Chapter Text
Wei Ying curls his toes in his shoe, trying to alleviate the cramp in the center of his foot. It doesn’t do anything, of course. He wriggles a little.
Maybe he should’ve found a better spot to hide. In his defense, he couldn’t go home after cheer practice because by the time he got back he might have missed them, and he couldn’t just wait around watching basketball practice, even though Jiang Cheng isn’t on the team anymore and wouldn’t know to comment on it when he does finally get home, and maybe—
The door to the storage room rattles. Wei Ying nearly drops his phone, swearing under his breath as he pulls up the camera.
Just as Wei Ying did hours ago, Wen Chao jimmies the ‘locked’ door open with ease. Wei Ying shoves himself further into the corner, peering around a cage full of footballs; he can barely make out the silhouettes of two figures stumbling inside, but he knows Wang Lingjiao’s obnoxious, nasal giggle better than he’d like.
He squints, adjusting to the light streaming through the door after so long in darkness, but Wen Chao quickly closes the door again. Wei Ying grimaces to himself; he hopes their faces are recognizable in the dark, grainy footage before the visibility is cut, but he bets Wen Chao probably has some cringe-worthy things he likes to say in bed, so the audio might be enough, anyway.
At this point, the backs of his shoes are digging into the meat of his thighs from where he’s scrunched up, his head aching from how tightly he tied his ponytail before he settled in, but it’ll be worth it, so long as he has enough blackmail material to quiet Wen Chao for the rest of the year. They’ll all be graduating by then. Hopefully, without Wei Ying to draw attention to him and with no Wen Chao to bully him, Wen Ning can look forward to a nice, peaceful graduation year.
Somewhere in front of him, he hears the jangle of a belt, the hushed laughter of an idiot, and the undoing of a zipper. He sort of wants to gag. Oh, the things we do for justice…
“Nasty girl,” Wen Chao says, chuckling a little to himself before moaning. Wei Ying’s stomach rebels for a moment, even as his heart lifts in triumph. That was definitely Wen Chao, recognizably so. He has such a slimy way of speaking it’s actually a bit unique.
Since the camera’s dark anyway, Wei Ying props his phone on one knee and covers his ears, not wanting to hear whatever’s about to follow, but he’s only been covering them a couple seconds when the door opens and a burst of blinding light stings his eyes.
He blinks rapidly against the burning as he struggles to adjust, dropping his arms and squinting at the footballs in front of him. This storage room is known for being an easy place to make out (or more) without getting caught; unless there’s a game, there’s little to no reason for anyone to come inside this late, and the broken lock gives the school administration the illusion that no one can get in.
So who just came inside?
“The fuck do you think you’re doing!”
There’s obvious sounds of scrambling where Wei Ying can’t see, likely Wen Chao desperately trying to put it in his pants, but whoever walked in has absolutely seen his dick by now. Wei Ying puts his hand over his mouth to suppress his sudden urge to giggle. Here he is, stuck behind a bunch of balls, foot still cramping, listening as Wen Chao gets caught with his dick out?!
“Replacing my equipment.” Wei Ying’s hand tightens over his mouth. Fuck, he knows that voice. Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything else; maybe he thinks Wen Chao’s violation of the rules is so clear he doesn’t need to point it out.
That sounds like Lan Zhan.
“You can’t just barge in here! You—it’s after hours!”
“Your father donates so much to the school,” Wang Lingjiao adds, sounding taller than Wei Ying now, like she’s stood from her previous position. “Isn’t it kind of yours, too?”
“You have violated seventeen Academy regulations.”
“That’s right, baobao.” Wen Chao seems to have decided to ignore Lan Zhan entirely. When he speaks again, it’s all anger. “Who cares? You Lan think you’re above the rest, but who’s going to believe you? Old Qiren might be principal, but he doesn’t control the board.”
“You will face punishment.” He hears Lan Zhan walk forward, unsure of what he’s doing, only realizing the danger when it’s absolutely too late. Wei Ying freezes, eyes wide as Lan Zhan’s gaze appears overtop the footballs, brows slightly furrowed in the middle.
“Wei Ying?”
This distraction is the split second Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao need. They bolt out the open door, their footsteps disjointed as they run down the hall, the echoes of them fading in moments. Wei Ying remains frozen. He doesn’t actually know if he can get up.
Lan Zhan doesn’t turn.
“Don’t you want to, uh, catch them?”
He shakes his head, ending Wei Ying’s dreams of repeating their tactics and escaping into the night while Lan Zhan’s back is turned. He looks angry. Is that for the retreating couple or Wei Ying?
It wouldn’t be the first time Lan Zhan glared at him like this.
“Were you watching them?”
Wei Ying is the one confused at this point. Yes, he was—oh, oh. A swell of mortification bubbles in his gut.
“No! Fuck, Lan Zhan, that’s disgusting, I know what this looks like but no, I would never, that’s, I want to throw up, now, so thanks for that, I really appreciate it, and all your faith in me and my tastes, not to mention my definition of consent, what the fuck, what kind of sick—”
Lan Zhan’s face smoothes a little as Wei Ying rants, but the anger doesn’t entirely abate. He watches Wei Ying struggle on his numb legs to attempt to get to his feet for a few moments before interrupting.
“Do you need help?”
“Not from someone who thinks I want to listen to Wen Chao getting his dick sucked!”
Lan Zhan ignores him, pulling the structure holding the footballs out from the wall and walking around it. Wei Ying wobbles forward, one hand flat on the ground, the other sort of awkwardly holding his phone against his chest. He can get up on his own! In a bit. Once these pins and needles stop.
He’s not given the opportunity. Lan Zhan doesn’t even pause before reaching under Wei Ying’s arms and hauling him upright. He lifts him like it’s nothing, high enough that his toes barely skim the floor, despite Wei Ying’s not-so-insignificant height.
He had no clue Lan Zhan was this strong.
Wei Ying is toned himself—he’s been an athlete his entire life—but he’s been stuck in the fetal position for multiple hours. When Lan Zhan lets go, his alternately numb and stinging legs don’t support him at all; he controls the sway enough to crash into Lan Zhan’s sturdy form rather than tumbling into the footballs, never to be freed again, but that’s his limit.
“Maybe I need help,” he admits from where he’s face-planted in Lan Zhan’s chest. He feels broad palms at his waist, like maybe Lan Zhan is about to push him off, and clings to his jersey. “Gege, wait, don’t, I was sitting there for two hours, I can’t feel my feet! Surely you’re not so ungenerous and unfeeling as to let me fall?”
Lan Zhan’s hands flex a moment, but he doesn’t let go or push Wei Ying away.
Instead, he reaches down and scoops Wei Ying’s legs out from under him, carrying him like some blushing bride.
“Hey!”
They walk outside, Lan Zhan setting him down to fish the keys out of his pocket. Wei Ying wobbles, still unsteady, gripping a little hatefully onto Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “You know the lock’s broken, don’t you?” he snaps, digging his nails into Lan Zhan’s jersey. It’s too thick for the boy himself to feel it, but it helps him process the indignity of being carried.
At least it was fast.
Lan Zhan locks the door before wrapping an arm around Wei Ying’s waist. “Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me how you got inside.”
Wei Ying had been so focused on Lan Zhan assuming he wanted to watch Wen Chao have sex, he didn’t stop to think about the fact that Lan Zhan still caught him sneaking around school after hours and without permission. He swallows hard, feeling his throat bob. “Lan Zhan, I—”
“Demonstrate.”
Wei Ying’s face is hot. Hasn’t Lan Zhan ever heard of leaving room to negotiate?
Apparently not. Wei Ying reaches toward the handle, stopping with his hand outstretched. “If I show you, are you still going to get me in trouble?”
The way Lan Zhan glares at him is very incongruous with how solid his arm is around Wei Ying. He’s sending so many mixed signals. How is Wei Ying supposed to figure out what they mean?
“I know what you’re gonna say; I’ve copied all the rules, remember? But I had a really good reason! Don’t you think righteousness is more important than whatever number rule I had to break for it?”
Lan Zhan exhales harshly through his nose. “Wei Ying. Open the door.”
That’s not a no, Wei Ying tells himself as he gives in. He reaches out, jiggles the door handle just right, and the door clicks open. He turns back to Lan Zhan, who locks the door again before testing it himself. Once he opens the door on his own, he seems satisfied.
“Can you walk?”
“Uh.” Wei Ying takes a step. His legs feel like jelly, but it’s nothing worse than he’s felt after a punishing practice. “I’m good!” Lan Zhan’s hand is still warm on his waist. “You can let go, I’ve got it.”
Lan Zhan slides his hand away, brushing the small of Wei Ying’s back. It takes everything in him not to squeak; he’s too ticklish for this!
“You know,” he admits as they start down the hall, vaguely in the direction of the parking lot, “you really saved me back there. I thought I’d have to watch that whole thing, but I got just enough before you came in!”
“Enough?”
“Enough recorded to make Wen Chao think twice about fucking with—me. Again.” Wei Ying stumbles at the last second. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Lan Zhan, but this isn’t his problem.
“You were recording?”
“Yep. I didn’t get their faces, really, but you can hear Wen Chao speaking pretty clearly in the dark, and the sounds of his pants coming off, plus—y’know. Other stuff.” Wei Ying waves a hand. “It’s definitely enough to shut him up. He wouldn’t like it if I sent it to your uncle and told him where it happened, would he?”
“You plan to blackmail him?”
Wei Ying winces.
They turn the wrong way, heading for the gym rather than the parking lot. Wei Ying follows Lan Zhan as he goes for the locker room, probably to pick up his stuff. He holds the door open with his foot as he stands in the threshold and waits.
“It’s not like that,” he hurries to explain, even though it is exactly like that. “It’s just, nothing else was working! W—I’ve told teachers, but everyone’s afraid of him, and you know how Lan Qiren feels about me.”
“He would want to hear it,” Lan Zhan argues, slamming his locker shut. “Whatever it is.”
“Well, sure, but would he want to hear it coming from me?” Wei Ying laughs, but it’s not really funny. “He’d probably think I was starting rumors against upstanding students for kicks or something.”
Lan Zhan returns, duffel slung over his shoulder. His expression hasn’t changed, but Wei Ying still gets the feeling he’s being frowned upon, which is unfair. Nothing he’s said is a lie!
“You would not.”
Oh. That wasn’t what he thought Lan Zhan would say. Warmth coils in the pit of his stomach. “Well,” he starts, clearing his throat, but he doesn’t know how to finish when Lan Zhan is being nice to him like this.
Lan Zhan exits; Wei Ying falls into step with him.
“Why were you here so late, anyway?”
“Practice.”
That sounds like Lan Zhan. Always wanting to put in the work, even when he’s already the best. “You got permission?”
A simple nod. Lan Zhan doesn’t offer up anything you don’t ask for, and Wei Ying doesn’t delve deeper. Lan Zhan said something nice about him; pushing before he asks for clemency again isn’t the best tactic for obtaining it.
“Look, I didn’t want to stay late,” Wei Ying admits as they exit the building, watching Lan Zhan lock up behind them, “but I knew he might show up, and I really, really need something on this guy. He can’t keep bullying people into doing what he wants. I won’t let him.”
Lan Zhan turns his back on the door. “Where is your car?”
“Don’t have one.” He and Jiang Cheng used to share, but when he went abroad, having so many cars was deemed wasteful for the family. “It’s fine, bus comes in—” Wei Ying checks his phone for the time, “—twenty minutes.”
“It’s cold.” Lan Zhan is doing that frowning without frowning thing again. Wei Ying grins.
“Ah, gege, you’re not scared of a little cold?”
“Too cold for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lan Zhan looks him up and down, which, rude. Just because he’s wearing nothing but a skirt and a very tightly cropped shirt, and just because his nipples might be poking out a little bit, and just because he shivered once and it was long and he hasn’t stopped, that—
“Come.”
Lan Zhan starts in the direction of the parking lot. “Where?” Wei Ying calls after him.
“I will give you a ride.”
Suddenly, the bus sounds totally unappealing.
Wei Ying jogs to catch up. Lan Zhan’s white Haval H6 is parked front and center, as usual. “How do you do that, anyway?”
“What.”
“Get the best parking spot! Is that, like, a principal’s nephew thing? This is my academy and I can park in the best spot if I want to?”
Lan Zhan dumps his duffel into the back before turning to Wei Ying. “Where are your things?”
“I had Nie Huaisang drop them at my house,” he admits. “He stays to watch practice sometimes, it seemed convenient.” Really, Nie Huaisang had given him this plan to begin with, but Lan Zhan never needs to know that. “I didn’t know how long I’d be or if I’d have to run, you know, because of the whole…”
Lan Zhan nods. He opens the passenger door before going round to his own, which makes Wei Ying laugh. “Such a gentleman, Lan Zhan.” He levers himself into the car, the white leather sticking a little to the backs of his thighs. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“For?”
“Breaking into the storage room!”
Lan Zhan starts the car. “I am not the one offended.”
Wei Ying sinks into the seat, scoffing a little under his breath. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“If Wei Ying did not break into the storage room, there would be nothing to seek forgiveness for.”
“I was pursuing righteousness! Justice! Lan Zhan is such an upstanding gentleman who always knows right and wrong, can you really blame me?”
He considers putting one of his dirty feet up on the white leather of the seat, just to push Lan Zhan’s buttons. Wei Ying does not like to lose.
“If Wei Ying stayed late after the others finished practice,” Lan Zhan says, so toneless it takes Wei Ying a second to catch his drift, “saw others breaking rules and demonstrated the issue to a responsible figure, he has done nothing wrong.”
Shocked, Wei Ying turns in his seat, pressing his cheek to the back of it as he watches Lan Zhan drive. “Lan Zhan,” he whispers, “are you telling me you’re going to lie? This is the best news of my life, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I’m really—”
“Not lying.” Lan Zhan hands over his phone without looking. “Put in your address.”
“If you stretched the truth any harder it’d snap,” Wei Ying taunts as he types.
“I am a responsible student. You showed me it must be fixed. You saw two others break the rules.”
Wei Ying’s cheeks hurt. He puts the phone in Lan Zhan’s cup-holder, navigation set, and watches him break the speed limit, too.
What a rebel. Shocking stuff, really, from Lan Zhan of all people.
Lan Zhan and Wei Ying do not live terribly far apart.
This is satisfying to him. He saves Wei Ying’s address before getting out of the car, then grabs his bag and slides out of his shoes in the garage. It has been years since he stopped to properly greet Uncle in the kitchen before heading upstairs, but he does so in passing and gets a slightly harried ‘welcome home’ in return.
Dinner is ready by the time he’s showered and put his things away. Though it is a quieter routine for them than it was before Lan Huan left for university—Uncle relaxed the rules around talking during meals slightly once they were both teenagers, but only slightly—they are not the sorts of people who need to trade frivolities to be fulfilled by an interaction.
It is only after dinner, while Lan Zhan cleans the kitchen and table, that he feels it appropriate to explain what happened earlier.
Uncle’s sigh is long and arduous. “You could not have kept them there, in any case. This is something for the administration to handle.”
Lan Zhan’s trust in his uncle is absolute, but Wei Ying and Wen Chao’s words both linger in his mind.
“Will they?”
Uncle considers him for a moment. He has often thought that this methodology—the exact tilt of his head and expression in his eyes, the even-tempered consideration he offers most problems—is part of what made Uncle such a good teacher before he took over running the entire school.
“If they are hesitant due to Wen Ruohan’s position, I will be clear that we may obtain funding elsewhere. There is no excuse for belittling the Academy and so flagrantly violating boundaries.”
Lan Zhan didn’t expect a different answer, but there’s something grounding, hearing it in Uncle’s sure tones. He’s slicing their persimmons; they must finally be ripe. Uncle only buys a few at a time, thanks to the short shelf-life, but he always knows when they’re going to be perfectly sweet, too.
“Wei Ying was also there,” he admits. “He worried that Wen Chao would not be punished.”
Uncle pushes all four halves over to Lan Zhan. “Academy Regulations apply to all students. Equally to Wei Ying as to Wen Chao.”
“I know.” Lan Zhan does know, and wouldn’t think to ask if it was not Wei Ying he was asking for. He eats a little persimmon, but neither of them move from the counter. “Wei Ying may visit soon.”
“When?”
It is rare for him to be unable to plan with precision, but Wei Ying often throws him off balance. Uncle reads his expression before he can decide how best to answer.
“More often, you mean.”
Lan Zhan nods. Uncle washes the knife and cutting board, tidying around him while Lan Zhan occupies himself with the fruit and avoids his gaze. He has not felt this young and shameless in years.
“His behavior has improved over the years,” Uncle admits.
The feeling of buoyancy in his chest takes a long time to dissipate after that.
It’s not like Wei Ying forgets his weird night with Lan Zhan or the video burning a hole in his phone, but he’s busy for the rest of the week. Wei Ying is normally a backspot, but the day after his run-in with Wen Chao—conspicuously absent from school, something Wei Ying wishes he had time to examine—one of their flyers gets hit by a car and breaks her leg in three different places. It’s brutal; Wei Ying flying is not ideal with his height, but there’s no one else with the flexibility or confidence, so here he is, relearning his routines from the entirely opposite angle.
Between that, schoolwork, and applying for university, he’s genuinely baffled when Jiang Cheng calls him from London at 2 in the morning.
“I could have been asleep,” he points out, yawning just to make his point. He’s studying and shoving latiao in his mouth, but he could have been sleeping, if he were better at time management.
“Then wake up,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “Why the fuck did I have to learn you were dating from Weibo?”
Wei Ying chokes, coughing and pounding on his chest. “I’m what?”
“Dating! Lan Zhan! You’re dating Lan Zhan, I thought he hated your guts! What, you think just because I’m not present to kick his ass you can hide from me?”
“Is speaking English all the time rotting your brain? I’m not dating Lan Zhan. Why would I be dating Lan Zhan?”
“I’ve seen the pictures, don’t play me.”
“I’m not! What pictures!”
Jiang Cheng pings him on WeChat. Wei Ying puts him on speaker to check, eyes widening when it loads.
That.
“What the fuck.”
“If this is about—if you’re—if it’s the gay thing, Wei Ying—”
“I’m not gay!” he squeaks out. “But if I was, I would tell my didi and I would definitely tell every living soul on the planet if I had bagged Lan Zhan. He’s a monk, literally, no one can crack him, can you imagine? Anyway, that’s not—wow, that’s really not what it looks like, that’s, ha, okay.”
The pictures are barely salacious, but at first, they’re all he can focus on. There’s one with their faces in it, a blurry shot of Lan Zhan lifting him into the air. Wei Ying has a pretty desperate grip on his arms, his mouth open in surprise, but that’s not—in the picture, it doesn’t look like he’s surprised. He looks. Well.
Remembering these things happening is surreal. The other photo only catches their chins and below, Wei Ying’s turned up toward Lan Zhan’s. He remembers when Lan Zhan caught him, holding him up while his tingling legs regained their strength, but he doesn’t remember his hands on the small of Wei Ying’s back like that. There’s tension, there. If he didn’t know any better—and Wei Ying, the way his palms are flat on Lan Zhan’s chest, was he touching a nipple and he didn’t even know it?!
He suddenly understands how celebrities caught out by gossip rags feel.
“Wait, Wen Chao posted these?” His brain—previously knocked out by looking at pictures of him and Lan Zhan where, from an outside and ignorant perspective, they might look on the verge of kissing and other intimate activities—is coming back online. “He came back?”
Jiang Cheng huffs out a breath through his nose. “Start at the beginning. Now.”
Wei Ying explains the night as best he can. Jiang Cheng knows about his crusade against the worst of the Wens; he’s mellowed out about discouraging him, now that none of Wei Ying’s actions reflect on him personally.
“Wen Chao must’ve come back after he ran off,” Wei Ying finishes, “to have taken these. But why? He doesn’t seem smart enough to have planned ahead.”
“Slimy people are smart when it comes to saving their own skin,” Jiang Cheng points out. “Did you read the whole thing?”
“Unfortunately.” Wei Ying groans, flopping backward into his pillows. Along with the pictures came a not-so-cryptic rant about being forced from a space I thought was safe all in the name of protecting the reputations of the powerful and a bunch of other things Wei Ying knows are nonsense. “You think he was expelled?”
“Nah.” Jiang Cheng sounds frustrated on his behalf, which is nice. Wei Ying has missed that. “No way. Lan-laoshi probably just pressured Wen Ruohan into transferring him.”
“Better than he deserves.”
“Yeah. Must feel like losing, though, if he’s doing this much.”
Wei Ying is mostly relieved Jiang Cheng believed him with such little fuss. As much as Wei Ying misses him, the distance between them has done wonders for their relationship.
“It’s so obviously a tantrum,” Wei Ying points out, laughing a little under his breath. With Jiang Cheng on his side, life feels easy, like he can combat anything that comes his way. “How did you believe this?”
“I’m not the only one,” Jiang Cheng says, a dark undertone in his retort.
“Of course not,” Wei Ying coos, like humoring a child. He can feel Jiang Cheng’s urge to smack him from here.
Wei Ying is only a few hours into his classes when he concedes that Jiang Cheng was right about something. He’s narrowly avoided being cornered by Nie Huaisang four times already, and even Wen Qing gives him a raised brow when they pass each other in the halls. Jiang Yanli texts that she’d like to call him later, which is as good as a kick in the face; it’s not like he minds attention, but Wei Ying has never been caught without knowing what to say.
He needs Lan Zhan. A plan has been percolating in his mind, but without the enthusiastic participation of his not-so-other-half, it won’t have a chance at working.
He manages to corner him on their way to lunch, tugging him from the hallway and into the nearest alcove, pressing his back against the door to the electrical closet behind him. Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying’s hand on his wrist; he drops it immediately, remembering too late that Lan Zhan doesn’t like to be touched.
Especially not now!
“What do you want?”
Wei Ying shuts his mouth, which was about to apologize for the commotion. “Seriously?”
Lan Zhan just looks at him.
“You don’t have any idea why I might want to talk to you?”
“Not here.” Lan Zhan looks at their surroundings without a single hint of expression.
Wei Ying doesn’t understand him at all. “So you haven’t been accosted all day by people wondering why you didn’t tell them we were dating?”
Lan Zhan seems to have trouble with the sentence. He closes his eyes for a long moment, lashes so long and thick that Wei Ying tries to remember if his own eyelashes are long and thick. He feels the sudden urge to go check. People can’t think he’s the eyelash-less one in the couple.
Not that they’re dating!!
“No.” Lan Zhan opens his eyes and focuses so intently on Wei Ying that he feels chicken skin rising on the back of his neck. “Why?”
“Wen Chao posted pictures of us on Weibo. Oh, wow, don’t tell me you don’t use Weibo, that’s impossible.”
Lan Zhan’s gaze cools. “I do not use it to read posts from Wen Chao.” His tone indicates he has far better things to do with his time, which Wei Ying can’t argue with.
“Yeah, well, me neither, but this one was important. He did a little creative cropping and is trying to tell everyone your uncle got him thrown out to cover for the fact that he caught you sneaking around. With me. Because we’re dating. Or at the very least, we’re fucking in the storage room? I don’t really know the details of our relationship, you see, none of the posts really—”
The rest of his sentence is muffled by the heat of Lan Zhan’s palm, which has fastened itself tightly over Wei Ying’s mouth. For a guy who doesn’t like to touch people, he sure does seem to do a lot of it, with the lifting and the shushing and the—wait, why is he silencing Wei Ying?
“Do not speak crudely.”
Wei Ying’s attempts to defend himself come out as muffled nonsense noises. Only when he quiets down does Lan Zhan remove his palm, likely damp by now from all the talking Wei Ying was trying to do. Good, he thinks, allowing himself a small amount of petulance. He hopes it grosses Lan Zhan out for the rest of the day.
“Lan Zhan!” he hisses, feeling the ridiculous urge to smack his arm. It would probably be like hitting a rock wall. Well, a warm rock wall with some give, he has felt Lan Zhan’s biceps before—
Focus, Wei Ying.
“I’m not saying words for fun, I’m trying to impress upon you the seriousness of our situation!! We’re in deep. I’ve been avoiding everyone I know.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I don’t know what to tell them!”
Lan Zhan’s stoicism is a little frightening. Wei Ying has barely seen his expression change this entire time, and these are some big revelations. Shouldn’t he be reacting? Maybe he should start talking about fucking in storage rooms again.
“We are not dating.”
“No, Lan Zhan, that’s what Wen Chao wants you to say. That’s the most suspicious thing you could possibly say. Don’t you know how gossip works? The moment you say we’re not, everyone will think we totally, definitely are, and then they’ll think we’re really sneaking around, and then they’ll think your uncle really did expel Wen Chao because he was covering for you.”
Lan Zhan should be freaking out, but he’s not. His gaze pins Wei Ying to the wall, but he looks as unbothered as ever. Wei Ying has turned the corner back to being impressed.
“That bothers you,” Lan Zhan says, voice flat.
“Of course it does!” Wei Ying realizes immediately how that sounds, relaxing as he leans closer, speaking softly. “It bothers me that it doesn’t bother you.”
“Why should it?”
“It’s your reputation! Your uncle’s reputation!”
Lan Zhan’s expression is odd. “And yours?”
Wei Ying waves a hand in dismissal. “Ah, who cares. There’s nothing wrong with being gay, so why should I be unhappy to be mistaken?” In spite of his confident words, there’s a funny curl in the pit of his stomach. Wei Ying ignores it. “People always say I’m dating around, it’s because I’m so charming. If they think I’m with you, it almost doesn’t count!”
“What do you mean?”
The hysteria of the situation is getting to him a bit. Wei Ying laughs, high and nervous in the back of his throat.
“Just, you know, if I was going to be gay for anyone, well, you’re—like, if I had to—you’re definitely smart enough to get this.” He doesn’t come out and say he’s embarrassing himself, not Wei Ying with his face as thick as anyone’s, but he knows his face and ears are hot, and the way he fidgets isn’t helping. “This isn’t going to hurt my reputation at all.”
“Nor mine.”
His mouth drops open. He actually doesn’t know how to respond to that. Lan Zhan cannot possibly be this obtuse.
“It’s not about—who, it’s about what he said we were doing!”
Lan Zhan leans back against the wall, tall and imposing in the half-shadow. “And?”
“And?! Lan Zhan, it’s a serious accusation! If your uncle really was lying and covering for you, using someone else as your scapegoat, that would be really bad.”
“He is not.”
Wei Ying is so frustrated he could stamp his foot. “No one cares! I know that justice seems really clear to you, but it’s not to most people. At all.” He crosses his arms. “What would you do without me?”
Lan Zhan ignores that part. “What are you suggesting?”
“A plan. If everyone thinks there’s no way we slept together, that’ll go through school like wildfire, and no one will bring this concern to a parent on the board, at which point your uncle would have to field and deal with it.”
“It is impossible to prove virginity,” Lan Zhan points out. Wei Ying is—offended.
“Hey! I could—not be—how would you know I’m a virgin?!”
Lan Zhan’s amusement is only visible in the shape of his eyes, which crinkle just a bit around the corners, and only for the briefest of moments. Wei Ying feels a surge of triumph at his ability to clock it.
“I was referring to myself,” he replies, expressionless once more.
Oh. Well. Wei Ying licks his lips. He doesn’t know why his mouth got so dry for a second, there.
“Cool.” He clears his throat. “I have a plan, anyway. No mentions of virginity necessary.”
Lan Zhan hums, like maybe he thinks this part is funny, too, but the shadows make him harder to read.
“It’s easy,” he starts, the plan falling from his lips in a rush of whispers. “You and I will pretend to date for a while, make sure everyone knows, so it doesn’t look like we have any reason to sneak around anyway. If anyone asks, say we got together after the night we caught Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao.” He really wishes Lan Zhan had that huge thermos of green tea with him right now, the one he usually keeps in his locker. He could use it. “Then, I’ll do what I do best and whine really, really loudly about how we’re not, um.” He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.
The blank stare from his partner-in-crime certainly isn’t helping.
“You want,” Lan Zhan says, very slowly, “to help my reputation by claiming that I am unsatisfactory in bed.”
“No!” Wei Ying feels his eyes go wide. Fuck, he’s not explaining himself well. “Nonono, no, that’s not what I was thinking! Just… I thought maybe we could feed the, ah, existing impressions about us?”
“Which are?”
“That I’m needy and fickle and like a lot of attention. That you’re cold and shut down and you aren’t willing to give it.” It sounds worse and worse the more he says. “But neither of us are really that stuff! We know that. People see what they want to see and all. I just think it would be easy for people to believe that I wanted to sleep with you a lot, and that you wanted to… wait.”
“Because I am cold and shut down and unwilling to give,” Lan Zhan recites. He’s so dry, he might as well be a desert.
“I—I guess?”
Lan Zhan studies him silently for a minute. It makes him want to squirm, which he does, but he doesn’t run away, which is a monumental effort on his part.
“Your plan is to tell people you are gagging for it.”
Wei Ying chokes on his own saliva.
“Lan Zhan! Where did you learn that?”
“Somewhere before I shut down.”
“You can’t hold that against me,” Wei Ying whines. “I don’t think that! Blame the masses, I’m just the messenger!”
“You want them to believe I am denying you sex while we are in a romantic relationship, and you want to be so obvious about it that no one will doubt you when you say our relationship was entirely chaste when the photo was taken.”
“Want is a strong word…”
Lan Zhan hums. “I accept.”
“Really, there’s always—what?”
“I accept.”
This was not what Wei Ying expected. “You—agree? This is the best plan?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t nod or shake his head. He stares at Wei Ying a little too long, unmoving, near expressionless. “I will participate.”
That’s—okay. Okay. “Okay. Wow. Cool.”
Wei Ying has no idea how they’re going to pull this off. They should probably set some kind of rules, time limits, that sort of thing. Wow.
“So I should just... Tell people we’re dating?”
“That is how it works.”
His mouth is so, so dry. When he swallows he can feel his throat click. Ugh. “And you? You’re gonna?”
For a moment, Wei Ying thinks he sees Lan Zhan’s mouth twitch, but it’s gone too fast for him to believe it was anything but a stress-induced hallucination. “If anyone asks, I will tell them.”
So he won’t, then, because no one will ask. They’re all too intimidated by Lan Zhan, those cowards. Wei Ying covers his face with his hands.
After a moment, Lan Zhan pulls one hand from his face, linking their fingers together.
“What are you doing?!”
“Participating,” Lan Zhan explains before tugging him from the alcove.
Lan Zhan does not think for the rest of the day. He puts in a good showing and is able to answer questions when called on, but that is employing a minimal amount of brainpower considering the caliber of their lessons at this point. If he could be said to have thoughts, they would be more aptly called visions, conjured by the way Wei Ying licked his lips before he kissed his cheek and flounced off to his proper table for lunch, for the way his mouth was damp when it pressed against his skin and how Lan Zhan cannot stop thinking about ways it could be wetter.
He is somewhat present for practice, insofar as they have a game tomorrow—the third of the season, and another chance for someone to steal away their building winning streak—and he is captain. The only sign of his impatience is that he gathers his team five minutes early for their post-practice rundown, ensuring they will be heading for the locker room at exactly the two-hour mark.
Coach raises a brow but declines to comment.
After an extremely fast shower, Lan Zhan slides into the first clothes he pulls from his locker—sweatpants and a soft white tee—and is out of the locker room before seven minutes have passed. A group of cheerleaders have congregated outside the small ancillary gym they use for practices, but he doesn’t see Wei Ying among them, unless—
Ah. Wei Ying’s anecdote about not having a car was helpful. Lan Zhan spots him walking in the direction of the nearest city bus; Wei Ying’s height and the garishly red scrunchie clashing with his uniform give him away. He pulls his car around in the direction Wei Ying needs to walk, slowing to a crawl as he pulls up behind him.
It’s November, but Wei Ying still hasn’t found something warm to wear. Lan Zhan rolls down the window.
“Wei Ying.”
He jumps, but recovers quickly, turning and flashing Lan Zhan a smile. “Lan Zhan! I thought you would WeChat me or something. What’s this?”
“Come home with me.” He doesn’t think before he says it, desire translating to words with surprising ease. Wei Ying darts to the window, walking sideways as he leans his arms on it; Lan Zhan is going at such a slow pace that it’s easy for him.
“Lan Zhan, how forward! And we’ve only been together a few hours. Aren’t you supposed to play hard to get?”
“To plan,” he says, glad his tongue doesn’t sound as thick in his mouth as it feels. Wei Ying is so close to him like this, the pale expanse of his neck close enough to Lan Zhan’s mouth to be a dream. “To talk.”
Wei Ying pouts. “What if I want to do something fun?”
He knows this is part of their game, that Wei Ying is only practicing even though no one is around to hear them, but he still looks briefly at Wei Ying’s mouth before forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “Come,” he says again, not saying yes but not saying no, either.
Wei Ying laughs at whatever he manages to glean from Lan Zhan’s expression. “Alright, good idea!” Lan Zhan stops the car so Wei Ying can run to the other side. He waits for him to buckle in before resuming his drive, starting the familiar route home.
On the way, Wei Ying chatters through his day, mentioning people Lan Zhan has never heard of, telling him all about the various reactions to their display in the cafeteria. From the way he tells it, they were the talk of the school all afternoon, though Lan Zhan cannot say he paid it any mind. The topic carries them all the way to Lan Zhan’s bedroom.
The moment Lan Zhan closes the door, Wei Ying zeroes in on his desk chair, plopping down and swinging his legs over one arm rest. He pushes off from the desk and spins himself, laughing breathlessly before sticking out one foot to catch himself on the edge of the desk. Lan Zhan’s pens jostle and clink in their stand.
“I like your room,” he admits, tilting his head all the way back so he can look at Lan Zhan upside down. “It’s really Lan Zhan of you.”
He almost says thank you, which is ridiculous. “It could not be anyone else’s,” he says instead, satisfyingly logical.
Wei Ying laughs like he’s said something funny. This is one of Wei Ying’s best tricks; even when he’s laughing at you, he doesn’t feel mean-spirited. He can make fun of Lan Zhan in a hundred ways and still feel generous down to the core. Annoying, but sweet.
“You wanted to plan, right?” Wei Ying nods as he speaks. “Very sensible.”
Lan Zhan sits on the edge of the bed.
Wei Ying rummages around in his bag before pulling out a notebook. “This will be fun. You like rulebooks, don’t you, Lan Zhan?”
Liking them and respecting them aren’t the same thing, but he doesn’t bother arguing. Wei Ying grabs a pen from Lan Zhan’s desk, curling his legs into a lotus pose under the arms of the chair so he can easily spread the journal out across his lap. Even upside down, Lan Zhan can read his large, messy characters scrawled across the top: Lan Zhan + Wei Ying’s Rules for Dating.
Perhaps this was a bad idea.
“I already thought of a few if you’re stuck,” Wei Ying offers after a few moments of silence. Lan Zhan does not have any rules in mind, but he nods, curious as to what Wei Ying’s idea of one might be.
“The first big one is a time limit! I wanted your input on this one, it’s not like we can just date forever or anything.”
Lan Zhan looks within and finds himself… unopposed to the idea of dating forever.
Huh.
“But I wasn’t sure what might give us enough time to pull it off. Then there’s the reason for the break-up to decide; do you think it would be too basic of us if I broke up with you because you won’t put out? Is that homophobic of fake-me, or just assholeish? I don’t think I can see myself doing that anyway, not if I really liked the person, and obviously fake-me really likes fake-you, so… I give up. Fake-me would never break up with you. It would have to be fake-you breaking up with fake-me, but how can that be, when I know I would make the perfect boyfriend? Lan Zhan, it’s impossible, we have to date forever!”
Wei Ying slams the journal shut, tossing the pen back where he found it and setting the journal itself on Lan Zhan’s desk. He gets to his feet and throws himself dramatically down on the bed beside Lan Zhan, his back hitting the thin mattress with a thud.
“We’re doomed,” he moans. “We’re too perfect. No one would break up with us. How can this be? What are we to do?”
Lan Zhan can think of many answers, none of which Wei Ying will be ready to hear. He listens to the quiet knocks of Wei Ying swinging his legs and hitting his bed frame with his sock-muffled heels for a bit before taking over.
“Focus on something else.”
Wei Ying stops kicking, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Like what?”
“What else worries you?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Wei Ying grumbles. Lan Zhan’s silence does more for him than words could. “Okay, there are a few other things.”
“Such as?”
Wei Ying covers his eyes with his hands. “Don’t look at me.”
Fighting amusement, he looks ahead at the wall. “I am not.” Wei Ying must be able to hear that Lan Zhan is no longer facing him, because he relents.
“What if your Uncle hears about it?”
“He’s aware.”
Wei Ying sits up so fast he knocks his shoulder into Lan Zhan’s. “He knows we’re fake dating?”
“He knows we will spend more time together.”
“Like… we have a project together or something?”
Lan Zhan does not want to have this conversation. “No. What else?”
“You can’t just skip over—”
“What else.”
“You’re really not gonna—”
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan does not enjoy repeating himself.
Wei Ying knocks their shoulders together again, this time on purpose. “Fine, fine, what about physical stuff?”
Lan Zhan looks at him, then, unable to help himself. “Physical stuff.”
“Yeah! Looking natural or whatever. Have you ever even kissed anyone before?”
“No.”
Despite the dismissive way he asked the question, Wei Ying still looks surprised by the answer. “Really?”
Lan Zhan has spent years thinking of kissing Wei Ying, of pushing his tongue inside his lush mouth, of catching him by the throat and holding him still. When would he have time or the inclination to kiss other people?
He does not say this.
“Really.”
“Oh. Me neither.”
It is satisfying to hear, though Lan Zhan now understands the nature of his concerns. “You fear looking inexperienced.”
“No!” Wei Ying counters, instantly defensive. When Lan Zhan doesn’t argue, his shoulders slump, as though the very weight of his stare is an argument in and of itself. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I just, I don’t want my first kiss in front of strangers! Is that so weird?” Wei Ying’s words come out in a rush, hands covering his face again. “Isn’t that stuff supposed to be personal? Private?”
If Lan Zhan’s plans for Wei Ying did not involve this charade continuing a while longer, this would be a prime opportunity to ask why he would choose such a solution.
Still, it’s sweet that Wei Ying is so personally romantic.
“Then make it so.”
“What?”
Lan Zhan turns a little more toward Wei Ying, considering his options. If Wei Ying is given time to work it up in his head, he might talk himself out of it, or come up with rules as to why they cannot kiss at all. Neither option is in Lan Zhan’s favor.
He reaches up to cradle Wei Ying’s neck, his thumb sturdy against the cut of Wei Ying’s jaw. Lan Zhan does not give him time to think, holding him in place and leaning forward to press their lips together.
Wei Ying makes a small sound; Lan Zhan devours as readily as he wants everything else.
Though reluctant, he begins to pull away; it is only the way Wei Ying sways forward that makes Lan Zhan kiss him again, sucking his lower lip into his mouth and tugging with his teeth. Wei Ying pulls back, startled, eyes wide, pupils swallowing up much more of the grey than they were last time Lan Zhan was looking.
“Ow!” He sucks his lip into his own mouth. Lan Zhan is no longer looking at his eyes at all. “Lan Zhan, that hurt!”
He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sorry. Wei Ying doesn’t look sorry, either, flushed and breathing like he can’t quite get enough air, tucking his bangs behind his ear.
“Maybe,” Wei Ying says, voice higher than it normally is, “maybe you need more practice. Not everyone can be good at things without practice!” He turns back to Lan Zhan, looking hopeful and earnest. His mouth is very red. “You have to be nicer, though, because if I dated boys I would only date nice ones.”
Lan Zhan could say many things, first and foremost you only date boys, I am the only person Wei Ying has ever dated, but it’s still too soon. Instead, his only acknowledgement is to kiss Wei Ying again. This time, Wei Ying is already leaning forward, eager in spite of Lan Zhan’s “meanness” earlier. His hand cups Lan Zhan’s cheek; his fingertips are cold.
As his hand slides down over Wei Ying’s chest, he notes the muffled sound Wei Ying makes when Lan Zhan’s fingertips brush over his nipple through his uniform. He will return to that later. For now, he wraps a hand around Wei Ying’s waist, warming the smooth expanse of skin beneath his hands, the taut muscle moving as Wei Ying leans up on one knee, trying to get a better angle.
Before he can get the other knee under him, Lan Zhan catches his thigh, pulling Wei Ying across his lap. Wei Ying’s hands land on his shoulders as he catches himself; Wei Ying might have questioned the position, mouth open to do just that, but it is easy from this angle to put Wei Ying’s mouth back where Lan Zhan wants it.
He moans when Lan Zhan’s tongue slides over the roof of his mouth. Wei Ying’s legs squeeze on either side of Lan Zhan’s, like he would push them together if he could. Lan Zhan cannot decide between pulling him down so he’s sat properly in his lap or throwing Wei Ying down onto the bed, foregoing caution in the face of so much Wei Ying, all over him, thighs trembling beneath his hands.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, so close his mouth is brushing Lan Zhan’s even now, “let go, how will I explain if I have hand bruises on me at practice?”
Lan Zhan blinks slowly. It takes him a moment to realize what Wei Ying means; he’s held onto his thighs so tightly that when he lets go, he still sees the imprint of his fingers, pale against the blood standing out beneath Wei Ying’s skin.
It pleases him.
Wei Ying scrambles to his feet before he can pull him back in, much to Lan Zhan’s disappointment.
“That went well!” Lan Zhan watches Wei Ying’s eyes drop briefly to his lap—the evidence of his enjoyment cannot be hidden, even if Lan Zhan were interested in doing so—before shooting back up to his face, his cheeks flushing redder than Lan Zhan has ever seen them. “You might need a little more practice, though. Don’t you think it’s rude, grabbing me this way?”
Lan Zhan stares at Wei Ying’s thighs. The fading imprints of his hands remain; he must have been holding on very tightly. “No.”
“No?!”
Lan Zhan meets Wei Ying’s eyes. “No.”
“You’re hopeless!”
Wei Ying reaches for the journal and writes something down before shoving it into Lan Zhan’s hands.
“I’m just gonna go, I’ll leave you to reflect. Do your homework. Whatever it is Lans get up to on a Tuesday evening. I can walk home from here. I’ll see you tomorrow!”
He leaves Lan Zhan’s door open, rushing down the stairs and out of the house before Lan Zhan can formulate a response. He looks down at the journal, which has only one rule listed: Lan Zhan has to be nice to Wei Ying.
It’s Thursday.
Lan Zhan smiles.
