Chapter Text
To Xue Yang’s surprise, he doesn’t completely hate his court-mandated anger management sessions.
He still hates that he has to go, but it is hard to hate the sessions themselves when his therapist is, without question, the coolest person Xue Yang has ever met.
Wei Wuxian has barely closed the door behind him when he says, unprompted, “I licked peanut butter off Lan Zhan’s fingers this morning.”
“What the fuck,” Xue Yang says without missing a beat as he plops himself into Wei Wuxian’s plush therapy armchair.
Xue Yang doesn’t understand Wei Wuxian at all, but he would happily commit murder on Wei Wuxian’s behalf.
“He made my lunch this morning—”
“He makes your lunch every morning.”
“—and some peanut butter got on his hand.” Wei Wuxian continues, unphased by Xue Yang’s interruption. He doesn’t even bother to give Xue Yang a second glance, nevermind scold him, and that is why Wei Wuxian is possibly the only adult Xue Yang respects.
...except maybe his foster parents. Sometimes.
“So you licked his fingers,” Xue Yang says with more than a little judgement. He’s not really judging—he doesn’t care enough to judge—but pretending to judge others is just so fun.
Normally it’s less fun when the judged party does not react but, as Xue Yang has come to realize, Wei Wuxian is never not fun.
“Do you know how much a jar of peanut butter costs?” Wei Wuxian laments dramatically, collapsing into his own armchair with more force than necessary. His tight jeans squeak against the patent leather under his butt.
Xue Yang, in fact, does know how much peanut butter costs. “$4.77 for a kilo. Kraft smooth and crunchy are the same. $4.48 for 500 grams of Jif. But really, you should be buying No Name. $3.48 for a kilo.”
The reason Xue Yang knows this is because he may or may not have shoplifted a Superstore on his way to school that morning. What makes Wei Wuxian the best is that he does not ask why Xue Yang knows the local peanut butter market so well.
“Money is money,” Wei Wuxian says offhandedly, settling into his armchair. He reclines himself sideways, legs dangling over the armrest and holding a clipboard that Xue Yang suspects is so Wei Wuxian can doodle portraits of his Lan Zhan while looking almost professional. Xue Yang would bet so much money that Wei Wuxian has never taken proper notes on that clipboard. “Do you know how much debt I went into for the privilege of sitting in this chair?”
“2 kilos of Kraft peanut butter is $8.47,” Xue Yang continues, knowing very well that Wei Wuxian exchanged ten years of his life, his sanity, and his credit score for tens of thousands of dollars in student debt and a single sheet of paper declaring him a doctor of psychiatry. “Buy two jars of No Name and a bougie chocolate bar with that money.”
“I bet Lan Zhan would feed me chocolate if I asked,” Wei Wuxian says without looking up from where his ballpoint pen is furiously scritching against the paper.
“Your Lan Zhan would dip his balls in boiling chocolate fondue and let you lick it off his testicles if you asked.”
Wei Wuxian’s pen stops.
“What?”
“What!?”
***
There are three things Xue Yang knows about Lan Wangji: his older brother is an English teacher at Xue Yang’s school, his existence makes up 95% of Wei Wuxian’s personality, and—
“Lan Wangji-laoshi is single!” A-Qing snaps at Xue Yang, arms waving frantically.
“What the fuck.”
They are on their way home, walking at a leisurely pace because Xue Yang is in no rush to go home and do his homework before dinner.
(Technically Xue Yang also knows that Lan Wangji is A-Qing’s piano teacher, but that is too boring to be a worthwhile fact.)
“It’s true! I asked him!”
“Why the fuck would you ask your teacher if he’s single!?”
“Why wouldn’t I?!” A-Qing kicks a pebble off the sidewalk as she sniffs defensively. “His phone rang and instead of turning it off, he went and answered it! In the middle of our lesson! The lesson that ganba spent a lot of money on! Our foster parents aren’t rich enough for this!”
“The fuck he’s single,” Xue Yang snaps, now worked up. “Wei Wuxian fucking licks peanut butter off Lan Wangji-laoshi’s fingers!”
“Why the fuck do you know that!?” Their raised voices are beginning to draw odd looks from passersby but neither of them are bothered enough to care, too distracted by the revelation that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are somehow not together.
“Have you met Wei Wuxian?” Xue Yang crosses his arms, his turn to huff defensively. “His entire personality is Lan Wangji-laoshi.”
A-Qing pouts because she, in fact, has not met Wei Wuxian. After all, she is not the one who is in court-mandated anger therapy.
A-Qing continues pouting as they cross the street but her eyes lighten up once they are safely on the sidewalk again. “We can ask Lan-laoshi for help! Not Lan Wangji-laoshi, but Lan Xichen-laoshi!”
“He’s not my teacher,” Xue Yang huffs, scowling to hide his childish glee as his puffs of air lift his fringe. “I can’t just walk into a teacher’s class. Teachers hate me!”
“Lan Xichen-laoshi doesn’t even know you!” A-Qing counters, allowing her arms to swing childishly at her sides.
“More reason why we can’t ask Lan Xichen-laoshi. He doesn’t know either of us.”
The smirk on A-Qing’s face is downright dangerous as she looks at Xue Yang and her knowing gaze does not suit her youthful gait. “Lan Xichen-laoshi will know us after we join the knitting and crochet club.”
Xue Yang halts in his steps.
“Fucking what!?”
***
Three days later, Xue Yang finds himself sitting in Lan Xichen-laoshi’s classroom after school.
In his hands are a pair of bamboo knitting needles, ready for action.
A reluctant glare is fixed on the untouched ball of black yarn that sits on the desk before him.
In the desk beside him, A-Qing is holding her crochet hook. Unlike Xue Yang, A-Qing’s ball of fluorescent pink yarn has been touched as she slowly loops the crochet hook to form a yarn chain.
“How long are you going to keep that up?” Xue Yang asks as he drums his needles against the desk, ignoring the annoyed looks from a group of students knitting together in the corner. “What are you even making?”
“Shut up,” A-Qing hisses as she continues chaining her yarn. Her chain is beginning to grow impressively long, but increasingly impractical. “Focus.”
Before Xue Yang can retort, someone approaches his desk and kneels beside him.
“What,” Xue Yang snaps, jabbing a very pointy needle at the newfound presence. Shifting his entire body, Xue Yang turns around just in time to watch Lan Xichen-laoshi calmly lean backwards and cleanly dodge Xue Yang’s errant needle.
Nonplussed by Xue Yang’s rude tone and seemingly unbothered about nearly having his eye gouged out, Lan Xichen smiles warmly at Xue Yang. Without any hint of reproach, Lan Xichen simply says, “I apologize for startling you. Would you like some help getting started?”
Wordlessly, Xue Yang hands over his needles. While Lan Xichen-laoshi patiently explains what he is doing as his hands deftly loop the yarn around the needles, Xue Yang flashes A-Qing a helpless look.
A-Qing, the traitor, simply shrugs as she continues chaining her yarn.
***
At their next meeting, Xue Yang hands Wei Wuxian a small strip of black yarn that he had mostly knitted himself (minus the parts where Lan Xichen had untangled the yarn after Xue Yang accidentally poked his needles through the wrong loops).
Blinking at the strip of yarn in his hands, Wei Wuxian haphazardly drops himself into his armchair as usual. Only his furrowed eyebrows give away his confusion.
“It’s for you,” Xue Yang says before Wei Wuxian can ask about the strip of yarn.
They have known each other long enough that Xue Yang knows Wei Wuxian can and will outstubborn him. It is the genius of Wei Wuxian, to break all orthodoxy in such a targeted manner that he seemingly effortlessly gains the trust of his patients.
“For me?” Wei Wuxian looks up, expression brightening instantaneously. “It’s lovely! It’ll make a great holder for Lan Zhan’s cufflinks!”
Xue Yang blinks.
“I’m always worried I’m going to lose Lan Zhan’s cufflinks,” Wei Wuxian prattles on, his eyes glazing over the way they do whenever he’s thinking about Lan Wangji. “They’re so small, you know? Once I dropped one in the dryer by accident and it made very concerning clinking noises.”
Being a teenager with no money and whose fanciest item of clothing is a plain black hoodie without holes, Xue Yang does not really know how cufflinks work. But, he has seen his foster father tie his other foster father’s tie around his neck before they leave for work in the mornings often enough that he can imagine that the intimacy of handling another’s cufflinks is something similar.
“Lan Zhan is so forgiving,” Wei Wuxian chatters on, lips curled up in a stupid dreamy smile. “He held my hand and told me it was okay, that mistakes happen.”
“And you’re not dating?” Xue Yang says very judgmentally.
“Why would we be dating?” Wei Wuxian blinks at Xue Yang some more, running his fingers over the black yarn.
The ends of the yarn are not properly sewn into the loops, mostly because Xue Yang could not be bothered to do so. Being the pal that he is, Wei Wuxian does not comment on the very amateur workmanship.
“Why wouldn’t you be dating?” Xue Yang fires back. “You lick peanut butter off his fingers.”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you!” Wei Wuxian says, as if he has forgotten that he is, in fact, the adult in the room.
(If he hadn’t seen Wei Wuxian weeping over a calendar on his thirtieth birthday, lamenting the existential irony of marking the slow deterioration of one’s body through the never ending passage of time with a gleeful celebration with one’s loved ones—as if they were celebrating the prospect of a future without him—Xue Yang could have easily confused Wei Wuxian for a senior student.)
Choosing to not dignify Wei Wuxian’s childishness with a response, Xue Yang grabs a lollipop from the basket on the low table separating their armchairs. Quickly unwrapping the candy, he shoves the sucker behind his teeth and slouches so deep into the armchair that he is more or less horizontal. As he chucks the candy wrapper over the arm of the chair, Xue Yang throws his booted feet onto the low table.
It says a lot about how much he respects Wei Wuxian that Xue Yang watches the wrapper actually flutter into the trash bin, conveniently placed right beside his chair, before turning back to judge Wei Wuxian.
***
“Wei Wuxian says they’re not dating.”
A-Qing and Xue Yang are sitting at the dining table, across from one another, homework and textbooks open before them but neither of them are paying attention to their schoolwork.
“And you trust him?” A-Qing gives Xue Yang an incredulous look.
“Of course not,” Xue Yang huffs. “I gave him the yarn thing and he immediately told me it was lovely.”
“Wei Wuxian is a liar.”
“Hey!” Xue Yang cries, indignant, even though he privately agrees. He points the tip of his pencil at A-Qing menacingly in a manner that would have terrified anyone else to tears. But, this is A-Qing. A-Qing knows he sleeps with a stuffed fork and saw him cry when Xiao Xingchen told him it was okay—and that he would help him study—after he failed his last math test.
A-Qing has too much blackmail material on him.
“I’m not wrong,” A-Qing states with absolute conviction. The worst part is that she really isn’t wrong, so Xue Yang can do nothing but pout.
“Anyway,” Xue Yang says quickly so A-Qing can’t enjoy her victory for too long, “Wei Wuxian says that my knitting will make a good cufflink holder for ‘Lan Zhan’s cufflinks.’” Xue Yang’s voice lilts up at the end in a vaguely mocking tone, mimicking the lovestruck way Wei Wuxian talks about Lan Wangji.
A-Qing wrinkles her nose. “Gross,” she says, making a gagging face, “I never want to hear Lan Wangji-laoshi’s birth name again.”
Sticking his tongue out at her in response, Xue Yang sneers, “It’s not my fault Wei Wuxian apparently doesn’t know Lan Zhan has any other names.”
“ARGH,” A-Qing screeches, clapping her hands over her ears. Her pencil is still in her hand, now poking through her hair buns. “No! Bad! He’s Lan Wangji-laoshi and only Lan Wangji-laoshi! He’s not supposed to have a real name!”
“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!” Xue Yang taunts her, leaning over the table towards her.
A-Qing squeals and Xue Yang chants only continue for a short while, until the sounds of them not studying draw the attention of Song Lan who fixes them both with a mildly disappointed look for not doing their homework, but who also patiently sits down with them to help them through their questions.
***
“Good afternoon, Xue Yang,” Lan Xichen greets cheerfully from his desk in the corner as Xue Yang and A-Qing walk into his classroom.
Joining the knitting club, Xue Yang thinks as he shuffles to his usual desk, was a mistake.
The thing is: at his core, Xue Yang doesn’t trust adults.
Why would he, when his parents were adults when they decided to be deadbeat parents and overdose with a toddler in the room? It was adults from Child Protective Services who threw him into the first foster family that didn’t want him. It was an adult who pushed Xue Yang to the ground for getting in his way at a park and it was the same adult who stepped on Xue Yang’s pinky finger, crushing all the little bones in his little hand. It was an adult who decided Xue Yang’s broken finger wasn’t worth a trip to the hospital, leaving him with a useless pinky that never healed properly.
Xue Yang’s life was a series of increasingly disappointing adults until he landed himself in Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan’s household and....it’s not terrible. Xiao Xingchen doesn’t throw slippers at him when he doesn’t take out the garbage and Song Lan never locks him outside when he gets mouthy. Neither of them even yelled at him when the police officers dragged him home after he vandalized a church window. All they did was give him a sad, vaguely disappointed look when he banished himself to his room which, really, was worse than if they had hit him. How dare Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan make Xue Yang care about their feelings.
A-Qing is a little annoying, but Xue Yang respects that she never tells on him when he cheats on his homework.
And somehow, Wei Wuxian is technically an adult and Xue Yang does respect him a lot, if only for the copious amounts of candy Wei Wuxian allows him to eat.
(Xue Yang tells himself that his respect for Wei Wuxian has nothing to do with the fact that Wei Wuxian is a deeply weird human being and honestly, Xue Yang kind of wants to be like him when he grows up. Because Xue Yang doesn’t have role models. Of course not.)
But it is deeply weird, Xue Yang thinks as he digs his black yarn and bamboo needles out of his backpack, that he has chosen to willingly spend time in the presence of an adult. In a school. In the classroom of an English teacher.
He even has a designated seat in a knitting club that everyone understands to be his.
Xue Yang doesn’t understand his life.
“Did you have a good weekend?” Lan Xichen asks, pleasant as ever.
“I read a proposal to eat babies,” Xue Yang says flatly because it’s the truth. He did, in fact, read an 18th century English proposal to solve the Irish potato famine by eating babies.
“Ah, no one does satire quite like Jonathan Swift!” Lan Xichen smiles, unphased by Xue Yang’s description. “I’m glad you enjoyed ‘A Modest Proposal.’”
Xue Yang is only a little disappointed that Lan Xichen didn’t fall for his bait.
As he gets to work on his yarn, he shares pointed looks with A-Qing.
It has been several weeks and they have obtained no new information on the state of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s relationship.
“Ask him,” A-Qing hisses under her breath while Lan Xichen types at his desk, blissfully unaware.
“You ask him,” Xue Yang hisses back automatically. “You know him better.”
“No I don’t!”
“You’ve been in his brother’s house.”
“Lan Wangji-laoshi is different from Lan Xichen-laoshi!”
“How?”
“Lan Wangji-laoshi is a not-school teacher! Lan Xichen-laoshi is a school teacher!”
“They’re both teachers!”
“It’s not the same!”
“How are we doing over here?” A-Qing and Xue Yang both jump in their seats, looking up at Lan Xichen guiltily. At some point during their spat, Lan Xichen had left his desk to check on everyone’s progress.
In other words: doing the job he was paid to do, even though Xue Yang feels vaguely betrayed that he now has to come up with a flimsy excuse because hey is your brother single isn’t something you can just ask a teacher.
“We’re good,” Xue Yang says, lying through his teeth, giving A-Qing an impressive side eye.
“Yup!” A-Qing chirps gleefully, having successfully thrown Xue Yang under the bus.
“That’s great to hear,” Lan Xichen says, in the pleasant teacherly tone that means he definitely knows what Xue Yang and A-Qing want to ask. Neither Xue Yang nor A-Qing recognize this tone so Lan Xichen continues onto the next group.
Behind Lan Xichen’s back, Xue Yang and A-Qing exchange mutual glares at the other for not asking the question.
***
“I think I’ll make Lan Zhan dinner on his birthday,” Wei Wuxian muses as he chews on the end of his pen.
“I think you should do no such thing.” Having shoved an entire packet of fruit gummies into his mouth, Xue Yang’s words are a little muffled.
“Lan Zhan cooks for me all the time,” Wei Wuxian continues, ignoring Xue Yang’s very good advice.
“You’re going to fucking murder him,” Xue Yang says with absolute surety.
Wei Wuxian is one of those people who drinks pretentious infused water. Unlike every other drinker of infused water Xue Yang has ever come across, Wei Wuxian does not do it for the health benefits.
Xue Yang eyes the clear water bottle sitting beside Wei Wuxian’s work monitor. It is an innocuous bottle, so long as one overlooks the fact that Wei Wuxian has elected to infuse his water with a horrifying concoction of Sichuan peppercorn, habanero, and jalapeno peppers.
“Murder is illegal,” Wei Wuxian says casually, making a note of something on his ever-present clipboard.
“Your water should be illegal,” Xue Yang fires back, aggressively reaching into the candy bowl and unwrapping a lollipop.
Ignoring Xue Yang’s accurate assessment of his water, Wei Wuxian continues his musing.
“Lan Zhan likes my soup.”
“Does he, though?”
“Of course he does! When it’s not soaking into his pillow, at least.”
“Why is your soup in his pillow.”
“His bed is comfier than his chair.”
“Why the fuck are you in his bed.”
“Not in, on. Important distinction. Lan Zhan wasn’t in bed but his blankets are softer than mine and he doesn’t mind. As long as I don’t bring food into the room, now.”
Xue Yang wants to scream with frustration because he still has no answers, but exponentially more questions than he started with.
***
“How do you know if someone is dating?” Xue Yang springs this question on Xiao Xingchen after dinner one evening. They are standing at the kitchen sink, Xiao Xingchen’s hands buried in soapy water and Xue Yang at his side, rinsing the soap off their dishes.
It has been several months since he and A-Qing joined the knitting club to get to the bottom of the Lan Wangji-Wei Wuxian problem. In this time, Xue Yang has made two scarves and half a hat, A-Qing has made a pair of mittens and several mismatched socks, and neither of them have come any closer to determining Wei Wuxian’s relationship status.
“Hmm?” Xiao Xingchen’s humming stops as he addresses Xue Yang’s question. “Is there someone you like?”
“What!?” Xue Yang chokes, horrified at how quickly the conversation escalated down the wrong direction.
“Don’t be ashamed,” Xiao Xingchen says soothingly. Only, Xue Yang is emphatically not soothed because this is not the conversation he is trying to have. “It’s normal to have feelings for others at your age. Is this person in your class?”
Xue Yang coughs. “No! There’s no one! No one at all! I don’t do, you know. That. Feely-feely thing.” Each subsequent sound leaving his mouth is more damning than the last, yet the sounds leaving his mouth are no longer under his control.
“I’m sure they are lovely,” Xiao Xingchen continues, missing the point completely. “I hope that one day you’ll feel comfortable introducing them to us. I’m sure whoever has caught your eye is very special.”
Later on, once this conversation is nothing but a mortifying memory, Xue Yang will begrudgingly acknowledge that Xiao Xingchen is doing a not terrible job of being a supportive adult. Unfortunately, at this moment it is very much not the support Xue Yang needs.
“Have you gone through the condoms unit yet?” Xiao Xingcheng continues and Xue Yang promptly drops the plate back into the sink. “I do hope they’re teaching about same sex safety now. Remember, you can never use too much lube. Back in the day, Zichen and I found out the hard way --”
“NOT ANOTHER FUCKING WORD,” Xue Yang cries, not wanting to think about his foster fathers in that way ever but also being unable to shove the image of his mind.
“No swearing until we finish the dishes,” Xiao Xingchen says mildly, handing another plate to Xue Yang as if he were not just about to divulge unsolicited sex advice—from his own experience, no less—to his ward.
Xue Yang swears that there is a conspiracy amongst the adults in his life to prematurely instigate an aneurysm.
***
For all his informality, Wei Wuxian always wears long sleeves to work. His clothing is proper, even if his techniques and overall personality are anything but professional.
(Xue Yang has a secret theory that Wei Wuxian is just waiting for the perfect opportunity to breeze into the office in full Californian surfer get-up, swim trunks and a tank loose enough to flash his nipples at unsuspecting passersby. Oversized sunglasses will rest on his head and he’ll walk around in flip-flops all day. Xue Yang has no evidence for this theory, especially when they are 2000 kilometres from the nearest coastline and enjoy snow for seven months of the year, but he is certain that it will happen.)
But today, it is their last court-mandated therapy session and Wei Wuxian is still wearing his usual get up: a black v-neck sweater over a light blue button up that is a little too big. As he is filling out paperwork, a pair of red-framed reading glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.
Reaching for his murderous water bottle, Wei Wuxian’s sleeve rides up a little bit and Xue Yang sees a thin, platinum chain on his wrist. The chain is adorned with little clouds and rabbit charms.
“What’s the bracelet?” Xue Yang asks, narrowing his eyes at it. “I’ve never seen it before.”
He expects Wei Wuxian to answer something mundane, like I stole it from Lan Zhan or it was on sale.
“Hmm?” Wei Wuxian glances up from where he signing off on Xue Yang’s paperwork for the judge. “Oh this?” He wiggles his wrist, jingling the charms. “I always wear it. It’s my wedding bracelet.”
Wei Wuxian says this as if it is not a big deal, engrossed with his paperwork, but Xue Yang swears his life just flashed by him.
“Excuse the fuck. What.” Xue Yang openly gapes, too surprised to yell.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian flips over a page nonchalantly, as if he hasn’t just upended Xue Yang’s entire life a little bit. “I was so worried about losing a ring but Lan Zhan was insistent on something tangible. So wedding bracelets. Lan Zhan had it customized with a safety latch so I won’t lose it. It’s nice to have something that’s just shared between us. Lan Zhan gets me a new charm every year on our anniversary and I do the same for him.”
“Lan Wangji-laoshi said you weren’t dating!” Xue Yang blurts out, belatedly remembering that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know why he would know Lan Wangji.
Wei Wuxian slowly blinks at him over his clipboard, eyes magnified by his reading glasses. “We’re not dating because we’re married. You’ve met Lan Zhan?”
Xue Yang doesn’t register the question. “Lan Wangji-laoshi told A-Qing you weren’t his fucking boyfriend!”
Wei Wuxian nods slowly, eyes sparkling with recognition. “Right, right, Lan Zhan told me about that. I got his schedule wrong and interrupted his lesson. It’s true though. Can’t be Lan Zhan’s boyfriend if I’m his husband.”
“He said he was single!”
“Well it’d be awkward if he did say that, given that he is most definitely not single,” Wei Wuxian taps the end of his pen against his clipboard. Xue Yang thinks Wei Wuxian is far too calm for this conversation. “Some miscommunication happened somewhere along the way. Lan Zhan and I have been together forever.”
“But…” Xue Yang’s brief anger at being unintentionally deceived quickly fizzles out into something more vulnerable.
“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says gently, “Xue Yang.” He takes off his reading glasses and sets his glasses and clipboard of paperwork on the table so he can give Xue Yang his undivided attention. Sitting up properly in Xue Yang’s presence for the first time since they began these sessions a year ago, Wei Wuxian asks, “How do you feel?”
“I—” Xue Yang chokes because he doesn’t really know how he feels at all. “Confused? Betrayed? Like you’re the actual demon incarnate? How the fuck am I supposed to know? You’re the shrink!”
Just as he has always been, Wei Wuxian is unphased by Xue Yang’s outburst. “It’s okay to feel those things. All of those things. Overwhelming, isn’t it? But let’s talk about it. Or,” Wei Wuxian adds quickly, seeing Xue Yang’s prickly exterior beginning to close him off, “I’ll talk and you can listen. Does that sound okay?”
Wei Wuxian waits for Xue Yang to nod stiffly before continuing. “Confused,” Wei Wuxian holds up a finger, “makes a lot of sense. I just provided information that doesn’t fall in line with what information you believed to be true and that’s always going to be disorienting.”
Xue Yang nods mutely.
Holding up a second finger, Wei Wuxian continues. “Feeling betrayed might contribute to that confusion. You’re a smarter cookie than you’ve been given credit for. You know that my relationship with Lan Zhan isn’t your business, but you’ve grown invested in its status. You want to blame me for misleading you, because I have done that. I have also told you I’m not dating Lan Zhan and it’s okay to be upset over that. But, you’ve also never asked me outright, because you’ve been taught to expect punishment for asking for what you want. Instead, you ask around the question you really want to ask and my intention was to gently prompt you to simply ask directly. Clearly, that has backfired on us. This is a stumbling block, but that’s okay, you’re making your way over the block and we’ll set clearer goals next time.”
“You owe me a cookie for that,” Xue Yang snarks back because he has a reputation to uphold, even if Wei Wuxian is being weirdly touching. And because he wants a cookie.
“As for the comment about me being the actual demon incarnate,” Wei Wuxian’s serious expression smooths into a teasing grin as he holds up a third finger, “I’ll have to respectfully disagree with you there. Lan Zhan says I’m a total angel and an absolute pleasure to be around.”
“He’s a liar.”
Wei Wuxian loses his composure, curled over in laughter. “One of these sessions we should go over the Lan family rules for moral being,” Wei Wuxian says after his laughter dies down. “Lying is forbidden.”
Xue Yang chokes. He’s never seen the alleged Lan Family Disciplines but he’s heard things. Things that are at odds with everything about Wei Wuxian’s existence, but that’s not a train of thought he needs to trap himself in.
“As for how you would know,” Wei Wuxian continues with a serious look, “that’s a kind of self-reflection that we’ll keep working on. Remember, the shrink is only here to help guide your emotional management and I’d say this past year has been a success. It’s a sign of how hard you’ve worked that you didn’t say you feel angry. You haven’t even threatened to stab me in months! We’ll be fine, and we will continue to be fine.”
And it is fine, until Xue Yang remembers A-Qing again and his brain connects two more dots. His mouth falls open in a horrified wail as he buries his head into his hands.
“A-Qing has been inside your house.”
***
That evening, when he is sitting on A-Qing’s bed while she paints little skulls on his black nails, Xue Yang spills everything.
“What the fuck,” A-Qing says once Xue Yang finishes his recount of his therapy session. “Lan Wangji-laoshi said he was single.”
“Did he?” Xue Yang rolls his eyes. “Or did you interrupt him, assume he was single, and forget you interrupted him?”
A-Qing’s hand slips, drawing a line of white nail polish across his middle finger. She ignores Xue Yang’s outraged cry. “Hmm,” she says after a long pause. “That sounds like a thing that could have happened.”
She does not apologize for the white nail polish streak across Xue Yang’s fingers as she gets back to work.
“You’re a piece of shit,” Xue Yang says, watching A-Qing colour in the last skull, with no heat in his voice.
“And you’re an asshole. We’re still going to knitting club tomorrow,” A-Qing sniffs, twisting open the bottle of top coat. She brandishes the brush at Xue Yang threateningly. “I need Lan Xichen-laoshi to help me with this new pattern.”
Xue Yang groans, but allows A-Qing to top coat his nails.
At least Xue Yang will get a stellar reference letter out of Lan Xichen now.
***
On his first ever non-court-mandated therapy session, Xue Yang walks into Wei Wuxian’s office as he has for the past year. If he is honest with himself, therapy that he chooses to go to is no different from therapy he is legally obligated to attend because Wei Wuxian is somehow that good.
It is a crisp spring day and Wei Wuxian is arranging his bookshelf. The sunlight glints off his wedding (!!!) bracelet, shimmering as he moves around.
Taking a closer look, Xue Yang sees that Wei Wuxian’s bracelet is busier than it was the last time. A new charm dangles alongside the clouds and rabbits.
It’s a peanut butter sandwich charm.
Bastard.