring directly at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian gulped. His eyes were a piercing golden-brown that took in Wei Wuxian in one sweeping glance, a survey that was as intimate and invasive as an airport body scanner. Those eyes narrowed, and then Treble Clef turned away without a word. He’d categorized and dismissed Wei Wuxian’s entire existence without even giving him the courtesy of using a single facial muscle to do it.

Fine! If that was how he wanted to play it, then Wei Wuxian was going to crush Treble Clef’s extremely expensive and extremely dorky baby blue athletic shorts into the dust.

“If you get us kicked off the team before the season even starts, I will set your bed on fire while you’re sleeping in it,” Jiang Cheng muttered from next to Wei Wuxian.

“Seems counterproductive to burn down your own dorm room,” Wei Wuxixan noted, his eyes still fixed on Treble Clef. He’d started stretching out his quads, which he could apparently do by balancing perfectly on one foot without needing to do the whole awkward “grab onto someone else’s shoulder before you topple over” dance, which Wei Wuxian chose to find pretentious instead of sexy.

“Gang,” boomed Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian had spent enough time with the man now to know that he always called the team “gang,” in some misguided effort to build team morale. It mostly made Wei Wuxian feel like he was constantly on the verge of stumbling into a Scooby Doo mystery, but he appreciated the thought.

“Gang,” Nie Mingjue repeated, louder and with menace, when the team didn’t immediately shut up. “This is Lan Wangji.”

A rumble of interest erupted from the team at the surname “Lan.” Lan Xichen was a professional soccer player who’d almost single-handedly taken the national team to the quarter finals of the World Cup last year. Rumor had it, he’d once been teammates with Nie Mingjue, before Nie Mingjue tore his ACL and was forced to retire at the peak of his own career.

Nie Mingjue gave the whispering players a dire glare before continuing pointedly: “Lan Wangji will be our starting goalie this season. He had to miss pre-season practice for…reasons…so I hope you’ll all make him feel welcome.”

“Reasons?” Nie Huiasang squawked from Wei Wuxian’s other side. “What reasons? I had plenty of reasons, but Da-ge was all ‘it’s crucial to team bonding, Huaisang,’ and ‘you made a commitment to the school, Huaisang,’ and ‘the beach will still be there next year, Huaisang!’”

Nie Huaisang played defense and he was — frankly — terrible at it. Everyone knew he was only on the team because he was the coach’s younger brother. Wei Wuxian might have been more annoyed about the blatant nepotism, if not for the fact that Nie Huaisang was clearly suffering the most out of anyone.

Wei Wuxian stuck his hand as high in the air as it would go. And then waved it around a few times, for good measure.

“Excuse me, Coach?” He adjusted his voice to the precise pitch and volume that used to drive his aunt crazy. “I for one would appreciate a demonstration of Lan Wangji’s goal-keeping technique. Since we’ve all had the weeks of pre-season to get used to each other’s playing styles and he’s only just arrived…”

“Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue sighed, and that was the precise tone that his uncle would use when Wei Wuxian came back from soccer practice and immediately knocked a lamp off an end-table because he’d turned around too quickly with his athletic bag. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to see Lan Wangji play today. Focus on your own warm-up and stop wasting my time.”

“But Coach,” Wei Wuxian whined. Next to him, Jiang Cheng flinched — likely from residual trauma over the trouble Wei Wuxian had gotten him into with that tone of voice. “You told us during our last strategy meeting that the bond between teammates is stronger than blood. You told us we had to be prepared to trust each other with our lives. How can I trust Lan Wangji with my little brother’s very survival—”

“Hear, hear!” Nie Huaisang cheered, clearly sensing an opportunity to put off warm-up for ten more minutes, while Jiang Cheng hissed: “Leave my survival out of this.”

Nie Mingjue raised his eyes to the heavens and shook his head in despair. Wei Wuxian grinned. He could sense his coach weakening…

And then: “Do not disrupt practice” intoned a deep voice. Wei Wuxian turned to see Lan Wangji staring at him again, eyes narrowed. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t go so far as to call it a glare — not yet, but the practice was still young, and Wei Wuxian had faith in his own abilities.

“How is it a disruption?” he retorted. “A winning team isn’t built on footwork drills alone, you know. But I guess if you want the team to suffer…”

“Okay, Wei Wuxian, you’ve made your point—” Nie Mingjue began, but before he could finish, Lan Wangji whirled around and practically stomped — stomped! — away.

“Something I said?” Wei Wuxian asked innocently.

Halfway across the pitch, Lan Wangji reached the far goalposts and spun around again.

“Well?” he asked tersely.

Wei Wuxian required no further prompting. He grinned and trotted over to the penalty mark with a spare soccer ball tucked under his arm.

But the minute he dropped the ball to the ground, something strange happened to Lan Wangji in the goal. It was like his whole body suddenly transformed — from an awkward and irritated teenager into a taut, watchful predator. A shiver of anticipation made its way through Wei Wuxian. He’d initially challenged Lan Wangji to this contest simply because the urge to prod at Lan Wangji until he split in half like a ripe avocado had felt more like a compulsion than a desire.

But now — taking in Lan Wangji’s sheer presence in goal — Wei Wuxian started to wonder if he’d inadvertently set himself a bigger challenge than he’d thought.

His mind raced as he stepped up to the penalty mark. He was almost positive that one penalty kick wasn’t going to be enough for him.

So, with a cocky smirk, Wei Wuxian drew his foot back and sent the ball soaring neatly toward the left side of the goal.

Lan Wangji pounced.

He moved almost too quickly for Wei Wuxian to track, and when he straightened again, it was with the ball held firmly in his competent grip.

Wei Wuxian’s smirk widened.

Just as he’d planned.

Out loud, he made a big show of groaning and kicking at the grass like he was the sorest loser in the world (in other words, he was channeling the spirit of grade-school Jiang Cheng). And then he turned his best, brightest, and most innocent grin on Lan Wangji.

“Best out of ten?”

“No,” Lan Wangji called back. But he also didn’t budge from his position in goal.

Gotcha, Wei Wuxian thought.

“I mean, if you’re so scared to lose…” he sniffed. He made another dramatical show of taking three big steps in the direction of their teammates, all of whom were watching this standoff avidly. Meanwhile, Nie Mingjue threw his hands in the air but didn’t intervene. Wei Wuxian shot Jiang Cheng a wink as he walked, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes immediately narrowed.

“Fine,” Lan Wangji finally said.

Under the guise of bringing him more soccer balls to kick, Jiang Cheng hurried over to Wei Wuxian and hissed, “…are you hustling Lan Xichen’s little brother right now?”

“Jiang Cheng, you have such a sordid mind. I’m just giving our new teammate an opportunity to display his skills! Is that so bad?”

“Famously, yes!”

Wei Wuxian grabbed his next ball from Jiang Cheng with a grumble, set up the kick, and then…Lan Wangji was right there, bobbing up from a lunge with the ball once again tucked in his arms.

A grin spread across Wei Wuxian’s face — a real one this time, wide and euphoric — because his first miss might have been intentional, but the second one absolutely had not been. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d lost a penalty kick like that one.

He could also tell, even from this distance, that Lan Wangji was starting to get very confident in his abilities over there. So Wei Wuxian took that opportunity — plus the extra information he was able to glean about Lan Wangji’s goalkeeping style after that second miss — to sink the next four shots, one right after the other, fast and easy.

Now, at long last, Lan Wangji was starting to look flustered. Wei Wuxian felt a hot glow of accomplishment rush through him. Lan Wangji saved Wei Wuxian’s next two shots, but it almost didn’t matter at that point. Wei Wuxian had cracked him. But just for good measure, Wei Wuxian made his last goal for a final tie of 5-5.

“Like I said,” Wei Wuxian beamed as Lan Wangji stomped past him, back toward the rest of the team. “A delight.”

***

“He’s back again,” Wei Wuxian whispered to Jiang Cheng over their cafeteria trays. “Wait, don’t look over! He’ll see you!”

Jiang Cheng, who had not moved at all, rolled his eyes.

“What is there to look at? Our teammate eating lunch? In the building that the university has explicitly designated as the place where the food is?”

Wei Wuxian was busy trying not to seem like he was craning his neck to spot Lan Wangji across the food court, and therefore did not reply.

“He’s brought the lunchbox,” he intoned. Jiang Cheng took a pointed bite of his noodles.

Every Tuesday and Thursday, for weeks, Lan Wangji had been coming to the university cafeteria at the same time as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng. Which was pretty odd in-and-of-itself, because Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both had a late class that got out at 1:30pm, by which point the cafeteria was always practically empty. Except for the two of them.

And Lan Wangji, of course.

Lan Wangji who — by the way — didn’t even buy his lunch like every other respectable student on the mandatory first-year meal plan. Oh no, Lan Wangji brought his lunch from home, in a cute little lunchbox with cartoon bunnies on it that may or may not have been designed for children.

Wei Wuxian was enamored with this lunchbox. He had a spreadsheet on his phone devoted to this lunchbox and its contents. He was so obsessed with this lunchbox that it was starting to worry even him.

“Why does he bring his lunch to a food court?” Wei Wuxian hissed. Jiang Cheng, who had heard this rant several times, kept chewing his noodles. “How does he bring his lunch to a food court? Doesn’t he live in the student dorms? It’s required for the soccer team to live on campus!”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said. “I was there when we got the orientation packet.”

Wei Wuxian ignored him. Jiang Cheng sighed and ate some more noodles.

“But the dorm kitchens are so tiny!” Wei Wuxian wail-whispered at his brother. “So tiny, Jiang Cheng! And today he has zongzi, and you know those take forever to make! Hey, do you think we should try to make zongzi in the dorm kitchen? For science?”

Jiang Cheng put down his chopsticks with a click. “Here’s a thought,” he said. “Before you start a dorm fire, you could always…ask him.”

Wei Wuxian lit up.

“Jiang Cheng you’re a genius!”

“Wait—”

“Let’s go!”

“Hold on—"

But it was too late. Wei Wuxian had already picked up his cafeteria tray and was marching it over to Lan Wangji. He dropped his tray at Lan Wangji’s usual table with a clatter. Lan Wangji didn’t do anything so graceless as startle, but he did stare up at Wei Wuxian, his eyes widening in what Wei Wuxian would generously call “surprise” but which Jiang Cheng would probably call “slowly dawning horror.”

“Hi!” Wei Wuxian chirped. He refused to be deterred by this lackluster welcome. “Your lunch looks great! Do you make those zongzi in your dorm kitchen?”

Lan Wangji’s ears had flushed red — in confusion? Irritation? Anaphylactic shock? — but he gamely replied, “My brother’s apartment. Over the weekend. They keep well in a mini-fridge.”

“You store your bunny box lunches in your mini-fridge?”

Wei Wuxian was going to explode. He was going to die. Right here, next to this cafeteria Qdoba. Jiang Yanli could never know, it would be too humiliating.

Lan Wangji’s ears turned redder, and his posture somehow got even more rigid. He did not reply.

“Hi Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng suddenly interjected from next to Wei Wuxian. When had he gotten there? “Just ignore him, please. That’s what the rest of us do.”

Lan Wangji flickered his eyes over to Wei Wuxian and then away again. Wei Wuxian was currently leaning over the table — way too close to a stranger’s food to be socially acceptable — to study Lan Wangji’s zongzi. They were wrapped so meticulously in their little bamboo leaf packages and tied string in neat little bows. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand them.

It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that Lan Wangji might just be the cutest human being on the planet. How was he expected to cope with mini-fridge Tupperware?

Meanwhile, in Wei Wuxian’s mental absence, the table had fallen into an awkward silence. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji were both staring at each other in barely concealed panic at the prospect of making small talk.

“So, Lan Wangji.” Wei Wuxian was more than thrilled to break this silence. And since his last burning question had gone so well, maybe… “Why did you miss pre-season soccer practice, anyway? The guys have a betting pool going, and I’d love to win.”

(This was not true. Bafflingly, nobody else on the team seemed to care as much as Wei Wuxian did about this juicy mystery. Sometimes Wei Wuxian despaired of his fellow athletes’ lack of imagination).

“So come on, you can tell us.” Wei Wuxian nudged Lan Wangji’s arm playfully from across the table. “Whirlwind romance, right? You eloped to Vegas right before pre-season started, and you spent all of August on your honeymoon. Nie Mingjue has a soft spot for young love, so he gave you permission. C’mon, am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Wei Wuxian gave Lan Wangji his best, flirtiest grin and nudged his arm again. Lan Wangji yanked it back instantly. Okay, no touching. Got it.

Expertly, Wei Wuxian immediately pivoted to making tastefully sultry eye contact while taking a drink of his soda.

“My father died.”

Wei Wuxian promptly spit out his soda all over his own cafeteria tray. Without raising his eyes from the table, Lan Wangji silently passed him a napkin from his lunchbox.

Wei Wuxian had often been told he was shameless, but there was “passing notes to a pretty classmate under the teacher’s nose” shameless, and then there was “taunt a pretty classmate about his parent’s death” shameless, and Wei Wuxian’s face was not thick enough to handle the latter.

“Oh…Lan Wangji, I’m so sorry,” he managed to cough while mopping up the puddle of soda.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he was apologizing more for the death or for joking so horribly about it. Maybe it could just serve as a blanket apology for everything Wei Wuxian had ever said or done in his entire life. Jiang Cheng snorted at how spectacularly Wei Wuxian had just struck out, before realizing that might come across as insensitive, given the context.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he mumbled gravely to Lan Wangji, who nodded in thanks.

“It’s alright. We were not close.”

Maybe Lan Wangji thought that would lessen Wei Wuxian’s embarrassment somehow, but it really didn’t help, because what did he say now?

“Ah well, that’s…good?” he offered, and then promptly wanted to strangle himself with Jiang Cheng’s noodles. Jiang Cheng was starting to look pitying rather than entertained by Wei Wuxian’s failures, which was how he knew things were really bad.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed. He took a dainty bite of his zongzi.

Wei Wuxian despaired. Even his chewing was cute. Everything was terrible.

“OH WOW LOOK AT THE TIME! CLASS! I MEAN, I HAVE CLASS! RIGHT NOW! WEIRD COINCIDENCE! ANYWAY-GOOD-TO-SEE-YOU-HAVE-A-GOOD-LUNCH-SORRY-AGAIN-ABOUT-YOUR-DAD-BYE!”

And with that, Wei Wuxian scooped up his tray and powerwalked to the trash cans. From behind him, he heard Jiang Cheng sigh and stand up at a much more normal pace.

“I should…also go,” Jiang Cheng said stiffly. “See you at practice.”

“I think that went well,” Jiang Cheng noted once he’d caught up to Wei Wuxian at the trash cans. Wei Wuxian was staring hollowly into its depths, contemplating the prospect of tossing himself in. “From my perspective, at least. Am I finally allowed to dismantle the ‘what did Lan Wangji do over his summer vacation?’ murder board that’s covering half my desk?”

“Go for it,” Wei Wuxian said weakly. “Mystery solved.”

***

Ever since the conversation in the lunchroom, Lan Wangji kept up a stony silence with Wei Wuxian at soccer practices. Well, to be fair, Lan Wangji had always tried to keep up a stony silence in soccer practices, but now Wei Wuxian felt like the least he could do to make up for his embarrassing behavior was to leave Lan Wangji to it.

Since Lan Wangji was a goalie and Wei Wuxian was a midfielder, it wasn’t like they often had reason to talk to each other at practice anyway, which was…fine.

And maybe the two of them would have stayed in that frozen impasse forever, if not for the Under 8 Youth Soccer League.

Wei Wuxian himself had never played with the Under 8 Youth Soccer League. He’d been too busy being an orphan at that time, which didn’t exactly lend itself to other extracurricular activities. By the time he was adopted by the Jiangs, he was old enough to join a school team, but he’d hung around Forest Park on the weekends enough that the tiny players, bouncing against both the soccer balls and each other, had become a familiar sight.

But Wei Wuxian’s quasi-nephew was six now (it was too complicated to dig into the whole “he’s my best friend’s orphan cousin” backstory every time he took A-Yuan to the playground, so “quasi-nephew” it was), so A-Yuan was the perfect age for the Under 8 Youth Soccer League.

Wei Wuxian had begged Wen Qing for weeks to convince Wen Popo to sign A-Yuan up. He’d spammed her phone with inspirational stories of famous soccer players who’d gotten their start by joining a local youth soccer team, captioned with passive-aggressive messages about supporting A-Yuan’s dreams. “A-Yuan’s dream is to be an ambulance because he wants a siren on his head,” Wen Qing had retorted dryly. So Wei Wuxian had pivoted to sending her pictures of tiny children in oversized soccer jerseys captioned with heart emojis. Finally, Wei Wuxian shared one particularly inspired TikTok of a toddler trying to kick a soccer ball and falling over, Wen Qing snapped.

“It’s not because of the video, Wei Wuxian! It’s just because A-Yuan needs some more friends his age,” Wen Qing had explained loftily, but Wei Wuxian had known better. Her TikTok algorithm had been fucked for weeks. That kind of thing didn’t happen from just a single view.

Popo had agreed to enroll A-Yuan in soccer after Wen Qing suggested it, but she made Wei Wuxian agree to volunteer as one of A-Yuan’s assistant coaches, which was honestly not a hardship in any way, because had Wei Wuxian mentioned the potential for tiny children in oversized jerseys?

The first practice, When Wei Wuxian arrived at the muddy field that would serve as their soccer pitch for the season to find the Wens already there. He spotted A-Yuan hiding a little bit behind Wen Qing and watching the chaos of a dozen children storming a single adult standing in the center of the pitch in workout clothes — clearly the other coach who’d been assigned to their team.

Before introducing himself to the other coach, Wei Wuxian made a beeline for A-Yuan, who lit up at the sight of him.

“Xian-gege!” A-Yuan cheered. “Are you gonna play with us?”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian cheered back. He punched his fist in the air for good measure. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Qing-jiejie said the balls are white and black,” A-Yuan explained very solemnly. “Xian-gege, didn’t you know?”

“Huh?”

A-Yuan stared pointedly at Wei Wuxian’s bright red T-shirt.

That was when Wei Wuxian noticed what A-Yuan was wearing. He seemed to have layered every white and black T-shirt, hoodie, and jacket he owned on top of himself. He looked like a snowman in a film noir.

“What’s with the outfit, bud?”

A-Yuan fixed Wei Wuxian with a look, like he couldn’t believe Wei Wuxian could possibly be this stupid.

“It’s a trick,” A-Yuan explained with a world-weary sigh. “If the ball thinks I’m a ball too, it’ll come closer. And then I’ll score!”

A-Yuan mimed a vigorous kick that promptly toppled him over. At least he was well-padded when he hit the ground.

Wei Wuxian glanced at Wen Qing, who sighed.

“We got him a book about soccer to try to teach him some of the rules,” she muttered to Wei Wuxian in an aside. “In retrospect, picking the one with the anthropomorphic soccer ball may have created more problems than it solved.”

“I think you look great, A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian said loyally. “Very round. Good job.” 

Wen Qing finally convinced A-Yuan to go say ‘hi’ to some of the other kids, which Wei Wuxian took as his cue to go say ‘hi’ to the other grown-up.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian called out brightly as he jogged over to the other coach. He was currently crouched down with his back turned to Wei Wuxian, as he helped a girl in pigtails and a yellow Messi jersey tie her boots. “It’s great to meet you! I’m—"

The man turned around, and Wei Wuxian’s cheerful greeting died in his mouth.

Of course.

Lan Wangji — with his perfect white jersey, perfectly swoopy hair, perfect glare — said: “I know who you are.”

“Right. Obviously,” Wei Wuxian agreed weakly.

“Why are you here?” Lan Wangji bit out.

Well that was just rude. Lan Wangji had no reason to sound shocked! Wei Wuxian was just as capable of coach youth soccer as Lan Wangji! He might not have a famous player for a brother, but he was good too!

“My sorta-nephew is on this team, so the head coach said I could be assigned to this one,” Wei Wuxian explained, deliberately misunderstanding the question. “Why?” he added, a little nastily. “What are you doing here?”

“Molding the youth of tomorrow,” Lan Wangji retorted instantly.

Wei Wuxian stared at him, trying to figure out if Lan Wangji was messing with him, but Lan Wangji just looked back, stone-faced, offering him absolutely zero clues.

“Well, Co-Coach, I look forward to — hang on. A-Qing! I see you over there. Take that out of your mouth right now!”

***

Unfortunately for Wei Wuxian’s continued sanity, Lan Wangji turned out to be a great children’s soccer coach.

Something about the timbre of his voice made children stop what they were doing and listen to him immediately. He didn’t have to raise his volume to have them all settling down to hear the instructions for their next exercise. Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, had to deploy his most piercing whistle to get the same result.

His stern attitude didn’t seem to put the kids off at all. Instead, it just made them cling to him harder, like they saw him as their own personal Eeyore toy. Wei Wuxian honestly couldn’t blame them, since that was exactly what he’d wanted to do the moment he met Lan Wangji too. The kids had good taste, what could he say.

But their favorite game — which Wei Wuxian learned very quickly to mete out as a reward for good behavior during the rest of practice — was to put Lan Wangji in goal and try to score against him. He took the game just as seriously as the children did, solemnly donning the goalie gloves that he brought from home every week once he realized the kids thought they were cool. He didn’t go easy on them either, but that only seemed to hype them up more. Only very occasionally would Lan Wangji actually let a goal through. It was rare enough that even Wei Wuxian could never tell if it was deliberate, or just random chance.

Every time one of the kids made a goal against him, the whole team would absolutely lose their minds: screaming, cheering, hugging each other, running around…Little Ouyang Zizhen had actually burst into violent tears of joy the first time he scored.

And Lan Wangji would just stand there in the center of the chaos he’d created, unsmiling, but with something like self-satisfaction shining in his eyes.

In short: Wei Wuxian was suffering.

Especially because Lan Wangji still seemed to hate him just as much as he loved the kids.

To Lan Wangji’s credit, he was always coolly professional whenever they had to discuss coaching business, and they actually made a surprisingly effective team. The two of them became pros at having silent conversations over the heads of a dozen first-graders. Without ever discussing it, they also perfected a system for dealing with their more accident-prone kids. Wei Wuxian had always had an unerring instinct for knowing when a child was about to get into trouble or hurt themselves (what could he say, game recognized game). So whenever he noticed a kid trying to sneak off the pitch to visit the nearby pond (Lan Jingyi. Somehow it was always Lan Jingyi), he only had to tilt his head slightly to call Lan Wangji’s attention to it too. Then Lan Wangji would stride over to corral Lan Jingyi before he fell into the water, or lost a fight with a swan, or both. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian took charge of distracting the other kids before they noticed whatever Lan Jingyi was doing and tried to emulate him.

One would think these supernaturally good communication skills would extend beyond the soccer pitch, but Wei Wuxian could confirm that they absolutely did not.

For one thing, every time he tried to engage Lan Wangji in conversation after practice, he either got monosyllabic answers and a look like Lan Wangji couldn’t understand why Wei Wuxian was still even standing there, or Lan Wangji would simply leave.

Getting Lan Wangji to even reveal his college major (Music Composition) had taken four weeks of conversational effort and a Columbo marathon that Wei Wuxian had told Jiang Cheng was for “research,” to which Jiang Cheng had naturally said, “but you’re not taking a film course this term,” so Wei Wuxian had been forced to admit that he was researching interrogation methods, and Jiang Cheng had just sighed and said “please keep all the red string on your side of the room this time.”

Columbo binge-watch aside, Wei Wuxian had been doing his best to be as friendly and normal (aka as little like himself) as possible. He’d even attempted small talk one week as the two of them gathered up all the soccer balls that the kids had strewn around the pitch.

“I saw it’s going to storm on Tuesday,” he’d offered weakly.

Oh god, with any luck the lightning would strike him down and end his misery.

“Mm.”

“Have a lot of…homework? Lately?”

“Mn.”

Ah, fuck it.

“Well I actually just read a super cool article about how much of forensic science is fake, like fingerprinting and ballistics and everything…” Wei Wuxian bent over to grab another soccer ball, chattering happily with his back to Lan Wangji. “…And it actually reminded me of a documentary I watched about how crime shows perpetuate all these myths about forensics…” Another ball for the mesh bag. “…Like did you know blood stain analysis isn’t even that reliable? I wanted to test it out with some paint in our dorm, but Jiang Cheng said — Oh, crap.”

As Wei Wuxian was bending over the mesh ball bag, his sunglasses had slipped off his head and fallen into the bag. He bent over further, ass in the air, to sift through the bag as he continued: “Anyway…I started to get really frustrated that so many innocent people were convicted because nobody bothered to — ah, found ‘em!”

But when Wei Wuxian stood up, clutching his sunglasses triumphantly, it was to see Lan Wangji powerwalking off the pitch, his ears and the back of his neck a strange shade of crimson. Had Lan Wangji gotten sunburned during practice today?

“Oh…okay. Bye!” Wei Wuxian called out. He waited until Lan Wangji was completely out of sight before he let himself droop pathetically onto the grass.

Maybe he should have stuck with talking about the weather after all.

Frustrated, Wei Wuxian kicked at one of the kids’ soccer balls with enough force to send it soaring into the far goal — and then, of course, he had to run over to go retrieve it himself. Just one more of Wei Wuxian’s stupid, ill-conceived plans.

After that, he gave up on talking to Lan Wangji about anything outside of coaching business. He might be a little slow on the uptake, but eventually even Wei Wuxian could figure out when he wasn’t wanted.

***

One Saturday in mid-October, the kids were playing a game against their nemeses. The Under 8 Youth Soccer League’s Forest Park Team had been feuding with the Under 8 Youth Soccer League’s River Road Team for as long as Wei Wuxian could remember. Nobody seemed to know how it had started, but every single parent on both teams treated the rivalry with deadly seriousness. Meanwhile, the kids were totally oblivious.

The game had been proceeding normally — if one considered two grown adults getting into a slap fight over orange slices “normal,” which at this point, Wei Wuxian did — when Popo appeared next to Wei Wuxian on the sidelines.

Last time Wei Wuxian had checked on her, she’d been happily ensconced on the sidelines in a folding beach chair with a romance novel and a pilfered Xiploc bag of A-Yuan’s goldfish crackers. But now she was holding her cell phone with a worried look on her face. Wei Wuxian had once started a minor kitchen fire in her apartment and she’d just laughed at him, so if Popo looked this worried about something, it must be serious.

“It’s A-Ning. His cold got worse.”

Wei Wuxian understood instantly. Wen Ning had been very sick as a child, and while he was doing much better now — as everyone assured Wei Wuxian — he had chronic issues with his heart and lungs, and even a fairly mild infection could send him to the emergency room.

“You should go, Popo,” Wei Wuxian said immediately. “I’ll bring A-Yuan home after practice, don’t worry.”

The air of distress surrounding Popo lifted momentarily. A smile creased her face as she’d patted Wei Wuxian on the cheek, called him “such a good boy,” and surreptitiously passed him the last of A-Yuan’s goldfish before heading out.

Which all would have been fine, except that when practice ended and Wei Wuxian went over to grab A-Yuan, he found his path blocked.

“One of the children is missing his guardians.” Lan Wangji had a distressed little scrunch to his face that Wei Wuxian resented finding cute. He was staring at A-Yuan, who was cheerfully decapitating dandelions and sorting their corpses into piles.

“Oh don’t worry. His grandmother had to leave early, but I’m going to take him home.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowed. “You are not one of the approved adults on his paperwork.” He seemed utterly certain of this, even though hadn’t once glanced at the student pick-up folder. Trust Lan Wangji to have memorized all the children’s forms.

“Well, no,” Wei Wuxian admitted. “But I’m a family friend. Look, it’s fine. A-Yuan knows me. Right, A-Yuan?”

As he heard the words coming out of his own mouth, Wei Wuxian recognized that this was exactly the kind of argument a child predator would make.

“Mm!” A-Yuan didn’t even look up from his flower massacre to acknowledge them. “He’s always around! Qing-jie calls Xian-gege a stray cat! But he’s not cute like a cat, or fluffy like a cat, and he doesn’t meow like a cat, or play with string, and instead of cat food, he eats all my after-school snacks…I wish we had a real cat,” A-Yuan concluded sadly.

“Thanks so much, Yuanyuan,” Wei Wuxian mumbled.

One glance at Lan Wangji’s face revealed that he wasn’t particularly swayed by the ‘Wei Wuxian is practically a feral animal so there’s nothing to worry about’ argument.

He sighed. “I’ll call Popo or Wen Qing to give me permission to take him home.”

“Adults must either be recorded on the child’s pick-up form, or a coach must be notified of the handoff in person,” Lan Wangji retorted. Wei Wuxian recognized the line from one of the thousands of forms he’d been made to sign before he could work with kids.

Then he thought about the complex system of back-room playdate deals that these kids’ parents organized every weekend. He didn’t think a single child had left with their actual parent in all the weeks he’d been coaching here. But he could already tell that this line of argumentation would not persuade Lan Wangji, who was physically blocking A-Yuan from Wei Wuxian’s view like he thought Wei Wuxian was about to grab A-Yuan under his arm like a pile of logs and make a run for it.

If Wei Wuxian didn’t know firsthand how fast Lan Wangji could run, maybe he would have considered it more seriously.

Instead, he gave Lan Wangji his best, most responsible smile, and said: “OK, but in this case, aren’t I the coach who witnessed the hand-off? Since A-Yuan was handed to me?”

Lan Wangji blinked at him. “The rules do not specify,” he admitted, looking strangely betrayed by that fact. “However, the bylaws also state that two coaches must be present to supervise the children at all times. If a child’s parent or guardian is unavailable to pick them up, both coaches must stay with the child until a designated adult can be contacted.”

“…You’re joking.”

“On this matter, the bylaws are quite clear,” Lan Wangji said primly.

Wei Wuxian sighed loudly and pulled out his phone to call Wen Qing.

“Qing-jie, can you come to the soccer field after your shift? Popo had to go stay with A-Ning, and apparently, A-Yuan and I are forbidden from leaving without a real grown-up present.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t get off for another two hours.”

“Qing-jie says it’ll take two hours. Lan Wangji, seriously…”

“The bylaws do not specify a time after which it is appropriate to abscond with a child,” Lan Wangji said serenely. “We will wait.”

 “We’re waiting, apparently,” Wei Wuxian reported to Wen Qing. “Thank goodness this park has a food cart. And a public bathroom.”

“I seriously can’t just give you my permission over the phone?”

When Wei Wuxian relayed this question to Lan Wangji, he said:  “Over the phone, anyone could be impersonating A-Yuan’s true guardian. Or it could be a recording of your voice. It’s an insecure medium.”

Insecure medium, Wei Wuxian mouthed to himself with incredulous delight. Out loud, he said: “Has anyone ever told you that you watch too much true crime?”

Lan Wangji stiffened. “I’m sure it seems…foolish to you…” he said quietly. He was staring off to the side of Wei Wuxian’s shoulder rather than looking at his face. There was an unhappy but determined set to his mouth, like he’d already resigned himself to the mockery.

Why did Wei Wuxian feel so guilty for something he hadn’t even done yet?

“No way!” he rushed to clarify, even though he kind of did. “I think it’s admirable that you’re standing up for A-Yuan’s safety like this! If I wasn’t the one being inconvenienced, I’d probably be really grateful that A-Yuan has someone like you looking out for him.”

Wei Wuxian smiled warmly at Lan Wangji, who darted a glance at his face before looking away again.

“Can I hang up now?” Wen Qing asked, which was how Wei Wuxian realized he was still holding the phone. “Or do you need me here to witness your weird Stranger Danger flirting?”

Lan Wangji stiffened, and Wei Wuxian resolved to get Wen Qing back for that comment in some creative way later.

Right now, he laughed and waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously, in the hopes that he might be able to get Lan Wangji to loosen back up again. “What do you say, Lan Wangji? Can I take you to a secondary location?” Feeling brave, he darted his hand out and grabbed Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Maybe tie you up a little?”

Lan Wangji’s pulse was pounding strangely fast. Was he still tired from running around with the kids earlier? He immediately snatched his hand back, as Wei Wuxian had known he would. What Wei Wuxian didn’t expect was the way his whole face, from the top of his forehead down to his throat, blushed scarlet. Maybe Lan Wangji was uncomfortable with sexual innuendo? Which would be unfortunate for their nascent but definitely-getting-there-shut-up-Jiang-Cheng best friendship.

“BYE!”

Oops, Wen Qing was still on the phone.

Well. Not anymore she wasn’t.

At that moment, A-Yuan — who’d apparently gotten bored of mutilating flora — popped up at Wei Wuxian’s side like he’d teleported there.

“Xian-gege, can we watch TV when we get home?” He smiled winningly up at him.

“Sorry, A-Yuan, but Lan Wangji wants us to stay at the park for a little longer.” Wei Wuxian shot Lan Wangji an evil grin from over A-Yuan’s head as he patted his shoulder.

He was gratified to see Lan Wangji freeze in panic. This was your idea, you take responsibility.

“Oh, okay!” A-Yuan turned his sunny grin on Lan Wangji instead. Damn this kid for being so easy-going! Where was a brat like A-Ling when you needed one?

“Do you…like…television, A-Yuan?” Lan Wangji tried awkwardly. Wei Wuxian did his best to stifle his laughter in his hoodie sleeve, but judging by the poisonous glare he received from Lan Wangji, he’d failed miserably.

“I like Pokémon!” A-Yuan announced. “Do you like Pokémon, Lan-gege?”

“I am not familiar with Pokémon.” Lan Wangji confessed this very gravely before dropping gracefully down to the grass. He focused all his attention on A-Yuan as he asked, “Will you tell me about it?”

A-Yuan lit up and flopped onto the ground next to Lan Wangji. And just like that, Wei Wuxian was no longer laughing. In Wei Wuxian’s irritation at Lan Wangji’s behavior toward him, he’d forgotten the very critical fact that Lan Wangji was still excellent with children.

Twenty minutes later, A-Yuan had explained the plot of Pokémon in painstaking detail — some parts several times — while Lan Wangji nodded, and asked questions, and appeared to be committing every minor Pikachu fact to memory. If every time Wei Wuxian tried to kidnap a kid, his only punishment was to lie on the warm grass and doze off to the exchange between A-Yuan’s high, excitable voice and Lan Wangji’s deep, slow one, he might need to do it more often.

“Xian-gege?” A-Yuan had crawled over to him and started poking him intently in the shoulder. “I wanna show Lan-gege my Eevee toy. Can we go home now?”

“Lan-gege, huh?” Wei Wuxian glanced over at Lan Wangji, who was very studiously not meeting his eyes. His ears were flushed a pale pink. Cute.

“Not yet. We have to wait for Qing-jie,” he said to A-Yuan, who stared up at him in betrayal. A second later, his whole face had scrunched up and he looked on the verge of tears.

“But my Eevee, Xian-ge! I don’t want to stay here and wait for Qing-jie! We’ve been here for-ever.”

Lan Wangji looked horrified at the tears that were starting to spring from A-Yuan’s eyes, and so guilty that Wei Wuxian couldn’t even enjoy the satisfaction of an “I told you so” moment. Instead, he snuck Lan Wangji a comforting wink before turning back to A-Yuan.

“A-Yuan, are you maybe a little hungry?”

(A-Yuan was, absolutely, a little hungry. Wei Wuxian could read that wobbly lower lip like a book).

“No! I’m MAD!” A-Yuan yelled, as he clenched his little fists and stomped his feet.

“Mad, huh? Because you were having so much fun with Lan-gege?”

“YES!”

“Would a hug make you feel better, baobao?”

The offer of a hug startled A-Yuan enough that he stopped crying for long enough to consider it.

“…Yes?” he finally concluded.

…And then promptly spun around to cling to Lan Wangji’s legs. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, but to his credit, he only froze for an instant before he was wrapping an arm around A-Yuan’s narrow shoulders.

Wei Wuxian gasped and mimed shooting an arrow into his own heart.

“Betrayed by my own child! After I birthed you with my own body, this is how you repay me?”

A-Yuan giggled and hugged Lan Wangji tighter, very accustomed to Wei Wuxian’s absurdity at this point in his life.

“Maybe you can make it up to me by coming to the snack cart with me, what do you think?”

Immediately, A-Yuan narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not hungry,” he reminded Wei Wuxian suspiciously.

“Of course, of course.” Wei Wuxian waved a dismissive hand. “But Lan-gege is very hungry, right Lan-gege?” He grinned over at Lan Wangji. One day, he would stop embarrassing Lan Wangji with his overfamiliarity, but that day would not arrive until Lan Wangji stopped flushing so adorably whenever he did it.

A-Yuan gasped loudly. “Lan-gege is hungry?” he asked with wide-eyed horror. “Come on, Xian-gege…”

“Oh I see how it is,” Wei Wuxian muttered. He could have sworn he heard Lan Wangji huff out a tiny laugh next to him, but when he whirled around to check, Lan Wangji was staring straight ahead, as impassive as ever.

***

A short while later, once they’d bought a snack and even convinced A-Yuan to consume some of it, Wei Wuxian finally convinced Lan Wangji that they didn’t need to physically stay on the soccer pitch to look after A-Yuan (his arguments were bolstered considerably by the fact that an adult rec league had booked the pitch for that hour, so they were getting kicked out no matter what). Instead, they’d taken him to the little playground in the park and let him run off all the energy he’d recovered after his snack, while Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji supervised from a park bench.

And maybe Wei Wuxian’s resolve to stay away from Lan Wangji was weakened by so many hours of the man’s infuriatingly fascinating proximity, or maybe he just had less self-respect than he’d always thought, because Wei Wuxian found himself trying one more time to make friendly conversation with Lan Wangji.

“You’re really good with kids, you know,” he said quietly with a tiny, side-long smile that he couldn’t quite suppress.

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Wangji didn’t tense up, or ignore him, or vanish. Instead, he said, equally quietly: “I want to be a teacher.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him. This might be the first piece of personal information that Lan Wangji had ever, in the history of their long and humiliating relationship, voluntarily shared. Lan Wangji must have misunderstood Wei Wuxian’s shocked look, because Wei Wuxian could practically feel him withdrawing like a dragon pulling its head back into its cave.

“I think you’d be great at that,” Wei Wuxian blurted out in a panic. Lan Wangji blinked at him and then, inexplicably, his ears flushed pink.

Lan Wangji shifted his gaze up to A-Yuan in the distance. A-Yuan was climbing the wrong way up the slide, getting stuck halfway there, and then shrieking continuously as he slid back down to the ground. In other words, he was having a great time.

Lan Wangji kept his eyes fixed firmly on A-Yuan as he said: “You might be the only one who thinks so.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him some more, but Lan Wangji was still refusing to meet his eyes. So Wei Wuxian addressed his profile instead: “…Are you joking? Have they seen you around kids? You’re like…infuriatingly perfect.”

The pink of Lan Wangji’s ear deepened to red. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop looking at it. He wondered if the fragile skin there would feel hot against his fingertips.

“Yeah, I mean…I would have killed to have had a teacher like you when I was A-Yuan’s age,” Wei Wuxian said hoarsely. “The kids feel so…safe with you. Not every kid has that.”

And now, finally, Lan Wangji was looking back. His eyes were just as beautiful and piercing as they’d been the first day they met on their college soccer pitch a few months ago, but they no longer seemed cold or impersonal. On the contrary, Wei Wuxian had seen firsthand how warm and kind they could be.

Lan Wangji’s lips parted, the motion drawing Wei Wuxian’s gaze down. How had Wei Wuxian never noticed how pink and full Lan Wangji’s lips were? Unconsciously, Wei Wuxian swayed in closer — just to get a better look! They really were so lovely, lips like Lan Wangji’s needed to be studied! For science!

“Wei Wuxian—” Lan Wangji murmured, leaning forward as well.

“Wei Wuxian! I can-not believe that after a full shift at work, when I still need to study for my Organic Chemistry midterm, that you made me come all the way here!” A sharp yell cut through the strange, heavy atmosphere that had surrounded Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Wangji’s park bench. In a Pavlovian reaction to that tone, from that person, Wei Wuxian yelped and jumped to his feet.

“I’m sorry, Qing-jie! I really am! It was all my fault, I didn’t follow proper procedure, and Lan Wangji was super great about staying late, even though I’m sure you had a bunch of other things you were planning to do…”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Wangji interrupted firmly. “It was fine.” He gave Wei Wuxian a searing look that made him go all hot and flustered for some reason he couldn’t quite explain.

“It absolutely was not fine, I got a six out of ten on my last O-Chem assignment! Six out of ten, Wei Wuxian!”

“Qing-jie, I already said I was sorry! What if I came back to your apartment and ran flashcards with you? Would you consider forgiving me? Pleeease?” Wei Wuxian batted his eyelashes winningly, and Wen Qing groaned.

“Fine! If you run the flashcards and teach me how to draw the molecules so my diagrams stop looking so much like Satanic graffiti, I’ll consider letting this go.”

“Thank you!” Wei Wuxian beamed at her.

Wen Qing groaned again and strode off to retrieve A-Yuan from where he was busy whacking a playground structure with a stick.

Silence fell between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Wei Wuxian broke it with an awkward laugh. “Well uh…guess I’ll see you next week?”

He smiled widely to hide his own sinking heart. Today had felt like a moment out of time, an idyllic afternoon completely detached from their real lives. Once they went back to their regularly scheduled soccer practices, and classes, and weekend games with the youth league, would this little bubble of intimacy burst? Would Lan Wangji go back to ignoring him again? After getting such a tantalizing taste of Lan Wangji’s attention, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he could go back to that icy silence.

“Friends?” he blurted out desperately, and then had to keep talking just to hide his own wince. “I mean, no pressure obviously, I know I can be pretty annoying haha, but for the sake of the Under 8 Youth Soccer League, it would just be really cool if maybe — mph!”

Lan Wangji was so fast — just as quick and determined as when he was in goal — that he was already pressing his lips against Wei Wuxian’s by the time Wei Wuxian realized he’d even moved closer. Although his approach may have been forceful, the kiss was anything but: it felt like a feather had brushed against his mouth, warm and soft, and Wei Wuxian was just leaning forward to chase the sensation when it vanished.

By the time Wei Wuxian had steadied his own whirling, wobbling brain enough to focus on anything around him, Lan Wangji was already halfway down the block, powerwalking away from Wei Wuxian like his life depended on it.

“Oh no you don’t,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “Not again, asshole.”

It was like Lan Wangji had forgotten that Wei Wuxian was a midfielder. And if there was one thing midfielders were known for, it was running fast.

“Lan Wangji!” he bellowed as he darted around startled passersby. “Lan-er-gege! LAN ZHAN!”

Lan Wangji stumbled to a stop, just in time for Wei Wuxian to grab him by the shoulder and spin him around.

“I LIKE YOU,” Wei Wuxian yelled in Lan Zhan’s face, since he was still so hopped up on adrenaline from the kiss, and the run, and the urgency of this whole situation, that he’d forgotten how to modulate his volume. “I THINK YOUR BUNNY LUNCHBOX IS COOL, AND I LIKE YOUR HAIR, AND FOR SOME REASON I FIND IT CUTE THAT YOU MEMORIZED THE UNDER 8 YOUTH SOCCER LEAGUE BYLAWS JUST TO TORTURE ME WITH THEM LATER, AND —”

And Lan Zhan kissed him again.