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So Lan Zhan is Wei Ying’s best friend, and honestly every time he thinks about that too hard, Wei Ying has to take a minute. How did Wei Ying get so lucky? Lan Zhan is so smart, and so funny, and so much kinder than Wei Ying ever deserves. Case in point: when Wei Ying shows up at his apartment door one night, way past Lan Zhan’s bedtime and in tears, Lan Zhan lets him in immediately, no questions asked. He gets Wei Ying settled on the couch and brings him a glass of water and a box of the softest goddamn tissues Wei Ying has ever used. And when Wei Ying has finally calmed down enough to explain, he says things like “Wei Ying can live with me” and “I’ll call your sister to let her know you’re safe.”
That’s how they become roommates as well as best friends, and how Wei Ying is forced to come face to face with the mortifying ordeal of possibly falling in love with your best friend and roommate who is completely out of your league and could never like you back like that and is also very attractive.
Wei Ying had known, in a sort of abstract, “yeah I’d risk it all for him but who wouldn’t” type way, that Lan Zhan was hot. But living with the man is quite probably going to kill him. It’s one thing to see Lan Zhan staring sternly at his laptop in the library, or sitting across from Wei Ying serenely in a coffee shop, or walking down the street like a damn model, always perfectly put together and unruffled. It is a completely different experience to wander into the kitchen in search of coffee and find Lan Zhan, glowing with sweat from his early-morning run, gulping down water in a way that should honestly be illegal. Lan Zhan, doing his skincare with hair still wet from the shower. Lan Zhan, dropping his perfect posture for once to lounge on the couch with Wei Ying and watch a K-drama. How is it acceptable for one person to look this good, all the time?
“Wei Ying,” aforementioned illegally hot man says.
“Huh?” Wei Ying forces himself to stop zoning out while Looking Respectfully at Lan Zhan’s hands. “What’s up?”
“You seemed far away.”
“Haha, yeah, lost in big thoughts I guess.” Wei Ying laughs awkwardly. Lan Zhan would probably be mortified if he knew Wei Ying had spent the last who-knows-how-long rhapsodizing about him.
Lan Zhan is still looking at him expectantly.
“Wait, I’m sorry, did you ask me a question?”
Lan Zhan sighs. Wei Ying gets the impression he’s being laughed at, in a Lan Zhan way. It’s cute.
///
Lan Zhan turns twenty-five in winter, and so it’s already pitch-black when he returns to the apartment after dinner with his uncle and brother. He is tired, worn thin by well-intentioned questions (uncle) and knowing smiles (brother). He feels like he had at nineteen, twenty-one, adulthood resting uneasily on his slumping shoulders like a too-large and too-heavy cape. The keys are unwieldy in his hands as he fumbles the door open.
Inside, Wei Ying is illuminated in the glow of the kitchen lights. His hair is scraped up into a messy bun, leaving the long smooth arc of his neck on full display, framed by the wispy hairs that always escape his best efforts to contain them. There’s something white—flour or powdered sugar, maybe—all over his black t-shirt. He is frosting a cake with great concentration, apparently unaware that the excess frosting is bulging over the top of the piping bag and threatening to spill all over his wrist and the floor. He’s humming something under his breath. Lan Zhan lingers by the doorway for a long moment, basking in the sight, until Wei Ying looks up, spots him, and lights up like a cheshire cat.
“Lan-er-gege! You’re back too early, the cake was supposed to be a surprise!” Despite his scolding tone, he can’t keep the smile off his face.
I’m in love with him, Lan Zhan thinks.
Behind Wei Ying, something bursts into flames.
Later, when the fire has been extinguished and most of the cake eaten (“Come on, Zhanzhan, I know you secretly have a massive sweet tooth, have another slice!”), they sit very close together on the couch, huddled for warmth. Now that the smoke is gone and the fire alarm has stopped shrieking, they should really close the windows and stop the cold wind from wafting in. Neither one of them makes a move.
Instead, they pull the fuzzy couch blanket up around them and lean in close, talking about everything and nothing in particular. Wei Ying smells of smoke and sugar. He seems to melt down the couch as the evening goes, until he’s curled up in a ball, head pillowed on Lan Zhan’s lap, reminiscing absentmindedly about his days as a high school theatre kid. Lan Zhan could die happily in this moment, but the apartment is getting colder and Wei Ying is shivering a little under the blanket, so he gently shifts Wei Ying’s head and gets up to close the windows.
Wei Ying stops his monologue and watches him leave in dismay. “Lan Zhan is . . . evil?” he wonders in an injured tone. “Lan Zhan is unyielding? Lan Zhan is incapable of love?” Taking to the new subject with enthusiasm, he sits up fully. “I am running away. I am packing my little rucksack and going out to explore the world as a lone vagabond. I can no longer thrive in this house—”
Lan Zhan finishes with the windows and tackles him. Wei Ying shrieks in mixed shock and glee and struggles back, and Lan Zhan lets himself get lost in the tangle of blanket and boy. Wei Ying is, as he puts it, “pretty swole,” and he is much more experienced in matters of play-fighting on the floor, but Lan Zhan is larger, and has the advantage of not being half-wrapped in a blanket. Finally he captures and pins Wei Ying’s wrists. Wei Ying shakes underneath him with helpless laughter; it’s the best sound Lan Zhan has ever heard.
“Okay, okay!” Wei Ying gasps. “Lan Zhan is in fact unyielding and evil, but I will not take my little rucksack and go away to explore the world.”
“I’m evil?” Lan Zhan asks.
“Absolutely. The worst. You evil, evil man.” Wei Ying’s voice is impossibly fond.
Suddenly Lan Zhan is very aware of the sound of their heavy breathing. He can feel Wei Ying’s pulse jumping rapidly against his palm. Underneath him, Wei Ying has fallen silent and is looking up at him with big eyes. Their faces are so close; Lan Zhan can see that little mole beneath his lip. It would be so easy to lean down and press a kiss to it.
The enormity of Lan Zhan’s desire terrifies him. It isn’t his place to kiss Wei Ying, to demand that his own selfish affections be returned. How could they? Wei Ying has already given him so much: he’s baked Lan Zhan cakes and teased him over coffee and play-fought with him like a brother. But that is just what Wei Ying does—gives his love away selflessly to everyone he cares about. Lan Zhan isn’t anything special to him. Lan Zhan can’t expect him to bear a burden like the oppressive all-consuming way Lan Zhan wants to know every part of him, to crawl inside the harbor of his arms and never leave.
Wei Ying must sense the morose shift in his mood, because he laughs awkwardly and wiggles out of Lan Zhan’s hold, sitting back up against the couch. “Poor Lan Zhan, I’ve worn you out, and on your birthday too. No more fighting, it’s bedtime for twenty-five-year-old Lans. Can we sleep out here? Let’s make a blanket fort and have a sleepover.”
When Lan Zhan finally falls asleep on his birthday, he’s lying next to Wei Ying on the floor, and he thinks it might be the best birthday of his life.
///
Wei Ying goes to see his sister and her baby when Jin Ling is a week old and Uncle Jiang and Ms. Yu have already returned home; although nobody said it outright, he knew Ms. Yu wouldn’t want him around for the birth. Wei Ying understands—he probably wouldn’t want himself around either. Not for such an important and private family moment. Lan Zhan had seemed to be more upset about that than Wei Ying himself was, which was very sweet and totally unnecessary of him. Jiang Cheng live-texted him while Yanli was in labor, and Lan Zhan stayed with him while he paced anxiously. Later, Lan Zhan comforted Wei Ying while he cried and commented appreciatively on the blurry pixelated pictures (although he did very sensibly suggest that Wei Ying wait until he has his own photos that are actually in focus to print and frame).
“I’m an uncle!!” Wei Ying cried time and time again, and every time Lan Zhan said “Congratulations” and did that crinkly eye thing that was basically a broad smile, from Lan Zhan.
That’s how, in addition to an entire suitcase full of gifts for Jin Ling and Shijie (and maybe one or two for her husband as well), Wei Ying brings the emotional baggage of having been head over heels with his best friend and roommate for at least a year now when he goes to visit Jiejie. He hasn’t said anything about it to her yet. Somehow it feels too precious to say over the phone. But every day Wei Ying feels like he’s falling a little more for quiet words and slow blinks and sly humor, and he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t tell anyone.
Jin Ling is a perfect baby, all chubby cheeks and tiny fingers, and Wei Ying spends so much time cooing over him that he honestly forgets about the Lan Zhan Situation, other than the warmth in his chest when Lan Zhan texts him every evening and asks for a baby update. Then he can’t bear to interrupt Shijie’s happiness—she’s practically glowing, and even Jin Zixuan is so happy that Wei Ying can’t bear to rib him too hard. And Wei Ying is a master at avoiding his feelings, so he doesn’t manage to tell Jiejie until the second-to-last day, when she politely foists Jin Ling on her peacock husband and tells them to go somewhere else so she can have a heart-to-heart with her idiot brother who clearly has something to say but would rather die than have Jin Zixuan overhear it. Well, that’s not exactly what she says, but Wei Ying is sure it’s heavily implied.
She settles him down on their ridiculously massive rich-person couch and fixes him with a look, and Wei Ying slumps down into the cushions, curling into the comfort of her arms.
“Jiejie,” Wei Ying moans pathetically.
“Yes?”
“Jiejie, I need some advice.” At her encouraging nod, he continues, searching for the words. “So, what would you do if, strictly hypothetically speaking, you met a guy, and at first he seemed like he totally hated you but you annoyed him into liking you and it? actually worked?? So now somehow you become best friends, and then you end up living with him and also he’s like, ridiculously hot, and kind, and smart, and bitchy but in a good way, and you think you might be in love with him—well, actually you know you’re in love with him but you also know he could never like you back? Asking for a friend.” He hides his face in her lap, like a coward, so he doesn’t have to see her look of pity.
After a few seconds, she says, “Well, if I was in such a situation, I would probably just talk to that person about my feelings and see what they have to say.”
“Shijieee, aiya.” Of course a-jie would suggest things like a) being a rational adult and b) using healthy communication skills, but Wei Ying isn’t good at either of those or he wouldn’t be a) in this situation at all and b) explaining it to her in the second person. “I can’t just talk to him about it. That would ruin everything.”
“Why would it ruin things?”
Does she have to make him say it?? “Because he doesn’t like me like that!” Wei Ying is not going to acknowledge the tears in his eyes if Shijie doesn’t. “I mean, of course he’ll be nice and polite about it, but he’ll secretly be horrified and our whole vibe would be ruined and he wouldn’t kick me out cause he’s too kind for that, but he would definitely want me to be gone and so I would have to go and I can’t lose another home—”
“Didi.” She cuts him off gently but firmly. “Take a deep breath. It’ll be alright,” and okay, so maybe Wei Ying does give up and sob in her arms like a baby, and what about it?
Once she’s calmed him down enough with gentle back stroking and shushing, she continues. “Wei Ying, you can’t know that he doesn’t like you back unless you ask him. You’re very charming and handsome, how can you be so sure your feelings aren’t returned? And I promise you, even if you do talk and he doesn’t feel the same way, it will not be the end of the world.”
“It’s scary,” Wei Ying grumbles.
“Yes,” a-jie agrees. “It is scary.” She pauses for a long moment, busy smoothing his hair before she pulls back a little to look at Wei Ying properly while he tries not to be obvious about avoiding eye contact. “You seem happier, didi. Healthier, too. I’ve spent years watching you so unhealthy, and so unhappy—” her voice breaks, and Wei Ying wants to die a little “—it was like you were avoiding anything that would bring you joy. If you want to be with this person, why are you so afraid to try? What makes you so sure he doesn’t like you back? Why do you hesitate to do things that will make you happy?”
Wei Ying doesn’t have an answer, so instead he hugs her close. “Your Wei Ying loves you, a-jie. I love you the most.”
“I love you too,” she hums into his hair. “Now can we please stop talking about Lan Zhan in the third person, like you haven’t talked my ears off about him since you two met all those years ago?”
Her teasing smile widens when Wei Ying squawks, and objectively speaking, it’s the most beautiful sight known to mankind.
///
Lan Zhan picks Wei Ying up from the airport in the afternoon and tries not to melt too obviously into the spine-cracking hug Wei Ying gives him when they meet by the baggage claim. When they get back to the apartment, Wei Ying loudly announces his intention to take a nap while Lan Zhan makes dinner, but abandons that plan in favor of sitting on the counter and “helping” (singing all the parts of the Les Mis West End soundtrack loudly and with great enthusiasm). Occasionally he interrupts his own performance to pull up a picture or video of Jin Ling on his phone to show to Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan likes babies, but Jin Ling is still young enough to be in that stage where all he does is sleep or scream, and the slideshow quickly blends together. He makes approving noises until Wei Ying gets caught in concentration trying to sing both Valjean and Javert’s parts of the confrontation and forgets to show him any more pictures.
When they sit down to eat, Wei Ying stops singing and spends most of the meal providing a full update on the lives of his sister (“a literal angel”), her husband the Peacock (“he’s kind of okay now, I guess”), and baby Jin Ling (“the best baby to ever baby, the most babiest to ever baby, the absolute most precious nephew ever to nephew”). Finally he runs out of steam and simply looks at Lan Zhan. He is so beautiful; the weight of his gaze makes Lan Zhan feel incandescent.
“Lan Zhan ah, how was your week? Did you miss me?” Wei Ying winks at him teasingly and then immediately blushes and ducks his head.
Lan Zhan runs through several possible responses—I thought of you often or the days when you’re gone feel like the dullest eternities or I wish you would never leave at all, just always stay in this apartment with me, at the kitchen table, on the couch, in my bed—and settles on the simplest truth: “Yes.”
Wei Ying’s blush turns scarlet. “Lan Zhan! Don’t tease me, I’m out of practice. You probably enjoyed the peace and quiet while I was gone. You doomed yourself to hours of music theatre and chatter, becoming my roommate.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Lan Zhan is so tired, sometimes, of hearing Wei Ying put himself down. As if they are not best friends as well as roommates, as if Lan Zhan hasn’t told him time and time again he doesn’t mind the noise, if it’s Wei Ying’s. “Of course I am happier when you are around.”
Wei Ying doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that; he abruptly gets up to clear his plate and compliments Lan Zhan effusively on his cooking instead.
They wash the dishes together and Wei Ying skips the abusive-Thenadier-Cosette situation (which Lan Zhan appreciates), and gives a spirited interpretation of Gavroche. Eventually, he cuts himself off with a massive yawn.
“Wei Ying should go to bed.”
“Go to bed? That’s ludicrous, I’m not tired.”
Wei Ying yawns again. Lan Zhan makes a skeptical noise.
“Shut up,” Wei Ying mumbles, and goes to get ready for bed.
He’s humming “Stars” around his toothbrush when Lan Zhan comes into the bathroom and begins his skincare routine.
“Ya know, you kind of remind me of Javert,” Wei Ying says after he’s spit and rinsed. “All rule-abiding and sexy.”
Lan Zhan is not equipped to process the implications of this statement, so he instead makes a noncommittal noise.
“No, you’re right,” Wei Ying continues. “Actually you’re more like Valjean. Someone who’s good, but not in a crazy legalistic way, and selfless, and sexy.”
“I was not aware that Jean Valjean was known for his sex appeal,” Lan Zhan says. “Isn’t he an old man?”
“Shut up,” says Wei Ying. His face is so close to Lan Zhan, the happy crinkle of his eyes and toothpaste-fresh smell of his breath, and Lan Zhan is so fucked. He forces himself to shutter his eyes, in case Wei Ying is blinded by the affection that must be shining from them, and says, “Good night, Wei Ying. Welcome home.”
///
Wei Ying feels more awake the next day than he’d expected to be, having spent the entire night alternately Not Thinking About and Thinking Very Hard About Lan Zhan’s voice saying “Welcome home” right next to his ear. Ugh. Lan Zhan is so . . . so Lan Zhan. Every little detail of him seemed magnified last night after a week away, like when you listen to your favorite song after a long time and remember all the reasons why it’s your favorite. Wei Ying couldn’t help marveling at the firmness of his embrace when he hugged Wei Ying back at the airport, the confidence of his hands while cooking, the little piece of hair that fell into his face when he leaned over the stove. Wei Ying wanted so bad to reach out and tuck that hair behind his ear; and maybe he could have, maybe he could have brushed his knuckles against Lan Zhan’s perfect smooth face and run his fingers down to his chin and played it off with some stupid joke about getting a papercut from that flawless jawline. But of course he couldn’t, and he didn’t. Wei Ying doesn’t know how much longer he can hide his longing for Lan Zhan under careless jokes and teasing. Yanli’s words are running in circles around his head: tell him, talk to him, tell him.
Isn’t it fortunate that Wei Ying has a Plan?
The Plan isn’t actually any different from their normal Saturday night plans: they’ll go get something to eat, or order in, and then watch a movie (while Wei Ying shamelessly pretends to drowse off in order to enjoy the maximum Lan Zhan Cuddle Time possible). The only key difference is that tonight, Wei Ying is going to get his life together and tell Lan Zhan how he feels. Then Lan Zhan will be really nice about rejecting him, and then Wei Ying will run away to spend the night bawling and eating ice cream on Wen Qing’s couch while she yells at him not to eat ice cream because he’s a lactose intolerant idiot.
Wei Ying decides to look cute because if he’s going to crash and burn, he might as well do it in style. Not to mention that Lan Zhan always looks incredible and Wei Ying doesn’t want to feel like even more of a drowned rat next to him than normal. To that end, he puts on his best black ripped skinny jeans and the mesh bodysuit that Nie Huaisang made him buy. Then he freaks out about wearing the mesh bodysuit and switches it out for a band t-shirt. Then he decides that he can’t just wear a band t-shirt, so he puts the bodysuit back on and layers it with the crop top Jiang Cheng gave him as a white elephant gift but actually turned out to be cute. He actually brushes his hair before smoothing it into a half-ponytail, and then he puts on some of the leftover eyeliner from his theatre kid/clubbing in college days, because CLC’s “No” is playing and it’s hyping him up.
“Wei Ying, are you ready?” Lan Zhan appears in the bathroom door, glowing like some kind of angel in all white and blue. He’s put some sort of shimmery highlighter on his face, or maybe that’s just his natural glow; Wei Ying has to drag his eyes off of those cheekbones (those!! cheekbones!!!) to answer.
He’s still reeling as they leave the apartment to walk to dinner. If he looks at Lan Zhan too long, he will burst into flames, or say something really stupid like “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and I want to grow old and wrinkly with you.” Wei Ying doesn’t risk another glance at Lan Zhan until they reach the street; he wouldn’t want to fall down the stairs because he was busy ogling his roommate.
“Lan Zhan, you’re never gonna guess the place I found,” he promises. It’s Wei Ying’s week to pick the restaurant, so obviously he hasn’t told Lan Zhan where they’re going.
“Very well. I will not guess then,” says Lan Zhan.
“Aiya! Come on, you’re supposed to be like, ‘ooh Wei Ying you have to tell me’ and then I’m supposed to be like ‘lol no you’ll never guess,’ you’re throwing off our entire vibe here, Lan Zhan.”
“If you’re not going to tell me, what is the point in asking?” counters Lan Zhan, which is a very good point; Wei Ying elects to ignore it.
“I’m absolutely starving, let’s go faster!” He grabs Lan Zhan’s hand to pull him down the block, realizes he’s holding hands with Lan Zhan, and anxiously glances at him to see if he’s crossed a line.
Lan Zhan is still walking next to him as calm as ever; maybe his ears are a little pink, but that could just be the wind. Okay!! If Lan Zhan isn’t going to say anything, Wei Ying won’t either. They hold hands the rest of the way to the restaurant, a new vegetarian place that he (correctly) predicted would fit Lan Zhan’s very refined, bland, and ethical palate. The tasteful decorations and calming music do nothing to quell Wei Ying’s manic energy while they wait for their food.
“Lan Zhan, I am sO HUNGRY you wouldn’t even believe—”
Lan Zhan mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “I think I would believe it.”
“Ha ha ha, very funny. Anyways, I’m so hungry, I’m teetering right on the edge of hangry, but not really hangry. I could never be angry when I’m with you, er-gege, you’re like a negative emotion repellant.” Having veered a little too close to Real Feeling, he corrects course. “It’s more like I’m hungry and super excited to try this food. I’m hexited, Lan Zhan!”
“Hexcited.”
“Hexcited!”
Lan Zhan does a tiny little headshake and eyeroll like he’s trying to physically dislodge the word from his brain. There’s that tiny furrow between his eyebrows that means something is bothering him, but the food arrives before Wei Ying can ask what, and they spend the next several minutes eating in near-silence. Finally, Lan Zhan wipes his mouth neatly on a napkin and speaks.
“Haven’t you been angry with me before?”
Wei Ying stares at him for a moment before he remembers what Lan Zhan is referring to. Then he takes a big bite and chews to procrastinate on answering the question. “No? I don’t think I’ve been angry with you before.”
Lan Zhan gives him a ‘what about the year you spent mercilessly trying to rile me up and complaining to everyone how stuck-up I was before we became friends’ look. Wei Ying winces apologetically.
“Even back then, I wasn’t really angry with you. I was frustrated, yeah, and offended you never succumbed to my obvious charms, but I wasn’t bothering you all the time out of rage.” He laughs awkwardly. “Although I guess you were pretty angry at me and with good reason, too.”
“No,” corrects Lan Zhan. “I wasn’t angry with you, either.”
“Lan Zhan, I thought you never lied,” Wei Ying protests.
“I am not lying. I was . . . confused. Frustrated. Maybe annoyed.” Lan Zhan pauses for a long breath. “I was transfixed, and I did not know how to react. But it was never anger.”
“Why would you be transfixed by me? I’m nothing to call home about.”
Lan Zhan takes a moment to answer. It reminds Wei Ying of the first days they spent together, when he was still learning to wait in the silence for Lan Zhan to fit the scope of his intellect into mere human words. “My whole life, people treated me like I was untouchable. They saw my good grades and my reticence and my . . .” Lan Zhan makes some sort of face that means he knows he’s hot but is embarrassed to acknowledge it. “You know about how my uncle raised me and my brother. Life was very quiet. But you were ebullient, and you treated me like I was nothing special.”
“Oh, but Lan Zhan, of course I treated you like you were special.” It feels like Lan Zhan has given him some precious gift, the kind that you hold carefully in your hands and barely dare breath at too hard in case it vanishes, or shatters--a beautiful snowglobe, or something. “You think I would spend so much time and effort trying to get just anyone to notice me? You’re always special to me. Just . . . in a touchable way.” Wei Ying trails off somewhat pathetically, but Lan Zhan is doing that cat-blink smile thing at him, so it’s okay.
They hold hands again on the way to get boba; Wei Ying isn’t sure who reached out first, this time.
Back in the apartment, Lan Zhan puts on his choice of movie: Enchanted (2007). Nothing delights Wei Ying so much as Lan Zhan’s hidden devotion to movie musicals. It’s so cute. He should maybe talk to Lan Zhan now. The Plan. But this night has been so good. Lan Zhan is so good. Wei Ying loves him, and he’s selfish in love and wants to store up the moments like these in his heart so that when he ruins this good thing, he will still have the snowglobe memory of this: curling up on the couch with his favorite person (besides Jiejie), lingering sweetness in his mouth, Amy Adams singing about true love on the screen, Lan Zhan radiating contentedness next to him.
Once he’s sure Lan Zhan is engrossed in the movie, Wei Ying stops paying attention and appreciates the view next to him instead. Clearly the creators of Enchanted had never met Lan Zhan, or they’d know that perfect princes exist in real life.
Giselle is singing about love: How do you know he loves you? How does she know she’s yours? and educating everyone about the many forms demonstrations of love can take and—oh shit. Suddenly Wei Ying is thinking (big surprise) about Lan Zhan.
Lan Zhan, helping him breathe through a panic attack during finals week, back when they were lab partners and nothing else.
Lan Zhan, bringing extra food for Wei Ying, reminding him to eat.
Lan Zhan, sharing bit by bit pieces of the mosaic of his childhood, pictures of a baby with unbearably chubby cheeks.
Lan Zhan, lying next to him in blanket tents, sleeping on the floor with perfect posture and dignity.
Lan Zhan, wickedly funny, teasing him and laughing at his stupidest jokes; that look in his eye that means he’s judging someone; the glint that means he’s sharing a joke with Wei Ying, a secret just for the two of them. Cat blinks and tiny smiles, the slump of his shoulders when he’s tired, cuddles on the couch, shared umbrellas and blankets and meals and apartments.
I was transfixed. You were ebullient. Welcome home.
Oh god. Wei Ying’s heart is pounding like he just ran six flights of stairs. What if Jiejie is right? He’s afraid to even shape the idea in his head.
He’s lost in thought for most of the movie, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of skin that Lan Zhan is touching. Surely he’s wrong. Maybe Lan Zhan is simply this nice to everyone; maybe he’s taking pity on Wei Ying who clearly doesn’t have his life together; did Wei Ying force him into this somehow? Is he really comfortable on this couch, Lan “famously hates physical contact” Zhan?
In the movie, Giselle and Robert are finally starting their romantic slow dance, and suddenly Lan Zhan isn’t watching the screen anymore, but looking at him. Wei Ying is trapped in his gaze like a fly stuck in honey. It’s dark, and Lan Zhan’s face is only lit by the glow of the TV screen, but his eyes seem even more intense than normal. Wei Ying is only human; he shifts to face Lan Zhan fully and sways closer. Their faces are impossibly close.
When Lan Zhan’s lips part, Wei Ying can hear it even over the schmaltzy music (almost believin’/ this one’s not pretend). Warm breath ghosts over his mouth, fog in the snowglobe.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says.
Wei Ying is afraid to move; the moment feels breakable—but this is Lan Zhan, and when has he ever left Lan Zhan without an answer?
“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, or tries to breathe. He’s not sure it really came out. Suddenly his heart is beating too fast, pulsing in his ears so he can barely hear the music. The snowglobe is shaking in his trembling hands, and he can’t let it fall and shatter.
So close, yet still so far.
Wei Ying lurches back, almost falling off the couch, and stumbles to his feet. He can’t get any air.
“Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, I just have to—get some air—hang on a minute,” he manages, and then he’s outside of the apartment.
It’s dark outside, and chilly. The city air smells like cigarette smoke and leftover end-of-day grease from the food vendors. Wei Ying is only wearing his sleep t-shirt and sweats, and as his heartbeat slows, he starts shivering. He wraps his arms around himself and feels like a 19th century street urchin. He would start singing “On My Own,” but something is caught in his throat; maybe the last dredges of his dignity.
What was he thinking? Of course Lan Zhan doesn’t like him like that. Shijie was wrong, just this once. She’s always had too much faith in him, and he knows he doesn’t deserve even that, after the trouble he caused her family. Greedy, greedy. Why is he always grasping for more?
You have a roof over your head, why are you looking for Yu-ayi’s approval as well? You have a sister and brother, why are you still aching for parents? You had a family take you in, why did you tear them apart? You have Lan Zhan’s friendship, why would you covet his love, try to make him your home? Wei Ying isn’t a person who lives in homes; he’s a person who leaves them with cracks in the glass, letting in the cold.
He can’t damage what he has with Lan Zhan now; it’s too precious to lose. So instead he takes a deep breath, goes back into the apartment, reassures Lan Zhan that he’s fine, really, it’s nothing (Lan Zhan looks at him like he knows something is up, but isn’t going to call Wei Ying on his bullshit just yet), and sits back on the couch while Amy Adams fights a dragon and finds her happily ever after.
///
Lan Zhan can’t settle his mind during his morning yoga; it’s swimming with Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying. They almost kissed last night. Wei Ying held his hand and looked at him with that twinkling fondness in his eyes. Wei Ying panicked and ran—Lan Zhan has seen him shy away from things that he really wants, things that scare him, a thousand times—but last night he came back. Wei Ying has come back to Lan Zhan so many times. If it’s unrealistic to hope that he never runs, Lan Zhan does allow himself to hope that Wei Ying will always come back to him.
Before Wei Ying is up, he leaves a post-it note on the kitchen table (Gone to get us breakfast) and walks to the closest coffee shop. He buys their favorite breakfast, because despite his claims to the contrary, Wei Ying does, in fact, get hangry. When Wei Ying is awake and has eaten, Lan Zhan will tell him:
I’m in love with you, I’ve loved you for so long I forgot what it was like not to love you,
please marry me
.
Wei Ying is awake and in the kitchen, eating shredded cheese out of the bag. He looks like a raccoon, all puffy eyes and smeared remnants of eyeliner and furtive posture. When he sees Lan Zhan and notices the flowers, he bursts into tears and shoves another handful of Mexican blend into his mouth. Lan Zhan hadn’t been aware that they even had cheese in their kitchen.
Wei Ying breaks the silence before he can. “Don’t look at me like that, of course I know I’m lactose intolerant.” He hiccups miserably. “We’re both lactose intolerant. I don’t even know how we have this cheese.” He tries to laugh, but quickly gives up when a tiny piece of cheddar escapes his mouth. He is utterly ridiculous.
“Your stomach will hurt,” Lan Zhan says, instead of I’m in love with you.
“I know, I’m gonna make myself miserable in like an hour. But I guess sometimes life is like that, huh? You know, when you know something is bad for you, and it’s gonna make you sick and isn’t worth the bother, but you eat the cheese anyways, because you’re emotionally unstable and you think you want the cheese, but of course really you probably don’t actually want the cheese.”
Lan Zhan is beginning to think that this isn’t about cheese. He is so bad with metaphors. He sets the flowers and food down.
“But I guess you’d probably never have an emotional crisis and start eating something you know you’ll react badly to, you’re too responsible for that, Lan Zhan. But maybe you don’t know yet you have lactose intolerance. Like, maybe you’re one of those people who always thought they were fine with cheese, but one day you eat some pizza and discover that actually you hate cheese and it makes you physically ill.”
“I already know that I cannot eat dairy,” Lan Zhan says, crossing to Wei Ying and taking the cheese bag out of his unprotesting hands. Despite the A’s in his high school literature classes, he feels woefully unprepared for this.
“Well, yeah, but what if you didn’t actually. Or you just had a really bad idea and thought that eating cheese would be worth it. But eating cheese is never worth it, I should know.”
“Wei Ying, I don’t understand.”
Wei Ying almost wails. “I don’t either! I don’t know what I’m trying to say or what’s going on with us, and this is a really shitty metaphor, but don’t you get it? You keep . . . looking at me, and smiling at me, and always humoring me and doing nice things for me, and sometimes I think you might like me back, but you have to know I’m not good for you, right? Everyone always regrets loving me, and you’re too good, I can’t drag you down.”
Lan Zhan is at a loss, and he doesn’t think “Actually, I love cheese” is quite the right thing to say in this situation, so instead he cuts off Wei Ying’s scattered cheese metaphor explanations and kisses him. It’s messy and utterly perfect.
Wei Ying breaks back, panting, after a couple moments, and claps a hand over his mouth. “Lan Zhan!!” he says, muffled. “You can’t, I probably taste like cheese, that’s so gross.”
Lan Zhan grabs the forgotten cheese bag and shakes some carefully into his mouth. “I don’t mind, if it’s you.”
“Lan Zhan!!!” Wei Ying sputters, and starts laughing helplessly. “I love you so much.”
Lan Zhan is overflowing—tears and joy intermingled, clogging up his throat so that he can’t speak. He grabs Wei Ying, dropping the cheese bag, and buries his face in his neck. Black baby hairs tickle his forehead. Wei Ying clutches at him like a drowning man, still talking.
“Lan Zhan ah Lan Zhan, come out and look at me! Why did you eat that cheese? You stupid, stupid man, now we’ll both have stomachaches!”
Lan Zhan pulls back to look him in the eye, and Wei Ying stops talking, looking nervous.
“Wei Ying,” he starts. “I have loved you—” and then Wei Ying is kissing him again.
Wei Ying can’t stop smiling for long enough to actually kiss properly, so Lan Zhan trails kisses down to his neck. When Wei Ying finds his words again, his voice is a shimmery buzz against Lan Zhan’s lips.
“Oh my god, Lan Zhan, I love you, I love you, of course I do, I can’t believe I finally said it. You’re the best, you know that? You’re my favorite human. How did I get so lucky?”
“I think I am the lucky one,” protests Lan Zhan.
Wei Ying is turning red. “Aiya! You have to warn a man, okay? Gonna make my knees give out,” he grumbles, so Lan Zhan picks him up and sits him on the counter. Wei Ying squeals, wrapping long limbs around Lan Zhan like an octopus, and Lan Zhan kisses him again.
Later, after Wei Ying has video-called Jiang Yanli and she has congratulated them effusively and given Lan Zhan a polite and terrifying shovel talk, they settle down on the couch. Wei Ying hasn’t said anything, but he’s clearly regretting the ill-advised emotional dairy intake of that morning.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he grumbles, elbowing Lan Zhan in the stomach.
“I’m not laughing.”
“Yeah, not out loud you aren’t. I know you too well, you’re definitely laughing at me internally.”
“Wei Ying is very perceptive.”
Later, Lan Zhan will talk to Wei Ying and try to make him understand that loving him is not anything like cheese: something to be regretted. Lan Zhan is confident that loving Wei Ying is the one thing in his life that he could never regret.
Later, Lan Zhan will call his brother, who will be overjoyed and unreasonably smug about this development of events. Then Wei Ying will sit on the counter next to the yellow flowers in their vase and sing both parts of music theatre love duets while Lan Zhan makes dinner.
But for now they lie on the couch together, nursing their upset stomachs, and Lan Zhan cannot conceive a more perfectly happy way to spend a Sunday morning.
///
“I have been loving you a little more every minute since this morning.”—Les Miserables